That’s a good question. But the answer is easy. “I feel like someone who needs you too. You need the job, sure. But, man, I need you. You make my job possible. You make me feel safe. You’re the best I’ve ever had.”

  He smiles wide now. Full of pride. “Thank you. But you need me to think. To anticipate. To be ten steps ahead.”

  “I do, and you are.”

  “But I don’t want to mess that up on account of the other stuff,” he says, his tone heavy. “On account of the way I’m all wound up.”

  “I don’t think you could mess it up.”

  He glances out the window. I follow his gaze. We’re zipping past The Extravagant now, heading away from our hotel.

  He turns back to meet my eyes, and his aren’t anxious anymore. They aren’t worried.

  But I’m not entirely sure what I see in them.

  Because it looks like he’s still working through a problem, turning it over, trying to solve it. “The thing is,” he says, taking his time with every word, “I need to be able to think clearly around you.”

  I give him the space to sort this out. I don’t want to assume I know where he’s headed.

  “To do my job,” he goes on, “I need to have a clear mind. I need to be around you and not . . .”

  Not wonder what it’d be like if we fucked?

  “Not be distracted?” I offer. That’s a little classier than what’s in my head.

  “Yes. Exactly,” Jackson says.

  But I need him to be crystal clear. We’re tiptoeing close to a line I’m more than willing to cross. Is he? I rub my thumb against my forefinger, hoping. “And what’s it going to take for you to have a clear mind?”

  He inhales deeply, then licks his lips. “Maybe it’s going to take going through the distraction, rather than ignoring it.”

  Ohhhh.

  Keep talking. I am listening.

  “And how would you like to do that?” I let him lay it out. He’s the one with the bigger risks, the one with the job worries.

  He gives a casual, sexy shrug. “Maybe we need to deal with it.”

  In the bedroom. Please say in the bedroom.

  “How?”

  “Get it out of our systems.”

  And there it is. The recipe for my favorite kind of activity.

  “Get it out of our systems . . . tonight?” I ask, waiting on a tightrope for the answer.

  “One time only. Then I can think.”

  My chest heats, and my lips form the only answer in my universe. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of your logic.”

  He looks like he’s vibrating with desire. Like he’s going to rip the back seat out if he doesn’t get his hands on me.

  “Stone, I don’t want to think right now,” he says, his gaze locked with mine, his voice low and dirty.

  “You want to feel? Tell me how you feel, then. Tell me how you feel right now.”

  His eyes blaze with lust. “Infatuated,” he says slowly, almost like he’s tossing it to me.

  And I catch it. Take my time with it too. “So infatuated.”

  He breathes out heavily, swallows roughly. Whispers in a voice like smoke, “Get over here.”

  I am there.

  With that invitation, all the meditation and yoga unravel.

  Or maybe they’d already unraveled.

  Maybe they unraveled when I got in the car with him alone. Maybe they unraveled when I told him about my resistance plan. Or maybe they’re unspooling now as I straddle him, sinking onto the outline of his erection, pushing my hard-on against his.

  I curl my hands over Jackson’s shoulders.

  Those tense, tight shoulders.

  Our eyes lock.

  His are blazing with heat and need. He stares at me like he’s dying to touch me. But like he has to as well. Like he’s compelled.

  And since I know he likes control, since I know he likes to lead, I wait for him to give permission.

  It comes first in his hands.

  They snake around me, sliding over my stomach, around my hips, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake, until they settle on my ass.

  Those big palms curl over me, and he growls, “Yes.”

  His groan is the most satisfied one I’ve ever heard, and that one word of approval makes me throb everywhere.

  “You like what you feel?” I whisper, my voice low, raspy.

  “I do,” he murmurs, then squeezes again, rough and hard. “Mmm. Yes, I do.”

  He’s like a different man after dark. He’s a new Jackson at midnight. He lets go. He shows me who he is. What he wants.

  He doesn’t kiss me though. Instead, his hands travel inside the back of my jeans, under the waistband of my boxer briefs. They curve over my flesh, and it’s spectacular—this contact. The way he feels. The way he feels me.

  He kneads my ass, and just breathes out hard, like this connection is all he wants. “This ass,” he says on a groan, letting his eyes fall shut. “I want this ass.”

  “You can have it,” I say, desperate, grinding against his dick as he palms me. One month has been hell. I am so wound up. So pent-up.

  “I know,” he says, his tone heavy, laced with lust. Keeping one hand inside my jeans, he slides the other one up my spine and into my hair, cupping the back of my head.

  Jackson licks his lips. Meets my eyes. Then he bends his head to my neck, sliding his lips across my skin.

  “Oh, fuck,” I grunt, closing my eyes. “Yes. That’s so good.”

  I rock onto his dick, desperate for the contact, even with clothes on, seeking out all the friction I can get from this fantastic ridge of a cock.

  He takes his time, all slow and lingering, fully in control as his mouth travels across my neck, his lips exploring me, his five-o’clock shadow rubbing against me. He makes his way to my ear. Bites the earlobe. Whispers, “So infatuated.”

  I don’t know if he’s talking about me or him.

  I don’t care.

  He clasps my face so I can’t move—just holds me in place so he can wander across my neck, my jaw, my chin. Sucking. Biting. Kissing.

  He stops at my lips. His are a millimeter away. And then he skims them against mine, and I nearly die from how good it feels.

  How soft his touch is.

  A gentle brush.

  A whisper of a kiss.

  Until it’s not.

  Until he jams the gas pedal and takes this ride from zero to sixty in less than a second. He slams his mouth to mine, spears his tongue inside me, and fucks my mouth.

  It’s wild and animalistic.

  He’s ruthless with his lips and his tongue.

  He’s a powder keg of lust.

  I want him to unleash it all on me.

  He kisses me like he owns my mouth. With teeth and lips and passion.

  He grabs my face harder and jerks me closer, tasting me, licking me. Holy shit. This man is fire. He is nothing but heat and desire. His hand holds my jaw in place, his thumb rubbing along my stubble, as he strokes that wicked tongue inside my mouth again and again.

  My cock aches, and I’m desperate for him to touch me, but I’m desperate for something else too.

  For him.

  When he breaks the kiss, he runs his thumb across my bottom lip then shoves it inside my mouth. I suck on his thumb ravenously, and he groans, then rasps out, “You look like you want your lips stretched around my cock.”

  I groan. “Correction: I want my lips stretched around your gorgeous cock.”

  Running his thumb over my top lip now, he lifts his chin, all defiant and challenging. “How do you know it’s gorgeous?”

  I answer him with actions. I grind down on his dick, moaning as I feel the length of him against my ass. Groaning as I show him how good I can take it when he gives it to me. Then I answer with words too. “I can tell it’s a thing of beauty by how thick it is. How aroused you are.”

  I rub on him again, rocking back and forth, driving him wild.

  Like I promised.

  And I always make good on my bedroom promises.

  He shudders. He leans his head back against the seat, his jaw clenched, gritting his teeth.

  “Stone.” It comes out strangled, less like an admonition and more like a plea.

  I lean closer to him. Bring my mouth to his ear. “Let me suck you off. Let me make you feel good.”

  Heat rages across my body. Lust licks my veins.

  I slide back so I can drop my hand to his pants, rub my palm across the outline of his erection.

  And he hisses.

  It’s a carnal sound. It’s the sound of relief, and the sound of wicked want.

  Jackson reaches for my hand, grabs it, and presses it firmly against his cock so I can palm his length, and, holy hell, he feels fantastic.

  He sounds even better when he utters a harsh command. “Get on your knees. Unzip my pants. And take me to the back of your throat.”

  Well, I can’t deny an order like that from my bodyguard.

  11

  Jackson

  Stone complies in seconds flat.

  He’s glorious to watch—such a performer, and he loves to show off.

  Right now, I’m the recipient of all that talent, all that stage presence, as he slides down to the floor of the limo, runs his hands over my thighs, and unsnaps the button on my pants.

  His lips crook up.

  His grin is so damn wicked.

  Dripping with sex indeed.

  His eyes flash with filthy intent, and I’m an electrical line, crackling, sparking.

  About to snap.

  That’s the problem.

  It’s been ages.

  But my God, his mouth is an instrument of seduction too, even like this, even as he presses his lips against my covered erection, murmuring, “I’m going to suck you so fucking good. You’ll be moaning and groaning and begging to come.”

  That’s where he’s wrong.

  I’ve got to tell him I won’t last long. Fair’s fair in the bedroom—or the limo, as the case may be.

  But once those fingers slide down the zipper, my brain can’t quite make words form on my tongue.

  Especially when he tugs at my boxer-briefs.

  When he says the filthiest things.

  “Show me. Show me that beautiful cock I know you have.” Stone writes an ode to my dick as he frees me from the confines of my briefs.

  My cock salutes him, reporting for duty.

  Loud and proud.

  “Happy birthday to me,” he groans, while I run a hand along the side of his face, roping my fingers through his hair.

  “There you go. All for you,” I tell him, my voice rough as my hold on anything but desire fades into the night.

  “You’re magnificent,” he says, rubbing his cheek against my dick, and I moan. “I knew it. Knew your dick was going to be a masterpiece. It’s a work of art, man.” Raising his face, he wraps a fist around my length.

  “Ahhh,” I moan, because, yeah, my brain can’t access the speech portion anymore.

  I can only feel.

  I shudder, my breath hot and heavy already as he strokes me. One nice, long, tight stroke all the way to the base and back up, his thumb sliding over the head, swiping a bead of pre-come from the tip. He brings his thumb to his mouth, licking my arousal off, and it’s a miracle I’m not spurting this second.

  “Mmmm. You taste like you want me so damn much,” Stone says in a satisfied hum, then he blows a warm stream of air across my shaft.

  And that—

  That turns me on.

  That makes my dick leak.

  I do want him, so much so I’m shaking with lust.

  I grip his head with both hands, trying to maintain some shred of control, some semblance of being a man getting blown, not a teenager.

  But hell, this is hard.

  His hand slides back down my cock, his lips brushing the head, making me tremble with need.

  The need to get off.

  To get off with another person for the first time in nearly two years.

  Stone flicks his tongue against the crown, and my hips jerk up, my body begging for him to take me all the way. Soon, I’ll be begging with words. I need to get this under control. I have to find the will. Have to tell him this may only take seconds.

  With my fingers coiled on his skull, I clear my throat, tugging him away from my dick. “I’m not going to last long,” I mutter, staring up at the ceiling of the limo.

  But when my gaze returns to him, the man is grinning, all wicked and satisfied. “That so?”

  “It’s been a while,” I admit, a little embarrassed.

  Or maybe a lot.

  “A long while,” I add.

  His grin disappears. His green eyes are open, judgment-free. “You can fuck my face for an hour or for a minute. I’m down for anything.”

  I swallow roughly, grateful that Stone’s not asking more questions. “Bet on a minute,” I tell him, a wry grin tugging at my lips too.

  “Good. Because that means I can make you come again, then. There are so many fun ways to get off, don’t you think?”

  Stone doesn’t seem to care about the answer, since he bats my right hand away so he can dip his face into my lap again. He sucks the head between his lips, making my pulse surge and wildly thrum through my entire being.

  After pushing my pants farther down, he slides a hand under my cock and cups my balls. My skin sizzles all over as he plays with me, as he murmurs against my dick, licking stripes up the underside as he talks. “Love that you’ve got size everywhere. Your cock, your balls—there’s more of you to play with. More of you to lick and suck and tease.”

  But he doesn’t tease.

  He takes.

  He takes all of me in seconds, drawing me to the back of his mouth until I am lodged in his throat. It’s miraculous how fantastic it feels.

  I hiss, my hips shooting up as desire ricochets through me. Tightens in me instantly, a storm of lust brewing in the base of my spine as I sink into the bliss of contact, of desire, of touch.

  It’s been so long.

  But this is like riding a bike.

  And I let go of the handlebars, flying downhill.

  I let go of all my stress, let go of everything else in the world. I give in to the delicious torture, to the mind-bending blur of the twin sensations of him tugging on my balls as he swirls his tongue all along my shaft.

  I give myself over to the foreign feeling of this.

  This thing I haven’t indulged in for so long—pleasure with another person.

  And now, I want to indulge in everything. Want to have every ounce of ecstasy, of lust.

  Most of all, I want to come.

  I want to come in his throat.

  Want to watch his lips suck my dick hard.

  Want to see his eyes roll back in his head as I fuck his sinful mouth.

  I snap my eyes open, savoring the sight in front of me, the rock star between my legs, devouring my cock. His right hand slides up and down my thigh, and his left plays with my balls while his lips are stretched wide around my shaft.

  All of me so damn deep in his mouth.

  It’s filthy, the way he sucks me to the root. Filthy and beautiful as he rocks his mouth up and down my dick. My hands curl tighter around his head, gripping him, driving him deeper onto my shaft as lust crackles along my spine, builds in a fury, and then explodes.

  Savagely.

  I shove in farther as my body sizzles, and I warn him of my release. “Coming. Coming now.”

  I toss my head back, grunting, growling.

  Losing all my control as I climax down his throat.

  My world spins off its axis as I pant, moan, and shake. Everything is black and beautiful, and I am so far gone I can’t think, can’t speak.

  All I can do is groan over and over.

  I can’t even stop when he lets go of me with a loud, wet pop.

  I can’t stop when he climbs back up on me, straddling me again.

  Or when he wraps his arms around my neck, threads his fingers through my hair, and brushes a tender, sexy kiss to my lips.

  I can taste myself on him.

  Most of all, I can taste pleasure again.

  I know I should stop. But I’m not thinking when my hands roam around his hips and back to his jeans, the lure of his ass too powerful for me.

  I want it.

  I want him.

  I want to bury myself in his body and let the pleasure wash over me. Let it drag me under.

  Because this is the antidote to the last two years.

  To the pain, the numbness, the stress.

  But if I sleep with him tonight, I’ll come in two minutes instead of one.

  And I can’t have that. I can’t add my current short fuck-fuse to the equation. I’m going to need to build up my endurance again before I go there.

  Go there?

  What the hell?

  I’m not going there.

  I cannot be seriously thinking about taking my boss to bed.

  I can’t. I won’t. I’ll stop.

  I have to.

  Blow jobs are one thing.

  Sex is another matter entirely.

  Endurance or no endurance, sex isn’t something I should do with him.

  But then again, this night does exist in its own parallel universe.

  It’s a one-time-only space.

  And there are plenty of other things to do besides fuck.

  I clear my throat, my voice hoarse when I speak. “So, was that about ninety seconds?”

  He laughs. “Give or take.”

  I smirk. “Round two.” I grip his ass. Hard. Firm. “Need to take you to your suite. Get these clothes off. Want to finger you, jerk you off, make you come.”

  He hums, like that’s the most delicious thing anyone’s ever said to him. “Under one condition.”

  “Yeah?” I arch a brow. “What’s that?”

  He bends his face to my ear and licks the shell. I gasp, shocked at how good it feels. “That I get to make you come again too.”

  Maybe I’m a selfish bastard, but that was always part of my plan. So I say yes.

  12

  Jackson

  The door shuts, and I am on Stone. Grabbing him. Pushing him. Manhandling him.

  He’s up against the wall, and I slam my pelvis against his, grinding and pressing.