Hot Under Pressure (25 page)

She wanted all of him inside her, where she could keep him and never let him leave her again, but that was crazy, of course it was, and she’d settle for his fingers.

Or something even better …

Chapter 23

If Beck’s mission was to get Skye naked and lick her from head to toe, her mission seemed to be to foil him by being the sexiest thing on the planet.

How had he lived without this for so long?

No woman, anywhere, came close to lighting Beck on fire the way his soon-to-be-ex-wife did.

Even the unwelcome splash of cold water that came with the memory of her demand for a divorce couldn’t cool the flames she’d ignited with her responsiveness, her silky body, her generous curves.

In fact,
generous
was the perfect word to describe Skye. A gorgeous, unclothed Lady Bountiful, writhing over his cock like a woman who knew what she wanted from life—and what she wanted was Beck.

After all this time. She still wanted him. And God in heaven, but he wanted her.

He’d thought one last time with Skye would be enough … but now he wondered. Would anything be enough?

And if it turned out they wanted more from each other than a goodbye fuck before parting ways forever …

How badly did she want that divorce, anyway?

Maybe … just maybe he could change her mind.

The notion sent a lighting bolt of energy surging through his veins. He could feel the beat of his heart in the thick heat of his throbbing erection, doubling and redoubling like a train picking up speed until he was hurtling down the track fast enough to break his neck.

Contorting his upper body to reach his pants on the floor was a risky maneuver in light of Skye’s balance issues, but the reward would be worth the way she squeaked and immediately tipped sideways if he could just get his fingers on … ah.

The foil condom wrapper crinkled satisfyingly as he nipped it out of the pocket of his discarded jeans and held it aloft, triumphant.

Skye was busily trying to right herself, the struggle with gravity and her own center of balance doing amazingly awesome things for her unfettered breasts, and Beck suddenly had to have her.

What was more, he had to be in control.

His mind clicked through the possibilities with tactical precision. He could turn her and lay her lengthwise on the futon, but the angle of the back would mean a lot of bracing and sliding, not the freedom of movement he wanted. He could set her aside and wrestle the futon into its flat, bedlike configuration, but the lever likely hadn’t grown
less
temperamental over the years.

That option entailed the unacceptable risk that a long delay might prompt Skye to think better of what she was doing, to remember that she didn’t want him anymore, not really. And the longer he sat here, debating and strategizing, the more likely that outcome became.

Making an instantaneous command decision, Beck got a firmer grip on Skye’s delectable rear, gathered his balance, and stood up in a controlled rush.

Skye, of course, flailed and clung to him—which was half the advantage of this particular course of action, as far as Beck was concerned.

The other half came after he’d strode the two steps necessary to place Skye’s back against the wall of her office and pin her there like a beautiful, wide-eyed butterfly.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you did that. You’re going to give yourself a hernia if you’re not careful!”

Burying his face in her shoulder to hide his laugh, Beck shifted her weight to rest on his left forearm—not that hard to do, since she was taking care of a lot of the work of holding herself up by clamping her thighs around his waist and winding her arms around his shoulders.

“I like the way you feel when I pick you up,” he told her, meeting her disbelieving eyes. “You’re solid. Real.”

Red tinged her cheeks, and Beck bit down on a curse. Shit, that didn’t sound good. What woman wanted to be solid?

How could he explain what it meant to him to know, in every sinew and with every flex of muscle, that she was there with him? “I like it,” he repeated stubbornly. “You feel good in my arms, soft and sexy. Not like some bag of hollow sticks poking at me.”

Her cheeks were still red, but now she was giving him a shy smile, and Beck’s chest opened up with relief. Giddy with it, he fumbled the condom up to his mouth and ripped the foil wrapper open with his teeth, making her eyes go even bigger.

An instant of one-handed dexterity later, and her eyes went soft and hazy, her pink lips parting on a sigh that Beck felt through his whole body, every bit as intensely as he felt the wet heat of her sex closing around the latex-covered tip of his cock.

He had to concentrate in order to keep his fingers from digging into the taut, quivering mounds of her ass, leaving bruises on her creamy skin.

Instead, with as much delicacy as the throbbing of his erection would allow, Beck relaxed his arms and let gravity slide her down, down, down until every inch of him was sunk into the soft, searing depths of her.

When she came to rest against him, her sex sealed to his pelvis and her thighs trembling with the shock of his penetration, Skye groaned and clutched at his shoulders. Beck devoured her with his eyes, every reaction, every shudder and quake of her responsive body as precious to him as the pleasure overloading his system.

He didn’t know how long it had been for her. He reminded himself that he had to go slow. Be gentle. Remember how much bigger he was, how much he could hurt her in his rush to satisfaction, and go easy. Let her set the pace.

But Skye tipped her head back and gasped out, “Move, please … oh God,” and all of Beck’s good intentions went up in flames.

His hips leaped forward, like a racehorse loosed from the starting gate, and jammed his cock harder and deeper into her. He thrust again and again, delirious with the slick, tight clutch of her around him, drunk on the way her internal muscles quivered and pulsed, pulling at him as if trying to milk the orgasm from his body.

Setting his mouth to the spot on her neck that was already becoming livid with the bruise he’d sucked there earlier, Beck licked at the sensitive skin to make her gasp, then set his teeth against the spot and bit down. All he knew was the need to claim her, inside and out.

The drive to make her his, irrevocably and completely, so the whole world would know, pushed him into the last fiery, convulsive thrusts that ground him against her until she tensed and cried out a high, reedy wail of pleasure.

His own climax followed a heartbeat later as lightning shot up his spine and down into his legs where they braced their shared weight against the office floor. He panted through it, openmouthed and silent, with the taste of Skye’s skin filling his mouth and the scent of her all around him.

For long moments, they sagged against the wall, spent and overwhelmed. Finally, though, Skye stirred restively, and as she dropped her legs from around his hips, he lowered her to the ground. The movement made his cock slip out of her, which sucked, but he had to deal with the condom anyway.

Making sure Skye was steady enough to lean against the wall on her own, Beck stripped the condom off and tossed it in the garbage can by the desk before turning back to the most gorgeous sight he’d ever seen.

Skye Gladwell, in the glorious, luscious, naked flesh, all languid and leaning and bright-eyed. Her creamy skin still showed the hectic flush of arousal, and there was a soft, satisfied smile curving her pink mouth. Her strawberry-blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in a silky mass that begged for his hands, the ends curling down almost to the tips of her gorgeous, uptilted breasts.

He stood there, drinking her in, and the moment stretched on until she couldn’t help but notice his stare.

For once, though, she didn’t make a move to cover herself. She didn’t glance away, or blush, or duck her head. Instead, her smile widened and her stance opened, inviting him in.

She lifted her arms from her sides, Beck moved without conscious thought, his feet carrying him into the lush welcome of her embrace.

He was home.

*   *   *

There was a particular ridge in the mattress of the old futon where, over time, the stuffing had gotten pushed and prodded into sticking up.

Before Skye even blinked her eyes open, she felt that diagonal line of hard discomfort pressing into her side. Not yet fully awake, she grunted in annoyance and wriggled away from it and closer to Beck, who, like always, was taking up about eighty-five percent of the available mattress.

Wait.

Skye’s eyes popped open, and she levered herself up on one elbow, trying to figure out where she was and what the hell was going on.

Yep, there was Beck, hogging the mattress, his bare back rising like a mountain from the sparse covering of the ratty cable-knit throw he’d pulled over them last night.

After they had sex.

Amazing, exhilarating, soul-satisfying wall sex.

And then they’d fallen asleep on their dilapidated futon—their marriage bed—just like old times. Skye had even gravitated toward her old side of the bed, uncomfortable ridge and all.

In the moments between sleeping and waking, it had been easy to mistake this morning for any other morning during their brief marriage … but those days were over. Or at least, they were supposed to be.

Flopping back down on her back, Skye stared up at the ceiling. There had to be something wrong with her, some terrible moral flaw, because even though she knew she should, she couldn’t make herself regret what had happened last night.

Beck had opened up to her, more than he ever had before. She’d gotten a short, searing glimpse into his inner life, the storm that raged behind his dark eyes and stoic facade, and she’d been sucked into it like Dorothy going up in the twister.

She’d wanted to give Beck comfort, to show him with her body, since words hadn’t reached him, that she truly forgave him.

But it hadn’t been one-sided. Beck had given her something, too. She’d never, in her whole life, felt so desired. So necessary. So beautiful. It was a gift, and Skye hugged it to her chest.

This morning she might have pillow creases in her cheeks and a wild snarl of bedhead turning her hair into a natural disaster area, but last night she’d seen herself through Beck’s eyes … and she’d been beautiful.

Beside her, Beck stirred and the sheet pulled taut between them, rolling her closer to the decadent, intense heat of his body. Feeling daring, Skye put her hand on the smooth, hard plane of his lower back, just above the sexy dip at the top of his ass. His skin was fine-grained beneath her fingers, like polished wood, but with the living, breathing beat of his heart pounding through it.

In books, people always seemed to look different when asleep—more innocent, or younger. But Beck seemed the same to her: a silent, immovable statue. A mystery.

Even his tattoo … squinting in the dim morning light filtering in from the high window above her desk, Skye cocked her head to try to make it out.

It was on the shoulder Beck slept on, and he had his right arm pillowing his head, which twisted the tat and pressed part of it into the mattress. Flicking a glance over Beck’s sleeping face, Skye carefully sat up on her knees and put a hand on Beck’s top shoulder.

Exerting gentle pressure, she tried to get him to turn over on his stomach so she could get a better look at the swirling pattern of dark blue lines radiating out from his right shoulder blade.

They almost looked like words …

Skye
meep
ed as the immovable statue suddenly moved.

Without warning, between blinks, Skye was on her back staring up at Beck’s fully awake face, both her wrists imprisoned in his large fists and pressed to the mattress on either side of her head.

For one, terrifying heartbeat, she stared up into black eyes that held no light of recognition.

But then her heart pounded out another beat, kicking painfully at her chest, and Beck blinked. His whole face changed—a slow grin crinkled the skin at the corners of eyes that now sparked with desire, amusement, affection.

“Can I help you with something?”

His morning-rough voice reverberated through her ribcage where they were pressed so tightly together. His weight, which had been crushing in that first instant, was still heavy—but now she felt safe, sheltered, coccooned.

For some reason, the words
I wanted to see your tattoo
wouldn’t come out.

Feeling an embarrassed flush spread over her skin, Skye flexed her wrists in his grip and said, “Just wondering if you wanted coffee or something before we have to get back to the competition kitchen.”

The hold on her arms had turned into a caress, more than anything. His thumbs brushed back and forth over her pulse points in a hypnotic rhythm. “I want something before we go … but it isn’t coffee.”

Giddy delight burbled up in Skye’s chest. It came out as a breathless laugh, and she squirmed beneath him, loving the rasp of his body hair against her skin, the power of his heavy chest trapping her between the ancient futon and the vivid sensations overtaking her.

Beck’s hands trailed down her arms and over her breasts as he moved down the center line of her body, fingers following the shape of her, mouth searching out her sensitive places as if it had been just a day, instead of ten years, since they’d last woken up together.

As he kissed his way over her stomach, Skye fought the urge to suck in. To distract herself, she concentrated on the sensation, the contrast of his soft lips with the scratchy stubble of beard rasping at her skin.

He kept going down, down, his hands moving to part her thighs as he lay between them, and Skye nearly lost it.

She knew what he was about to do, and she’d never been comfortable with it. Even when they were together before, they’d get to this point and she’d laugh, or pull away and detour him with kisses until he forgot about putting his mouth … down there.

There was just something so vulnerable about it. So exposed. But as he pressed a gentle kiss to the crest of pale curls at the top of her mound, he flicked his eyes up to hers as if to say, “Is this okay?”