bad sex?"
He laughed. "Nope. Just preparing you for my first rush of enthusiasm."
Ginger ran her hands over his chest. "I've got more than a little of that myself."
He picked her up with the ease of an Olympic weightlifting medalist and carried her to the bed. "You know there was a second or two when you first walked into my office that I thought you might be shy." He placed her in the middle of the bed, stepped back, and started unbuttoning his shirt.
Ginger got to her knees and replaced his fingers with her own. "I am." She undid the final button. "Until I make up my mind what I want." She rested her hands on his taut, narrow waist and looked up at him. "And I've decided"—she tugged his shirt from his jeans and undid his belt—"I want you."
She pressed a hand against the bulge in his jeans, boldly traced it with a finger, then looked up at him. "You're hard," she stroked him again. "And big." Very big. Maybe those rumors in the tabloids were true. Lucky girl, she was going to find out.
"I get by."
She smiled up at him. "I bet you do." She unzipped him and caressed him through his briefs: marble, long, thick, perfectly carved. "And you should know"—she ran her finger from his base to his tip—"that my swearing off sex for two years doesn't mean I don't like it. I do. A lot. And this"—she parted his unzipped jeans, leaned forward, and kissed his cotton-shrouded erection—"is the stuff of my dreams."
"Fuck!" He raised his chin, closed his eyes. She felt tension jack through his body, heard him swallow when he dug his fingers into her shoulders.
"Okay," she mumbled. "We'll start there." She inched closer, braced herself by putting both her hands on his chest. His skin was hot. Burning. She made circles on his chest with her open palms, grazed his flat nipples, then played with one, twitching it with a nail until it stiffened. When she took it between her teeth, stroked it with her tongue, Cal growled and shuddered.
His heart pumped rapidly against the hand she held against his chest, and he brought his head down. "You're hot, Cameron." His low voice rumbled over her lips and his eyes narrowed to meet hers. "I like that. I like you."
He took her mouth, fast and hard. No more butterfly kisses, soft brushings, or whispers. Ginger felt his muscles clench and harden, heard the clamor behind his rib cage. "So let's get you out of whatever the hell it is you're wearing and get started." He lifted her, and she came off the bed to stand facing him, her heart crazy, her lungs straining for air. "Take it off, Cameron. Take it all off." A smile hovered briefly over his lips before he added. "I've been wanting to say that since the day we met."
She grabbed the bottom of her sweater, pulled it over her head, and started to undo the zipper on her slacks.
"Stop," Cal said. "Stop right there." He cupped her breasts, ran a finger along the fine lace of her scarlet demi bra. "Have you been wearing this kind of stuff under those clothes of yours all along?"
"Uh-huh."
He pulled the bra down to expose her nipples, took each of them between thumb and forefinger and tugged gently. When he looked at her, his expression was half annoyed, half amused. "Damn good thing I didn't know that, or we'd have been here long before this." He bent to take one aching, needy tip into his mouth. "Definitely sugar," he murmured, licking her with long slow strokes of his tongue before pulling back. He nodded at her wool slacks. "Off."
She stripped to her G-string panties.
Cal, his shirt off, his zipper lying open, the ridge of him jutting high and heavy from between his thighs, didn't move. His tone was deep, rough, and low when he said, "Hell, I could come just looking at you."
She shivered, not with the chill of the cool air hitting newly exposed skin, but because of the way he looked at her. Appreciation, desire—and raw, stomach-churning hunger.
"Turn around. I want a tour of Wyoming. And take it slow. Real slow."
"What's next? A lap
He laughed. "Nope. Just preparing you for my first rush of enthusiasm."
Ginger ran her hands over his chest. "I've got more than a little of that myself."
He picked her up with the ease of an Olympic weightlifting medalist and carried her to the bed. "You know there was a second or two when you first walked into my office that I thought you might be shy." He placed her in the middle of the bed, stepped back, and started unbuttoning his shirt.
Ginger got to her knees and replaced his fingers with her own. "I am." She undid the final button. "Until I make up my mind what I want." She rested her hands on his taut, narrow waist and looked up at him. "And I've decided"—she tugged his shirt from his jeans and undid his belt—"I want you."
She pressed a hand against the bulge in his jeans, boldly traced it with a finger, then looked up at him. "You're hard," she stroked him again. "And big." Very big. Maybe those rumors in the tabloids were true. Lucky girl, she was going to find out.
"I get by."
She smiled up at him. "I bet you do." She unzipped him and caressed him through his briefs: marble, long, thick, perfectly carved. "And you should know"—she ran her finger from his base to his tip—"that my swearing off sex for two years doesn't mean I don't like it. I do. A lot. And this"—she parted his unzipped jeans, leaned forward, and kissed his cotton-shrouded erection—"is the stuff of my dreams."
"Fuck!" He raised his chin, closed his eyes. She felt tension jack through his body, heard him swallow when he dug his fingers into her shoulders.
"Okay," she mumbled. "We'll start there." She inched closer, braced herself by putting both her hands on his chest. His skin was hot. Burning. She made circles on his chest with her open palms, grazed his flat nipples, then played with one, twitching it with a nail until it stiffened. When she took it between her teeth, stroked it with her tongue, Cal growled and shuddered.
His heart pumped rapidly against the hand she held against his chest, and he brought his head down. "You're hot, Cameron." His low voice rumbled over her lips and his eyes narrowed to meet hers. "I like that. I like you."
He took her mouth, fast and hard. No more butterfly kisses, soft brushings, or whispers. Ginger felt his muscles clench and harden, heard the clamor behind his rib cage. "So let's get you out of whatever the hell it is you're wearing and get started." He lifted her, and she came off the bed to stand facing him, her heart crazy, her lungs straining for air. "Take it off, Cameron. Take it all off." A smile hovered briefly over his lips before he added. "I've been wanting to say that since the day we met."
She grabbed the bottom of her sweater, pulled it over her head, and started to undo the zipper on her slacks.
"Stop," Cal said. "Stop right there." He cupped her breasts, ran a finger along the fine lace of her scarlet demi bra. "Have you been wearing this kind of stuff under those clothes of yours all along?"
"Uh-huh."
He pulled the bra down to expose her nipples, took each of them between thumb and forefinger and tugged gently. When he looked at her, his expression was half annoyed, half amused. "Damn good thing I didn't know that, or we'd have been here long before this." He bent to take one aching, needy tip into his mouth. "Definitely sugar," he murmured, licking her with long slow strokes of his tongue before pulling back. He nodded at her wool slacks. "Off."
She stripped to her G-string panties.
Cal, his shirt off, his zipper lying open, the ridge of him jutting high and heavy from between his thighs, didn't move. His tone was deep, rough, and low when he said, "Hell, I could come just looking at you."
She shivered, not with the chill of the cool air hitting newly exposed skin, but because of the way he looked at her. Appreciation, desire—and raw, stomach-churning hunger.
"Turn around. I want a tour of Wyoming. And take it slow. Real slow."
"What's next? A lap
Similar Books
