New York, Actually (From Manhattan with Love 4)

She could do this. She could conduct a normal conversation, or at least behave as if every thought in her head wasn’t jumping forward to the point where they were both naked.

“Let’s just say it became a whole lot better when you showed up at my door.” He opened the fridge. “You?”

“I-it was fine.” Maybe she couldn’t do this. She was starting to doubt her ability to speak normally, or focus on anything except the way she was feeling.

She was standing right behind him and she could see the way his shirt pulled across his shoulders and biceps as he braced his arm on the side of the fridge.

She felt the punch of cold air and wondered if there was some way she could fit her whole self inside.

“Wine or beer?” He spoke without turning his head and she closed her eyes.

“Beer.” Her mouth was dry. Her heart was pounding. “No, wait. Wine. I—I’ll have wine.”

His hand closed around a bottle and he turned.

His eyes gleamed, steel and slate, and then with no warning he cupped her head with his free hand and brought her mouth to his. She fell against him, dizzy, and he stepped backward. There was the sound of rattling, glass against glass. Something smashed. All she felt was the searing punch of heat, the stab of desire. Nothing existed but the moment. Everything else was forgotten. His day, her day, the past, the future, all of it vanished as their world centered on the moment.

His kiss was deep and explicit and her response was instant and equal. She kissed him back, sliding her arms around his neck and lifting herself on her toes. She felt his arms come around her and pull her in, felt the hard strength of his body locked against hers as he hauled her close.

Without lifting his head, he pushed her back a few steps and kicked the fridge closed with his foot. His mouth was skilled, demanding, and she melted under the scorching heat of his kiss, the rush of sensation overpowering her. They tore at each other’s clothes in an intimate collusion, ripping fabric and popping buttons until he was naked and she was standing only in her high heels. They’d planned nothing, and yet it felt planned, as if they already knew the moves, as if this was something they’d experienced a thousand times before. It was unfamiliar and yet familiar, and as he explored her with lips and hands he spoke only three words. I want you. And those words were said with such raw savagery that for a moment she felt her own power and reveled in it. And then she felt the warmth and strength of his hand on her back and the urgency of his mouth on her skin, and realized that he held an equal amount of power. She’d never felt this way before, the sexual energy, the desperation, the need. There was no question of making it to the bedroom. No question of pausing. She felt dizzy, unbalanced, and closed her hands over his shoulders, feeling the hard swell of muscle under her fingers.

She felt his hand lock in her hair, felt his mouth scald her skin and lock over the tip of her breast. The flick of his tongue made her cry out and he teased and tormented, using his hand and mouth to explore what turned her on until she was a seething mass of desperation. She could no longer think, only feel. As she closed her hand around the solid thickness of him, she heard him groan and felt him harden in her hand. Then he was powering her back to the sofa, although she had no recollection of moving from the kitchen to the living room. For a moment she was weightless, and she realized dimly that he’d lifted her, lowered her, and then she felt the solid weight of him, trapping her, caging her. Excitement streaked through her and she wrapped her thighs around him, arching in an agony of anticipation. She wanted him now, right now, but just when she needed him to speed up, he slowed down. She couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t think. Her senses were swamped. She pressed her mouth to his shoulder, tried to speak, but then she felt him move down her body and felt the heat of his breath and the slick stroke of his tongue against sensitive flesh.

He savored, tortured, delayed, unmerciful in his determination to drive her to the highest peak of pleasure until she was sobbing and writhing under him. When he slid his fingers deep she came in a series of intense spasms that racked her whole body.

He eased himself up her body and gathered her against the warmth of his chest. She felt shell-shocked. In her pleasure-filled stupor she realized she’d never given herself so fully before this moment. She’d always held part of herself back. But this felt different. And it felt different because for the first time ever she wasn’t worrying about where this might lead or what came next. Nothing came next. There was just this moment. Now.

Liberated by that knowledge, she rolled him onto his back and lay across him, looking down into his eyes, relieved to see nothing there that worried her.

His eyes were hooded, his mouth curved into a satisfied smile. “Sorry. Did you say wine or beer? I might have been a little distracted.”

“I don’t remember. I was a little distracted, too.” She lowered her head and traced the roughness of his jaw with her lips.

“I was going to cook you steak.”

“Don’t say that word in front of Valentine.” She glanced at the dog, but he was dozing on the opposite side of the living room. “He’s made himself at home. I think he approves of you.”

“That’s good to know.” He groaned as she slid her hand slowly over the taut, flat planes of his abdomen and lingered. “We should go upstairs while I can still walk.”

“Do we have to?”

“We’ll be more comfortable.”

She wouldn’t have cared where she was, as long as he was there with her. “If you want comfort, I should remove my shoes.”

“Keep them on.” He cupped the back of her head in his hand and drew her mouth down to his, his message clear. This was a pause, not a halt.

She had no idea how they made it to his bedroom, but they did and he kicked the door shut and tumbled her down on the bed, ravishing her mouth, his hands skimming over her in intimate exploration until she was trembling and dizzy. She felt it all, every touch, every breath, every sensuous flick of his tongue, and finally, when she could stand it no more, she rolled on top of him. His eyes seemed darker, and he lifted his hands and framed her face in a possessive gesture, drawing her down for his kiss. It was as if he couldn’t not touch her, and she understood because she felt the same urgent need. Her hair fell forward, sliding over his hands, enclosing them both in a place where the outside world couldn’t intrude. For a while they stayed like that, kissing hungrily, holding nothing back, and then he speared the soft silken strands with his fingers and drew it back from her face before rolling her onto her back with intent and purpose.

Desire engulfed her, heated and sharp. She was dimly aware of him reaching for something from the nightstand and then she was aware of nothing but her body and his body, and the way he made her feel. She wrapped her legs around him and he entered her in a single silken thrust that drew a sob from her throat. She dug her nails hard into his shoulders, felt the hard bunching of muscle as he held himself back and forced himself to slow the pace. But she needed the pace. She needed it as much as he did. She moved her hips, arching into him, and then there was nothing but the pleasure, the slick, skilled rhythm that

matched the hunger in both of them. She needed all of it, all of him. She held nothing back. Neither did he. It bordered on wild. Uninhibited, intimate and unrestrained, they didn’t slow down or pause until release thundered down on both of them. They came together, the intensity of it blinding, and afterward they lay in breathless silence, limbs and bodies still intimately entwined. She felt the pressure of his hand, strong and protective as he held her, and of the slide of his hair-roughened thigh against the smooth silk of hers.

Keeping her entwined with him, he rolled onto his back. “How long did you say it had been since you had sex?”

“I might have been a little desperate.” She kept her head on his chest, waiting for her heart rate to steady. What they’d shared had been unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. Because their relationship was simple, she thought. Yes, that had to be the reason. She wasn’t worrying about what might happen next because nothing was going to happen next. Except maybe more sex. “You have an impressive amount of stamina. I hope I haven’t exhausted you.”

“Not a problem. I’m sure I’ll recover in a month or so, although I might need extra nutrients.” The light humor kept the moment from tipping into anything more serious. “Maybe I should cook dinner now.”