He reached for her head, twisted his hand into her long hair and held on as she slid up and down the length of him. Heat enveloped him, pulsing warmth, as she greedily licked and sucked him, voracious, enthusiastic and so goddamn good. When she drew back and gazed down at him, her fingers curled around him, the head of his cock pulsing and dripping, flushed and swollen, he had to fight hard to control the orgasm that built inside. He buzzed and ached, his thighs tense and belly tight, vibrating with the need to come.
He watched her—mouth parted and shiny wet, eyes avid, hand sliding up and down on him. Then she leaned forward again, opened her mouth, and let saliva trail down over his shaft, a silvery thread that she slicked up and down with her hand. The slippery lubrication intensified the pleasure slamming through him, and he let out a string of curses that he tried hard to keep quiet.
“You feel so good,” he moaned, fingers tightening in her hair.
“You taste so good.” She bent and took him in her mouth again. Pressure built, and sensation sizzled, and he plunged over the edge.
“No,” he said hoarsely. He wanted to come inside her again, not in her mouth. Too late. There was no stopping it. It consumed him like a huge wave breaking on the shore, unstoppable, crashing over him, swamping him with pleasure. A long groan tore from him as she sucked him, swallowed him, licked him, held him.
“Shh,” she reminded him long moments later when she lifted her head, a mischievous smile curving her wet lips.
“Sorry.” Had he made noise? He didn’t even know.
They collapsed onto the bed in a heap of tangled sweaty limbs, her long hair twirled and snared around him.
“Christ, woman, your mouth is incredible.”
For someone he still thought of as young, too young, he did not want to know how she’d become such an expert at giving head. Jesus. He was destroyed.
But it wasn’t just by the blow job. It was the whole mind-blowing, speech-defying, heart-stopping experience of having sex with her. And wanting to do it again.
Chapter Thirteen
Travis had left her bed around four o’clock, and despite feeling cold and alone, she’d drifted back to sleep until her alarm went off at seven. She didn’t see him as she grabbed a quick cup of coffee and a bagel, although every sense was on alert waiting for him to appear.
On the way to the office, her tummy quivered and fluttered whenever she thought of seeing him there. This wasn’t how she’d planned things to go. She’d been convinced she could keep her feelings for him separate, that they could work together at Cedar Mill Coffee and it would all be fine. She hadn’t planned on jumping into bed with him, but whoa... Now that she had, it was hard to regret it. Well, she would show him how mature and professional she could be, by maintaining separate relationships. At work, they were colleagues. Away from work they were...what? Lovers?
“Hooo.” She blew out a breath, the flutter down low inside turning into a warm ache as she thought about being Travis’s lover. Wow.
But that didn’t change anything at the office.
She straightened her shoulders. She was still determined to show them all she could lead the company and pick up where her father had left off. Her bottom lip quivered a little as she thought about making him proud of her. She and Travis might be sleeping together, but that meant nothing when it came to business.
She nibbled her bottom lip as she walked into the office. Paulette was already there as usual, dubiously studying a large cardboard carton on her desk.
“Morning, Paulette. What’s that?”
Paulette looked up at her and didn’t answer. Her mouth flattened then she said, “It’s your father’s things. From the hotel in Matagalpa.”
Samara’s heart flipped over in her chest. “Oh.” She stopped short. “Well. I’ll take it and go through it.”
“Are you sure?” Paulette’s brows slanted down. “I could ask Travis...”
“No. That’s fine. I’ll do it.”
She hefted the box off Paulette’s desk and carried it into her father’s office. Her office. They still had to fight...er...discuss...that small issue.
She closed the door and then turned to the box. Taking a pair of scissors from the drawer, she slit the tape and lifted the flaps of the box open.
She pulled out a small carry-on size bag, which must have been all he traveled with. Not a lot, but then it was supposed to be a short trip, only a few days. Beneath it sat a briefcase. She gazed down at it. That was likely what she was most interested in, but just to make sure, she set the carry-on on the floor and unzipped it around three sides. She flipped it open, lifted out some of his clothes, feeling strangely like she was snooping through someone else’s things. But he was gone.
A few shirts, a couple of pairs of pants, underwear, a small black leather toiletry bag that held his shaver, a small bottle of shampoo, toothpaste, and toothbrush. Just the usual things you’d expect to see. Tears prickled the corners of her eyes at the thought that he’d never use these things again.
She sniffled and bent her head for a moment, hugging one of his shirts, then rose and returned to the briefcase. She lifted it out. It was heavy, and she realized it held his laptop. It was amazing that it had been returned. Something like that would have been so easy to steal. She had to admire the hotel staff who’d packed his things and sent them home.
Was there more information on the laptop than had been on his desk computer? Although she’d found some details, she didn’t have enough to finish whatever he’d started there. Nor had she seen any mention of the amazing coffee bean her mother had mentioned.
There was also a day planner, and she flipped through it, looking at the notes in his illegible scribble, half printed, half cursive. She smiled. A note to meet Javier. The fiesta. Nothing odd there.
She opened the laptop, but of course the battery was dead, so she dug into the bottom of the bag for the cord and plugged it in. When she’d powered it up, she awaited a prompt for a password, but there was none. “Dad,” she muttered. “That’s not smart.” But it worked out well for her, and she began searching through directories, folders and files, and immediately zeroed in on the folder labeled “Matagalpa”.
She heard voices in the office outside her closed door and froze.
Travis?
She didn’t know exactly why, but she didn’t want him to know she had her father’s things. She wanted to do this on her own. She was determined that if there was something her father had being doing there that was worth finishing, she was going to find out, and she was going to finish it.
She quickly lowered the lid of the computer and set it on the floor behind her desk, packed up the box and shoved it into a cupboard in case Travis— or anyone—walked in. She would wait and take it home, study it at leisure there in the privacy of her bedroom.
Curiosity burned inside her and she bit her lip. Better safe. It was the weekend, and she could take her time exploring the contents of the laptop without jumping every time she heard a noise.
When Travis did appear at her door, it was with a soft knock. She looked up from the spreadsheet she was studying on the computer screen to see him leaning against the door frame, all big and gorgeous, arms crossed over his chest.
“Busy?” he asked.
She couldn’t read his face.
“Yes,” she said. “But...” She bit her lip.
One corner of his mouth kicked up, and he moved into the office, closing the door behind him. “You okay this morning?”
“Yes. Of course.” She held his gaze, but heat swept from her hairline to her toes. “You?”
“Great.” He kept coming toward the desk, and she blinked when he moved around behind it, bent and kissed her mouth.