Текст книги "Last Second Chance"

Автор книги: Caisey Quinn

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-One

Stella could hardly believe her own ears.

She was tied up like an animal, and she wanted a man she wasn’t even dating, a man who wasn’t even her boyfriend, a man who—technically—she was forbidden from having a relationship with, to put his dick inside her.

Not only that, she was begging him to fuck her. Not have sex with her or make love to her. She wanted it rough, wanted it to hurt just like the snaps of the riding crop had.

“I want you,” she moaned. “I want you to fuck me so hard.”

The room seemed to be spinning out of control. It felt as if she were suspended naked in mid-air. She was lost in the sensations he was provoking with his mouth and fingers. The rough stubble on his face created a deliciously fiery friction against her smooth inner thighs. The room around them vanished completely—even the ropes didn’t sting against her wrists or ankles anymore. All she felt was her walls clenching on emptiness. And that place inside of her that pulsated intently, needing him.

“I need you. I need you, sir. Please.” She felt no shame in asking, in pleading. Not while her most private parts were in his mouth. All she felt was desire. She’d do or say whatever it took to relieve that ache he’d caused so far deep down she couldn’t reach. “Please.”

She wanted to grab him and pull him to her, force him inside her. But all she could do was twist and tear at her own restrained flesh. His fingers dug hard into her outer thighs, likely hard enough to bruise. But it still didn’t distract her from the throbbing inside.

“No.”

The word, and the lack of emotion in it, sent her crashing back to the cold, hard ground. He’d wanted her to beg—she’d begged. What the hell?

She opened her eyes without permission. Her body stiffened as he sat back on his haunches and watched her. He was still completely dressed. And she was sprawled out for his convenience. Everything hurt. Ached. Throbbed.

“No?” Now she felt ashamed. Humiliation washed over her, dousing her in the cold buckets of rejection she was used to. “Then why? Why go through all that with the ropes and the riding crop? This your idea of pleasure?”

He arched a brow. And she got it.

“Oh wait, this wasn’t about pleasure. It was torture. I forgot.”

He leaned forward, hovering above her. “How do you feel right now, Stella Jo?”

She glared into his face and withheld her words. Fuck him. He wanted to be an asshole, rile her all up, and then let her down? Then he could go to hell. She’d told him how she felt, what she wanted. But playing games was not her thing. They were playing a dangerous enough one as it was.

“Tell me. Tell me how you feel.”

His hand reached over and clasped the riding crop. She couldn’t stand the thought of letting him hit her with it again if he wasn’t going to finish what he’d started.

“I feel pissed, all right? And if you hit me with that fucking thing one more time and do not let me come, then you better leave me tied up.”

His answering grin made her want to slap his face.

“What do you want to do to me right now?”

“Slap you. Hard,” she answered honestly as hot tears filled her eyes.

“But you can’t, can you?” The gleam in his eyes further ignited her fury.

Her chest heaved, bringing her breasts into her own line of sight. “No. I can’t. But I doubt you plan to leave me like this forever.” She would’ve shrugged to feign nonchalance if it were physically possible.

“Tell me what you’re going to do when and if I untie you.” He stared down at her, clearly exerting his dominance.

Just as she opened her mouth to answer, he thrust two fingers roughly inside her.

“Oh!” she cried out unexpectedly.

“Tell me or I stop,” he said, plunging in and out steadily.

“I need to know… I need to know where this is going,” she whispered as she fought for breath. She had no idea how much more her body could take.

His arm flexed as he controlled every bit of her pleasure with his hand. Licking his lips, his eyes met hers. “Seriously? I think a better question might be where is it not going. And whether or not I plan to untie you.”

“I-I’m going to… I’m going to…” She let her head fall back as she enjoyed his assault.

When his mouth descended on her left breast, her body bucked against him.

“Please untie me.”

He sucked her already hardened nipple into his scorching-hot mouth and released it with a wet sound. “Why? Tell me what you’re going to do.”

She moaned as his mouth ravaged her other breast.

“I want to touch you,” she confessed.

“Where?” His tongue trailed a path between her breasts and up her neck.

“Everywhere.”

After kissing her softly on the lips, he crouched above her and began untying her wrists.

“Ankles too, please, sir,” she requested quietly.

“Not yet.” A small grunt of disapproval escaped her lips, and he captured it with his mouth. “You can touch me now.”

She grabbed him by the shoulders, clutching tightly as he returned his hand to that needful spot between her thighs.

“I can’t fucking wait to be inside you,” he practically growled in her ear.

“What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t like to rush things.”

She would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been on the cusp of a heaving orgasm.

“Tell me, cowgirl. Let go. Let me hear you.”

She cried out as she came. “Harder. I want it harder.”

He complied, adding a third finger. “Come for me, Stella. Come hard for me, cowgirl.”

She tore at his back with her fingernails as he deepened his thrusts. Her entire body felt as if it were about to explode around him.

“Van, oh God.” Just as he hit that spot, soothing that painful ache, she came, and he covered her mouth with his. She poured her carnal pleasure right into his mouth, biting and moaning against him. He took what she gave—kissing her with a nearly violent enthusiasm that equaled hers.

“Good girl,” he murmured into her hair as she fell back to Earth from whatever the hell had just happened to her. “Good girl.”

When Stella came to, her ankles had been freed. She wrapped herself around the warm body next to her.

“You back with me, cowgirl?”

She grinned into his side. “Mmhm.”

“You begged, you screamed, you threatened me with physical violence. I’m guessing you felt something.”

She felt her face flush as she buried it into his chest. “You are so bad.”

“Or so good, depending on your perspective.”

“Why was it… I mean, why did you, um…” She felt stupid. After what they’d done, talking about it shouldn’t have been a big deal. But it was. Apparently she was still the same old Stella, despite the multiple earth-shattering orgasms.

“Why did I tie you up and make you beg?”

She nodded against him, still unable to look him in the eye.

“Why do you think?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”

He rolled onto his side and brought his face to hers. “I took away your control so that you could let go. So you could focus on feeling and not thinking. You’re always so in your head. I had to pull you out somehow.”

Well that made sense. If anyone else had done something like that, she’d have expected it to be for purely selfish reasons. But somehow this man seemed to know what she needed even more than she did.

“And it was one hell of a view. I snapped some pictures on my phone while you were unconscious.”

She gaped at him, glaring when he grinned.

“Kidding. I’m in rehab, remember? I’m not even allowed to have a phone here.”

She relaxed against him. “Yeah, I remember.” She couldn’t help the bitterness that laced her words. Why couldn’t he just be a regular guy she was dating? Why did it have to be so damn complicated?

“Speaking of which, I should probably go.”

Stella glanced over at the alarm clock on her nightstand. It was well past lunchtime. She hadn’t realized she’d napped for so long. “Jesus. How long was I out for?”

Van shrugged as he sat up. “’Bout an hour.”

“Sorry.”

He pinned her with a strange look. “Do not apologize. I took some serious pleasure in wearing you out.”

That damn blush blossomed on her face again at the memory. It was one she planned to keep.

“You’re gorgeous always, but you’re fucking edible when you blush.”

His words lit her up inside. She wrapped her arms around him from behind as he put his boots back on.

“You know, I could, um, return the favor.” She slid a hand down his muscular denim-clad thigh.

Van leaned back and angled his head so he could kiss her. Softly at first. She wasn’t sure which one of them deepened the kiss, but soon she was straddling him on the edge of her bed.

He groaned. “As much as I’d love that, and as much as it’s killing me to walk away from your perfectly naked body, I’ve been gone a while. If anyone comes to check and sees I’m not at the barn, they might put out an APB or something. My manager’s supposed to drop by today.”

Stella slid aside so he could get up. She loved what he did to her, but she was done begging. For now. And he was probably right. He needed to go before anyone got suspicious. Wrapping her bed sheet around her body, she stood and walked him to her door.

“Thank you,” she said softly as he kissed her. “For last night and today.”

“My pleasure,” he responded with a wink.

“Not yet.” Stella let her hand caress him lightly over his jeans. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was rock hard.

“I better go before I can’t. See you soon, cowgirl.” Van kissed her once more before stepping out of her place. She closed the door and watched him glance around before heading across the property to his own residence.

Her mind couldn’t make sense of the situation they were in. Couldn’t conjure up a logical explanation for why they were risking so much when they barely knew each other.

But her body approved one hundred percent.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Van had known his manager was coming to see him. He only had just over forty-five days left in rehab and it was time to start signing paperwork and discussing the deal with Epitaph. What he hadn’t expected was for his friend Drake Ellis, his band’s drummer, to come along with him.

“To what do I owe this unexpected honor?”

Drake shook his hand and clapped him hard on the back. “Fuck, man. Look at you. All not dead and shit. Last time I saw you, you were a corpse, dude.”

“And yet you never sent flowers. Cheap fucker.”

Drake ran a colorfully inked-up hand through his mohawk. “Yeah well. I only send flowers to the chicks who give the best head. Sorry, man. You didn’t make the cut.”

Van placed a hand over his chest. “That hurts. You cut me deep, Ellis. You heartless bastard.”

Sid cleared his throat to interrupt the bullshit. “You two can save your emotional reunion for when Van gets out of here. Right now we need to go over the stipulations from Epitaph.”

Van led them to a back table in the private section of the Atrium. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

Sid eyed both of them to make sure he had their full attention before he began. “So first things first. All members will attend all signing and record or tour promo events and will remain sober and not destroy anything.” He shot a pointed look at Van. Van shrugged. Man had a valid point.

There was more. A lot more. Stuff about drug testing, the label assuming a limited liability for anything Van fucked up or destroyed. There was even mention of a curfew while on tour.

A month ago, if anyone had tried to pull shit like this over on him, he would’ve laughed in their face and told them to kiss his ass. But with the taste of Stella Jo Chandler still on his lips, he couldn’t find much cause to get pissed about much of anything. They could’ve told him he had to donate a kidney and join the Teddy Bear of the Month club and the grin on his face would’ve remained as he signed.

She had looked so damn good all tied up and exposed to him. He hadn’t taken an actual picture like he’d teased her, but he certainly had a solid mental one that was going to keep him company for as long as he lived if he could help it.

“Van?” Sid cleared his throat. “Ransom, you with us?”

“Tune in, dude. This is the heavy shit.” Drake’s voice broke through and Van looked back and forth between the men, who were looking at him like he’d started humming show tunes.

“My bad. What?”

“You high right now?” Drake asked with wide eyes. “Or did they give up on the rehab part and give you a lobotomy?”

He shrugged. “It’s been a good day. That’s all.” Good didn’t even begin to describe it. If he were being honest, the past twenty-four hours had been the best of his life.

“Uh huh.” Drake side-eyed him skeptically, but Sid looked genuinely disturbed.

“I can’t be happy? What the fuck?”

Sid sighed and shoved some papers forward. “Of course you can. But if you could come down from cloud nine for a minute, you need to initial each of these X’s. This is the clause about not fucking up, Van. So read each one, please, before you sign.”

Van rubbed his neck and took the pen from his manager. The two of them all in his face had effectively faded the vivid memory of Stella screaming and begging. Well, mostly. He tucked it in the back of his mind where he could get to it later.

He looked down at the papers dotted with red X’s. It was all pretty much the same shit. No drugs, no hookers, no trashing hotel rooms or tour buses.

But the clause at the bottom was new.

Any breach of the contract could be proven, and Hostage for Ransom would have two options. Either be dropped from the label entirely or the member who’d fucked up would be kicked out and replaced.

Whoa. That was a dick move that no one had ever so much as suggested before. And he knew the shit was directed right at him. He could practically feel the target on his fucking forehead.

“So I screw up and my ass gets replaced? In my own band?” His voice was calm as he looked up at Sid and Drake.

Sid met his stare. Drake just drummed his fingers on the table and looked around.

So that’s how it was.

“We discussed this,” his manager began. “You’ve had more chances than anyone, Van. Enough is enough. No sense in taking down the whole band.”

He let out a harsh laugh. “My whole band, you mean. The one I started. The one named for me, because it’s my fucking band.”

“Van—”

“Ease up,” Drake broke in. “We’ll all get your face tatted on our asses if that’s what you want. This is why I came along on this visit. To tell you that the band already talked about this. You go, we all go.”

He let out a breath, but the tension in his chest didn’t leave. Not completely, anyways.

Van looked over at Sid for confirmation. Drake wasn’t a liar, but Van didn’t trust anyone really. Sid had been the only one to really come through when he’d needed him.

Sid nodded, and Van finished signing and initialing. He slid the papers back across the table.

“That it then? Meeting over?”

He felt claustrophobic as fuck in private corner of the Atrium that Dr. Ramirez had let them use. And he was aching to see Stella again. He needed to hear those sweet moans, his name on her lips. Even if all they did was talk and give each other hell down at the barn. He’d take what he could get.

“That’s it for now. I’ll check in with you in a few weeks. Behave yourself,” Sid said as he stood.

“I’ll be out in a minute, Sid.” Drake made no move to get up, so Van remained seated.

Once the manager had stepped out of sight, Drake’s wild blue stare met Van’s.

“Hey, man, seriously. All that pretentious shit with the label… You know none of us give a fuck about all that. You do what you do. We do what we do.”

Van leaned back in his chair. “Meaning?”

Drake lifted a shoulder. “Meaning this is all bullshit and we all know it. Epitaph jerking your chain like this is fucked up. You shouldn’t be stuck here.”

Van was silent for a moment. A few weeks ago he would’ve agreed. He’d bitched Sid out the entire flight from LA to Dallas. Taken shots in the back of the SUV that drove him here from the airport. Tried to talk his way out of it all the way to the front door.

But then…he’d bumped into her on his way in. And strangely, he hadn’t felt stuck at the Second Chance Ranch for a single second after that.

“It’s not so bad,” was all he admitted to his drummer. The truth was, if he thought about it—really thought about it—if he weren’t here, he might actually have been dead by now. And they could joke about tatted-up asses all they wanted. The dirt would still be fresh on his grave and his band probably would replace him before his permanent headstone was up. Not that they wouldn’t be sad or some shit, but money was money. And even though it was music and it was personal to all of them, bands didn’t go around turning down major labels just because their lead singer had fucked himself all up.

“Yeah, I got something for you. Help you make it through for the next few weeks ’til you’re the fuck out of here.”

Before Van could ask what he was talking about, Drake pulled a small bag from his pocket. Red and blue pills filled it.

“What’s this?”

“A favor. It’s from Vanessa. Said she tried to get in but couldn’t.”

Van clenched his fist and eyed the bag on the table between them. Fucking Vanessa. Drake probably was actually fucking her. Not that Van cared.

When Val had left him, everything had gotten all fucked up and he’d no longer cared about much of anything. Not that it had been picture perfect before, but without Val, he’d lost his sense of gravity. Nothing had held him here. Nothing had mattered. So he’d gotten wasted every chance he got.

But now, freedom stared him in the face. A chance to float through the rest of this prison sentence in bliss, smiling and nodding. He wouldn’t feel the pain of the sessions with Dr. McLendon. The rabid claws of his memories would find no purchase when he was high.

Last week in a group therapy session, a woman named Brenda Buchanan had broken down, bawled her eyes out because her young daughter had endured so much because of her addictions. She’d said that the girl was a woman now, but she’d practically had to raise herself, and he’d thought of Val. Van had struggled to swallow as the woman’s pain had flowed over right onto him.

It had sucked.

Taking these pills, the ones he knew would check him right the hell out of here mentally at least, would also mean risking the one woman he wanted to have a clear head around.

He kept his hands clenched to keep from grabbing the plastic baggie.

“Naw, man. I’m good. No sense giving Epitaph some shit to cut me loose for before I even get out of here.”

The shock was clear on Drake’s face. “You sure? Or are you fucking with me?”

Drake had probably never seen Van turn down a single thing. Not women or drugs. He wasn’t the type to deny himself anything he wanted. Since he’d been in SCR, he’d turned down both.

And he hadn’t jungle fucked Stella like his dick had wanted to when she’d been tied up and helpless. He’d slowed down and given her what she needed instead of what he’d wanted.

A realization set in, surrounding him and separating him from his drummer.

He was different. He felt different. Somewhere between the hospital where Sid had told him he was going to rehab and this moment with Drake, he’d changed.

“Yeah, I’m fucking with you.” Van reached out and tucked the baggie in his waistband beneath his shirt. If he didn’t get rid of them, Drake would just take them. And while he couldn’t control what anyone else did, he could at least get rid of the junkyard shit Vanessa had probably bought from one of her tweaked-out junkie friends.

Drake laughed as he stood. “You had me for a minute there.”

Van forced a chuckle and they both stood. “Take care, man. See you in a few weeks.”

Van didn’t go straight back to his residence once his visitors were gone. He went to the restroom and flushed the pills. A slight twinge of pain as they swirled down the toilet forced him to realize that what Dr. McLendon had said was true.

He was an addict. And temptation wasn’t ever going away completely. But he had a choice. He always had a choice.

It felt good to make the right one for once in his life.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Stella took a deep breath and headed into her small office Monday morning. She hadn’t seen Van since he’d left her place on Saturday afternoon.

She had no idea what the protocol was for their unique situation. It wasn’t like he could call, as he’d pointed out.

As much as she tried not to think about him while she checked and responded to emails, her body seemed determined not to let her forget. He was a ghost in the room with her, his hands teasing their way up her thighs, his ink-covered arms wrapping around her, those eyes gleaming as a self-congratulatory grin spread across his face.

Every time she tried to become absorbed in the words on her computer screen, a slow steady throb would begin, reminding her of what he’d done. The more he invaded her thoughts, the more severe the ache for him became.

If uncontrollable lust wasn’t bad enough, the questions plaguing her made it nearly impossible to do her job.

She wondered if he was thinking of her, if he was ever going to let her reciprocate, if he was going to fuck her like he’d promised. She blushed at the memory of how she’d begged him.

She’d just clicked on a staff-wide updated policy memo when her searing memories went ice cold. The attachment was a very detailed list of discretions for which employees could be terminated.

Inappropriate relationships and interactions with clients was first on the list.

She was pretty certain that letting Van Ransom tie her up and make her come on his tongue would be considered inappropriate. She was also fairly sure that it wasn’t a coincidence that this less than friendly reminder was being sent out.

With the exception of Miranda McLendon, Stella had overheard nearly every single female employee plotting her way into Van’s pants. Even Miss Roberta, one of the custodial staff members who was well into her seventies, had mentioned how much she’d like a piece of him. Which had made Stella grin. But the rest of them treating screwing him like a competition made her feel sick. Was she the only one he was messing around with?

She wasn’t sure she had the right to ask, but she was damn sure going to. And if the answer was anything other than a solid yes, she was done.

Realizing she was setting parameters on her forbidden relationship that wasn’t even technically a relationship, Stella propped her elbows on her desk and dropped her head into her hands.

This was her problem. This was what she did. Tried to fit everyone and everything into a box with her rules and guidelines. Kept things neat and compartmentalized. She was pretty sure Van Ransom was not going to fit into any box or abide by any of her rules. He’d already broken them all, and she’d loved every second of it.

Per the instructions of the email she walked to Dr. Ramirez’s office and did her best to focus on the task at hand. A checklist, one about client comfort and preferences that she’d modified for him.

Knocking softly on the door, she heard voices coming from inside Dr. Ramirez’s office, so she waited until the current occupant stepped out.

Her eyes met Jesse Ramirez’s dark ones.

“Well, hey there, Stell. Look at you all cleaned up. I barely recognized you without the riding boots.” He winked, and she smiled in return.

“Hey, Jesse.”

She opened her mouth to ask him if he’d checked Mother Maybelle’s eyes lately because she’d noticed them looking a little glassy, but Dr. Ramirez called out to her before she could.

“Miss Chandler? Come on in.”

“See you at the barn, Jess. And hey, Mother Maybelle’s eyes looked a little hazy to me yesterday. Maybe check her out?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jesse answered with a nod. His fingers miraculously appeared on her upper arm, encircling it without her having seen him reach out to her. “And um, about that fraternizing situation we talked about?”

Stella’s heart slammed into her ribcage as she fought to keep her face expressionless. She’d read somewhere that the heart was a wild thing, that’s why ribs made a cage. It made total sense in that moment. Her heart was ready to take flight.

“Yeah?”

“Just…be careful, okay?”

Stella nodded as he released her arm and walked away. She wanted to ask if he meant be careful because he’d just told his dad what he’d seen or be careful because he was privy to some information about Van that she wasn’t. Her mind threatened to race off with her worries, but Dr. Ramirez effectively distracted her.

“Did you bring the notes on the checklist?”

“Yes, sir,” Stella answered, handing him the folder with the notes as she stepped into his office.

She straightened the skirt of her navy dress and sat in a plush leather chair across from him. Dr. Ramirez took the folder and scanned its contents. Fidgeting with the buttons on her cream-colored cardigan sweater, she waited for him to reveal that he knew everything, that he was disappointed in her, and that she was fired. A career in crime was definitely out for her. She felt like her every transgression was displayed on her face in Technicolor.

Instead, he pulled off his glasses and smiled warmly at her. “This will do just fine, Miss Chandler.” He handed the folder back to her. “The goal is to have all of these completed by the end of the week. Probably best to go in order of client surname.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, standing. “I’ll get them back to you as soon as possible.”

One week. There were nearly sixty clients currently at SCR—one who she was especially nervous about asking some of the questions on the checklist. But this was the job. She’d signed up for it, sought it out before she’d had any idea that she would encounter the enigma of a man that was Van Ransom.

On Thursday, Stella made it to the W’s.

Van had helped out down at the barn Monday and Tuesday evening, but Jesse had been there as well. Other than a few sly grins, he hadn’t even really spoken to her.

Which infuriated her.

She knew it wasn’t rational. It wasn’t like she was waiting for him to ask her to the prom. But surely he didn’t go around tying up women and giving them violent orgasms like it was nothing.

Surely it had meant something to him? Hadn’t it? Hadn’t she?

Her birthday was coming up, and Miranda wanted to go out for drinks again. She liked the friendly woman, was excited to actually have a friend. But Stella was nervous. She was bursting at the seams and utterly terrified that she was going to pour out her every thought since Saturday on anyone who was willing to listen.

Despite the lost sleep and painfully vivid fantasies that had plagued her, she was going to get through the checklist with Van if it killed her. Which it felt like it might.

She was determined not to let him see how much he’d affected her. Logically, she should’ve been thrilled that he wasn’t doing anything that would have looked suspicious to Jesse Ramirez. But logic wasn’t a factor in the equation of how she felt about the mysterious man who had taken over her thoughts.

Her stomach tightened as the butterflies in it began forming a mosh pit. Wiping her sweaty palms on her white wrap dress, she took a deep breath and knocked on his door.

When he opened the door in nothing but a towel, droplets of water still clinging to his expansive and artful chest, she almost let out a hysterical giggle.

Holy hell, she wanted to lick that water from his body. Dragging her eyes up to his, she tried not to notice that they were sparkling with amusement.

“Have I caught you at a bad time, Mr. Walker?”

The left side of his mouth quirked up. “I’d say you caught me at the perfect time, cowgirl.” He opened his door farther.

Stella squared her shoulders. “There’s a checklist we need to complete. But there’s no rush. We can do it another time.”

Van’s brow creased. “That’s too bad. I was hoping you were off the clock and looking for a good time.”

A good time.

That’s what it was then. Apparently that’s all it was. The questions buzzing like angry hornets in her head dropped dead immediately. She forced herself to accept it for what it was and ignore the stomach-plummeting disappointment it caused.

What he called a good time had felt like so much more to her. Because she was naïve and obviously an idiot. Her chest felt strangely hollow.

“Perhaps we should do this in the Atrium. Let me know when is convenient for you.”

Just as she turned to leave, a warm hand gripped her upper arm. His grip was much tighter than Jesse Ramirez’s had been. Her eyes went wide as she took in his hand on her and the possessive glint in his eyes.

“Not a chance in hell I’m letting you go when you show up on my doorstep looking like that.”

She glanced down at the plain white dress and back at him.

“You look like a virgin being offered up for sacrifice.”

“I can assure you I’m not.” She focused on her breathing as she stepped inside. She hadn’t exactly been completely sober last time she was here. Nor had she paid much attention to the décor.

It wasn’t quite as cozy as her bungalow. She passed through a small kitchenette and spotted a black leather couch across from a fireplace. Her eyes landed on a giant buffalo head above the fireplace.

“That’s Dave,” Van informed her.

“You named him?” She couldn’t help but grin.

“He’s an excellent roommate. Never complains about noise and cleans up after himself.”

“I see.” She bit her lip to keep from giggling.

“Have a seat. Let’s get this checklist business over with so we can get to more important things.” He aimed a pointed glance at the table where he’d tongue fucked her nearly to death.

Stella’s entire body flushed to the point of painful burning. Ignoring his insinuation, she lowered herself onto a kitchen chair. Fighting off the memory of him growling against her open legs when that same chair hadn’t provided him the access he’d wanted, she pulled out her folder.

“Um, this shouldn’t take long.”

“I have all the time in the world, cowgirl.” He eased onto the couch and she looked anywhere but at him.

“You could, um, change. Or put some clothes on. I can wait.”

“I’m good,” he said with a shrug as he stretched an arm with intricate tattoos wrapped around it onto the back of the couch. “Unless you’re uncomfortable?”

Stella took a deep breath. She was as uncomfortable as it got. Her heart was racing, her pulse seemed to have sped to an astronomical rate, and the steady throbbing between her legs was causing her to sweat.