The Negotiator (Harbor City 1)

If she could have formed words she would have told him ditto, but his hands were on her back, sliding down to her ass and pushing her down harder on him, and the part of her brain in charge of speech didn’t work anymore. She dug her fingers into the thick muscles of his shoulders, grounding herself to the moment and to him, and lowered her mouth to his. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was hard and

yearning and needy. It was a demand she couldn’t voice and a question she couldn’t ask. It was everything in the world that mattered.

Forward and back she rocked against him, taking him deep within her before letting him go. Over and over he buried himself in her, thrusting and retreating until a light sheen of sweat covered them, making it hard for her to hold on to him but she wouldn’t let go. She couldn’t. Her thighs ached. Again and again her core squeezed him every time she raised her hips and took him until he filled her completely, until all her body knew was the sensations of desire and pleasure pouring over her.

Sawyer shifted beneath her, changing the angle of his thrust so that it hit the bundle of nerves inside her opening and she gasped, breaking the kiss. Good didn’t begin to describe it. Mind-blowing was close but still not close enough.

“Fuck.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he said, sliding one hand between their bodies and pressing his thumb to one side of her clit.

A jolt of sensation rocketed through her. “Yes.”

He lessened the pressure then reapplied it over and over as she rocked against him, taking his cock in as deep as she could. “That’s it, ride me until you come again.”

As if the mere mention of it was enough to trigger her, the second orgasm hit without warning, turning the night Technicolor and blocking out the rest of the world except for Sawyer.

“God, I love watching that,” he said, each word coming in time with his thrusts as he gripped her hips and moved her up and down. “I’m not—” His climax hit before he could finish the sentence and her name fell from his lips.

By the time he came back to himself, she’d half convinced herself that she’d memorized every line on his face, every strand of his hair, every line of muscle.

“I think you killed me,” he mumbled.

She brushed her lips across his. “Only a little.”

Rolling off Sawyer and laying down on her back, Clover ignored the little voice telling her to be careful—to remember the clock was ticking down the minutes until all of this was over. Being naked next to Sawyer with the stars spread out like a blanket above them and the sound of the water lapping at the shore in time with his breaths, she gave in to the lazy, bone-melting satisfaction that only an amazing orgasm could deliver. She felt too good to listen to the invisible asshole of a naysayer on her shoulder.

Sawyer let out a happy sigh and lay back onto the blanket. “Five minutes and we head in.”

God, he was optimistic. “Make it ten and I’m in.”

“Are you ever not negotiating?”

“I do sleep occasionally.”

He reached out and intertwined his fingers with hers. “Smart-ass.”

“You know me so well.”

“I’m beginning to.” He squeezed her hand.

And a beginning was all they’d get, the little jerk on her shoulder whispered, yanking her out of her post-coital happy haze and throwing her right back down into hard reality. It was for the best, really. Body protesting, she sat up and reached for her panties—and froze. The sticky slickness on her upper thighs didn’t come from her. Confusion. Understanding. Panic. They swept through her one right after the other like a ninety-miles-per-hour wind gust, leaving her heart racing and her lungs heaving.

“What’s wrong?” Sawyer asked, the question sharp and jolting.

“The condom.” She couldn’t look at him, only the red and green plaid pattern of the blanket. “Is it okay?”

“What do you… Shit.”

She was up and to the edge of the dock before reality sank in. Jumping in wouldn’t do her a damn bit of good. No use crying over spilled semen and all that. Oh yes there fucking was. Her throat constricted as she turned around.

Sawyer stood in the middle of the blanket, the moonlight illuminating the wing tattoos on his chest and the shocked expression on his face.

“Okay, is there a twenty-four-hour pharmacy here?” he asked, calm even in the face of disaster. “We can go get the morning after pill and—”

“I can’t. I’m allergic.” There were three inactive ingredients in the pill and one of them made her react like someone with a peanut allergy in a nut factory.

“You can’t take it?” Now there was that icy panic in his voice that she felt in her veins.