‘Finding a room,’ I suggest, batting a stray hair from my face. ‘We are definitely finding a room.’
It takes about five minutes after bonfire clean-up for us to practically bolt to what I assume is Rod’s house. His daughter is with his sister, the place is lights out, dead silent, and the second we’re through the door, it’s open season.
My jacket is the first to go, and his vest is next. We stumble down the hallway, greedily stealing kisses, literally unable to keep our hands off one another. The stairs are a test of wills. I lead the way, taking them backwards, grinning cheekily down at Rod, who’s not far behind. At the top, our bodies collide, my back to the nearest wall, a photo frame somewhere to my left clacking in protest, but I don’t hesitate to grab a fistful of Rod’s Henley and tug him right to me. His fingers play at the nape of my neck before following the curves of my body down to the hem of my tank top.
Our shirts are discarded somewhere along the route to his bedroom. He’s everything I dreamed of – literally – and more. Those defined muscles flex beneath my hands as if at my command, making my legs go a little weaker with every touch. I’m working at the button of his jeans by the time he shoves the door to the bedroom open, and it smacks the wall behind it. I hear something fall. Neither of us gives a shit. I wiggle right out of my own jeans and toss them somewhere, potentially onto a nearby lamp, before returning my attention to the admittedly beautiful man whose gaze drinks me in with, dare I say, admiration. Unbelievable. Six-pack. Messy hair. He is beautiful.
‘C’mere,’ he says in that low rumble that does me right in. He guides me towards him by my waist, and his lips cover mine, hard and deep, as we fall backward onto the bed. His jeans and boxers are discarded on the floor within the next minute. He unhooks my bra and tosses it right in the pile with the rest of the clothes, his touch a little needy, a little reverent. ‘You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,’ he murmurs.
He seems to know all of the good things, because he explores every inch of my body with as much of that reverence. It’s not overstating it to say that every touch has me melting. Never, ever have I been touched like this, like it’s the only thing that matters in this moment.
Eventually, his fingers find their way between my legs, and he wastes zero time getting to that sensitive spot that has my nails digging into his back.
‘That good?’ Between kisses, his voice is just as irresistible. The silver pendant around his neck is a cool kiss to my chest. If this is a dream (again), don’t pinch me. I want every second of it.
‘Mm-hmm.’
I feel him slide the fabric of my panties to the side, and his unfiltered touch has me pleading to him. ‘Oh my … Rod.’
‘You’re soaked,’ he murmurs against my jaw.
No shit, Sherlock.
Once I regain composure, I press my lips to his, let my hand travel all the way down to his rock-hard erection, and just like that, he’s at my mercy with a groan into my neck. His grip finding mine, he takes my hand, brings it up to him with a brush of his lips across my knuckles. ‘Are you okay? Am I—’
I nod, my eyes squeezing shut involuntarily when I feel him right up against the heat between my legs, and my hips steer their way towards him. ‘Yes. Yes, just … please.’
He knows exactly what he’s doing, grinding against me once, twice, until my heels dig into him in an attempt to drag him closer still. Moan after moan escapes my throat when he teases me, to no avail.
‘Wait,’ he groans, and reaches across me to the dresser drawer, grabbing a condom, ripping it open, and rolling it on. Back to me, his next word – my name, punctuated with need – is wrapped in a sweet kiss. He brushes a hair from my forehead with one hand, his other in mine, braced at the side of my head, and I clutch him close. I can practically feel myself throb against him, feel him getting closer to me, the heaving of his breathing as he squeezes my hand, my rings digging into his skin.
When he drives his way inside, I clench around him almost immediately, my body tensing. He covers my whimper with his lips, and then another slow pump that crashes over me when he hits that perfect spot just right. ‘Damn, Jordan.’
‘Keep going,’ I breathe, my fingers tangled in his hair. ‘Keep going, Rod, I swear …’
‘Yeah.’ The word is barely audible, but the next thrust is earth-shattering. And the next. And the next. Until he’s picking up the pace, the headboard of this bed fighting the wall, andall at once, the pressure building up in my entire body feels like it reaches a fever pitch, then release, a cry that I’m sure fucking bounces off the walls. He comes not long after me with a groan of relief muffled by my neck, and as our bodies go limp, our breaths synchronized, he presses a kiss into my hair, gently pulling out before rolling over to his back so my head falls to his chest. It feels like I’ve just gotten the slightest hit, and I crave more.
Shit, I need more.
Chapter Ten
Whatever Helps You Sleep at Night
Rod
Multiple mind-bending orgasms later, I wake up to unceremonious scratching at my bedroom door.
Jordan is still fast asleep, her head still to my chest, sheets all clutched up around her like she’s in the movies. Sheisstraight from the movies. The light hits her just right, shining against her sleek black hair, fanned out on the pillow. Her eyelashes flutter, but she doesn’t stir. I just crack an eye open when I hear the scratching again, but I close it soon enough, drawing her closer to me with a sigh.
The scratching escalates. Then an insistent bark.
‘Scout,’ I groan, my voice still fraught with sleep. I flail an arm off to my left as if the dog’s actively somewhere in the room. It’s definitely Scout. Boo doesn’t do this shit the same way as Scout does. Boo will be content in front of the fireplacewhether I’m giving him direct attention or not. Scout, the greedy (not so) little sucker, will come right up to me and demand he be given his berth.
‘Hmm,’ Jordan murmurs, her hand moving to my shoulder, bright pink nails tickling my neck. She’s going to wake up, I swear. She’s gonna wake up and my nutty dog will be ready to fly through that door.
Gently, I disentangle myself from Jordan. My teeth are gritted as I slide a pillow beneath her head around a prayer that she doesn’t wake up. She does not, in fact. She must be the soundest sleeper, because my dog is actually thumping at the door. He does this thing where he literally smacks his ass against things to get my attention. Sometimes it’s the door. Sometimes it’s coffee tables with breakable centrepieces.
I tug on my clothes, at least the lower half of things, as I stumble to the door, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I open the door with my arms half braced in front of me for Scout to fully jump right at me, but he just sits there, all wary. Probably caught someone else’s scent and doesn’t know what to do with it. Behind him, Boo lounges on the rug lazily, as if waiting for his brother to fix his attitude. They may be obviously related by huge, furry Great Pyrenees genes, but their temperaments couldn’t be farther apart.
