Page 199 of A Matter of Time

When his hot mouth engulfed me, I moaned his name, trying to push in deeper, even as I bore down on his fingers.

After long moments of licking and sucking, which very quickly had me moaning and begging, he added a third finger in my ass.

“Sam!”

No answer, simply the worship of my body.

“I’m ready. I want you now,” I demanded. “Right now!”

His rakish grin when he lifted up, letting my cock slip from between his lips, nearly killed me.

“Oh please,” I choked out.

Moving over me, he shoved a pillow under my ass, lifting me to him, and took tight hold of my hips. I reached for his shoulders as he folded me in half and sank deep inside my body.

My breath caught sharply.

He felt so good, and I was lost in the stretch and the fullness and was then utterly stunned by the laughter that came rolling out of him.

“Why are you⁠—”

“You just feel so good. I’m so fuckin’ stupid.”

“Sam?”

He pushed in again, burying himself in me, and I cried out, clutching at him, wanting him closer, deeper, the sensations exquisite and wanted.

“God, J, why would I ever be so insane as to let you go when I love you so goddamn much, and it feels like this being in bed with you? Is there anyone who’s a bigger fool than me?”

I pulled him down for a kiss as my orgasm built.

“You’re in love with the village idiot,” he breathed against my mouth.

“You’re not an idiot anymore,” I assured him, panting as I quaked and bucked under him.

I felt his hands slide down the backs of my thighs, reverently, like I was a work of art.

“No, I’m not,” he agreed, setting a pounding pace that brought gasps from me instead of words. “Everybody’s gonna know you’re mine.”

Which was all I’d ever wanted.

“I missed you bad. So very bad.”

When I moaned, he clutched me tight and I thought, just for a second, that I’d died. Surely it wasn’t possible to feel so good and still be alive. He told me I needed to get used to it—he wasn’t going anywhere and making love to him was going to be exhausting.

I was ready for the challenge.

TWENTY-TWO

He had called me and told me to wait at work for him, so I was still there at seven thirty when he walked in and collapsed onto the overstuffed love seat in the corner of my office. I stood there looking at him, watching as he raked his hands through his hair and slowly let his head roll to the side to look at me.

“Talk to me,” I said gently, walking around my desk to sit on the edge of it.

“Jesus, what a weird day.”

I was hesitant because I knew what he had been up against—the end of his partnership. “It was hard, huh?”

“You could say that,” he breathed out. “You could also say surreal.”