About Last Night

His mouth closed over hers again, harsh, impatient. He got her panties off one-handed while kissing her, which would have impressed her if she’d been in any state to be impressed. The only thing she was in any state to do was spread her legs wide and pull him close. He got the message.

When he thrust home, Cath’s eyes flew open to meet his. The moment was intense, electric with sex and something else, a connection between them she wasn’t going to examine right now or possibly ever. Whatever it was, it felt freaking fantastic.

“Christ, that’s good.”

He grinned. “See, I knew you liked me.”

When she rose to her elbows, lifting her hips to bring him as far inside her as possible, he went still, and then his forehead knitted up and he said, “Shit. I forgot the sodding Durex.”

He didn’t withdraw, instead prolonging the full-body contact while he reached one long arm toward the side table where he kept the condoms. She put her hand up to stop him. “Wait. We don’t necessarily need it.”

“You’re on birth control?”

“No. But I can’t get pregnant.”

His gaze flicked down to where their bodies joined at the hips, then just as quickly returned to hers, and she knew at some point he must have noticed the faint scar running low across her pelvis. It had been her first tattoo, in a way. Her first reminder of how cruelly life could punish recklessness in love.

“Don’t ask me about it.”

He met her eyes and shook his head slightly. He wouldn’t. Not now.

“Before you, I hadn’t had sex in two years,” she said, “and your fine National Health Service says I’m in prime condition. So unless you have something nasty—in which case you’ve probably just given it to me and you’re an evil bastard—we’re okay without the condoms.”

He smiled, sweet and a bit bashful. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know.” He wouldn’t hurt her. Never on purpose. Nev was going to hurt her accidentally, and when he did it would be her own fault. It turned out that it was just as easy to make a mistake with your eyes open as it was to make one out of ignorance. She hadn’t understood that before. It was something she was learning from him.

“So we’re good?” she asked.

“We’re bloody amazing,” he answered, seating himself so deeply inside her she had to bite her lip.

“Start moving then.” She lifted her hips, insistent.

“You’re so bossy.” He rolled onto his back, pulling her along so that she ended up on top. “I had a long day, love. Why don’t you take charge, since you seem determined to give orders?”

“Suits me.”

Cath positioned her knees beneath her and sat up, reveling in the sensation of his hard, hot length inside her. Nev’s hands rose to her breasts, pushing the lace cups of her bra aside. He levered himself up enough to draw a nipple into his mouth, then sucked hard. Her head dropped back as her eyes drifted shut. He was normally such an attentive lover, but today he was rougher. Their teasing barely disguised something primal in both of them.

She wanted him completely uncivilized. Stripped bare and starving.

Crumpling the sheet in her fists, she rode him. Her focus narrowed to the tight pull between her breast and her clit, the slow drag of his cock producing enough pleasure to swamp her nervous system. When he bit her nipple, she cried out and rode harder—rode him until her thighs trembled and she had to brace one arm against the headboard and push his mouth away, because her orgasm was bearing down, slamming through her, tearing her apart.

Nev’s hands found her hips then, and he drove into her without restraint, half a dozen strokes was all it took to bring his own release.

They were loud and messy together. Sweaty and transcendent. Alarmingly, wonderfully out of control.

They were the closest thing to perfect she’d ever known.

Fantastic sex weakened her resolve. That, or the sight of Nev wearing pin-striped trousers and nothing else while cooking her dinner was just way too good to pass up. When he chopped garlic and pepper and tomatoes into tiny pieces, the muscles of his forearms flexed, and her eyes were drawn to the small, sure movements of his fingers and hands on the knife. It was terribly sexy.

Infatuated didn’t begin to describe it.

She pulled another cookie out of the package, determined that if she was going to have dinner with him, she would at least spoil her appetite first. You know, to make a point. Though for the life of her she couldn’t say what the point was.

Nev tossed the vegetables into a skillet with some olive oil and let them cook while he sliced bread and grated fresh Parmesan, mixing it with soft butter.

Seriously, was there nothing the man couldn’t do? He was employed, handsome, smart, funny, good in bed, and he cooked. He had to have some horrible hidden flaw, but so far she hadn’t seen any trace of it.