Moonstruck Read online

  “Don’t you dare,” she whispered. “I want you in my bed, Ty. And the sooner, the better.”

  4

  “I WANT YOU IN MY BED.”

  Damn, but Ty knew the feeling. Right then, he could barely think, what with the havoc the woman was wreaking upon him. He could feel the effect of her through every inch of his body. The pulse that beat so hard at his throat. The tingle of skin where she brushed against him. And the painful length of his cock that strained for a release that really couldn’t wait for a bed.

  He had no idea where she lived, but he hoped like hell it was close. Very close.

  He thought about the room he was renting from one of his former fraternity brothers, but then remembered the two other guys who’d arrived over the last few days and were crashed in the house, as well. It was only three blocks away, but it was also the consummate bachelor pad, and definitely no place to take Claire.

  He considered a hotel, but it didn’t seem right. He wasn’t entirely sure why—Lord knew he’d taken a lot of women to hotels at closing time over the years. He even kept a permanent room at the Chateau Marmont for exactly that reason. He didn’t want to take them back to his place, and when they invited him back to theirs, it never felt right. Like by going, he was making a statement that he didn’t want to be making.

  With Claire, he somehow didn’t mind the statement. He told himself it was because he was in Dallas with only two short months left, so why not go to her house? It wasn’t as if they were going to slide into anything permanent. In sixty days, he was out of there and on a plane to Paris, with follow up-trips to London, Munich and Sydney.

  Right then, though, he wasn’t thinking about his foreign opportunities. He was interested only in the woman in his arms, and the truth was, unless she lived right next door, he really didn’t think he could make it anywhere before his body imploded from passion and need.

  “Please,” she whispered, her hands warm against his ass as she pressed closer to him. Her breasts were firm against him, soft in the flimsy dress that she wore without a bra.

  “Come on,” he growled, making a decision. He led her through the small kitchen and into the short hallway that led through the employees-only section, then breathed a sigh of relief—when he saw that the door to his destination was open.

  “Here.” He didn’t wait for her to answer, simply pulled her inside the small employee lounge, snapped the lock on the door, and backed her up, hard, against the wall. “Can’t wait,” he said, as his hands slid over her breasts.

  “Thank God.”

  Her fingers reached for his fly, her palm first sliding up over him, pressing hard against his cock, giving him just a hint of the pleasure to come. He drew his hands up, then untied the knot that held her halter top on. The soft material tumbled down, freeing her perfect breasts.

  “Claire,” he murmured, realizing that, he was lost, absolutely lost. His hands stroked her back, easing around so that his thumbs could brush the swell of her breasts, even as his mouth closed around one pert nipple.

  She moaned, arching toward him as she closed her eyes and tilted her head up. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, which was a ridiculous thing to say, really, because he had no intention of stopping.

  He suckled her, his fingers easing down her back as he did so, a man on a mission. He clutched the soft material of her dress, bunching it in his hand as he slid his hand under, stroking her bare thigh up to the tender skin where her silky panties covered the prize.

  She made a soft noise of pleasure, her hips moving as he explored, her hands at his back tugging free his shirt, as if she had to feel his skin beneath her hands.

  Damn, but he knew the feeling.

  He traced his finger over her panties, sliding it between thighs that she opened for him, shifting her stance as she moaned, her desperate cry of, “please,” so soft he almost couldn’t hear it.

  He couldn’t stop. He had to feel her. Had to hold her while she trembled and shook. Right then his whole world was about making Claire come, and he stretched his finger forward over soaking-wet panties, the feel of which made him so hard he was certain he was going to stretch his jeans out of shape. He found her clit and stroked the material, the hard little nub hidden beneath a flimsy strip of silk.

  Pink, he imagined. Just like her. He wanted to see her. Wanted to taste her when she came. He wanted her to cry out, he wanted her nails digging into him as she rode out an absolutely killer orgasm.

  Mostly, he wanted inside her.

  “I can’t wait,” he said.

  “Don’t.”

  He yanked her panties down, then followed suit with his own jeans, thanking whatever guardian angel had been watching over him when he’d tucked a condom into his wallet that morning. He sheathed himself, then palmed her sex, using his middle finger to stroke her clit and tease her. “Now,” she said. “Ty, please, now.”

  Since that sounded like a damn fine idea, he turned her around, his mouth nuzzling her neck. He stroked his hands up the inside of her thighs, spreading her legs, his cock sliding over her smooth skin to find her slick, wet sex. With one hand, he stroked her breast, as with the other he guided his cock, rubbing the tip against her, almost afraid he’d come right then.

  “Don’t tease,” she said. “Please, please don’t tease.”

  That was all it took, and he thrust inside her, a little at first as her body stretched to accommodate him, then more and more until she completely sheathed him, and the pleasure of being inside her was like heaven times ten.

  “Harder,” she whispered, her hips rising and falling as she matched his rhythm. They pistoned together, finding a natural rhythm, hard and fast, as her body closed over him, drawing him in, claiming him.

  He felt it when she began to come. The tremble in her body, the way her vagina clenched around him, like a velvet fist, pumping him and hurrying him along. He thrust harder, wanting to come with her, to lose himself in the stars with her, and the soft, sweet sounds she made—small, desperate gasps of pleasure—worked on him like an aphrodisiac.

  Her entire body began to tremble as the orgasm rolled over him. She squeezed him, milking him, and with one last, final thrust, he came along with her, the pleasure so intense it was a wonder he didn’t pass out from it. Instead, he collapsed against her, turning her gently so that he could kiss her, stroke her, look into those gorgeous chocolate eyes. That’s what she was—rich and decadent and utterly sinful.

  He pulled out, but slid his finger down, teasing her clit and sending a last few shockwaves coursing through her body, the pleasure he saw in her face as he did almost enough to make him come again, too.

  Finally, she exhaled—a low, shaky breath. She tilted her head back and looked up at him, her lips plump and ripe, her eyes shining. “Wow,” she said, and he saw a hint of mischief in his eyes. “That was amazing. I wonder how much better we’d do with an actual bed.”

  He exhaled, only then realizing that he’d feared she’d be done with him. Itch scratched, time to move on. And that wouldn’t work for him. His itch hadn’t been scratched at all. Right then, Ty wasn’t certain that he could ever have enough of this woman.

  “Maybe we need to find out,” he said.

  She cupped her hand behind his neck then reached up to kiss him. Long and hard and demanding. A kiss with both purpose and promise. “Don’t you dare leave me on my doorstep. This was an appetizer,” she said, then slid her hand down to cup his cock, which twitched with definite purpose. “You come inside and we’ll gorge ourselves on the main course.”

  “I THINK I LEFT MY PANTIES on the floor,” Claire said, as they stepped outside the building and the steel fire door shut behind them. Any other night—with any other man—and that announcement would completely mortify her.

  With Ty, she was simply grateful she hadn’t left her dress crumpled up, as well.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, his hand sliding down to cup her now-naked rear through the thin material of her dress. “You won’t need
them.” His dragged his finger down her bare arm, sending shivers through her. “Do you have a coat?” The night was unseasonably warm for Dallas, but even in the high forties, backless dresses required coats, and at the moment, she didn’t have one. She shivered again, his words reminding her to be cold—reminding her that there was life outside of his arms.

  “I checked it,” she said, automatically stopping and shifting her weight to head back inside the club.

  He gently tugged her back, then took off the sport coat he’d grabbed from a peg near the back door. “Wear this. I’ll see to yours tomorrow.”

  She slid her arms into the silk-lined sleeves, then pulled the coat tight around her, not so much for warmth, but because she wanted to breathe in the scent of Ty. “Now you’re cold.”

  “Trust me,” he said, his gaze skimming over her. “I’m anything but.”

  Any guilt she might have felt at usurping his coat faded when she realized the short distance they had to walk—not to mention the exceptional car they were about to get into. “Wow,” she said, pressing her nose to the glass and peering into the slick red Ferrari. “Yours?”

  “Actually, it’s a rental,” he said, clicking the remote to unlock the car. He stepped to the passenger side and held the door open for her. “I figured I deserved it.”

  “During your incarceration,” she said, her voice light, but her heart a little heavy. Which was silly. It wasn’t as if she worked for the Dallas Chamber of Commerce and had to play rah-rah girl for her town. And it wasn’t as if she cared about him staying permanently. How could she? They’d barely met.

  Bang and pop.

  Alyssa’s words fizzled in her mind, and she squashed them down. This was a lust thing. A passion thing. A serious-scratching-of-an-itch thing.

  But still, she couldn’t ignore the piece of her that wished he liked Dallas. Or at least wished he was stuck there for more than two months. Sixty days—it hardly seemed like any time at all.

  She settled into the passenger seat, fastening the belt as she forced herself not to think about him leaving, but to instead enjoy the smell of leather and Ty and the deliciously fast car.

  “I almost wish I lived farther away,” she said. “Seems a shame not to take this car for a spin.”

  “I have a different kind of spin in mind,” he said, his words making her all hot and gooey again.

  “Keep talking like that and I won’t need this coat anymore.”

  “Good,” he said. “I like the way the dress shows off your curves.”

  “Do you?” She leaned forward and slid out of the coat, then folded it over her lap.

  He tapped the brakes before turning onto the street. “No, no,” he said, then pushed it off and onto the floorboard. “Don’t worry,” he added, in response to her raised eyebrows. “It’ll dryclean.” He put his hand on her leg, then slid it slowly up, his fingers dancing under the hem of the dress. Her sex throbbed. She was naked under there, and his fingers were close, so close, and—

  Then they were gone, placed on the gear shift. Damn.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Turn left,” she managed, silently pleading him to put his hand back. “We’re going toward White Rock Lake.”

  His mouth curved into a crooked grin. “Right now, I’m wishing I rented an automatic.”

  “Hell, yes.”

  He shifted, then pulled onto the street. “Why don’t we trade?”

  “What? Me drive?” She was lousy on a standard, and she’d be absolutely terrified she’d wreck the thing. And then there was the champagne…

  “No, my insurance only covers me behind the wheel. I meant with touching you.” The suggestion in his voice was unmistakeable, and she felt her pulse increase.

  “Do you mean—”

  “Put your hand on your thigh.”

  “I—”

  “Shh. Trust me. And close your eyes.”

  She couldn’t. She couldn’t do what he was asking—touch herself in front of him. Close her eyes, expose her sex, make herself come. She couldn’t…

  Except maybe she could, because with Ty…Oh, Lord, with him, she wanted to. Wanted to be wild. Wanted to turn him on. Wanted to get them both so hot the house would catch on fire when they made love again, and—

  “That’s the way.”

  She hadn’t even realized she’d complied, but her head was back, spinning slightly from the champagne still flowing through her system, and her fingertips were stroking her inner thigh.

  “What—”

  “No, no. No talking unless I ask you a question. What’s your address?”

  She told him, and she heard an electronic beep as he entered the location in a GPS system.

  “Spread your legs.”

  She did, the wisp of air against her wet sex wonderfully erotic.

  “Now put your other hand on your thigh…that’s right. Just your fingertips. Let them graze that soft skin, just up and down. Do you like that?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” she said, not quite able to manage actual words.

  “Who’s touching you?”

  “You.”

  “Do you want me to keep touching you like that?”

  She moaned, because she didn’t. She wanted more. She wanted it all.

  “What do you want, Claire?”

  “Please,” she said. “I want you inside me.”

  “So do I.” His voice was low, rough, and the sound of it made her even wetter. Without thinking, she spread her legs even more. “There you go,” he said. “Now slide your right hand up your thigh. Go slow. Good girl. Do you feel it? Can you feel how wet you are?”

  She couldn’t answer. She could only breathe. Could only focus on the sensations washing over her. Her hand, his voice and the image in her mind that the touch was his tongue, tasting her, flicking over her clit, opening her up and making her come until the pleasure was too much to bear and crossed the line into pain.

  “Slide your fingers over yourself. Are you slick? Can you feel your clit? Is it swollen? Is it desperate?”

  “I want to come. Please, Ty, I want you to touch me, and I want to come.”

  “I am touching you. Those are my hands on you, stroking you, playing with you. You’re so wet, and I’m so hard. I want to be inside you, Claire, but right now, all I want you to do is come. Can you make yourself come? Can you touch yourself, stroke yourself and—”

  Oh, sweet heavenly night.

  The orgasm positively ripped through her. She tossed her head back, her body bucking as wave after wave passed over her. She drew in ragged breaths until it passed, her eyes closed, and when it passed, she stayed there, breathing softly, not wanting the moment to end, but not wanting to look at Ty, either. Because now the embarrassment was setting in. She had to, though. She couldn’t sit there, half-naked with her eyes closed, and so she when she felt the car stop for a light, she opened her eyes and turned to him slowly.

  He was staring at her with such open adoration, such blatant lust, that whatever hint of embarrassment she’d felt faded instantly. “You’re beautiful,” he said, and she felt her cheeks burn with the compliment.

  She glanced out the window and saw the familiar roads. “We’re getting close.”

  “Thank God,” Ty said, and she laughed, unable to miss the evidence of his arousal hard against his leg.

  “What about my car?” she said, as the fuzz started to lift from her brain. “I parked in the restaurant next door, but the sign said they’ll tow if you’re there in the morning when they open.”

  “No worries,” he said, then made a quick call on his cell phone to the club manager. “All set,” he said when he clicked off the call.

  She smiled, easing back into the bucket seat. “It feels nice to be taken care of. Not something I have a lot of experience with, actually.”

  His brow raised. “Joe didn’t take care of you? Not sure I should consider giving my business to a man who doesn’t know how to treat his girlfriend right.”

  “Was it th
at obvious we used to date?”

  From his expression she was certain that it was.

  “It’s been a few months,” she said. “In fact, until tonight, we’d only seen each other once.” She frowned, thinking of the way he’d come on to her.

  “A fight?”

  “What? Oh, no. But…well, it was before Christmas, and he made a pass at me.”

  “Can’t say I blame him. See, there’s a mark in the man’s favor. He has good taste.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What he has, is a girlfriend.” The frown returned. “If they were dating back then…” She trailed off with a shrug. “I’m just wondering if I should tell Bonita.”

  “That Joe made a pass at you?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “They’re not engaged.”

  “No.”

  “They seemed happy.”

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re just dating. Unless they’ve changed the rules, until you cross certain dating lines, exclusivity is not required.”

  “Oh.” She licked her lips, forcing herself not to frown. But he was right, and the thought depressed her. Not because she much cared what Joe was doing, but because the idea of Ty so casually thinking that going out with a woman other than Claire tomorrow would be totally fine.

  She tamped down on the thoughts, because her mind was clearly honing in on a relationship despite the fact that a relationship was not on the table. “Actually, Joe’s the reason we met,” she said, trying to shift the conversation. “Indirectly, anyway. Since I was single on New Year’s Eve, my best friend dragged me out.”

  “Remind me to thank her,” he said.

  “I already have.”

  “So we’ve established that Joe didn’t adequately take care of you, the lousy bastard,” he added, making her laugh. “What about before Joe? Who took care of you then?”