Serving Trouble (Second Shot 1)

Chapter Eighteen

JOSIE UNDERSTOOD GRIEF. She could navigate the fog that descended when the Bad News Bears arrived and delivered their doom-­and-­gloom message.

Your brother has been injured.

Your brother needs surgery.

She had heard those words and the haze had swallowed her. There was no way out. She knew that. The bears stood guard, keeping her locked in fear and anguish.

Until Noah kissed her.

One kiss from a man who was fighting the same fears didn’t change a thing. But oh God, it felt so good. The touch of his lips, the feel of his hands pulling at her shirt as if he needed to touch the skin beneath . . .

Her body responded, demanding more, needing to feel more. She ran her hands over the smooth skin of his broad back, down to his waist and around to his chiseled abs. Her tongue touched his as she traced her fingers over his six-­pack.

So much strength.

Gliding her hands upward, she pressed her palms flat against his chest, dimly aware of his fingers toying with the button on her pants. He tugged at her zipper, but didn’t bother pushing her pants down over her hips. He simply slipped his hands inside and drew her to him, keeping a firm hold on her ass.

Groaning, she broke away from his kiss and tipped her head back. His mouth trailed kisses over her jaw, down her throat, as if he needed to taste every inch of her.

More. I need more.

She wanted to keep the fog of grief locked outside his bedroom. She didn’t want to think. She just wanted to feel. She needed him right now because she couldn’t step into that place where the world felt like it was falling apart, spiraling out of control. Not yet.

“It’s not fair,” she murmured, her eyes open and staring at the ceiling.

His lips hovered over the swell of her breasts peeking out over the top of her shirt. “Not much is.”

Oh no, don’t go there.

“You’re naked and I’m not,” she said, drawing him back to this place where physical desire dominated.

He let out a low laugh as his tongue glided over her skin, licking just above the edge of her T-­shirt. “Not fair at all.”

She broke away from him and stripped off her clothes. Her movements were rushed and she nearly fell over trying to get out of her pants. But she wasn’t looking to seduce him. She wanted to take him, fighting her way to a mutual pleasure that would block out everything else.

His brow knitted together as he watched her. “Are you sure—­”

“Shhh.” She placed her index finger over her lips. “I need you, Noah. I’m not calling, sending a letter, or a pigeon. I’m right here and I need—­”

His lips captured hers, his hands on her hips, drawing her close and then guiding her back. Her legs touched the bed and she lowered down, sitting on the edge. She took him with her.

I won’t let go.

Noah dropped to one knee, his hands moving to her breasts. She leaned back and he followed, moving over her.

Wrapping her legs around his hips, she held him close. He didn’t pull away, or try to second-­guess her. He just slid inside.

“More,” she whispered.

He stared down at her, his cheeks still damp from his tears. But he wasn’t crying now; he was looking at her as if she was everything he needed. And he was pumping into her hard and fast. There was nothing gentle or careful about his movements. It was as if he needed to take as much as he could, as if he was depending on her . . .

I can’t be strong enough for both of us.

She closed her eyes and let her hands roam. He had to meet her halfway, rescue her just a little . . .

His hips slammed into her. His right elbow pressed into the bed beside her shoulder and his upper body hovered over her. But his other hand wandered, gliding over her torso, reaching between them. His thumb brushed over the spot guaranteed to send her spiraling into pleasure. But then he stopped.