Dirty Ties (41 page)
He looked like a sun-soaked surfer, with his lusciously-tanned complexion, his chiseled jaw covered in scruff, and the smile on his gorgeous face so easy and carefree I couldn’t help but return one of my own.
“Did you get the fairing repaired?” I leaned to the side to check out his work and didn’t see any cracks in the plastic.
“Yeah.” He pushed a hand through his hair, the
V
of his abs contracting with the movement. “Only took four hours.”
“Mm.” I glanced at the silver Ducati parked beside his bike. “I fixed the cracked fairing on my bike in three hours.”
“Then you can do the next one.” He grinned, and his hand lowered to the waistband of his shorts. His thumb hooked beneath the elastic, dipping the black material an inch lower, taunting me.
Then it inched lower, and lower, my attention glued to the indentions in his hips, following the carved muscle with the descent of his pants. When I looked up, his eyes locked on mine, wanting me.
My body moved toward him, mindless in its need to close the distance.
He set the drill on the stool behind him and met me halfway. His hand lifted to my face, his fingertips sweeping along my jaw and down my neck. Maybe his body was mindless, too. We couldn’t share the same space without touching one another.
I tilted my head back and stared into his golden-green eyes, my voice breathy. “Are you hungry? I fixed a hot mess of cheese and tomatoes and stuffed it in some bread.”
He laughed, low and sexy. “You made panini?”
I shrugged. “I made something. Looks edible.” Cooking wasn’t my thing.
“Yeah, I’m hungry.” He gripped my waist and whirled us through the garage in some kind of modified form of the foxtrot.
My hair swung around my shoulders, my hands locking behind his neck. I moved my feet in an effort to keep up, laughter tumbling from my lips. That lasted all of three seconds before he spun me to a stop with my ass against his bike. His fingers dropped to the fly of my jean shorts, releasing the button, the zipper, and dragging them down my legs. My panties followed, his eyes never leaving mine.
Warm air brushed my exposed flesh a moment before he broke eye contact and buried his mouth between my thighs. My head fell back, and my fingers flew to his hair, my body writhing against his lips. He sucked hard and licked fast, his tongue unbearable in its assault, his hands sliding up and down my legs.
My thighs trembled, and my inner muscles clenched. He caught the piercing between his teeth and sucked hard again. Licked, flicked, sucked, over and over. When his fingers entered me, the ache between my thighs burst into a cascade of rippling pleasure.
I moaned my release, pulling on his hair and rocking against his face. His lips left my pussy and moved over my hips, up my ribs, his hands lifting my t-shirt and pulling it over my head as he stood. No bra, and God, he took advantage of that, his mouth covering every inch of my chest, licking and sucking and biting my nipples.
He stepped back, his mouth wet, and the fire in his eyes threatened to buckle my knees. “Are you happy?”
Same question he asked me every day, and I always gave the same honest answer. “
You
are my happiness.”
He held my gaze as he dropped his shorts, then his briefs, freeing his thick, hard cock. His smile lit up his face, the embodiment of pure, raw bliss. His and mine. I would never get enough him.
Then he was on me, and his kiss was so fierce and deep-reaching, he had to hold me up, his arms locked behind my back and his cock prodding for entrance between my legs. He kissed me until I ran out of air. Until the world fell away. Until it was just him and me and the racing of our hearts.
Eventually, he released my mouth, shifted to straddle his bike, and pulled me into his lap. With my back to his chest, he spread my legs, bent me over the gas tank, and pushed inside me in one, long thrust. “I love you,” he half-laughed, half-groaned.
The sound of his voice and the meaning of his words curled warmth through my chest. The furious thrust of hips, however, hardened my nipples and quivered my muscles around his driving cock.
“Love you too,” I said with the same choked laughter.
He kissed and licked along my spine, over my shoulders, his hand in my hair, guiding my lips to his. Then he tucked us into a forward lean, my chest flat against the tank, his hips pressed against my backside. “Together, Kaci.” His head dropped to my back. “Always you and me."
His hands gripped my hips, but it was his love pulling me tight against him, holding me, protecting me, giving me a life so damned full I could never want anything more in it. Two bodies fused as one.
“Always.”
BENEATH THE BURN
DELIVER (DELIVER #1)
VANQUISH (DELIVER #2)
DEAD OF EVE
TAKE THE HEAT (ANTHOLOGY)
To my critique group—Author Dana Griffin, Author Lindsey R. Loucks, Lindy Winter, Jill Bitner, Ann White, Kathryn Sparrow, Cristen Abrams, and Aries75—for once again saving my ass. All of you have such an incredible grasp of the craft, and I feel so honored and privileged to be on the receiving end of your advice. I can’t thank you enough for sticking with me through the holidays, for keeping up with my godawful timeline, and for remaining both tough and encouraging through the entire project. I value you immensely.
To Author Gemma James, for beta reading on the road ,and for being there when I have questions or simply need an ear to whine to. You’re an amazing talent, and your friendship is an incredible gift.
To my proofreader, Lesa Godwin, for scrambling at the very end to clean up my typos. I cherish the fact that someone in my family is editing my stuff, and you do it with the utmost detail and the biggest heart. I friggin’ love you.
To my best friend, Amber, for being my sounding board, my promoter, and the organizer of my life. You’re the strongest person I know, and your strength pushed me through some of the toughest weeks. I would be a goddamned mess without you.
To my family, for your endless support, care, and understanding through my twenty-hour workdays. My daughter, for all your back massages while I typed away. My son, for sneaking into my office just to give me a hug. My husband, for forcing me to eat when I didn’t have time. You guys are my reason, my heart, and my everything.
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author, Pam Godwin, lives in the Midwest with her husband, their two children, and a foulmouthed parrot. When she ran away, she traveled fourteen countries across five continents, attended three universities, and married the vocalist of her favorite rock band.
Java, tobacco, and dark romance novels are her favorite indulgences, and might be considered more unhealthy than her aversion to sleeping, eating meat, and dolls with blinking eyes.
You can follow her at
pamgodwin.com
