Any Man Of Mine (22 page)

Droplets landed on her cheek and top lip. She took a deep breath in an effort to slow her racing pulse. “How’s your shoulder?”

“My shoulder’s fine. Your shirt’s wet.”

She dragged her gaze from the short blond hair on his big defined chest and pecs that looked like they’d been chiseled by a Nordic god. She glanced down at the wiener dog on the shirt clinging to her chilled skin. In the middle of his long dog body, her nipples made two very hard points.

“You should probably go ahead and take it off before you catch a cold.”

She tilted her head to one side and glanced back up, past his square chin and slightly crooked nose and into his blue eyes, all sleepy with lust. “You worried about me?”

“I’m worried you won’t take off that shirt.”

“You do it.” She raised her arms above her head, and when he stepped toward her, the place between her thighs got all tight and needy. His fingers curled into the bottom of her shirt and racked her sensitive skin up her sides. He pulled the damp shirt over her head and dropped it next to his sweatshirt.

There was no turning back. She leaned forward and pressed her open mouth to the hollow of his throat. He tasted warm and musky, his skin damp from the rain. Her hard nipples raked his hot naked chest, and he moaned. Before she lost all reason, she said close to his ear, “Bored?”

“I wasn’t bored, yesterday. I was turned on.” He slid his other hand up and filled his palm with her soft breast. “And I wanted you. I couldn’t think past all the parts I wanted and in what order I wanted them.”

She slid her hands up his sides and chest. “Which parts do you want first?”

His voice a low gravel across her skin. “These parts.” His thumbs brushed her nipples, forcing a soft moan from her lips. “I want these parts in my mouth before I go south to my favorite part.”

She wanted that, too. Wanted it so bad she had to fight the urge to toss him down and take what she wanted. She chuckled, kind of breezy, like she wasn’t burning up and feeling greedy. “My toes?” She had all night.

He shoved one hand down her pajama bottoms and beneath her panties. “This.” He cupped her crotch in his hot hand, and she almost fell to the floor. “Right here where you’re wet, and not from the rain.” His fingers brushed upward, into her moist flesh, and everything got hotter, more intense. A blur. A rush. “I want deep inside you, where you’re tight. I want to rub your little button with the head of my cock until you scream my name like you used to.”

She didn’t think she’d ever screamed his name, but she didn’t care. It didn’t matter as she tore at his clothes, and he pushed her pants and panties down her legs. She stepped out of them and reached for his erection. She wanted him, and she wasn’t going to wait. She didn’t want to take it slow.

Beneath the entrance light, he was naked and beautiful, and she took his penis in her hand. Huge and hot. Bigger than she remembered. The pulse of the thick bulging veins pounded in her palm. Beyond Sam, lightning streaked across the sky and flashed within the darkened room. Thunder shook the air and the foundation of the beach house. “I want that, too, Sam.”

Sam looked at Autumn standing before him, her red hair slicked back, her green eyes bright and alive with lust. Pulsing urgency thumped through his veins. His lungs squeezed, and the pit of his belly got tight. His dick was so hard, he hurt. Her lips parted as she moved her hand up and down the shaft. He locked his knees to keep from falling and lowered his head. He wanted to take it slow. She deserved slow, sweet sex, but the instant his lips touched hers, the raw, naked edge of desire cut straight to the primal place in his core that demanded he go for it. No finesse. No thought beyond throwing her down and going completely caveman on her.

She inhaled, sucking his breath from him, and he was gone. Gone to the hot lust whipping through his body and grasping his testicles in a fiery squeeze. Her mouth opened, and she kissed him. A sweet liquid warmth. Like the sweet liquid warmth that waited for him inside her body. Their slick tongues touched, and he slid his palms over her breasts, her belly, her thighs. Once more, he slipped his hand between her legs. She’d shaved her red pubic hair into a landing strip. A little bare. A little hair. His favorite, and he felt her where she was warm and wet and waiting for him to thrust inside of her. He pushed his erection into her hand, in and out, simulating the ultimate act. Her thumb spread a bead of moisture in the cleft of his head, and he groaned long and loud, in pain as he sank to the floor, taking her with him. He kissed her mouth and her breasts and reached for the wallet in his back pocket. Somehow he ended up on his back with her on top, rolling the condom down his shaft to the base.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, her voice husky with need.

“The only way you’re going to hurt me, honey, is if you stop now.”

Her chuckle was husky, like her voice, as she rose above him, then slowly lowered, and he slid into her hot, extremely tight body. He thrust up, and her head fell back with a long, drawn-out moan. The light in the entrance bounced off her round white breasts and tight pink nipples, down her belly to her red strip. Lost in waves of mindless pleasure, he growled, “That feels good, Autumn.” She rose, and he lifted his hips and shoved into her hard. “Yes.” He pushed deeper, the head of his penis pressed against her cervix, stretching and filling her up. He grabbed her thighs as she rode him like the queen of the Calgary Stampede. Within a few short thrusts, the first pulse of her orgasm squeezed him hard, milking him, and he set his teeth to keep from coming.

“Oh, God.” A husky moan slipped past her lips, and she planted her hands on his chest. Her hair fell over her face. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. I’ll kill you if you stop.”

No way was he going to stop, and when the last wave of her orgasm racked her body, he reached for her shoulders and turned her until he was on top. His penis deep within her body, he looked down into her green eyes, pulled out, and plunged even deeper. “Put your legs around my back.” When he felt her tight thighs around his hips, he started slow, pumping his hips in a smooth rhythm. “More?”

“Yes.”

He rested most of his weight on his right forearms, and he held her face in his palm as he gave her more, hitting just the right place deep inside her.

“Harder,” she moaned.

“You sure?”

Her pink lips parted, and she sucked in a breath. “Yes.”

He drove into her faster, harder, deeper. Stroking her walls, and sweet spot, with the thick head of his penis and hard shaft. Over and over, and he felt the familiar hard tug of her second orgasm. It started deep inside and radiated down his erection, squeezing him tighter than before. So tight he set his teeth against his own release. Against the sharp pleasure of holding back.

Then she cried out again. The sound of his name was drowned out by the boom of thunder, and he finally let the intense pleasure curl his gut and sweep across his flesh. It grabbed him hard and harder as her vaginal walls convulsed around him. He heard his own deep groan as he felt his own orgasm ripped from his groin. Ripped from his soul, almost as violent as the storm outside. Over and over until he was so spent he could hardly breathe, like he’d just finished a three-minute shift that ended with a fight in the corner. He lowered his forehead to the floor next to her ear. He’d had a lot of sex in his life, but this felt different. Bigger, better, more primal.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, still panting hard. “I’m wrung from the inside out. If you came like that in Vegas, no wonder I married you.”

A
utumn stood in the kitchen and raised a glass of red wine to her lips. Several emotions churned and collided in her stomach. Shock and shame battled for the top spot, but more than anything, she was embarrassed by her total lack of control. She expected that sort of shameful behavior from Sam. Sam was… Sam. She didn’t roll around on the floor having sex. Not these days.

And not with Sam, for God’s sake!

In the back of the house, the toilet flushed, and the bathroom door opened. She looked down to make sure her terry-cloth robe was securely tied around her waist. After Sam had scooped up his clothes and retreated to the bathroom, she’d picked up her pjs and run upstairs. She’d thrown on a robe and fought hard against the urge to lock the door and hide under the heavy covers until she figured out what to do. Or until Sam left. Whichever came first.

Unfortunately, neither was an option. She was an adult and had to face the music.

Sam walked into the kitchen, shirtless, a ladder of hard muscles rising from the waistband of his jeans. He picked up the bottle of wine and looked at the label. “I’m usually a beer guy.” He reached into a cupboard and pulled out a glass. “But I’m going to save you the shame of drinking alone.”

She wished he’d saved her the shame of shoving her hand down his pants. She drained her glass and held it toward him for a refill.

He dipped his head, and his blue eyes looked into hers. “Are you mad about what I said?”

She shook her head. She hadn’t heard anything beyond the rush of blood leaving her brain and her own voice yelling his name. Thank God Conner hadn’t woken up. “What did you say?”

“If you don’t remember, forget it.” He looked a little relieved and filled her glass. “If you’re not mad, why is your face all red?”

She put a hand on her hot cheek. “The wine.”

“Does wine make you frown?” He poured the Cabernet into his own glass. “Do you want me to apologize?”

If he had to ask that, he wouldn’t mean it anyway. And besides, an apology from Sam would be so unexpected, she just might pass out. “No. I’m not mad.”

“Then what are you?” He set the bottle on the counter and took a drink.

“Mostly, I’m embarrassed by my spectacular loss of control.”

He lowered the glass and smiled. “It was spectacular.”

She shook her head and fought the urge to smack him. “Do you know how many times I’ve told myself that you were the last person on the face the earth that I would ever have sex with?”

One corner of his mouth turned downward. “I’m guessing a few.”

“More than a few. Do you know how many times I told myself that I would never have sex with you again, even if it meant saving my own life?” She took a drink. “Just a month ago, if given the choice between having sex with you and getting hit by a truck, I would have taken the truck.”

“Yeah, I think you mentioned something like that a few times in the past five years.” He spread his arms wide. “And yet you chose me and spectacular sex.”

“I meant my loss of control was spectacular.”

“The sex was spectacular.” He raised a finger off his glass and pointed at her. “You came twice.”

She shrugged and turned her face away before her cheeks caught fire. “It had been a while.”

“How long?”

“Never mind.”

His finger on her hot cheek turned her face toward him. “A few months?”

“Drop it.” She took a drink. Maybe if she got drunk enough, she’d think the whole thing was funny. There probably wasn’t enough booze in the world for that, though.

“A year?” At her silence his brows shot up his forehead. “A year and a half?”

“I’m a mother. I work and take care of Conner. When I have time without him, I get a pedicure.”

“A foot rub is no substitute for good sex.”

“Depends on the quality of the foot rub. Some people are good at it. Others just can’t get the good spots.”

“I wouldn’t know.” He chuckled. “How long since someone rubbed your good spots?”

“Really long.” She moved into the living room, and said over her shoulder, “I have a son. Your son. Remember?”

He followed and stood next to her in front of the windows. Waves crashed just beyond the sea grass, and she felt rather than saw him raise his glass to his lips.

“Looks like the storm might be letting up,” she pointed out.

“Two years?”

“Are we back to that?”

“We never left it because you didn’t answer.”

Lightning struck farther in the distance, but the rain still poured down in sheets. “More than five years. Less than six.”

It took him a few moments to do the math. The second he figured it out, he choked on his wine. “That has to be bullshit. No one can go that long.”

“Why? Why is it so hard for you to believe?” She held up her fingers and counted down the reasons. “I was pregnant for nine months, covered in baby vomit for an entire year after that, and trying to start a business on almost no sleep. I was tired for the first three years of Conner’s life, and the last thing I wanted was another person in my life demanding my time. Being a working mother is very difficult.”

“You haven’t had sex in almost six years?” Out of everything she’d just said, he was stuck on the actual years. “Jesus. No wonder you’re so mean.”

“I’m not mean.” She took a drink, and the sleeve of her robe brushed his bare arm. “It’s just hard for you to believe a person can go that long because you’ve probably never gone without sex for six days.”

“It’s been longer than six days. Sometimes I’m on the road for two weeks.”

“Big whoop.”

“But I can tell you one thing,” he continued, “if I went without sex for six years, I’d have gone blind by now. Then where would I be? I’m a hockey player. Can’t play hockey if I’m blind. Now can I?”

She wondered if he believed his own warped logic. Sadly, he probably did. “On the rare nights I don’t work and you have Conner, what am I supposed to do? Go to some bar and pick up a guy?” Hadn’t she recently had this same conversation with Shiloh and Vince?

His voice was a low murmur in the darkness when he said, “Some women do.”

“Well, I’m not some women. And despite what you might think of me, given the way we met and how I behaved in Vegas, I was never that woman.”

“I never thought you were.”

Sure. “You made me take a paternity test.” He opened his mouth to defend himself, and she held up one hand to stop him. “I understand why you did it. At the time, it made me mad, but I understood.”

“If I’d seen Conner first, I never would have asked.”

“It doesn’t matter. My point is, that the last time I hooked up with a guy I’d met in a bar, it didn’t exactly work out for me.”