Page 18 of Sexy Bad Valentine

“Isn’t he trying to reform his image now that he’s a family man?”

“He is,” I answer slowly. Could screwing up here affect my employment with Garrett Frost? Kelly makes it seem like a foregone conclusion if this thing between me and Max doesn’t stop. Not that it’s anything to begin with.

“So you’d want to make sure you didn’t do anything to affect that image, right? Because a very public lawsuit with a nationally recognized pet food company might be a problem for your employer. I’d hate for you to lose your job over Max.”

“Don’t worry,” I tell her as I turn my back and march toward the elevator. “I’m not into Max, and I’m definitely not going to date him.”

***

I pace the front step of Max’s sister’s house with a bottle of wine in my hand. It’s been three days since doggy date number one, and tomorrow is doggy date number two. I told myself I was just going to come over and shower Barclay with some affection because I don’t get a chance to with the other dogs around and I feel guilty about that.

“Right, if this is about a dog then I must be a compost bin,” I mutter to the wine bottle as I take another turn past the door. The door I haven’t yet knocked on mind you, which is why I’m not just here to pet the dog. It’s definitely not because I haven’t seen Max either, and I can’t stop thinking about him. Or why we need to behave more professionally tomorrow, which is so hard when he’s distracting me, and maybe it would just be best if we slept together and put whatever this is behind us.

“What are you doing?” Max asks, and I almost jump out of my skin.

Turning to face the now open door, I find him shirtless. My mouth drops open. No words. Nothing but drool. His chest is holy shit, and those abs, it’s like one of those old-fashioned washboards, or marble. Watching them move in and out with each breath is mesmerizing. The way they stack on top of those lines that disappear into his sweatpants is magical.

Barclay darts out to greet me. He licks the tips of my fingers before Max orders him back inside. The pup listens. I’d listen too, if he ordered me around right now.

“Good Lord, put some clothes on,” I whisper.

“Don’t like what you see?” He frowns.

“Like it?” I want to jump it. I stalk toward him and he holds open the door.

As soon as it bangs shut behind us I’m climbing him, kissing him, throwing my arms around his neck, the bottle of wine dangling from my hand. My legs clamped around his hips, we go down on the rug in the foyer. Grit and glass rolls across the tiles while I tug at my coat, rip it off and discard it along with my scarf and beanie.

His hands are hot as they travel my bare arms, rough with calluses, strong. Between my thighs I can feel his belly rising and falling and I wriggle down until he groans and his hardness presses to my seam.

“I knew you were into me,” he states. It’s not at all cocky like I expected it would be. There’s no laughter to accompany the fact either. But there is something in his eyes that turns me to liquid while he clasps my face between his large hands and curls up to taste my mouth.

I press my finger to his lips when he falls back to the floor. “Less talking, more touching.”

“All right.” He catches the hem of my shirt and pulls it up over my head, before twisting me under him. The thick, velvety rug meets my back as he pops the button on my pants. A hand to my butt, he says, “Lift your ass.”

When I do, he pulls my jeans from my legs and tosses them over his shoulder while he gets to his feet to shuck off his sweats and boxer briefs. I can’t believe I’m doing this in the house across the street from where I work. Or at all. I sort of promised myself after sleeping with my employer’s bestie that it was best not to spread my legs too easily for hot men. But now I’m thinking if I can just take the edge off these feelings then I can survive the rest of shooting with him.

Falling on his knees, he shimmies my panties down my legs and starts kissing me. All over. From my ankle up my thigh, along my abdomen and rib cage. I think I might lose my mind as he toys with my nipples and works his tongue up the hollow of my neck to my jaw.

“I want you into me,” I demand in his ear, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Good,” he says, settling between my thighs and ripping a condom packet open before rolling it down his length. He pushes against my entrance, slowly filling me. “Because I’ve never been more into anything in my life.”

“More,” I cry out, urging him to move, and he does. He pounds me, his weight on his hands, one knee out to support him while he uses his hips like a deadly weapon. It’s been so long, and it feels so good, that I’m not going to last long. I tell him that between pants and whimpers with my fingernails bruising his back.

He grits his teeth and swallows hard. His Adam’s apple is bouncing, his gaze filled with determination and lust as he pulls out long enough to flip me onto my knees. I’m on all fours, with my ass in the air, like he told me it would be. His hands slide over my warm flesh as he presses his teeth to one cheek hard enough to leave an imprint and send a shiver up my spine.

“So much better than I imagined,” he tells me as he positions himself behind me and grips my hips.

I flail forward as he slides home again, and with my eyes shut, I let out a throaty moan. His hands explore my back, the bumps and ridges of my spine, the nape of my neck as he fills me over and over. It feels so good. Hot and rough, and exactly what I need to make me come. His arm goes around my waist, pulling me up against him while he slips a finger to my clit and begins to rub.

“Max.” His name is a chant on my lips as he takes me right to the finish line and pushes me over it. Again and again and again. Until I can’t stay upright even with him holding me, until my body begins to shut down from the release.

We sprawl on the carpet, naked tangled limbs and heaving chests.

“That was nice,” I say, trying to catch my breath.

“Nice.” He raises an eyebrow as he drapes me across his chest.

“More than nice,” I admit.

“Give me five minutes.” He holds up four fingers as he struggles to get his breathing to slow down. “We’ll do it again. I’m sure we can do better than nice. In fact, we’ll just have to keep trying over and over until we get it right.”

Problem is I counted on him not wanting to do it again. I told myself sleeping with him would get rid of the electricity that sparkles between us whenever we see each other. And that he was the bad boy type I accused him of being.

What if we’ve only made things worse?

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