“This isn’t a good idea,” she said in warning, clutching his hand. “I have to go to the office tonight to get some more work done, and I don’t want my clothes to be all wrinkled.”
He laughed shortly. “I’ve never heard that one before. And that’s the worst excuse I’ve heard in probably a decade.” He removed his hand from her panties and pulled down on the waistband of her pants.
“Quentin,” she scolded him, slapping his hands. “My trousers are headed in the wrong direction.”
“Relax.” He slipped out from under her and stood up so he could get more leverage on the pants leg. “Are your clothes always this hard to get off?”
“When my shoes are on.”
“I don’t want you to take your shoes off. I really like you in those shoes. Oh!” he exclaimed in relief, finally coming away with the pants. He made a great show of smoothing them and folding them carefully before dropping them in a heap on the carpet. Now that she was cooperating, he handled her shirt with one good tug. He crumpled it on the floor beside the pants. Then he sat on the footrest to look at her.
Red lace bra. Red lace panties, some stylish kind that sat low on her hips and cut straight across her ass in back. Underneath, creamy skin stretched taut over the hard muscles of an athlete.
He said sincerely, “You are so beautiful.”
“Thank you!” She smiled, brown eyes big.
“I really like being in cahoots with you.”
“Me, too.”
He moved to the chair and pulled her back against him again, positioning her so she could feel his erection. This time when he pushed his hand into her panties and she began to protest, he was ready. He clamped his other hand over her mouth. She’d been talking like she wanted to stay in control. But instinct told him if she thought she wanted control in the bedroom, nobody had ever shown her what she really wanted.
“We need to get down to business,” he whispered. “We’re wasting time. Don’t say anything else until you’ve got a good moan ready. You understand me?”
In answer, she bit his hand gently. He put his fingers in her mouth.
He worked on her, his middle finger circling and stroking her clit. She pressed against him. His c**k complied, swelling further. At the same time, she raised her hips, giving him better access to her mound. He wanted to push his fingers into her, and he figured that’s what she wanted, too. But he didn’t dare, because once he knew what she felt like inside, he wasn’t sure he could keep himself from snatching down her panties and taking her from the back.
So he tried to content himself with feeling the pressure of her ass against his cock, and circling his finger on her clit. The rest of her body relaxed, but her sex grew tense. And he thought, What am I doing? Sex with his ex-manager Karen had been one thing. Karen had been casual. There was nothing casual about this. Sarah’s pink hair and red bra and red panties turned his mood dead serious.
Several exquisite minutes passed this way. The room grew hot. Finally she pulled her mouth away from his hand and rested her cheek on his shoulder, pleading to him, eyes half-closed. “Don’t make me.”
“A beautiful woman like you,” he murmured. “I don’t understand why you need this so bad. I have to make you, for your own good.”
Still gazing at him, she seemed to stop seeing, and shuddered under his hand. He kept circling, pressing more firmly. She dug her high heels into the footrest and arched her back, raising herself off the leather and nearer to his hand. He circled and she shuddered. Then came the long, loud moan he’d been waiting for. And then she cried, “Que’n!”
He pressed her mouth with his mouth. His fingers still circled as she sparked and finally vibrated to a halt. He forced his tongue past her teeth, sweeping inside her mouth, showing her the way he wanted to make love to her.
But now he was thinking, What have I done? Making her come had seemed like a good idea while he was chasing her around the pool table. But they’d just transformed their business relationship into something a lot more complicated.
She broke the kiss and said, “I’d better go.”
“You’d better,” he agreed grimly.
She couldn’t get her clothes on fast enough. She cursed as she tried to pull the pants on over her shoes and got the legs caught on her high heels. He handed the small red shirt to her.
They went downstairs. The TV room was empty. As they walked through the kitchen, Quentin pointed to the open door that led downstairs to the studio and put his finger to his lips: the band was still listening.
By the time they stopped at the door out to the garage, Quentin had finally recovered himself enough for salvage operations. He put his hand on her elbow. “This isn’t the end of the world,” he whispered.
Sarah said gravely, “We need to remember that we’re just doing this to make Erin jealous.”
“I guarantee you Erin doesn’t have any problem about what she does with Owen,” Quentin said. This had better not be true. “It’s okay to have fun,” he went on, rubbing Sarah’s arm. “Come back tomorrow.” He kissed her tenderly, letting his lips linger on hers.
“I don’t think we should go this far anymore,” she breathed.
“We’ll see,” he said.
He watched her walk all the way through the garage in her tight pants. Then he closed the door and banged his head against it.
Martin’s voice traveled up the stairwell from the studio. “I’m assuming from the thud that you didn’t break Rule Three.”
Martin was usually more savvy than this. Quentin was shocked that Martin would give away one of their rules to the technicians in the control room. Then, calculating from the fading light outside, he realized that it was later than he’d thought. The technicians had gone home for the night. Time flew when you were having fun. Or pleasuring a woman who was out-of-bounds. Either one.
Quentin said wearily, “No, I didn’t.”
Owen’s voice came echoing up next. “It sounded like you were breaking Rule Three.”
“I had to do something,” Quentin said in his defense. “You should see this woman’s underwear.”
“Don’t get too close to her, Q,” Erin warned him.
“Erin, I’m sure your underwear is very nice, too,” Quentin called down to her. “The finest Target has to offer.”
Last came Mrs. Timberlane’s weak voice. “Did you use a condom?”