“We have all night, if you want.” He closed the distance between them, running his hands along her arms to take her hands.
“And I have a purse full of condoms.”
“Not what I expected you to say.” He shook his head. “And definitely not what I expected Emmy Lou King to carry around in her purse.”
“Oh, no, they’re not mine.” She frowned. “Of course they’re not.”
“Of course not.” He shook his head, close to laughter. “Anything else I should know?”
“Let’s see.” Her green eyes traveled over his face, locking on his lips. “Maybe one thing… I don’t want to be the nun of country music.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Em.” He tilted her face up, his thumb tracing her mouth. “Damn, you’re beautiful. Soft.”
“I’m going to tackle you now.” She wriggled out of her shirt.
His lungs deflated at the sight of her pink lace bra. The scrap of her pink lace panties—she had no problem getting out of her jeans—just about brought him to his knees. She smiled up at him then pushed with all her might, sending him back onto his bed.
Brock reached up and pulled her down on top of him, his hands sliding up the curve of her back and along her shoulders.
She leaned forward, her lips silky soft against his. He didn’t bother holding back his groan. Instead, he tangled one hand in her hair and held her there. He loved the way their lips came together, the slide of her tongue against his, and the rasp of their breath.
Cradling her close, he rolled them.
She was up, untucking his shirt, tugging and pulling the fitted fabric until his shirt was off—and sailing across the room. He reached for her again, pulling her beneath him. Stomach to stomach, chest to chest, he drew her close. His mouth latched on to her neck. The soft spot behind her earlobe. The more he tasted, the more he wanted. The curve of her neck. The blade of her shoulder. The hollow between her breasts.
Her fingers slid through his hair, clinging as his hand slid up her side to cup her breast. Through the lace, his tongue and lips explored, then sucked the pebbled tip into his mouth.
She was arching into him, her fingers biting into his scalp—gasping when he nosed the lace aside. One hand held her close, the other freed her bra. He took his time, learning the swell of one, then the other. He’d missed her. Everything about her. Her broken moan made him shudder. The scrape of her nails on his back made him grip her hip. When her legs parted and she arched against him, he was rolling off of her—smiling when her hands fisted in the satin cover.
He pulled the tie on his athletic pants, kicked them aside, and stooped, pressing kisses along her calf and knee. The tip of his tongue teased the skin behind her knee, his lips clung along the inside of her thigh, sliding her lace panties down and off her legs…but her hands were pulling at his shoulders—pulling him back to her.
He was kissing her then, fueled by her frantic sounds and this all-consuming hunger. It took seconds to pull a condom from her bag, seconds to roll it on—but then he forced himself to slow down. This was what he’d been dreaming about. Loving her this way.
He braced himself over her, his hands framing her face as he kissed her long and slow. Eyes wide, head arched back, she moaned at the feel of him against her.
His breath was a hiss, the first thrust burying him deep. He smoothed the hair from her forehead, watching her face as he moved into her. Her eyes fluttered, lips parted, skin flushed pink, and her hands flexed against his shoulders. He moved slowly, fighting to keep control. But it was too much; she was too much. This was Emmy. Warm and soft, tight around him. She was the one staring up at him, a smile on her lips. She was the one clinging to him and wrapping her legs around his waist.
He did his best to go slow, to hold on until she came first. But there was nothing calm about her. Whatever he gave, she wanted more. Her fingers dug into his back as he moved harder. Faster. Faster and faster until she bowed off the bed beneath him. The sound she made was raw, broken—almost surprised. It gave him the permission he needed to let go.
His gaze held hers, drowning in her eyes, straining against her body. Aching. Closer and closer. His climax slammed into him, on and on, until he was panting and leaning over her.
Her hand pressed against his cheek. “We need to do that again.” Her voice was breathy and ragged.
He laughed, rolling off of her to lie by her side.
She turned to see him, breathing hard. “Don’t laugh.” Wild-eyed and red-cheeked, she was beautiful. “I have a lot of time to make up for.” She stared up at the ceiling overhead, smiling. “Who needs bubble baths or strawberries?”
“Not me,” he replied, grinning at her.
She rolled up on her side beside him. “I always thought you’d be the first guy I slept with. I just didn’t think it would take this long. After that, I think it was worth the wait.” She sat up, stretched her arms over her head, and stood. “I’m getting some water. You want some?”
His brain had ground to a screeching halt somewhere between the words “first guy” and “I slept with.” He had not heard that. He must have misunderstood. Mainly because what she’d said wasn’t possible. “Back up a minute.” He sat up. “Repeat that.”
Her gaze traveled down his naked body, a soft whoosh of air sliding between her lips. “Do you want water?” She stooped, picking up his shirt.
“Before that.” He grabbed her hand, pulled his shirt from her hands, and drew her between his legs. “The other part. The part where you have never slept with anyone before?”
“Right.” She nodded, running her fingers through his hair. “Like I said, so much time to make up for.” Her green eyes met his. “I shouldn’t have said anything, huh?” she whispered, her smile fading.