Deadly Lies (Deadly #3)(13)
Author: Cynthia Eden

He’d hoped his father might change his mind, so he’d gone to Max to run interference. One last chance.

No deal.

And no more.

Her lashes lowered. “Parents can be hell.” She leaned forward, and her long, blond hair brushed against his arm.

“I just want what’s mine!” Was that so wrong? No, no, he wasn’t the one who’d made the mistakes. That had been the old bastard.

She took his beer from him. Enjoyed a long, slow drink. “I know you do….” Her index finger traced around the rim of the beer bottle. “I know, Quinlan, I know….” Her fingers rubbed over the rim once more. “Finish this one,” she said, “and the next one will be on me.”

“Where’s your car?” Max demanded, fury still heating his blood.

Samantha blinked at him with her wide, dark eyes.

Picking up another man? Shit, I should have known that I was just one in a line for her. Should have known.

When she didn’t answer, he spun around and found the red VW at the end of the street. “You’re packing it in. You’re done for the night.”

“I wasn’t there to pick up a lover.” Halting, soft.

He turned back to find her frowning at him, a faint furrow between her brows.

“If I need sex,” she told him quietly, “I know I can come to you.”

What? Jesus, who went around saying things like that? Well, other than her?

“You meet my needs. I don’t see why—”

Sometimes, the woman seemed too damn clinical. “How old are you, Samantha?” He’d thought she was in her mid-twenties—please, don’t be younger—but she’d been at the bar, and if she was a student at Georgetown, she could be—

“Twenty-four.”

Okay. Still too young but, “I’m thirty-three.”

She just nodded.

“You’re in college. I’m—”

Now she laughed. “I’ve been out of college for a long time. I finished up my doctorate three years ago.”

What?

She stroked his cheek. “You don’t really know me, Max. I’m not the woman you think I am.”

Yeah, serious understatement.

“Trust me on this. I wasn’t shopping for a new lover.”

And why should it matter? She was right. He didn’t know her. They’d had sex, not long, deep conversations. He shouldn’t give a flying f**k who she wanted to screw. He’d had his fun, and now—

I want more of her. Haven’t had enough yet.

Samantha stood on her toes, bringing that unpainted, plump mouth close to his. “I like having sex with you.”

His c**k jerked. Down, boy.

“You’re giving me what I need now. Exactly what I need.”

In another two seconds, he’d be giving her what she needed, what she was asking for with those big eyes and that husky voice.

Her tongue snaked out and licked his bottom lip.

Dammit.

He caught her arms and held tight. His mouth took hers, and his tongue plunged deep. She didn’t taste like wine or beer. Sweet, tangy.

Just woman.

Her br**sts stabbed against his chest, the ni**les already tight, and his hand pushed between their bodies. He cupped her breast through her thin shirt, squeezing and stroking and wanting that tight nipple on his tongue.

“Max!”

She wanted him, just as much as he wanted her. Just as much.

Quinlan shoved away from the bar. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

The blonde smiled at him. “Want some company?”

Yes. He kissed her, took those dark red lips, and the room seemed to spin around him.

He pulled away, real slow, and took her hand as he headed for the front door.

“No,” she said, tugging back. “This way,” and she pointed to the back.

Whatever. Right then, he’d go anyplace she wanted to lead.

Any damn place.

They made it back to Max’s place. Barely. He’d followed behind Samantha, tailing that Bug and cursing the hard need in his dick.

He hadn’t been this bad off since he was eighteen. What was it about Samantha? Why couldn’t he seem to get enough of her?

They stumbled through the lobby. When the elevator doors closed behind them, he couldn’t wait any longer. She slipped back against the mirrored walls, and he yanked up her shirt. Pale blue bra…

He shoved aside the lace, found her nipple, dark red like a tight, sweet cherry. His mouth closed around her breast, sucking, taking that nipple against his tongue. Licking, stroking, using his teeth to score her flesh.

Her moan filled his ears even as her hips bucked against him. His c**k was so swollen that he hurt, and if the elevator didn’t move faster…

He’d take her there.

Ding.

Her hands shoved against him. “Max, someone…”

He had her shirt off in two seconds. Her face flushed, her eyes gleamed with lust, and when she glanced down, well, hell, Max knew there was no missing the tent in his pants.

But no one was there. His floor. They hurried down the hall. He nearly knocked down his door before he got the key in the lock and the door finally swung open.

Bed, bed, make it to the bed.

Their clothes littered the floor. Her shirt. His.

The hallway. They’d made it that far.

She lost her shoes.

His followed.

Her pants came down.

Fuck.

She stumbled into his bedroom. Stripped off her bra. The panties…

Samantha fell back onto the bed, spreading her pale thighs, and he caught her silken flesh, opening her up more. His turn to taste.

He found her wet. Ready. Her flavor was richer, sharper below. He licked her clit, loving the way that she pressed up against him, and her breath hissed out. But this time…

“Say my name, Samantha.” He nearly growled the order.

They were using each other.

Sex. Pleasure. Fair enough, but he wanted no confusion when it came to who was f**king her.

His tongue drove inside her.

“Max!”

One more lick. One more. Damn, not enough. He tasted her, and he wanted more. Like a damn addiction.

Her hips arched. Her climax was close, so close that he felt the quiver in her sex.

Max reared back and yanked out a condom from the nightstand drawer. He sheathed his cock, positioned, and drove deep.

Samantha came with the first thrust. A hard explosion that shook her whole body and had her sex clamping fist-tight around him.

He rode out her pleasure. Plunged into her, again and again, and the tension built. Higher. Sharper. Stronger.