Page 5 of Losing Control

She stopped along a blank wall and threw her arms around my neck. Her tongue swept over the pink gloss on her bottom lip. "God, you are positively delicious." She parted her lips for a kiss.

"Hmm, I was thinking the same thing about you." I wrapped my arms around her. She was soft and supple and incredibly sexy. I lowered my mouth but stopped just an inch from making contact. "Just to be safe—how old are you?"

"Old enough to keep you out of jail. And you're starting to disappoint me. I took you for someone who could make me come before I took a second breath."

"Well, I don't want to be a disappointment. That's for damn sure." I shoved my foot between her shoes and forced her feet apart, while my tongue explored her mouth. She rubbed her belly against my erection. She groaned with satisfaction as it pushed urgently against her.

My mouth devoured hers as I quickly unbuttoned her shorts. I swept one hand beneath her tight shirt where I happily discovered the reason her nipples were so prominently displayed.

"Braless. Nice. That saves a step." My thumb razed across her nipple, and I pinched it between my thumb and forefinger. She sucked in a sharp, pleased breath as I gave it a little tug.

Her fingers fiddled with the button on my pants as I swept my hands down her shorts and panties and took hold of her naked ass. I pulled her harder against my cock. "Can't we go inside this block box?"

"It's locked," she breathed against my mouth. "Are you getting cold feet?" She rubbed her fingers along the outline of my erection. "Cuz this lovely, hard pussy poker seems ready to go."

"I don't ever get cold feet when it comes to poking pussy." I pulled my hands free and grabbed the top of her pants to push them down.

"Archer!" a rage filled voice sent me back a few steps.

The woman, whose name I'd never taken the time to discover, looked only slightly aghast. She discretely buttoned her pants and shrugged with an angry pout at George Stockton. He was still clad head to toe in his racing leathers and heavy motorcycle boots. I'd only met the man three times, but I'd never seen him quite so red in the face.

"Yes, hello, Mr. Stockton," I said quickly and buttoned my coat around the open fly on my pants. "I was just waiting for you to get off the track. Hope you had a good ride. Looked fast." I spoke quickly, and while I rambled the words out, I searched for a strategy that would somehow make him forget what he'd just witnessed. "I'm being rude." I pointed to the woman and wished to hell I'd at least asked her name. I knew her friend was Kate, but that wasn't going to help me. "This is my friend.” I let the words trail off, hoping he didn't notice that I forgot to supply a name. Turned out, I didn't need to. He supplied it for me.

"Macy," George said tersely. "My daughter."

A ball of lead formed in my stomach and my racing pulse slowed to a crawl. "Fuck," I said under my breath.

"Fuck, indeed," George repeated. He reached for his daughter's arm and led her away.

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