You Own My Heart (The Blackwells of Crystal Lake 4)

“Your turn,” she said raggedly.

Nash was so far gone, he didn’t hesitate. He reached into the pockets of his jeans and pulled out a condom.

“Nice to see you’re prepared,” Honey said, watching him from behind half-lidded eyes. He wasn’t about to mention Jade or the fact he had planned on getting busy with her tonight. Because then he’d have to examine the real reason he’d ditched the blonde. And that reason was right in front of him.

He took exactly three seconds to appreciate the visual of a woman who still wore her clothes but was fully exposed to him. And damn, but the combat boots made it all the more sexy.

He undid his jeans and pulled out his cock, watching her closely as he slid the condom over his dick. He was hard as hell, and without pause, he lifted her down, turning her around and bending her over. Considering they were still clothed, it was the only way.

She arched her back, and the sight of her perfect ass nearly did him in.

“Now, Booker,” she growled.

That was all it took. He sank into her balls-deep, one hand on her hip holding steady, the other pressed against the small of her back. She began to move, and he had to work to keep up. She was tight and hot and so damn wet. She fit him like a glove, and Nash looked up, his eyes drawn to their reflection in the mirror.

She made no effort to hide from him. In fact, she held his gaze, her eyes full of desire and lust and satisfaction. Something happened then. A zig to his zag. It punched him in the gut, and he struggled to keep his shit together. This was different. She was different.

They moved together in silence. The only sound was the echo of his body slamming into hers as he drove himself home. He’d worry about that other stuff later, because this was gonna be quick and dirty. He couldn’t help himself.

“Faster,” she gasped, reached back for the hand he had at the small of her back. She pulled it away and guided him around front. “Here,” she said.

Later, when he had some time to reflect, he’d smile at the way she ran the show. At how she was so comfortable with her body and in tune with her needs. But in the moment, he didn’t think of any of those things. He pressed his finger against her swollen clit and circled the tight bud, pleased when she groaned her pleasure.

Nash increased his rhythm, and she matched him stroke for stroke. He felt her tighten, smiled savagely when she swore and bucked against him. When Honey came, she screamed, and her body shuddered against him. Three strokes later, he followed her down and came so hard, his legs began to shake.

Nash didn’t stop. He pumped her body until every last drop of him was released, until his body slowed down, until he could catch his fucking breath. And for a moment, that was all he heard. Their jagged breathing. He wanted to pull her into his arms and get rid of the rest of their clothing. To feel her heat awhile longer. To see every inch of her.

He looked up once more and found her eyes on him before they slid away. Slowly, he withdrew, and she turned around. She hiked up her jeans but didn’t bother to do them up. Her long hair was tangled, and she pushed it back and squared her shoulders. She looked at him, the air between them rife with unspoken things and an energy that wouldn’t leave.

His dick stirred. Christ, he was ready to go again.

“Thanks for that,” she said, a slight smile curving her mouth—a mouth Nash had a hard time tearing his gaze from. God, she had great lips. “It was good.”

Wait. What? He jerked his head up, dark eyes slamming into hers. Was she kidding? “Good?”

“Yeah it was good.” The smile widened, and she stretched like cat, nodding as she did so. “I’ll sleep like a baby tonight.” She moved away from him, and Nash had to work to keep his mouth from gaping open. Shadows enveloped her as she headed toward the back door that led upstairs to her apartment. “You might want to give that barstool another wipe.”

“That’s it?” Was she serious?

“Does there have to be more?” She sighed and turned around. “Thanksgiving dinner doesn’t make us friends. We barely know each other.”

“You make a habit of banging men you’re not friends with?” It was a low blow, and he regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

She didn’t bother to acknowledge them. She headed for the stairs. “Don’t forget to lock up when you leave.”

Nash stood by the bar, his shirt open, pants undone, his sex-induced euphoria long gone. What the fuck? What they’d shared was more than just good. Hell, he’d made her come so hard, he was pretty sure she’d scored the top of the bar with her nails.

Had he read the situation wrong? Was he that stupid?

He stared into the shadows for a long time. So long, in fact, that his thighs cramped and the back of his neck ached. He scowled and zipped up his jeans before grabbing his leather jacket from his office. He turned off the lights and swore.

Nash Booker had been used for sex and tossed aside like a piece of meat by a woman who didn’t give a rat’s ass about him.

He scowled and gazed into the darkness. Huh.

So this is what it feels like.

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