It's in His Kiss (26 page)

The wind whipped, the salty air slapping them in the face as he took Becca out to the open water for some speed. A little while later, he slowed at a hidden cove where he’d once learned to fish.

He set anchor there.

The sun was low but not down, creating long lines of fire on the ocean, bisecting the swells. The scent of the early evening was pure, fresh air, and he watched with amusement and not a little amount of lust as Becca stood there and closed her eyes. “You okay?” he asked.

“Shh. I’m giving myself a
Titanic
moment.”

He laughed, and she opened her eyes to smile at him. “You’ve seen the movie,” she said.

He had, years ago under duress—a date who’d insisted on watching the DVD. He’d slept through most of it, but he knew the scene Becca meant, where the hero had stood behind his woman, her back plastered to his front at the bow so she could feel herself fly across the water.

Becca was still standing at the front of the boat just like that, face to the last of the sun, when he came up right behind her. His hands settled on her hips, then her hands, which he lifted out high to her sides as the wind teased and brushed over their bodies, so close together that a piece of paper couldn’t have fit between them.

“You did see the movie,” she murmured.

He could feel her every curve as she leaned back into him, her sweet ass snuggled against his crotch. She shifted a little, and clearly felt the reaction she got out of him because she let out a shaky breath that went right through him. She shifted again, more purposefully this time, and he tightened his hands on her hips. “Watch it,” he warned.

“I’m tired of watching,” she said, “and never doing. You once told me not to play with you, but you’re playing with me. If you really wanted me, you’d have had me again by now. Stop doing this, stop making me feel things for you.”

He pulled her around, stared into her soft, warm,
hurt
eyes, and saw she really meant it. “Are you talking about the fact that I’m not using you for sex?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes,” she said. “I
want
you to use me for sex, damn it!”

“Becca.” He slid his fingers into her hair and stared into her face. “I’m not using you for sex because this isn’t just sex between us.”

“We’ve only done it once,” she said—as if he didn’t know, didn’t relive it every single night. “
Of course
it’s just sex,” she said, sounding pissy.

“Okay. That’s it.” He’d been holding back for . . . shit. None of his reasoning seemed valid at the moment. So he yanked off her life vest and hauled her into him.

“Hey,” she said. “Don’t I need that?”

“Not where you’re going.” He tossed her over his shoulder and headed belowdecks.

“Wait—what are you doing?” she shrieked from upside down.

“I warned you.”

She was quiet for a beat, either because she was upside down, or because he’d stunned her. “You’d
better
mean it,” she finally said, “’cause last time I ended up in my bed alone, all hot and bothered, and I had to handle my own business.”

Now it was
his
turn to go quiet for a beat, imagining just that, Becca in her bed, hot and bothered, handling her own business. It was a really great image. “You hot and bothered now?” he asked.

“Mostly just bothered.” Each word was a breathless murmur since she was bouncing up and down with his stride as he brought her into the small bedroom below.
“And anyway,” she said, “I’m not getting naked with you now. I don’t even like you anymore!”

“I’m going to change your mind about both of those things,” he said, and slid his hand from her thighs to her ass.

“I’m going to need that in writing—” she started, and ended with another shriek as he tossed her to the bed.

Hey—” Becca started, but the air was knocked from her lungs upon impact with the mattress.

Sam was kicking off his sneakers, but she, running on pure adrenaline, bounced up off the bed and gave him a little push until he was up against the wall. With an
oomph
of surprise, he let her have her way. For a beat. But then he took control, turning them so that
she
was pinned between his hard body and the even harder wall, her breasts crushed to his chest. He thrust a thigh between hers and rubbed it against her.

And damn if she didn’t moan. This made his eyes heat with both triumph and a hunger that took her breath.

“Hold on,” he said.

“For what?” she asked breathlessly.

“The ride.” And then, still holding her to the wall, he kissed her.

And God. God, he had a way of kissing like she was his entire world. He was right. She needed to hold on
for this. So she did, to him, gripping his hard biceps, his broad shoulders, his back, clutching at everything she could reach because she was starved for this, for him.

When they needed air, he easily switched from her mouth to her neck, licking, biting, sucking, moving against her the whole time. Becca could feel the pressure building inside her, and a wild thrill skittering on the surface of her skin as he drove her body right where he wanted it to go.

She was out of control, and he had plenty of control. Hell, he had all of it, but this wasn’t about pressure, or forcing her. She’d been in that position before, and this was different. Like always with Sam, she was fully, definitely, willingly on board, and absolutely willing to take what he was giving.

And in turn give him everything she had.

It was a new sensation, and she wanted to revel in it, the utter feminine power that came with the surrender, but she couldn’t do anything but
feel
. He was still moving against her, his hands rough and yet arousing, his mouth taking little love bites as he held her still. She probably should think about being mad at the manhandling, but the truth was, it excited her. She wasn’t mad; she wasn’t afraid. She was so damn aroused she could hardly stand it. So when he paused, she clutched at him. “I swear,” she gasped, “if you’re just teasing me again—”

Planting his forearms on the wall on either side of her head, his big hands captured her face for another long, hard, deep kiss as he rocked into her. “Does this feel like a tease?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet,” she panted. “Depends on what comes next.”

“You do. You come next, Becca.”

Oh, God. She could feel the quivers start in her body at just the words. “Not on someone else’s bed.”

“No,” Sam said. “Right here. Like this.” And then he slid down her body, dropping to his knees on the floor below her. He spread her legs to suit him and then shoved her denim skirt up to her waist. “Hold this.”

“Um,” she said, but did as he commanded, and held her skirt up past her pink lace, cheeky-cut panties, hoping to God she looked good. She must have, because he let out a gruffly uttered “Fucking hot, babe,” scraped the lace to the side, and put his greedy mouth on her. With a soft cry, she sank her fingers into his hair and held on for dear life as he drove her right to the edge, held her there until she mewled his name in entreaty, and then shoved her over. The orgasm broke hard and fast, and she shuddered against his mouth.

“Again,” he demanded, and then made it happen.

Still gasping for breath, she opened her eyes as he slowly rose, kissing her hip, her belly, first one breast and then the other on his way to her mouth.

She could feel him pulsing through the thick cotton of his cargo shorts. He needed to get out of the cargoes and work his magic. Of that she was sure. Goal-oriented, she reached for his top button.

He growled deep in his throat as she shoved the cargoes down far enough to spring him free. She wrapped her fingers around him and stroked, eliciting another growl, a wild, primitive sound that vibrated around her body, through her nipples, and into her core as he throbbed and leapt to her touch. She wanted to taste him, but that would mean moving and there wasn’t time for
that. She wanted him inside her, pounding into her, touching the parts of her body and soul that no man had ever managed to reach.

Except him. “Please, Sam. Now.”

Apparently on board with the demand, he rolled a condom down his length. “The condom’s not blue,” she whispered.

He huffed out a laugh. “No.”

“But still extra large.”

He snorted. Then his mouth closed on hers, drinking in her moan as he slid up between her legs. His hands came up to tug her skirt, top, and bra away, the material fluttering to the floor. He pulled her panties down her legs and slid his hand between them, his fingers creating exquisite sensations against her wet flesh as he caressed every inch of her. Then he slid his hands around her thighs to cup her butt, lifting her. “Wrap your legs around me, babe—Yeah, like that—” His breath hissed out in a long inhalation as he filled her with one thrust, stretching her to the limit.

The quivers began in her body and echoed in his, letting her know he was as close to the edge as she. Sheathed to the hilt, he began to rock, using his hips and hands to move her as he chose. She tightened her legs around him and met each of his upward strokes, racing for the pleasure, growing frantic for it.

Fisting a hand into her hair, Sam tugged her face up to his. “Look at me.”

It was a struggle. She felt drugged, high on him, but she met his searing, intense gaze and something happened: They synced, and then she was free falling . . .

So was he. One of his hands slapped onto the wall beside her head, palm flat against the surface for balance as
he emptied himself into her with a powerful thrust that drove the breath from her lungs. Still spinning, still coming, she felt the shaking of her own body and the tremors in his as he worked to keep them both upright.

His legs gave out and they slid down the wall to the floor, the both of them sucking in air for all they were worth. She lay on her side and Sam flat on his back on the floor, not moving.

“Christ,” he finally muttered, and reached over to snag her by the leg. Boneless, she let him haul her in, across the floor to him. Bracing himself on one elbow above her, he tucked her in so that her head lay in the hollow of his shoulder.

Turning her face into his warm skin, she kissed him. “Okay, so maybe I like you a
little
.”

He looked down at her with eyes gone warm and soft. “Yeah?”

Reaching up, she touched her fingers to his smile and he gently rubbed his lips across her palm, his gaze never leaving hers. With a sated sigh, she traced his lips, the line of his jaw. “Or a lot. Which leaves me hanging out. . .” She smiled a little self-consciously with the irony. “Naked.”

Leaning over her, he gently kissed the spots he’d nibbled at only moments before, his hand stroking her hair from her sweaty face, smoothing down the tangled mass. He made a sound low and deep in his chest, which vibrated against her nipples. “You’re not alone in that,” he said. Bringing a hand up to her chin, he once again turned her face to his.

He let her see what he was thinking. Desire, hot, liquid, consuming desire.

Affection, too. Which made her all warm and fuzzy.

But it was the
need
that reached her. Need wasn’t the same thing as desire. It was even more awe inspiring. This big, tough, self-made man
needed
her.

And in a very scary way, she felt the same.

Becca awoke first. It definitely wasn’t dawn yet but there was a lightening of the sky. That wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was that she wasn’t her usual morning chilly. In fact, she was downright toasty. That was because she was cozied up to a furnace.

A furnace named Sam. They were in her apartment; he’d brought her here late last night, and then surprised her by staying. He was on his back, the blanket riding low. She was plastered up to his side, one arm flung over his chest, a leg hitched over his. He had his arm snug around her, one big hand palming her butt possessively.

His breathing was slow and even. He was still deeply asleep, and at the thought a smile curved her mouth. She’d worn him out.

She liked that. A lot. Awake, Sam Brody was like a cat, all contained energy, controlled, steady. Asleep, he was boneless and completely relaxed in a way she rarely got to see. He had stubble that was at least twenty-four hours past a five o’clock shadow, and she had no complaints because she’d loved the way it’d felt on her skin. Her face heated as she remembered where some of those places were. She was pretty sure she had the marks to prove it.

If she could, she’d keep him here, right here in her bed, forever. And at that thought, she knew the truth. This wasn’t casual. This wasn’t about easy sex, or friendship, though both those things absolutely existed.

This was about the fact that she was in deep. Too deep. Her head was still cradled in the crook of his shoulder, and she realized she was rubbing her jaw against him like she was marking him as hers. Stilling, she lifted her head.

His eyes were open and on hers, sleepy . . . sexy. “You finished looking?”

She blushed and bit her lower lip. “Maybe. Maybe not. . .” She playfully tugged the sheet down and exposed . . . yay!. . .a part of him
very
happy to see her. “I like to look,” she said.