This is all my dirty dreams. It’s everything that made my days hard, and my nights harder.
It’s everything I’ve denied myself. Everything I’ve resisted.
And it is all I want in the world.
Him. Me. Tonight.
Most of all, I crave his pleasure.
My God, I want that more than anything. I want to do that for him, give that to him. I can picture it. Can feel it with every stroke, every thrust. Every slide of our skin.
Every move he makes. Each sound he utters.
“J,” he says in a hungry whisper. “I need something.”
I sink deeper, grip tighter. “Anything,” I say desperately. “Just tell me and I’ll do it.”
“Destroy me,” he urges.
And I heed the call.
“Pump that beautiful cock,” I tell him. He takes over as I rise up, gripping his hips with both hands while he fists his dick, stroking it fast and tight.
Driving into him without mercy, I go full throttle.
He stares shamelessly at our reflection, groaning as I snap my hips, as he strokes his cock, as I fuck his ass, as we seek our pleasure.
I grit my teeth as a wave of lust crashes into me, daring to pull me under, but I stave it off, needing his release first.
“Harder,” he begs.
He’s perfect for me.
As his cock slides through the tight tunnel of his fist, I find a new pace, pounding him at rocket speed, faster, rougher, hitting the P-spot inside him.
“Yes,” he moans, bowing his back. “Coming.”
He shudders under me, trembling as he spurts all over his hand and onto the bed. His release sets me on fire. I grip one hip, push down on his shoulder blades, and ride his ass. Pleasure gathers in the base of my spine, coils in me, then sharpens, tearing through my body on a mad race to ecstasy until it annihilates me.
Blissful oblivion. Total devastation as I climax hard, grunting.
Panting.
Sweating.
Losing myself in him.
And as I do, I feel something I haven’t felt in ages.
Something dangerous.
Something wonderful.
I feel connected.
Especially when I collapse next to him and press a soft kiss to his neck before I get up to toss the condom.
I return to the bed, drawing him close to me.
He sighs happily in my arms, blissed out as I hold him. Satisfied as I wrap myself more tightly around him.
I feel connected, and it’s so damn dangerous.
Especially when I catch a glimpse of the bedside clock and see that my shift is over.
Which means Cruz is outside the door right now.
22
Jackson
I sit bolt upright and pace.
I need to move.
Need to think.
I head to the bathroom, splash cold water on my face, try to clear my head to no avail.
I press my palms to the counter and swear again.
Seconds later, a hand slides up my back. Gentle. Worried. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re regretting that already. It ended sixty seconds ago. Regret should take at least five minutes to set in. Most medical authorities say it’s ten on average.”
I manage a small laugh. I know he’s trying to ease my mind.
But is that possible?
I turn around, shaking my head, frustrated. I hold my hands out wide. How the hell do I say this?
Just say it.
I rip off the Band-Aid. “It’s about Cruz.” I drag a hand through my hair. My sweaty, sex-mussed hair. “He’s outside your room right now. It’s my responsibility to hand off to him. To let him know I’m done with my shift and he’s on duty. And I didn’t tell him. The only thing I texted him about was the incident. I didn’t do my job. I’m sure there’s a text from him somewhere, and I can’t mess up like this.”
“You’re not messing up,” Stone says in his boss voice, his “I’m in charge” tone. “It’s only thirty minutes after midnight.”
“Doesn’t matter. Thirty minutes ago is when I should have handed off to him. I’m such an ass,” I mutter as I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Stone runs a hand along my arm. Comforting me.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I file away this intel—his impulse is to comfort me.
“I can’t let this stuff slip,” I say, since I screwed up. I knew I wouldn’t be thinking about anything else but this man once I knocked on the door.
“I’m not going to fire you,” Stone says, gentle but firm. “I told you before, I’m not going to let you go because of this. And I’m not going to let you go because you didn’t tell Cruz that your shift was over.”
Does he think that’s the issue?
Is that how far apart we are? Maybe so. He’s a celebrity, and I’m a regular joe. I’m not thinking about getting fired. I’m thinking about the respect I want from my goddamn colleagues.
I let go of my nose, lift my chin, and stare him in the eyes. “That’s not the point,” I say, my tone rising, my frustration hitting a new pitch, right alongside my guilt. I stab my chest with my finger. “This is not how I want to behave with my coworkers. I respect Cruz. I like Cruz. And I need to do my job. Part of my job is telling him when my shift is over. So he can do his job.”
Stone nods, absorbing my outburst. “What happened last time, then?”
“Last time?” I repeat. My brain is a circus right now, and I can’t see straight, let alone think straight.
“Yes, last time. With the pizza.” He makes a rolling gesture with his hand like he’s jogging my memory.
And, well, he is.
Because last time, Stone and I agreed to tell Cruz we got a pizza.
“What happened last time was . . .” A laugh threatens to escape me.
Stone arches a brow. “Something funny?”
“Nothing happened,” I admit with a shrug. “I told him we got pizza. He just rolled his eyes and said, ‘Go get some sleep.’”
Stone looks like he’s fighting like hell to suppress a grin.
My lips twitch too, but then reality kicks me in the teeth again. “But that was once. I got away with it one time. I don’t want to lie a second time. And I also don’t want to tell him the truth.”
Because, dammit, tonight was supposed to be between Stone and me.
I want my private life to be just that.
Private.
But then, I suppose I gave up that right when I decided to stick my dick in a celebrity who’s also my boss.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Stone squeezes my bicep, still trying to ease my mind. “Let me talk to him. I’ll tell him we were hanging out.”
I stare at him like he’s insane, then gesture wildly to the state of him. His chest is glistening with sweat. His hair is sticking up in all directions. His lips are bruised. “You look like you’ve just been fucked to within an inch of your life.”
He smiles, proud and dirty. “And I have. And that means that he’s going to know you’re the one who put this look on my face.”
A shudder runs down my body, even as I try to fight it. “Yeah. I did. But that doesn’t solve the problem,” I say, desperation coloring my tone again.
“But seriously. Why can’t we just be hanging out?”