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“Think about it.” I kept my voice low, and with effort, I drained most of the seduction out of the tone. No reason to have the maid interested in our very private conversation.
It was a quick twist of my wrist to lift the hem of Rae’s flowing shirt. I grazed the bare skin beneath with my fingers and teased the waistband of her black leggings, working my index finger under the spandex to her hipbone.
She sucked in a breath and leaned back into me. “Trust me. I am.”
My cock jerked at the deliberate contact and the breathless way she answered. My grip on her waist intensified, and I longed to plunge my hand between her thighs.
The elevator opened and the maid exited. Finally.
The thunk of twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of bull semen hitting the elevator floor didn’t register through my haze of need. I cupped her jaw with both hands and turned her to me. Those fucking lips were going to be the end of me. Her mouth parted, and I surrendered to her pheromones, my libido, and the moment.
The taste of red wine flooded my mouth when my tongue swept into her lush mouth. I bent into her, my hands slipping to her low back and pulling her in as I curved my body over her and indulged in everything she offered. Touch for touch, she met my caresses with equal passion, moaning into my mouth as we explored each other.
The elevator bumped to a stop and the doors opened with a chime. Stumbling together, we lurched from the car, our lips not breaking contact until I had her pressed into a wall.
Oh shit.
I jerked back from her and slammed a hand on the elevator call button.
“Bull semen.”
Thankfully, the doors hadn’t closed for more than a millisecond and they sprung open. I grabbed the case and returned to Rae. She leaned on the wall breathing hard, ready to melt into the carpet. Her lush lips, swollen from my kiss, taunted me.
“If I kiss you again here in the hall, we won’t make it to your room.” I resettled my hat, knocked askew by our embrace, and offered her my hand. The black case bumped my thigh. I’d be up shit’s creek without a paddle if I lost Blue Star’s semen. No way my new boss wouldn’t fire me for a screw-up like that.
“Thirty-four fifty.” She tugged me down the left hallway but took her hand back after a few steps to search for the key in her small handbag.
I had to watch myself with Rae; she scrambled my brain.
Watch myself? Please. It was a single night, not the start of an obsession.
Chapter 3
Rae
Iputonefootin front of the other, concentrating on the ugly flower pattern in the hallway carpet. My body and brain reeled. I gripped the room key so hard the plastic card dug into my palm.
He asked me to tell him my fantasy. Did I have one anymore? Matthew had been an adequate lover. By adequate, I mean boring. Same old, same old.
I’d had the identical sexual interaction with him so many times in the last few years I could have written a play-by-play that would have made any sports broadcaster proud. From the same minimal foreplay to the mildly satisfying conclusion. Yawn.
But to be fair, it took two wheels to make a rutted road. And I had put very little effort into that department lately. Work and life’s responsibilities had drowned out any carnal urges long ago. I shook my head. Regrets weren’t my style.
I had a cowboy with knowing eyes and a wicked tongue literally panting after me, asking for my fantasy so he could make it reality. What the hell was I going to tell him? I wanted to seize this opportunity—er, him—with both hands.
Damn it. I should have read Fifty Shades of Gray when the ladies in my dog-walking group did. They’d all tittered about the dirty Mister Grey. Well, I had a real-life one and zero plan. Okay, one plan. It was based on that stupid country song,Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.
Yeehaw.
I tripped over nothing, the toe of my pink, sparkly ballet flat stubbing into the smooth if ugly carpet. My chivalrous cowboy put a steadying hand on my shoulder.
“Easy, darling. No rush.” He slipped his massive hand up and cupped the back of my neck, his thumb stroking a delicate pattern under my ear. A fissure of heat raced down my spine, stopping to curl in my belly before burning a path lower, deeper. Dry-mouthed and weak-kneed, I could have collapsed into a Rae-shaped lump of longing in the middle of the hall but for his hand guiding me.
No rush, was he kidding me with that? There absolutely was a rush. I was melting.
The slight tightening of his hand cued me to check the room numbers on the door. This was it. The beating of my pulse in my ears was louder than Chicago’s L train clattering overhead.
On the second try, I fit the card into the slot, but the handle stuck. I jiggled the door and huffed.
