“Have you thought about this as much as I have?” he asked, between the hot, moist, fleeting kisses he lavished on her upturned mouth.
“More,” she replied breathlessly.
“Not possible.”
“Wanna bet?”
He shook his head, even as his open palm ascended her bare back. “What I want, Murphy McKenna, is you. Now.”
“Then take me.”
Moonshine scratched at the bedroom door. Garrett barely heard the sound over the throbbing of his heart in his ears. “You're sure?”
“Don't I look sure?”
“You look beautiful.”
Murphy smiled.
Garrett's heart beat faster.
“Good enough,” she said.
It was all the invitation Garrett needed, all he required. The hand around her waist lifted, his fingertips searching the back of her bra for the hooks. He grappled around clumsily, but didn't find any.
“The front,” she whispered throatily.
“Is gorgeous, sweetheart. Your front is absolutely gorgeous.” Damn it, where were the hooks on her bra?!
“No, Garrett, the front.”
“Huh?”
“My bra. It opens in the front.”
He moaned his embarrassment. “Murphy's Law strikes again,” he grumbled as he skimmed the soft, satin and lace underband of the bra. He found the thin, molded piece of plastic that sealed the front together and unfastened it quickly.
She arched her back when her breasts spilled free of their confinement.
He moaned again—this time embarrassment had nothing to do with it.
Her breasts, once freed, poured directly into his waiting palms. His fingers flexed, testing her shape and size, finding both to be perfect; she was as firm and as warm as he remembered.
“Garrett?”
“Murphy?”
“Garrett!”
“Murphy!” He was trying to hold on to his restrain, but it was getting harder by the minute. Especially when she arched her hips insistently, grinding them against his until Garrett thought he would go insane.
She laid down on her back, dragging Garrett with her. He was on top of her, his legs open, straddling her knees. He felt her unsnap his jeans, unzip them. He sucked in a shaky breath when he felt himself freed of restraint. Lord, he was hard! He grew even harder when she tugged the jeans down his thighs, then slipped her fingers under the waistband of his jockey shorts.
Heaven. Garrett Thayer had just found heaven, and it was richer and more fulfilling than anything he'd ever imagined.
She fisted him gently but firmly, her hand moving in a slow, rhythmic way that made his blood boil, his restraint snap. He'd supported his weight over her with his hands; he now lowered himself onto the soft bed of her curves. His mouth covered hers for a hungry kiss as, faster than he would have thought possible, he stripped her of her pantyhose and what felt like panties that were equally as lacy and scanty as her bra.
His right hand drifted down, shimmying between their bodies. He cupped a nest of warm, silky curls, and his finger slipped into her moist, tight heat.