He kissed her, his tongue caressing her own. She moved beneath him, losing herself to the feeling of him deep inside of her. The weight of him, the power... All she could do was hold on.
Her hands slid along his back, gripping his hips. The quiver and contraction of his muscles beneath her fingers, the pause at each thrust, his ragged breathing—he was barely holding on, for her. When all she wanted was all of him. She didn’t want restrained or controlled. She wanted to let go, for him to let go. To give in to the passion that would undoubtedly drown them both.
“You feel so good, Tatum...so damn good,” he growled. He moved deep, almost leaving her, and slid home again. Over and over, he had her so close. His mouth latched on to her neck, her shoulder, her nipple. He drew her breast into his mouth, his tongue flicking, his teeth nipping. She arched into him, everything but him fading away.
He moved faster then, lifting her and holding her in place as he powered into her. She was out of her mind, overwhelmed, balancing on the precipice of pleasure and pain. Her hands slid down his back, feeling the flex and shift of his muscles. His body was incredible. He was incredible.
One look at his face was all it took. Her pleasure slammed into her. Her body bowed off the bed, the sharp edge of pleasure giving way to a powerful climax. She was drowning in sensation. But he wasn’t done.
He kept moving, harder and faster, driven. She watched him, gasping for breath, instantly aroused by the sweet friction. “Spencer...” His name slipped from her lips, thick and husky.
His arms were columns of steel, bracing him over her as his eyes bored into hers. His face crumpled and he stiffened, shouting out his own release. She wasn’t prepared for the hard climax that gripped her, making her yell out as she held on to him. Still he gripped her tightly to him, pinning her.
They collapsed in a tangled heap, panting on her quilts. He was heavy, sprawled across her. But she ached when he moved to her side. She didn’t want this to end. She wanted to stay here, lost in pure passion and sensation. His arm drew her tight against his side before pulling the quilts over them and bundling them closely together.
“Warm enough?” he asked against her hair.
She nodded, loving the waver in his voice. Even now, savoring the delightful aftershocks of their lovemaking, she wanted him. It didn’t matter that her body was humming, satisfied.
He chuckled.
“What?” she asked.
“You still have pom-poms on your shelf,” he said, pointing at the shelf across the room.
“You live here,” she said, breathing a little easier now. “You could have boxed them up.”
He shook his head. “It’s your room. The last tenants hadn’t touched this side of the house. I didn’t, either.”
“Can I ask why this house?” she asked, looking up at him.
“My apartment building burned and it was empty so... I didn’t like seeing the place sit empty.” He shrugged.
“Sorry about your apartment.” How horrible. And now she was going to make him move again.
“Thanks. It sucked.” He paused. “I’m not home a lot. I didn’t lose anything important. Like pom-poms or trophies.”
She laughed, slightly embarrassed that her room hadn’t been touched. She’d just assumed the house had been packed up for tenants—Brent had assured her that was the case. “I haven’t had a chance to weed things out or decorate yet.” She looked up at him. “I’ve spent more time naked with you.”
“Again, not complaining,” he said, smiling down at her. “Just a little déjà vu. Being here, in your bed, when the room looks the same.”
“We never did this, never slept together,” she argued. “Before.”
“I know. But we spent a hell of a lot of time right here doing plenty of other things.” His arms tightened around her.
His words poked at the hurt he’d caused so long ago. She’d left the middle of her senior year of high school and had only the haziest memories of her time in California high school. What she did remember was pain. Losing him had felt like losing an arm. She’d felt confused and broken.
It was only when she met Brent that she put every thought and memory of Spencer in a box, tightly latched, in the far recesses of her mind. That box needed to stay locked up. “So what have you been up to?” she asked, desperate to turn their conversation into neutral waters. “Besides busting bad guys and taking care of your mom, have you taken up any hobbies? Like woodworking or...beer making?” she asked. “You know all about me.”
“I know the bare minimum,” he said, tucking an arm under his head and looking down at her.
“Nothing more to tell, I guess.” It was true—and pathetic. The last few years had made her a Stepford wife. Whatever thoughts she’d had or plans she’d made had been replaced by things Brent needed to get ahead in his career. She didn’t want to admit that to Spencer. Especially when they were wrapped up, naked, in bed together.
His fingers slid through her hair as he spoke. “Mostly school, then the academy. I’ve worked my way up to detective, alongside Patton. Been in the narcotics unit for a few years now. Greyson’s still pretty small, but shit happens now and then. The real action is when I’m working with the joint task force. Being so close to the Oklahoma border, with as much wide-open land as there is, we do have a lot of drug on the move.”
“You’re happy?” she asked, curious. She understood loving your work, but was that really enough? Spencer had always wanted a big family, like the one he’d grown up in. She’d wanted that with him... But that was a long time ago.
&nbs