“Oh, God, Jake.”I’ve missed you.She was sobbing a little against his warm, salty throat as he slipped his hand between them to find the hot, swollen, oh-so-slick-and-ready part of her. She cried out and arched a little, pressing up into his palm as he found the place, his fingers as deft and sure as they’d always been.
He groaned into her ear, low and husky and needy, sending more delicious shivers down to her center. She felt the thunder of his heart against her palm as he played with her, teasing and coaxing as she whimpered a little, reaching…reaching…and then she came, fast and hard, with a little rush of tears.
“Vivien?” He must’ve seen or felt the tears on her face, for he hesitated. “You okay?”
“I’ll be better once you suit up and start riding, cowboy,” she managed in a rough voice.
“As you wi—” His reply ended in a groan as she closed tight fingers around him. Delighted by the heat and heaviness in her grip, she took her time reacquainting herself with that part of him, stroking and thumbing over the hard but velvety softness until he firmly removed her hand so he could replace it with a condom.
He cradled her face with his palms, and she brushed his jaw with her fingers, and they were kissing—deep, tonguing, delving kisses—as he found his way. They exhaled matching groans of pleasure and relief as their bodies fit together…and then began to move.
The rhythm was slow and easy at first, as if they were remembering each other, memorizing the way it felt—so right, so perfect, so exquisite—until Vivien began to need more, faster and harder, and she urged him on with her body, and soon they were panting and groaning and crying out with release…and relief.
Relief.
It was the only word that sat with her as she lay there in a haze of ebbing heat and still-rippling passion, damp and warm against Jake, whose heart thudded strong beneath her cheek.
Relief, because now she was truly home.
Chapter Nineteen
“Vivien, sweetheart…”Jake said a long while later. They were curled up together in bed and he was playing with her hair, wrapping it around his finger. It was soft and silky and it smelled good—just like the rest of her—and he could hardly believe they were here, just like this again, after so long.
“Mmm?” Her eyelashes fluttered against his shoulder.
“I need to straighten you out on something you said earlier. It’s pretty important.” He was smiling as he said it, humor coloring his voice.
“What’s that?” she murmured, stretching long and languidly against him so that a breast justhappenedto slip into his palm. And he couldn’t ignorethat, so he began to gently roll his thumb over the tip of her tightening nipple, smiling more as she shivered delicately against him. “I hope you’re not going to tell me Ricky’s lost interest. I brought him flowers and everything.”
He huffed a laugh and tweaked her so she squeaked in outrage, then kissed the abused nipple with a long, sensual swirl of tongue. He loved the way she sighed when he was touching her, all low and sexy.
“No, and I don’t know why you’d bring my pop into this moment,” he said as he pulled away, and felt her lips curve into a smile when he cuddled her close again. “It’s a little disconcerting.”
“Oh, you’ll get over it,” she said, scratching his chest lightly with her fingernails. It made him want to purr, and for a moment, he just reveled. Then she stopped and said, “Well?”
“Oh, right. So…you don’t put steaks in the oven,” he said.
“What?” She propped up onto an elbow to give him a confused look. Her bourbon-colored hair tumbled over her breasts as she blinked matching eyes in confusion.
“What, meaning—what do you mean you don’t put steaks in the oven; I thought that’s how you cook them? Or what, meaning—what did I say, because you were so overcome with lust that you didn’t hear me?”
She chuckled, then sobered. “Steaks don’t go in the oven? Really? And why did you bring that up, anyway?”
“No, sweetheart, they don’t go in the oven. They go on the grill, or on a broiler—”
“But isn’t a broiler in the oven?”
“Technically it is—”
“Ah-ha!” She poked him in the belly. “So technically I was right.”
“Technically, yes—but when you say ‘in the oven,’ that implies something else—like baking or roasting. Like, you put bread in the oven, or a cake, or a roasting chicken, or meatloaf, but not steak.Nevera steak. You’ll ruin it.” He couldn’t control a little shudder, thinking of the two-inch-thick filets he had waiting for them if they ever dragged themselves out of bed.
The sunset he’d promised her was long over with, and he’d been ignoring hunger pangs for quite a while in favor of other, more interesting pangs.
“And when did I say anything about putting a steak in the oven, anyway? I’d never say something like that. You know I’m allergic to cooking.”
“Earlier today, when you were engineering our escape from Maxine and my pop. You said something about putting the steaks in the oven, and I thought I’d do a little PSA just in case you got motivated to get up and start dinner in order to refuel me so I have the energy to jump your bones again. You wore me out, VL,” he said as she shook with silent laughter against him. “I’m going to need sustenance before I—”
