Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

I didn’t give him a moment to overanalyze what we’d done, to pull out of me and disappear. Instead I kissed him, sweet, deep, wet. He kissed me back, and I rolled until I was on top of him and he let me. His hands caressed my back, my hair, my ass as we kissed and I writhed against him, needing more, wanting him hard again, ready.

I touched and tasted every inch of him until he was ready, until we were replacing the used condom with a new one.

This time I explored his beauty, the hard planes of his muscles, the heat of his skin, the salt of his sweat, the taste of his pre-come.

This time I rode him. I rode him slow, the desperation of our need eased by our first time together.

Now I could take my time enjoying him.

And enjoy Vaughn I did.

Because even as I straddled him, rising up and down on his cock, the look in his eye told me he was still the one in control here, and I felt that. But I also felt my power over him.

And there was no headier aphrodisiac.

Vaughn climaxed first, and as his hips bucked beneath mine he tipped me over the edge, and we came together.

Exhausted, stunningly exhausted, I slumped over him, and buried my face in his neck.

“I never dreamed it could be like this between us,” I whispered.

Never had I felt more relaxed, more connected, more at peace, more alive than I did in that moment, and for the first time in a long time I fell asleep without thinking about chores or work or anything . . . nothing but the man who was still inside me.

The man I thought I might have been waiting for my whole life.

All this time he’d been standing right in front of me, wearing a suit and a sexy-ass smirk.

ELEVEN

Vaughn

He could blame it on nature, say he was just a man, and no man would have been able to resist Bailey Hartwell when she got it in her head to seduce him.

But that kind of reasoning would make him more of an asshole than he already was.

She’d fallen asleep with his dick still inside of her.

He muffled the curse of arousal that hovered on his lips as he stared at her, his overeager erection straining toward her body for more. When he realized she’d dropped off into sleep he’d gently eased out of her and rolled her onto her side. She’d snuggled into him before he could get away, and damn but he wanted just a little more time to enjoy the fact that finally the redhead in his arms was the one he’d wanted there all along.

Her beautiful auburn curls spilled out on his arm, tickling his skin. So soft.

Everything about her was. Her skin, her eyes, even her heart.

He recognized the moment she’d decided to save him. The moment he became another Jessica, another Dahlia.

Sure, he went beyond that since she wanted to fuck him, too, but more than that she wanted to soothe his wounded soul.

And she thought sex would lower his defenses.

She was right.

It had.

Vaughn couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so lost in a woman. He felt this unsettling hum beneath his skin. This urgency. This desperation to claim Bailey Hartwell as his own like he really was a prehistoric caveman.

He could blame her.

He could blame the moment she’d said, “I bet you’ve thought about it. Fucking the hostile Princess of the Boardwalk into submission.”