Sabrina’s fingertips dug into his shoulders. “Wait! No! We are going to get caught, Ryan. I can’t. We can’t.”
He glanced up at her, one long finger sliding along the slick sensitive flesh between her thighs, his eyes dark and sultry, wickedly intent.
Her breath lodged in her throat, her flashes fluttered. “Oh, Ryan.”
Two fingers slid inside her, drawing out her gasp, and then uncontrollably, the arch of her hips. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he said. “Forget the door. We’ve blocked this one, and we’ll hear the one above if it opens.” His fingers explored, pumped. Sabrina bit her lip, then panted, unable to stop herself from rocking against his hand. “So wet,” he said. “So sexy.” His mouth came down on her stomach again. She was panting, her nipples aching, and she barely stopped herself from touching them. She’d never done anything as daring as this. She shouldn’t be doing this. But it felt so good, he felt so good. And… Oh, his mouth closed down on her, suck ling the swollen bud of her clit.
“Ryan. Ohh. I can’t…I…please, Ryan…” Don’t stop. Don’t stop licking and suckling and…touching.
Every objection faded to pants and moans she barely recognized as her own. All time slipped away. All concept of fear, danger. There was only the bliss of those fingers, those lips, his tongue. And yes, the danger. It was exciting, intense. Taking her for a ride, a wild, wicked ride, until she was tumbled into release with a jerk of her hips. All but shaking, little darts of tension fluttering low in her stomach, rippling through her and tightening into a ball of fire deep in her core. His fingers worked against her, caressed against the spasms tightening around them. Then slowed, as the spasms slowed. Easing her to a final ripple and then to aware ness. Her hand covered her face, her hair was in her eyes but she didn’t care. What had she done? What had he done to her? What did she do now? Suddenly, Ryan kissed her stomach, and, with skill no man should possess—or maybe every man should possess—he righted her clothes with the same, quick ease with which he’d undressed her. She let him, too. She couldn’t seem to make herself move, unsure of herself. What did one say after an orgasm in a stairwell? Thanks? How about a bed next time? Or even a couch? Goodnight? Yes. She needed to say goodnight. To regroup. To… He finished restoring her clothes and Sabrina darted forward in escape. Or she tried.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Ryan said softly, and suddenly, she was wrapped in his arms, his lips close, and those long, sturdy thighs of his molded to her own. “I’m not done with you yet.”
7
SABRINA COULDN’T BELIEVE Ryan’s lips were on hers again. She should be mad at his rather assuming words, I’m not done with you yet. She would be had any other man said that. But that deliciously firm mouth of his swept across her lips, not once but twice, stealing her objections before the slightest hint of tongue brushed hers.
He paused, only a breath from her mouth, as if he couldn’t make himself pull away. And that funny, unidentifiable flutter in her chest that Sabrina had felt once before expanded and stretched again. She’d been right to call him dangerous. This man made her forget everything but him—logic, reason, stairwells where she should not be getting naked. She had no idea what he was doing to her, but she knew she liked it too much.
Slowly, Ryan pulled back, fixing her in a warm inspection. “As much as I’d loved to walk you to your door and convince you to let me make it happen again, I have a ride to catch.” One corner of his gorgeous mouth lifted. “Discretion and all, you know.”
“It’s a little late for discretion,” she objected, a warm flush climbing up her neck at the image in her mind of her leg over his shoulder, her pants gone, while he did intimate, amazing, out-of-line and improper things to her. And to her dismay, she could feel the warm, wet heat regathering in the V of her body. And that made her mad. At herself. At him for having so much control over her. How had she let this situation get so out of control? “What if someone saw us?”
His hands slid to her face. “No one knows but you and me.” His voice lowered slightly, took on a promise. “And they never will.” He released her and sidestepped to grab the door and glanced back. “You still owe me a date.”
And then to her utter disbelief, he left. Ryan had just given her an orgasm in the stairwell of her building and left. Wait! This couldn’t happen. She couldn’t leave things like this. She couldn’t. Had she just used him? Or had he used her?
Seemed Ryan had a way of making her act without thinking, because she charged forward and after him. She needed something more than…well, an orgasm. Which was ironic because with most of the guys in her life, she’d have killed for just that.
Sabrina yanked the door open just in time to see the lobby door shut. She pursued, her heart racing as fast as her feet could take her. She exited to the warm Texas night right as the car pulled away.
***
SABRINA SIGHED AND RESTED her elbow on the coffee table. She sat on the floor in front of the couch, her Austin City skyline view streaked with yellows and reds as the sun sprayed the sky with morning flavor.
Sunday morning had arrived far too slowly considering sleep had been nowhere to be found. By 6:00 a.m. Sabrina had been up and making a pot of coffee. And now, at seven, she was fully dressed in her favorite faded jeans and a cool Harley Davidson shirt she’d picked up a few blocks away. Totally inappropriate for her father’s daughter, whom her mother had insisted be prim and proper at every public outing. But that only made her love the shirt more.
She had secret fantasies about riding a Harley and about riding a man who rode a Harley. A man like Ryan, she thought. She laughed to herself, thinking how appalled her mother would be. She loved her mother, but sometimes Sabrina thought her mother would benefit from a Harley fantasy or two of her own. When was the last time she’d seen her mother smile—really smile—not plaster on a camera-ready mockery of one?
Sipping from her mug, Sabrina savored the caffeine, and then punched a key or two on her notebook computer, trying to bring into focus an idea she had brewing for a six-part feature on race-car driving, highlighting everything from drivers to mechanics. But all she saw was Ryan. Ryan, who’d undressed her in the stairwell. Ryan, who’d left her in that stairwell. Ryan, who’d lured her to an indiscretion, yet had still somehow, in the end, given her discretion.
“Stop it, Sabrina,” she murmured. Stop thinking about Ryan. Frustrated with herself, Sabrina splayed fingers into her freshly washed hair and then she did exactly what she’d told herself not to do. Thought of Ryan. Of his claim that she still owed him a date. Right. Of course. He probably thought she was all kinds of easy. Why wouldn’t he want to go out with her? She’d be a fast track to bedroom bliss. Or…maybe he wouldn’t call at all. Maybe he would lose interest, considering how easy she’d been. Then she could worry for the rest of her life that Ryan would suddenly be one of those people who came out of the woodwork and told the world she was a hussy right when her father needed her to be an angel. For that kind of worry, she should at least have held out for the whole package—naked man and a long, hot night. But no. She’d settled for a stairwell. She deserved what she was feeling.