sweet liquid warmth that waited for him inside her body. Their slick tongues touched, and he slid his palms over her breasts, her bel y, 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 wal et in his back pocket. Somehow he ended up on his back with her on top, rol ing 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 fel back with a long, drawn-out moan. The light in the entrance bounced off her round white breasts and tight pink nipples, down her bel y 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 fil ing 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 fel over her face. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. I’l kil 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, pul ed 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 wal s, 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 final y let the intense pleasure curl his gut and sweep across his flesh. It grabbed him hard and harder as her vaginal wal s 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, stil panting hard. “I’m wrung from the inside out. If you came like that in Vegas, no wonder I married you.”
Autumn stood in the kitchen and raised a glass of red wine to her lips. Several emotions churned and col ided 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 rol 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 usual y a beer guy.” He reached into a cupboard and pul ed 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 refil . 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 yel ing 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 fil ed her glass. “If you’re not mad, why is your face al 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?”
“Real y long.” She moved into the living room, and said over her shoulder, “I have a son. Your son. Remember?”
He fol owed 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 stil poured down in sheets. “More than five years. Less
