Shattered by the CEO / The Boss's Demand: Shattered by the CEO / The Boss's Demand. Jennifer Lewis

Sultry. Like sex.

      Her arms looped around his neck, crushing her bare breasts to his chest, and the tip of her tongue traced his ear. Hot. Wet. She blew on the damp flesh. The effect was anything but cooling. A groan he couldn’t contain barreled up from his lungs.

      Tara had learned some new tricks since their breakup. Wondering who’d taught her made Rand’s stomach churn like a concrete mixer.

      In her room he stood her beside the bed. A small table lamp with a Tiffany shade cast a dappled puddle of Technicolor lights on the spread. One yank sent the covers flying to the foot of the mattress.

      “Condoms.” His voice sounded strangled.

      She folded her hands demurely in front of her waist as if she were self-conscious. But he knew better. She’d demanded this charade. And that took balls. “In the drawer.”

      He pulled the knob she indicated with a glance, located the box and ripped it open. Extracting a ribbon of protection, he tore one packet free and tossed it onto the bed.

      “Lose the panties. Keep the shoes.”

      A quiet laugh bubbled from her and a sexy smile tilted her lips. She looked up at him through her thick lashes and desire bolted through him, as jagged and searing as lightning.

      He cursed silently. He’d said the same words to her in the past. Back when he was foolish enough to believe she was his every fantasy come to life. Back when he’d believed he could play with fire and not get burned.

      Before she’d screwed—

      Don’t go there.

      But the chilling thought brought him a measure of restraint. He wasn’t going to think about…her other partners. Not here. Not now. It didn’t matter whether she’d had one other lover or a dozen. He’d dumped her. Not his concern.

      So why did the idea ride his back like a cheap wool shirt?

      Get on with it. Give her what she wants until she begs for mercy.

      She wiggled the lacy triangle over her hips and ankles then reclined on the bed with one knee bent. His gaze raked over her. Damp red lips, slightly parted. Taupe nipples tightly puckered on full, round breasts. The slight curve of her belly. An untamed tangle of golden curls. And legs…Tara had always had the most amazing legs. Long. Sleek. Toned. Her best weapon.

      Her shoes—definitely do me shoes—were a reminder why he was here and what she’d demanded of him.

      He reached for his belt with surprisingly unsteady hands. What was his problem? This wasn’t his first trip to the sheets.

      She watched his every move through slumberous eyes. His zipper rasped. He shoved his pants and boxers to the floor then had to sit down to remove the shoes and socks he’d forgotten.

      She rattled him. He took a sobering gulp of air.

      The mattress shifted beneath him. A whisper of warm, moist breath was his only warning before her lips brushed his nape. He snapped to rigid attention. Above and below the waist.

      She cupped his shoulders then stroked downward as if she were reacquainting herself with the feel of his back, hips and buttocks. She hugged him from behind, aligning her hot naked curves against him. Her breasts burned his skin and her hands splayed over his lower abdomen. His muscles contracted, bunching with need beneath the soft scrape of her nails. Her thumb swept across his engorged tip, catching a slick droplet and rubbing it in.

      A sharp stab of hunger had him sucking a swift breath. He bent to tackle his socks and shoes. Finally, he kicked both aside, then he turned and tumbled Tara back onto the pillows. He couldn’t let her set the pace. Couldn’t let her push his buttons. Couldn’t let her make him lose control. Couldn’t let her make him forget why he was here.

      Do the job.

      He kissed her on the lips. Hard. Fast. And then he worked his way lower. His tongue found and circled one nipple while his hand found the other. He plucked, sucked, rolled and licked until she squirmed beneath him and panted his name. Navigating south, he drew a damp line to her navel and then lower. Her fragrance went straight to his head. Both of them.

      Every muscle in his body tensed. It took him a full ten seconds before he could think again. He found her swollen flesh. Smelled her. Tasted her. Laved her. Sucked her.

      Too good. Too familiar. Too much.

      He traced her slick entrance with his fingers and then plunged deep. Her hips arched. She dug her fingers into his hair and whispered his name. Using knowledge he thought he’d lost, knowledge he should have lost, dammit, he drove her relentlessly toward a climax with his mouth and hands.

      Moments later orgasm broke over her, convulsing her body, contracting her internal muscles around his fingers. Her low, shuddery moan had him grasping himself with his free hand and damming the eruption about to happen.

      He clenched his teeth until the white-hot haze ebbed.

      What in the hell? He’d almost lost it. And he wasn’t even inside her. He hadn’t come prematurely since his teens. His early teens. And he’d almost—

      He shook off the unsettling thought. Tara had always had that effect on him. She’d always made him want to rush. Going slow with her had been a challenge every time.

      He grabbed the condom and shoved it on. And then he grasped Tara’s buttocks, lifted her hips and drove deep into the wet, tight glove of her body. Buried to the hilt, he froze, locked his muscles and fought for control as sensation scorched a lava trail up his spine.

      She’s a job, dammit. Do her. Screw her. Forget her.

      But she didn’t feel like a job. She felt hot and slick and soft and so damned good. The fingers she dragged down his back sent sparks skipping down his vertebrae.

      “Rand, don’t stop. Please.” She wiggled impatiently and clutched his waist. His brain short-circuited and his nerves crackled like downed power lines. He withdrew and surged in harder, faster.

      Do her, screw her, forget her, he silently chanted with each thrust.

      He tried to focus on the mechanics. His arms and legs trembled with the effort to hold back. His lungs burned. And then he made a mistake. He looked into her deep blue, passion-darkened eyes, and the hunger on her flushed face sucked him into a black hole of need. She cried out and her body quaked as another climax rippled through her.

       Did she come like that with him?

      The rogue thought slammed his libido like a submerged iceberg, stilling his movements, sinking his desire. Struggling to fill his deflated lungs and ban the repulsive image from his mind, Rand pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees and his head clasped between his hands.

      Damn. Damn. Damn. He couldn’t do this.

      When he had a measure of control he turned and looked at Tara, at her flushed face and her heavy-lidded eyes.

      “Good for you?” He bit out the words.

      “Yes,” she said on an exhalation. Her brow furrowed. She rolled to her side and reached for him. “But—”

      He shot to his feet before she could touch him and gathered his discarded clothing. “Then good night.”

      “But, Rand, you didn’t—”

      He slammed the bedroom door, cutting off her words.

      No. He hadn’t. But he’d come close.

      Too damned close to forgetting why he was here.

      Blackmail. His father’s. Tara’s.

      And he’d almost forgotten who he was, what was at stake and that she’d lied to him before.

      And that was a mistake he couldn’t afford to make.

      Four

      Why