He could be dreaming. She filled his dreams often enough. Maybe he was dreaming.
But then he was engulfed in her sweet softness and he didn’t care. Her lips found his, her tongue slipping between his lips at the very moment she pressed her silk-covered curves against him. He groaned, grabbing her with both hands. In an instant, he was throbbing and ready.
Definitely not dreaming.
Her lips teased his throat, his shoulder, her tongue explored the hard contours of his chest—torturing his nipples and his patience. She slid down, the caress of silk on his bare skin incredibly erotic. When his boxers were around his ankles and her lips latched on to his rock-hard erection, he shuddered, leaning against the wall at his back.
He stared down, his fingers in her blond hair and tugging her back.
Her fingers continued to stroke him as her gaze locked with his. “Hi,” she said, before bending forward to suck him deep into her mouth.
“Shit,” he hissed, her hand cradling him as her tongue slipped around his length. Her lips were like velvet, hot, sucking, drawing him forward. In seconds, she had him on the edge.
He gripped her shoulders and pulled her up. His kiss wasn’t gentle, his teeth and tongue showed her just how hungry he was for her. When he tried to ease his hold on her, she pressed closer, welcoming the invasion of his tongue. Her little gasps, the tight hold on his hair and rake of her nails on his neck, had him all but dragging her to the bed.
She wasn’t wearing anything beneath her robe.
Her nipples were so hard he couldn’t resist. Before she answered, he’d sucked the puckered flesh into his mouth, cupping the fullness of her breast with his hands.
She writhed, her long, toned legs parting as her hands sought some anchor.
He threaded her fingers with his, stretching her arms up over her head as he drove into her.
“Oh, God, Spencer...” Her moan was raw, desperate.
“Miss me?” he ground out, her tight heat challenging his control. He wanted her to miss this, his ownership of her. He wanted her body—and more.
“Yes,” she rasped, breaking off as he powered into her again.
Long, slow strokes that filled her up and left him trembling.
Her fingers opened and closed, gripping his hands as his mouth pressed along the length of her neck. He nipped the flesh beneath her ear, drew her earlobe into his mouth and never broke the deep, hard rhythm he set.
“Spencer!” she cried out, her body beginning to shudder as she tightened convulsively around him. He watched, loving her climax—the total abandon in her release.
He held on, never breaking rhythm, never slowing. He hovered over her, his chest brushing again and again over the taut little peaks. His mouth returned to her breast, his tongue laving and flicking until she was gasping again.
His hands clasped her wrists, pinning her in place while giving him more leverage. “I could do this all night,” he murmured.
She shook her head, already close to coming again. “Please...”
“Please what?” he asked.
“Touch me.” Her voice shook. Even in the shadows of the room, he knew she was staring at him.
He released her hands. His fingers slipped between them, his thumb working over the throbbing nub between her legs. And just like that, she was burying her face in his pillow to scream.
He let go then, out of his mind as he thrust. When his orgasm hit him, he bit out a curse, long and loud—holding her hips steady.
He fell to her side, breathing as if his life depended on it. But once he’d left her, all the anger and frustration he’d held at bay came crashing down. “Why didn’t you tell me about California?” he asked, still gasping.
“What?” she asked, equally breathless.
Shut up. “The job, in San Diego.” He paused, turning on the bedside lamp. “You made it sound like a vacation.”
She blinked, looking so damn adorable with her tangled hair and flushed cheeks that he almost dropped it. “I didn’t think it mattered,” she said, her brow creasing. “Or that you’d
care.”