He stifled a groan.
He had.
So did he wake her up for what had obviously been intended as lovemaking time or hold her close and wait until morning?
Now would suit considering she had relaxed her sweet-smelling self against him, and she had planted the idea. He could think of no other way to get himself out of the doghouse but to make it up to her.
He eased away from her. She moaned softly and settled on her back. Rolling to his side, he gently brushed her dark hair away from her neck and kissed his way from jaw to collarbone. Her smooth skin glided over his tongue and stirred a sense of wonder. He eased his hands under the comforter and caressed from side to her hip.
Desperate to immerse himself in her, he skimmed her neck, searching for her pulse, then laid lips there at the same time his hands found her breasts. Her heart sped up.
“Tom?” Summer’s sleepy voice sent thrills pounding through him. He slid his lips over her chin to her mouth,skipping light kisses for desperate ones. This wasn’t the time for controlled and proper. His wife needed to understand the deep ache that rolled through him whenever he touched her. He owed her that vulnerability.
He brushed over the softness of her lips once, absorbing her mew of dissatisfaction. Returning he gentled the caress before diving deep to claim with mouth and tongue. She met him with a need of her own, the craving and intensity one he was familiar with because it echoed his.
She broke away finally, gasping. “You fell asleep on me.” She scooted on top of him, sweeping her hair to the side and shifting her knees to either side of his hips. She coaxed him to lift while nimble fingers ditched his underwear.
He nipped at her lips, and drew a ragged breath. “I’m awake now.” He eased her nightgown over her head needing skin not silk, wanting to feel heat, pulse, and curves.
She kissed him, the claiming he loved.
He settled back to enjoy the jolt of sensations piling between them. Blanket thrown aside, the darkness in the room was only broken by a slight creep of light from the drapes. It was enough to see her face and seal the moment in pounding heartbeats.
She kissed and tasted every inch of him with raw demand until the anticipation burned. He returned the pleasure, tasting scented skin, teasing sweet spots, and nipping at breasts before mimicking where he planned to be with stroking fingers.
But his Summer Girl’s patience was gone. She rose on top and used firm hands to guide him inside her heat. With control gone, he rocked into her over and over. Her whispers for more and more and more fueled a rhythm that left them both gasping. Summer tightened around him and moaned. The rush of her release swept through him and triggered a whip of intense climax.
He slipped his arms around her as she collapsed on his chest and held on as if this was the only moment they’d have. He knew that wasn’t true, but still he held on.
“Oh, babe. I’m so glad I’m home.”
Those words settled with sweet intensity, and Tom tipped her head and kissed her gently. “Me, too.”
“Don’t fall asleep on me ever again.”
Tom chuckled. “No, ma’am. Never again.”
Neither moved, sleep came, but the connection lingered.
Chapter Eight
Summer was awake and up.
Tom rolled out of bed and took Bret’s advice. Guessing she was in her art room, he dressed for work and pulled the folder Penny Gutherie had given him from where he’d hidden it in his top dresser drawer. This project needed to be done right, and he shouldn’t and wouldn’t make decisions without her.
Trepidation rolled in his stomach, a nagging clutch signaling a disagreement was inbound. Why did he think that? He mulled the question over as he brushed his teeth, tied his shoes, and shoved his wallet in his pocket.
The answer wasn’t some deep-rooted secret. Simply, it touched on the whole reason she kept leaving. He did conflict for a living. He didn’t want it at home. Especially not after last night. Probably not a good marriage attitude to have, but there it was.
Summer’s art room door was closed which meant she wasn’t in there. She never painted with the door shut. He went down the stairs and stopped in the kitchen doorway.
Summer stood at the counter watching the coffee pot perk. She wore a pair of black leggings and a red Christmas t-shirt. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Bacon bites for breakfast?”
“Uh, no. How about we save them for dinner?” She gazed at him from where she stood, eyes going over his body and lingering on mouth, muscles, and uniform. Memories of the night shimmered in the air.
He liked that. A lot.
“I agree. Not breakfast fare.” She handed him a container of banana nut muffins from Sal’s. Those he could make work.
