Hotter than I’ve ever been, I glide all the way down, taking him in as deep as any man can go. Palms pressed to his chest, I push back and forth, moving my pelvis against his in circular motions, alternating my pace from slow and languid to fast and furious, working myself into a frenzy and fucking him for all I’m worth.
“Christ. Dee.” His body temperature rises, his espresso eyes burn, and a thin sheen of sweat covers his fevered skin.
I love that I can make him unravel. Love that what I’m doing is testing the shackles of his self-imposed restraint. Crazy for him, I press my lips to his throat and suck the salty taste into my mouth. “Come for me, Mick,” I moan in ragged breaths.
With that, his control breaks. He digs his fingers into my behind and pushes upward, slamming into me, from tip to root. If I weren’t so wet, the blunt intrusions might hurt. Instead, the bite of pain is on the right side of bliss.
He leans forward to mouth my nipples, lashing them with his tongue and grazing the points with his teeth. I try to hold on, to let this be his round, but there’s no denying the licking flames that start in my center and spread full speed to my lower belly, my breasts, my limbs, engulfing me. “Oh…yes…oh…Mick.”
He presses a thumb to circle my clit and watches a hard, shattering orgasm take me apart. Then, emitting a feral growl, he yanks my hips down, racing toward his own climax. Pumping faster. Fiercer. Rougher. “I’m going to come, Dee. Come so fucking hard for you. Ahh…”
His searing release ravishes his gorgeous features and shakes his large frame until all the strength leaves him, and he collapses against the sheets. Following him down, I lay my head against his heaving chest, replete in the aftermath of hot, grinding sex.
Neither of us can seem to manage words, but they’re not necessary. Mick rolls us onto our sides, gathering me against him, holding me close while our bodies cool. Lulled by the comfort of his strong arms and the security I find there, I drift off, listening to the rhythmic cadence of his breathing.
I don’t know how long I’ve slept. But when I open my eyes, the jasmine candles have burned out and through the predawn darkness Mick’s gaze caresses my face.
His languorous hands move over me with unspeakable gentleness, and his mouth sips and savors mine.
There’s no teasing this time. No roughness. No urgency.
Mick is never predictable. I adore the many ways he coaxes my body. But this…this romantic, tender loving is what strokes my heart and nurtures it at its fragile core.
When he lifts my leg high onto his hip and quietly rocks into me, I still him with a cry.
“Dee?”
“Don’t stop,” I whisper against his lips, tasting my tears. “It’s perfect.”
I rise to peak on a long shimmering wave, floating softly through it, breathing his name.
And the sound of him breathing mine as he trembles with me in stunning reflection lays to rest any lingering doubts about the strength of his desire and the depth of his love.
WAKING TO DEE CURLED UP next to me puts a giant smile on my face. Her eyelashes rest on her cheeks like silk fringe. The sheet is pulled up to her waist, and at some point she must have gotten back into her black nightie, as it now covers the body she had so generously given me time and time again.
A stream of sunlight filters through the part in the drapes, and her bedroom carries the musky scent of bonding, all-consuming, insatiable sex. I couldn’t get enough of her.
Gazing at Dee, all round and soft, her nipples poking against her barely-there lace cups, I feel damn lucky that this amazing woman, with her juicy curves, passionate soul, and big heart is all mine.
My desire swells and I’m tempted to flip back the sheet and slip inside her warm body. But I didn’t let her get any solid sleep until four hours ago. So I press a kiss to her shoulder and roll out of bed to pad quietly into the bathroom. Stepping inside the claw-foot tub, I pull the curtain around me and turn on the spray, although I’m loath to wash her from my skin.
Afterward, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt with Northside Lions stenciled in navy on the back, I head to the kitchen. Her fridge and cupboards are nearly empty. Maybe I caught her before grocery shopping. I hope. I’d hate to think of Dee depriving herself. She ate little of her lobster yesterday evening, but I assumed that was a combination of nerves and excitement.
Choosing from the meager selection, I scramble and nuke three eggs. While washing them down with a glass of juice, I turn on my phone. There are several missed calls and text messages from Mackie about ESPN. Ignoring them, I instead Google my name. Normally, I couldn’t care less what the media report about me, but I have Dee to think about now.
A dozen celebrity sighting headlines pop up. The first is from theChicago Tribuneonline entertainment news. I click the link and find a photo of me exiting the restaurant.
Micah Peters, former Chicago Bulls shooting guard, was spotted leaving a private party at the Lemon Lounge after midnight. Business mogul Theodore Townsen and his wife, Miranda, hosted the event to celebrate the thirty-first birthday of their daughter, Alexandra Townsen.
Peters, dapper in a gray suit tailored to fit, was absent his usual supermodel accessory. When queried about his romantic status,Peoplemagazine’s Sexiest Man Alive flashed his trademark smile but declined comment.
I shake my head, wondering why people give a shit what I was wearing or who was or wasn’t on my arm. After checking out several other sites and finding more of the same, I exhale a breath of relief that Lexie had successfully managed to contain any leak about Dee. I didn’t welcome seeing that wide-eyed look of panic on her face again.
Just as I return the phone to my side clip, I hear the light shuffle of footsteps and look up. Dee comes to a stop at the entranceway of the kitchen. Her hair falls in a cascade of tangled curls around her face, and she’s wearing my dress shirt from last night over her silk gown. It covers her hands and reaches to the middle of her thighs. The buttons are misaligned, causing the shirt to hang off one shoulder, revealing a thin black strap and soft, golden skin. My gaze travels down her plump, shapely legs to her red-painted toes, cold and curled into the floor. Then back up past the lush cleavage to her rosy lips and sleepy eyes.
In two long strides, I reach her, gather her in my arms, and kiss her. Dee’s mouth is moist and minty; her body supple and warm.
“Mornin’, beautiful.”
