Ride with Me

Tom’s tongue dipped down into her navel, and her pelvis went molten with lust. “Mmm. All right, birthday slave. Take your clothes off.”

He kneeled on the bed and reached behind his head with both hands to grab a fistful of T-shirt.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You said, ‘Take your clothes off.’ ” He left his arms where they were, elbows above his head, chest straining against his shirt in an unintentional beefcake pose. He did something like this about a dozen times a day, something so damn sexy it made her wet, and he didn’t have the slightest idea. He thought he was just taking his shirt off.

“I want you to make a little production of it. Go stand over there,” she said, pointing to the space between the two beds. Tom pursed his lips but scooted to the edge of the mattress and sauntered over to where she’d pointed.

“Now take your clothes off. But do it slowly. I never get a chance to look at you properly.”

“You’re going to make me strip for you in front of the bordello lamp?” He was smiling now.

“Yep. Get crackin’.”

She knew better than to expect a bump-and-grind from Tom, but she was pleased when he took her request seriously, pulling his shirt over his head slowly enough to create a little suspense and a lot of tingle, then turning around to give her a view of his back as he unzipped his shorts and let them fall to the floor along with his boxer-briefs. She’d seen him naked dozens of times, but still her heart was racing, her nipples aching. She’d never seen him quite this naked.

“Turn around.”

He turned, palms spread at his sides, long eyelashes hiding the expression in his downcast eyes. The red light made his dark skin glow, and he was so vital, so magnificent. And, for the moment, entirely hers.

“You like?” he asked, a cocky little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You know I do.”

“Are you going to join me?” His voice remained casual, but there was an edge of discomfort there, too. Tom didn’t like standing still. He was a man of action.

“Yes. Now hush.” She slid to the edge of the bed and undressed, peeling off her jersey, sports bra, and shorts without ceremony. He watched her in silence, his scrutiny making her skin prickle with awareness. Then she moved over to him and draped her arms around his neck, keeping a few inches between their naked bodies. When he brought his hands to her waist, she removed them.

“You don’t get to touch. I’m going to do the touching. You’re just going to stand there and take it.”

His smile was indulgent. “Any other rules I need to know about?”

“Not just yet, but I’ll make up more if I have to.”

She knelt at his feet and started there, smoothing her hands over one of his calves and upward. The wiry hair of his legs tickled her palms as her fingers found the channels between each muscle in his hamstrings and followed them all the way to the joint at his hip. She’d never known such a beautifully made man, and she wanted to commit him to memory, to absorb the sight and smell and taste of him so she would be able to call it up when he was gone. No doubt it would end up being a cruel gift, knowledge she’d one day use to torture herself. There would never be another man like Tom for her.

She pressed her nose into the juncture of his thigh and hip, letting her fingers slide over his butt. She kissed his hipbone. She worked her way up his body slowly, brushing her lips over the tender skin along the side of his torso, trailing

the pads of her fingers over his pecs. She licked his nipple and watched it tighten, traced the shape of his collarbones, the smooth hump of his shoulder, the circuit of his tattoo, the dip between biceps and elbow, the curve of his forearm. Taking his left hand in hers, she spread it flat and followed the outline with her fingertip. She knew these hands, had felt them glide over every inch of her skin. Planting a kiss in the middle of his palm, she lowered his arm and returned to her exploration.

With fingers curved around his neck, she tasted the skin at the base of his throat, letting her tongue rest there on the pulse point. They were skin to skin now, his hard thigh pressing between hers, and Tom sucked in a breath when his erection brushed against her hip. Intent on memorizing him, she hadn’t paid attention to his response. Now she recognized he was taut as a bowstring with the effort of holding himself in check. He looked like he had in Corvallis when he’d been trying not to show how much the hot sauce was killing him, and her body responded with the same sharp pulse of desire.

Rising to her toes and pressing her hands flat against his chest, she kissed along his jaw, his cheekbones, the tip of his nose. He closed his eyes, and she kissed between his eyebrows, where he had a frown line so deep it didn’t go away even when he smiled. Then she wrapped one hand around the back of his neck and kissed him on the mouth. His lips were soft and welcoming, but he let her be in control, parting his lips to let her inside, tangling his tongue with hers in lazy acceptance. She could feel his heart beating beneath her palm, steady and fast. They only touched at a few points, but they were bound together so completely she didn’t see how she would ever be able to disentangle herself from him. When she swayed on her toes, he put a hand to her waist to help her balance, and she sucked in a breath, shocked that his light touch could be so arousing.

“Lex?” he said against her lips. “I’m taking you to bed now.”

She nodded, expecting him to walk her back to the mattress, but he lifted her by the hips instead, urging her legs around him. When his erection landed between her thighs, she moaned and pressed into it, arching her back. Tom swore and backed her straight against the nearest wall, kissing her with enough force to tell her just how crazy she was making him. The impact knocked half a dozen pictures to the carpet, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the hard heat of Tom’s body, his long fingers on her bare ass where he held her up, the sweep of his tongue against hers. She was ready for him to take her on the spot.

He tore his mouth away and swore again.

“What?”

“It’s your birthday,” he said, his voice rough.

“So?”

“So I can’t screw you up against the wall on your birthday.”