Page 37 of The Press Secretary's Passion
I gasp at his highhanded move, but Ryan says nothing. He also doesn’t move his hand for the entire ride. And what should have been like a bucket of cold water over my head, coupled with the copious amounts of vodka in the martinis I drank with dinner, it only serves to turn me on more.
The car stops at the secret side entrance to the Paris Hotel, because we’re still trying to keep a low profile. The driver pulls the door open, and Ryan slides out before turning to offer me a hand to help me from the car.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, my hand still held tightly in his. I think he’ll let go of me and be on his way. We haven’t spoken much—not more than a few words here and there—since he cornered me after the meeting, so it surprises me when he doesn’t immediately let me go. Instead, he looks into my eyes, and whatever he sees there seems to make him come to some kind of resolution. What, I do not know.
What I do know is the look he’s giving me sends a tingle shimmying up my spine.
But it also scares the shit out of me.
“I’ll see you to your room,” he finally says.
“That’s all right,” I reply quietly as I try to extract my hand from his. “I’ll be okay.”
“I’ll see you to your room,” he repeats as he did at dinner, and there is a determined look rolling across his handsome face, so I relent.
“Fine.”
And with my hand in his, Ryan walks me through the casino and to the elevator bank, where we ride the car to the twenty-eighth floor. He watches me with an intent look on his face I can’t decipher.
When the elevator doors glide open, he follows me down the hall to my suite. I pop open my clutch and fish out my room key. My heart races in my chest, and it’s so loud I think that maybe Ryan can hear it too as he stands right behind me, the heat from his body scratching my back.
He plucks the key from my hand, deftly unlocks my door, and pushes it open for me. I step into the room, and he follows me in, letting the door click closed behind us. I toss my bag onto the coffee table in the sitting room. My hands shake just a little as I take off my jewelry.
Ryan slips his dark suit coat down his arms and tosses it over the back of the sofa before he slowly stalks toward me, step by step, herding me like a sheep dog toward the bedroom.
“Ryan—” I start, but he just keeps prowling toward me, one step at a time.
“I want you,” he says. “And I know you want me too.”
I gasp. Not only because of the way he’s speaking to me, the audacity and the arrogance, but also because he’s right. I fear there will never be a time I don’t want Ryan Back as badly as I do.
“Do you?” he asks softly. “Want me?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Then take off your dress,” he orders as he reaches to his wrist and unbuttons his cuffs.
I reach for the buckle on my wide belt and unclip it, letting it fall to the floor. My dress is made of hundreds of folds and pleats of black tulle cinched at my waist so that it looks like a big ruffle at the top and bottom, giving the illusion that one might get a peek of flesh if I lean the wrong way. They won’t; the inside is fitted and lined, and it zips up the back, but the illusion is sexy as hell.
I watch as he slowly unbuttons each button of his shirt and shrugs it down his shoulders. He reaches for the buckle of his leather belt, and it clanks as he opens his suit pants and lets them fall to the floor. He steps out of them and his shoes and stands before me in nothing but a pair of dark-gray boxer briefs, and the outline of his full cock makes me clench my thighs together.
Ryan sees my move and smirks, and I hurry to reach behind me and pull down the zipper of my dress. The material parts, and I let it fall to the floor.
“On the bed,” he says, his voice rough. “Now.”
I kick off my heels and hurry to lie down on the center of the bed. Ryan climbs onto the bed from the foot and peels my panties down my legs. I allow them to fall open for him, and he circles my opening with his fingers.
And then finally, he drives them deep inside me.
“Ohhh… yes. Yes!”I chant as he thrusts two fingers into my pussy. My hips arch up to meet him. “Please!” I beg him for more.
“Mmm.” He chuckles, low and throaty, because he’s enjoying teasing me, keeping me on the edge. Ryan is playing with me tonight, toying with me to drive my passion high and higher.
“Please!” I need him so badly.
I have never wanted anyone or needed anyone the way that I need Ryan Black. If someone had told me, back in New York, that I would become addicted to the body of a man and the way that he uses it to bring me pleasure, a man that I’m not always sure that I like or he likes me, I would have laughed in their face. But it’s true. I don’t just need him,I’m addicted to him. And I have a sinking suspicion that I will never be the same again after being at the sexual mercy of Ryan Black.
Ryan pushes his underwear down and grips his thick, veiny cock in his fist before rubbing the flushed tip through my wetness then up to stroke my clit, making me bite my lip to keep from crying out, because my torture only seems egg him on.
