Adam grabbed her bag and she noticed he didn’t have one, but didn’t care enough to question. She just wanted to get him inside and alone. He walked up to the door and straight inside, smiling when she gave him a questioning look. “Just us.”
He took her hand and led her down the hall to an open doorway. Candles lit the room, fresh flowers graced the dresser and rose petals were scattered on the duvet. A bottle of champagne and two glasses were on the bedside table.
“Oh,” she sobbed, and ran for the bathroom to get a handful of tissues. She blew her nose and walked back into the room to find him leaning against the door.
“Not exactly the reaction I was expecting, but I’ll take it.”
His grin was sinful, and suddenly the urge to cry was gone. He seemed to notice and took two steps toward her. Stopped. “Myra, are you—” He shook his head, his face uncertain.
“What?”
“Are you holding yourself back from me? I love you, I should have said that before. Not even just before this.” He waved at the air as if that explained the need to complete the mate bond. “But before you left Mountain View. I’m sorry for that, sorry that you think I’m here just because of this, but I promise you, if you give me a chance, I will make it right.”
Stunned, she just stared at him. And then she understood. She’d been holding herself so tightly, so afraid to let her feelings flow down to him, and he could feel it. Feel that she was holding back.
She took a deep breath. Walked up to him and cupped his face in her hands. He mirrored her, his look so intent, so full of love and need for her. She let go.
And they burned, the heat exploding over them so hot, so fast, that she had his pants around his ankles before she considered his boots while he’d simply torn her shirt right off her back.
They each pulled apart to deal with their shoes and pants and then came together in a tangle of hands and legs, edging toward the bed until they fell on top of it, and each other.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Adam tried to tell himself to slow down. To give her the romance she so deserved. But she was too busy attacking him for that to happen. Her fingers were twisted into his hair, her hand groping for his dick. He rolled them over until they were safely in the middle of the bed, landing so that she was on top of him. She drew in a sharp breath, then braced her hands on his shoulders and sat up, her gaze intent on his.
Then she smiled. It held such wicked delight that he knew he would never, ever regret the decision he’d made. He was a lucky, lucky bastard. She slid her hands down his chest, scratching lightly with her blunt nails. He put his hands on her hips and squeezed, then ran them up her sides to her breasts, cupped them firmly.
She leaned into his grip, brought a finger to his lips, slid it inside when he opened for her. He massaged her tits and swirled his tongue around her finger until she pulled it free and moved it to her clit.
“I could have done that for you, you know,” he chided.
“Your hands are well occupied,” she reminded him.
“Hm, so they are.” He took both nipples with his fingers and pulled until she gasped. She circled her clit with her wet finger. His dick was rock hard now but trapped underneath her. He let her nipples free and gripped her ass, lifted. She helped him, reaching down for his cock, rubbing it in her juices before settling back down.
“Fuck.”
She rubbed her slickness over him and he loved the feel of her wet fingers on him, but he couldn’t wait any longer. “I need to be inside you.”
“Yes,” she agreed, rising up on her knees, placing him at her entrance. He held her still for a second, then together they lowered her onto him, his hips bucking up to meet her hard, and fast.
He felt it. Hadn’t realized he would. Hadn’t considered it. But he actually felt her soul twine with his. The beauty of it was so amazing he stopped moving, his hands on her hips holding her steady. She watched him, more hated tears dripping from her eyes, but he didn’t care. He saw love and acceptance and the sparkle of heat that showed him she was right there with him. All the way.
“Wow,” he breathed.
Her grin was huge. “Yeah.” She dropped down, elbows going to either side of his face so she could kiss him. He wouldn’t have thought their kisses could get better, but they did. Wrapping one arm tight across her back and twining his other hand through her hair, he began to move, even as they kissed. Pressing up into her, pushing her down onto him, over and over until the need overwhelmed him. He pulled free from the kiss and found the spot on her nape that still bore the faint mark from his teeth. He licked it and she quivered. He bit. They both shouted, the orgasms slamming through them as well as the solidification of their connection. She settled into his soul.
Myra sighed and went limp on top of him. He just held her tight and soaked in the feeling of them together.
As they slept, he never had to reach for her because she was always there. Ready for him. Eager for him. He wasn’t even sure if the need was his, or hers, or just theirs. It didn’t matter, each time they came together it was exactly what he needed, no matter if it was rough and fast or slow and sweet or a hilarious combination of the two. Each time, it was just them.
When dusk began to fall, he wrapped her in a blanket and led her out the back door to sit on the porch step. She sat between his knees, his chin on her shoulder, the blanket snug around them both, and they watched the stars come out.
“This,” she said. “Always.”
“Yes.”
When they went inside, he led her to the kitchen, sat her down and while the coffee brewed, he pulled out the fresh fruit and croissants he’d asked for. There was jam and orange juice, which he hadn’t thought to ask for, but appreciated. He set it all out on the table, then decided sitting on someone else’s chair while naked wasn’t exactly polite. They went upstairs and he pulled on his jeans, since that was all he had, while she slipped on a dress.
