While questions percolated in her head—Then why had he left? Or why hadn’t he called her? And what did that mean?—Flicka was drunk on all that fizzy vodka and only wanted to survive this night in the comfort of Dieter’s arms again.
He tilted his face up and found her lips again, kissing her.
Flicka opened her mouth this time, deepening the kiss, touching her tongue to his.
He rubbed his tongue against hers and smoothed her clothes over her skin, stroking her curves.
Flicka struggled with her shirt, and she broke apart from him to yank it over her head and throw it on the floor.
She caught his mouth with hers again, and his fingers drifted above the waistband of the light canvas pants he’d bought her, light on her ribs.
Flicka’s hands wandered down his chest, tracing the hard swells and dips of his firm muscle and the soft brush of golden, masculine hair that gathered over his sternum.
She reached down, still kissing him, and ran her hands over all that hard, glorious strength that carried her when she needed it and his wide shoulders that shielded her when she huddled behind him.
He stroked her back, relaxing the strains and sprains from fighting and losing the night before.
He stroked her pain and fear away.
Flicka thought only about his lips on hers, his hands soothing her flesh, and his arms protecting her.
The hum of the quiet city outside the window faded with the setting sun. The room darkened around them.
Flicka slipped off the bed to untie the pants and shove them down her legs, and she held her hand to Dieter to stand up so she could push his clothes off, too.
He tugged her hand back. “You know what I like.”
Passion fogged her head. “I— What?”
“Come back. Kneel across me again.”
“But you’re still wearing—”
“Come back.”
She climbed on top of him again, kissing him.
His head dipped, and he kissed down her chin to her neck.
Flicka stretched against him, his warm breath ghosting over her as he nipped and sucked her skin.
She sighed, and the end of it growled low in her throat.
A ripple ran through Dieter, his flesh expanding in her arms.
He kissed lower, catching her nipple in his mouth and pulling. She gasped and arched into his mouth, and Dieter’s arms tightened around her waist and back. His mouth opened wider, pulling the softness of her breast inside, and he sucked until her breath became a moan. She ran her fingers through the velvet of his short, blond hair, luxuriating in the softness under her palms.
His mouth was on her breastbone, still kissing, and he whispered, “Grab the headboard.”
She did. “Why?”
“Because you know what I like.”
“But what—”
He slouched lower and lifted her ass with his hands so that he could slide down the bed. “Move your legs over my shoulders.”
“But—”
