We’re both ready again after waiting at the VIP check-in, and waiting in the elevator, and waiting during the walk down the hall.

  I am ravenous, and I’ve barely begun having him again.

  We kiss furiously, hands ripping at shirts, fingers tearing at buckles. Breaking the kiss, I tug his T-shirt over his head, and then blink at the sight. I’ve seen him shirtless often, but never like this. Never for me.

  I drag my hands up and down his hard body, over his strong arms, tracing the swirls of ink that travel over his muscles, then the stars that trail over his abs.

  “Mmm. I want to lick all your tats,” I murmur.

  Stone wiggles his brows. “I won’t stop you. Especially when you see the one on my ass.”

  I tremble. Everywhere. “Shut up. You tease.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  I grab his jeans, tugging at the waistband, yanking him away from the wall. “Need you in bed. Need to see you all hot and bothered for me.”

  “Consider it done,” he says, slinking out of my grip and sauntering over to the king-size bed.

  Sauntering being the operative word. Stone knows how to work a room, work a crowd, work millions.

  And he knows how to work me.

  When he reaches the bed, he turns around, kicks off his shoes, and undoes the snap on his jeans, then the zipper.

  My breath goes harsh with anticipation.

  With the thrill of him undressing for me.

  With the sheer wrongness of my employer taking off his clothes for me after midnight in a seductive striptease.

  The wrongness of my own give-no-fucks attitude right now, especially when he pushes the jeans down over his hips.

  I’m nothing but red-hot lust as I stalk closer, stopping a few feet away to take in the Stone show.

  He works me into a frenzy as he slides the jeans down and finally his cock springs free.

  Mine thumps hard in my pants, just aches as I stare at him.

  At how hard he is. How thick he is. How much he wants me.

  He pushes his jeans all the way down, his boxer-briefs too, then kicks them off. He grips his cock, rough and savage, his fist curling around his length, running down, then back up, showing me what he has in store for me.

  My throat is dry. My pulse pounds mercilessly everywhere inside me.

  And I have to have him.

  “Get on the bed. Lie down. Let me look at you,” I command.

  With a naughty grin, he spreads his arms out wide like a badass rebel angel and flops onto the mattress like that.

  He scoots up, sinking into the pillows, then eyes me up and down, his green irises salacious. “Why are you dressed? Get your clothes off, man. Get them off now.”

  “Maybe I like it when you’re the only one naked,” I say, toeing off my shoes and climbing on the bed, crawling over him.

  His hands slide up my chest, grabbing at my half-open shirt. “Get. Naked. Now.”

  “Patience, Stone. Patience.”

  “Screw you with your patience. You already came.”

  “Aww. Someone horny?”

  “Yes. Do something about it.”

  “I will. Just you wait.” I lower my hand to his shaft, grip it, and stroke it. “I told you I’d make you come. More than once. But first things first,” I murmur, sliding my hand along his length as my dick throbs, wanting to be set free.

  He juts up his hips, thrusting into my palm. “What are these first things?”

  “One. Show me your ass tattoo. Two, where is your lube?”

  I let go of his dick as he flips to his front, showing me.

  There, at the top of his right cheek, are three small musical notes.

  Perfect.

  Perfect for him.

  Irresistible to me.

  I dip my face, swipe my tongue over the ink, then bite him.

  “Ahhh,” he moans, writhing against the bed.

  And for that, I reward him with another bite—because he tastes so damn good.

  But I will get distracted from my endurance mission if I nibble on the notes, if I bite them again like I want to. I could spend all night worshipping Stone’s ass.

  I flip him back over, then move off the bed. “Now, lube. Where do you keep it?”

  His lips twitch in a grin. “Bathroom.”

  I jerk my chin up, questioning. “You just checked in. I’ve been with you the whole time.”

  He shrugs, a dirty smile on his face. “Standing order the hotel has for me.”

  I inhale sharply at the reminder that he’s a player. He might have handcuffed himself for the last month, but the man is so notorious for his sex life that the hotel supplies him with lube.

  This is only one night. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

  I turn the corner, head into the bathroom, and grab a washcloth and the bottle. Top shelf, of course. No surprise.

  When I return to the bedroom, Stone is stretched out, his dick in his hand, lazily stroking. It’s a hot-as-Hades image, all right.

  He lifts his chin at me. “How about you show me what’s under those clothes?”

  I toss the lube onto the bed, along with the cloth. “How about you let me set the rules?”

  He rolls his eyes, then strokes up, his hand sliding over the head, pressing hard on the crown.

  Turning me on even more.

  I stand at the end of the bed and unbutton my shirt the rest of the way. When I reach the last button, he slows his pace, lets go of his dick, and pushes up onto his elbows.

  “J,” he whispers as I undo my shirt and tug it off. He stares hungrily at me. “Look at you. My God, just fucking look at you.”

  Pride suffuses me.

  I’m well aware that size is part of the job. No one wants a small, thin bodyguard. Muscles, breadth, strength—those are basic requirements, and I have them all and then some.

  But still, his shameless, heated gaze as he drinks in my body is such a rush.

  And when I unzip my pants, push them down with my boxers, and drop them to the floor, the sound he makes is insane.

  It’s a cross between a grunt and a roar.

  “I feel like I just got in line at the amusement park. Like I have to be tall enough to ride this ride, and I am. And I am going to ride the fuck out of you.”

  I laugh as I get on the bed, nudging his legs apart. “You’re not riding me tonight, Stone.”

  And maybe not ever.

  Wait, there’s no maybe. We are not having sex ever. We can’t. There is too much at stake. Too much to lose.

  This is one time, just to get it out of our systems.

  That is all.

  Nothing more.

  Tomorrow I go back to doing my job and only my job.

  “But I’m still gonna think about riding you,” he says, returning to his ministrations to his dick. “I am definitely thinking about how that cock would feel inside me.” He lets out a shuddery breath. “Thinking about it right now.”

  I burn as I watch him.

  The need to touch him again overtakes me, and I grab the lube, flip it open, and move between his thighs. “Spread your legs.”

  He widens, giving me more access to where I want to be. I drizzle the lube on my fingers, then all over my palm, and swat his hand away.

  And I cross another line.

  I’m vaulting over all of them tonight as I grip my boss’s thick shaft, curling my palm around it and taking over for him.

  “Yes,” he murmurs, and it sounds like bliss.

  And if he likes this, if he likes my hand on his dick, I can only imagine how much more he’ll like this.

  With my other hand, I travel lower, tugging on his balls, pushing against his prostate, then making my way to where I want to be.

  His ass.

  I press a finger against him, and he lets loose an obscene “Holy fuck.”

  It becomes a chorus when I push inside, and I’m the one shuddering now. I fucking love touching him like this. Because I know how it feels, what it does to a man, how it turns you into a babbling, lust-struck maniac, wanting nothing more than pleasure.

  And I know what to do with my fingers.

  I crook one inside him, hitting his P-spot and making him moan. He grunts, fucking up into my hand as I add more lube and work another finger inside him.

  “Told you I’d take care of you,” I rasp out, loving the way he responds to every stroke of my hand on his cock, every thrust of my fingers in his ass.

  “Oh yes, you did.”

  My cock hangs heavy between my legs, and I know I’m leaking, but I don’t care. I want to be the one to give pleasure. Want to watch. Want to see someone else—see him—lose control. Lose his mind. Come utterly undone.

  Judging from the way his features twist, from the anguished curve of his lips, from the blissful agony in his eyes, he’s on that path.

  And I am determined to wring every last drop of ecstasy from him.

  All this pleasure, all this bliss will have to be enough for me. It’ll have to carry me past tonight.

  13

  Stone

  My bodyguard is a superhero. That’s the only explanation for what he’s doing to my body.

  And this is his superpower.

  Magic fingers.

  As Jackson hits that spot, dark pleasure gathers in me. He’s relentless. He scissors his fingers inside me, and I gasp. I grunt. I growl.

  “Jesus, man. What the hell are you doing to me?”

  “Fucking you,” he answers, all firm and commanding, kneeling between my legs, looking like a god with a body that should be illegal—so strong and powerful and wicked too.

  Wicked with his hand that grips me so tight, that strokes me so good.

  And I’m close, so damn close.

  But hell, I don’t want to come. Don’t want this to be over. I want to just lie here with him, squirming and writhing till my bones melt and my mind turns blank.

  Because that’s what Jackson is doing to me with those magic fingers that stroke and push.

  I arch my hips, seeking more. I can’t stop fucking into his hand and fucking down on his fingers, and soon, I don’t even know where the pleasure is coming from.

  I’m being fucked both ways.

  I’m being fucked every way.

  It’s a filthy ruining, and I want it, want it badly. I want to be pulled under.

  My muscles quake, my thighs clench, and I am done.

  I can’t even make words to signal an orgasm is on its way. But I don’t think Jackson cares. He’s working me over as I groan and grunt and come so damn hard in his hand.

  I’m panting as he eases out his fingers, wipes my come off on the cloth, then climbs over me, pinning his big hands on either side of my face.

  His lips crash down on mine, his body covering me.

  Electricity crackles through my veins from the unexpected crush of his big frame. From the weight of him. His hard-on presses into my stomach, and I push up against it.

  I raise my hands to his face, clutch his cheeks, and drag that sexy mouth closer to mine. I lose my mind in his kisses, in his scent, that cedar smell that drives me crazy.

  I rock up against him, my shaft hardening again. He breaks the kiss, laughing. “Really, Stone?”

  “Shhh. It’s my greatest secret. I can usually come twice in the first fifteen minutes.”

  Jackson arches a brow. “Let’s test that theory.”

  He pushes down against me, and I slide my hands along his sides, around to his ass, and grab him.

  My bodyguard’s ass is sheer muscle—hard and firm.

  I jerk him closer, then I kiss him, spearing my tongue in his mouth, nipping his lips.

  Slowly, like he’s keenly aware of the sixty pounds or so he has on me—bring it on, J, because two hundred fifty pounds of muscled man will feel so good—he lowers himself closer to me.

  An electrical charge zaps my body, and it’s incredible. I pull away from his mouth so I can groan. So I can moan. So I can let him know how good this feels when he’s on me like this.

  Because . . . the contact. Dear God, the contact with him is insanely arousing.

  “Yes,” I murmur. “Don’t move an inch away from me.”

  “How about closer though? You want that?” It comes out as a tease. A taunt.

  Like he knows what his body can do to a man.

  It can drive a man crazy.

  Can make a man hard.

  Can make this man want more.

  I want everything. I want it all.

  He has me writhing and begging, something I’m not afraid to do. “Bring. It. On.”

  “You want to feel all of me? You can handle it?” His whispered questions drift into my ear like a filthy invitation.

  “I can handle you, J,” I say, sliding my hands up and down his back, over his ass, and up again. “I can definitely handle you rubbing this body against me. Oh, yes, I can, and I want to.”

  “Give me room, then. Get those legs around me,” he says, and my skin tingles everywhere at his commands.

  I do as he says, spreading my legs so I can wrap them around his hips. I grind up against him, fully hard again, my dick rubbing right next to his gorgeous cock.

  “Mmm. Yesssss,” he murmurs, and he sounds like he’s melting, and that only makes me want more of him.

  I don’t have to ask, though, because he gives it to me.

  He drops his face to my neck, his arms roping around my head, his body pressed fully to mine. He’s no longer braced on his hands. Instead, we’re chest to chest, cock to cock, and I don’t want him to leave.

  The weight of him is intense, and if we can’t fuck, I need to get as close to screwing as possible. As close to this sexy-ass man as I can.

  I rub my cock next to his, and it’s incredible, the contact, the friction. His shaft is so hard and thick against mine, and I am ready—100 percent ready and then some.

  Jackson’s breath comes hard near my ear, and maybe he’s close, maybe he won’t last long.

  I don’t care. I’ll take whatever he has to give.

  As my hands trail up his muscled back, I whisper, “Don’t wait for me, J. Come whenever you want.”

  “I’m good,” he murmurs, then raises his face, bites my earlobe, and tells me a second time, “I’m so damn good right now.”

  A tremble rushes through my whole being at those words.

  Then, at the feel of him dry humping me.

  At the feel of what it would be like if we were fucking. He thrusts and rocks, and I push and grind, and lust barrels through me, a delicious, agonizing sensation.

  His hands curl around my head.

  Those big hands.

  I shudder as I picture what he can do with them.

  I already know how his fingers feel in me. I know how his palm feels on my length.

  I want his big hand between us. “Jerk us off like this. I want your hand on our cocks.”

  He lifts his face, his grin so naughty and sexy.

  He moves off me, and I nearly whimper from the lack of contact, but he grabs the lube, pours some into his palm, and then brings me next to him so we’re side by side.

  He slides up against me again, one strong thigh draping over mine as he reaches down and takes our cocks in his slick hand.

  This is all my wet dreams ever. A man like him. Pushing against me. Rubbing against me. One arm wrapped around my shoulder, keeping me close. The other hand gripping our dicks.

  Shuttling up and down.

  He goes full throttle, his big hand a blur, jerking us fast and furiously.

  He’s panting and grunting.

  I’m groaning and cursing.

  Wild sensations rush through me, and it’s like a tornado of erotic bliss. And soon, the pleasure torches my body. “Gonna come again,” I rasp out.

  “Come for me,” he grunts.

  But it’s more like come with me.

  Because we both detonate, coming hard, furiously.

  Together.

  Into his hand, onto his chest, onto my chest. Everywhere. God, it feels like it’s everywhere.

  Or maybe it’s only everywhere when he lets go of our dicks, jerks my body against his, and smears our releases together on our stomachs in a filthy mix of him and me, and sweat and heat.

  He collapses onto his back, pulls me on top of him, and kisses the breath out of me.

  I half want him to stay the night.

  But I know he won’t.

  And I’m fine with that. I swear, I’m fine with that.

  So fine that I tell him, “Tomorrow we go back to the way it was.”

  And he agrees instantly. “We do. Like it never happened.”

  He rises, gets out of bed, and cleans up.

  I go to the other bathroom and do the same, returning first to the bed, flopping down. I’m spent. Officially spent. A minute later, he’s hunting for his clothes. He pulls them on, then he glances at the time. It’s close to two. His shift ended a while ago.

  “Cruz will probably be outside your room by now.”

  I wink. “Just tell him we were having pizza.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Good pizza, Stone.”

  “It was great pizza.”

  Thirty seconds later, he leaves.

  And I tell myself I didn’t want him to spend the night, no matter how good the pizza was.

  14

  Stone

  Ever try not to think of someone naked?

  Let me rephrase.

  Ever try not to think of the stunning, gorgeous god of a man naked that you’ve already seen naked?

  If I thought a month of monking was hard, that’s nothing compared to the Olympian task in front of me as we begin the two-week prep for the show: don’t imagine Jackson Pearce naked every time I see him.

  But I am determined. The next afternoon when his shift begins, I do my best to school my expression.

  He meets me in my publicist Candi’s suite. She’s crisp, efficient, and has been fussing with my hair for the last minute. Pretty sure fussing is her favorite pastime.

  “There. You’re Instagrammable,” she declares.

  “That’s all you want of me.”

  She pats my cheek, then squeezes. “You know me so well.”