He stooped, pressing his open mouth to hers. In seconds, the quilts were gone and she was wrapped in nothing but Spencer. His arms, his lips and his tongue. She tugged him closer, running her fingers along his tapered waist and the clenched curve of his buttocks. He was man—muscle and power—and she wanted him. She parted her legs, panting, and arched into him.
“Impatient?” he rasped, his jaw tight.
She nodded. Impatient was an understatement. She’d been wanting him since she’d climbed out of his truck. Even making pie and gingerbread, she wanted him. So, so bad. “You weren’t supposed to leave.” Her words were bracing, too needy. She didn’t like it.
His eyes searched hers, the tightening of his features unnerving her. “I won’t.”
God, she hated how much she loved the sound of that.
He thrust forward, filling her, joining them. His groan sent a thrill down her spine, forcing her nipples into tight peaks. When he moved, she knew it wouldn’t take long to climax.
But he moved slowly, taking his time with her. There was a tenderness about him that made her nervous. She wasn’t sure why he insisted on looking at her, why he whispered her name when she’d close her eyes or bury her face in her pillow. He seemed intent on...connecting.
His hand cupped her cheek, tilting her face and pinning her in place. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t fight the way his blue eyes claimed her. He cupped her breast, caressing her nipple and forcing her into pure pleasure. His steady, deep, rhythm had her falling. Her body contracted, her cry spilled out into the room, but all she could see was him. His face crumpled, hardening as he gave up the control he’d been exerting. He stiffened, fusing them together as he throbbed with his release. He kissed her, his groan shaking her to the core.
He rolled them, pulling her on top of him—crushing her in his thick arms.
Her body was humming, pleased and relaxed. But her eyes were burning with tears... Which was the last thing she needed. Spencer didn’t need to see her that way. Emotional. Vulnerable. Dammit... It wasn’t fair. She’d kept herself together when most people would have fallen apart. So why now?
Because I’m alone. Her heart thudded. Even now, wrapped in Spencer’s arms, she was alone.
“You good?” His voice was low. His hands stroked down the length of her back, over and over.
She nodded, her tongue too thick to speak. She was not going to cry. Being alone wasn’t a bad thing. She needed to stand on her own two feet—to figure out what she wanted.
He hugged her, sighing. “Sorry if I interrupted your baking.”
She shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“Smells amazing,” he murmured, his fingers combing through her hair.
She closed her eyes, absorbing his touch. Maybe that was the problem. Sex was one thing—affection was another. She pushed off of him, pulling the quilts up.
“Cold?” he asked.
She nodded, refusing to face him. “Tired,” she murmured, flopping down on her side, her back to him.
He curved around her, his arm holding her against him. She sniffed as quietly as possible, wishing she was strong enough to move his arm and send him away. But she wasn’t. She wanted him to hold her. She wanted him to press kisses against her temple, like he did now. She wanted him to stay. Which was a very big problem.
She lay there, listening to his breathing even out and his body go limp. There was far too much comfort in the weight of his arm and the whisper of his breath against her ear. What would happen when this was over and she was in a big, empty bed—aching for what she now knew existed? Before she could only imagine. Now she knew. How could she ever go back to Chris and his batteries?
7
“YOU’RE TAKING ALL of this?” Lucy asked, eyeing the double-stacked cake plate and Tupperware container full of her pizzelle.
“Too much temptation sitting around.” Tatum smiled. “Tonight is the whole reason I made them.”
“Spencer let you out of bed long enough to cook? That’s considerate,” Lucy teased.
Tatum laughed. “We’re not that bad.” Which wasn’t true. Every time he was in the same room she wanted to touch him. And touching him quickly turned into more...serious touching.
Lucy snorted. “Whatever. Are you two really trying to keep this thing a secret?”
Tatum glanced at her friend. “This thing?”
“Tatum, there’s obviously something going on between you two.”
“It’s called sex,” Tatum argued. “Nothing else.” She had to keep reminding herself of that. Waking up to him, his tongue stroking between her legs and his fingers sliding deep, had been the perfect way to start the day. The hot coffee and kiss before he left for work had been pretty damn wonderful too.