He was doomed. Dead man walking.
He shook his head, fighting against the incredible power of the pleasure rocking him to his soul.
“It’s like being inside a dream, isn’t it?” Mac rasped softly. “A wicked dream so hot, so searing,.that you know if you wake up you’re going to die.”
Jethro’s hands tightened on her thighs as he fought to breathe through the rippling, clenching pleasure racing from his c**k to his chest.
Beneath him, Keiley was arching, screaming his name, her juices heating her pu**y until he swore they would both combust from the pleasure of it.
As good as it was, as shaken as he was, he couldn’t stay still. He jerked back, impaled her again, watching as the plump folds of her pu**y parted, then closed around his cock, feeling the viselike grip of her inner muscles stroking over him.
Then he was moving, thrusting harder, coming over her as Mac eased back, pulling her into his arms, feeling her nails biting into his flesh as he began to pump inside her.
Her legs wrapped around his waist, her h*ps arched, her pu**y tightened—ah, God, she was so tight—and a second later he felt heaven. He felt her lock down on him, tiny muscles clenching and stroking his c**k as he buried himself inside her over and over again. Felt the tight little channel pulse, clench, then explode around him.
He meant to pull out. He meant to hold back his own release to spill to the blankets, but she caught him off guard. Screaming his name, her arms tight around him, her hard ni**les searing his chest as her pu**y burned along the length of his cock.
Before he could catch himself, he was spilling inside her. Pumping hard and desperate as spurt after spurt of se**n filled her willing flesh.
He gasped her name, pressed his lips to her neck, clenched his eyes tight, and prayed for a miracle. A miracle because he was falling in love with his best friend’s wife.
He was aware of Mac’s shattered groan at his side and knew his friend had found his own release. Jethro collapsed, barely managing to catch his weight with his elbows.
He had to force himself to stop whispering her name into her neck. Had to force himself to push his own fractured emotions deep beneath the now-shattered shield he had once erected around his heart.
He had to force himself to remember that he was just there for the fun. That was it. That was all. Just for the fun.
14
Keiley stared at the computer screen, the program pulled up, the code she was attempting to finalize, and gave a weary sigh before lowering her head and rubbing at her forehead.
She didn’t have a hope of keeping her mind on what she was doing. The events of the night before were playing before her mind. Like shadows on a dusky summer evening, whispering over the memory of her own pleasure, the excitement that tore through her, the shuddering ecstasy, the emotions—
This wasn’t happening.
Keiley clenched her fingers in her hair as she pressed her lips together, fighting through the confusion rising inside her.
None of it made sense. She was certain this wasn’t what it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be fun, right? Mac didn’t intend for this to go on indefinitely. He didn’t intend for her to care for anyone other than him.
But she was beginning to care, and that wasn’t acceptable. It was a betrayal.
She shook her head, forcing herself back to the program, to the job she had been hired to do, rather than the mess her husband was making of her emotions.
As her head lifted her gaze was caught by Jethro’s laptop, its slender connection attaching it to her computer, running programs within programs and tracking and tracing any incoming messages or e-mails. Jethro had told her quite specifically to stay off-line and let the program do its work. They didn’t want the stalker actually engaging her in communication. They wanted to make certain there was no access to her. No way to track her. No way to harass her.
“Stay off the computer, Keiley.” Mac walked into the office for the fourth time in an hour, his voice firm as Keiley stared at the computer.
“I have work to do.” Saving her work, she shut the program down before staring at the minimized chat and relay programs she normally ran on a regular workday.
She was logged into two open forum conferences, though her message bar was set to away. Her private communication programs were open, as was another chat line. But Keiley wasn’t there. She was staring at her desktop instead in disgust.
“The Playboy gets his kicks out of terrorizing the wives of his victims,” Mac repeated.
“Don’t give him access and he’ll have to change his tactics, therefore making him easier to catch,” she finished in irritation. “I know that, Mac.”
She pushed away from the desk, straightened, and moved around the desk.
“I can’t just sit here and stare at an empty computer screen, and I can’t stand to work wondering what the hell is going on in my conferences.” She heard the anger in her tone even as she found herself unwilling to push it back further.