He smiled at her and brushed her cheek with his hand. “This your way of asking me for a date, Officer.”
“Guess it is, Detective.”
“Then how about we start with a shower,” he said in the kind of deep voice that made her consider the value of cleanliness.
Meticulous, soapy, slow-going cleanliness.
She had to clear her throat. “Because I have a feeling we’re going to be up there for a while.”
“You don’t say.” He stepped in closer and put his hands on her hips. “You think we’re that dirty.”
“Try filthy,” she said, focusing on his lips. “We are past dirty and into filthy territory.”
Veck purred on a low throb as one of his palms went up to the small of her back. The other went down and gripped her, bringing her flush against him so that his erection was a hard, thick demand pushing into the front of her hips.
As he rolled his pelvis, he stroked her with exactly what she was breathless for.
And in response, Reilly rose onto her tiptoes, arched into him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Veck . . .”
“Yeah,” he growled.
Tilting her head to the side, she put her mouth less than an inch from his. In her breathiest, sexiest voice, she murmured, “What do you want on your pizza . . .”
Then she sucked his lower lip in and bit it ever so slightly.
He groaned and tightened up all over. “Tease.”
“I’ll be your dessert—”
Turned out you didn’t taunt a man like Veck. He backed her up against the wall, took both her hands, and held them out against the si Reilly oster paper. Pressing himself into her, so that she felt him from her thighs to her breasts, he worked a rhythm of retreat and advance until she was panting.
“You’d better order now,” he said, licking up her throat. “Or I’m not going to let you get to the phone for a while.”
He stretched out her arm, putting her in the vicinity of the receiver. But he didn’t stop with the erotic riding, or the tongue. Instead, he pushed his leg between hers so the friction got worse . . . or better, depending on how you looked at it.
God, she wasn’t sure she could work the phone. Or remember the number of the place she called at least once a week.
Somehow, she snagged the receiver, and in a fit of inspiration hit redial—because the last number she’d called had been the one from two nights ago. As it was ringing? Veck amused himself by kissing his way down to her collarbone, which made speaking a little difficult.
Somehow, she squeezed out her name, address and the order for a pepperoni-and-sausage, large. And then it was a case of, “No. . . . no just the one . . . no . . . no Cinna Stix . . .”
She found herself burying her fingers in the thick hair at the nape of his neck and arching into him.
“No . . . God,
The phone was hung up on a wing and a prayer, and then it was all about the fast and the furious.
“How much time?” Veck growled against her throat.
“Twenty . . . minutes . . .” She latched onto his body, holding him as he had her before—by the hips. “Bathroom.”
He grabbed onto the backs of her thighs and jacked her up off the floor. Locking on to his shoulders and linking her legs around him, she hung on as he made a mad rush for the hall bath.
The crowded little room shrank down to the size of a matchbox with both of them in it. But at least the sink had enough of a counter for him to put her on.
After he kicked the door shut, she went for the front of his slacks at the same moment he attacked the buttons on her shirt. . . .
Too many hands, not enough room.
“Let me,” she said, putting him off and solving both problems in a matter of seconds by yanking her top over her head and doing an unzip at NASCAR speed.
He was already going for that wallet of his. Except then he frowned. “Last one.”
She stopped in the middle of unhooking her bra. “I don’t have anything in the house.”
And this was just supposed to be a quickie before the main attraction of fully naked, in her bed, all over each other.
Damn it—she had never seen any virtue in being promiscuous, but at least if she’d had been worthy of all that stuff she’d bought at Victoria’s Secret, she have condoms around. And on his side? It was chivalrous that he hadn’t refilled the stash in the expectation of them, or anyone else he was with, being in this position. For chrissakes, though.
“Shit,” she said.
Veck was breathing hard, his chest pumping, his body more than ready for what they’d started: His erection had taken advantage of being freed and was jutting out of those slacks of his, straining against his boxer briefs.
With a curse, he put his wallet back in his pocket. And then did the same disappear with his arousal, tucking himself away and rezipping, even though it was a struggle, given the size of that damn thing of his.
“Oh, no,” she said roughly. “I—”
He came back at her lips, cutting her off as he owned her mouth with his tongue. With subtle pressure, he eased her into the wall by leaning forward, until she was jammed into the corner, her body semisprawled.
And that was when he started touching her.
He pushed the bra down and went for her nipples, tweaking them until she gasped against his lips. “Veck . . .”
“Shhh. Let me do you like this.”
He bent further to get at what he’d exposed, sucking on her as his hands went other places, riding down her thighs, stroking her.
He moved with mind-scrambling laziness, juicing her up, but not going anywhere near that sweet spot that was aching. Meanwhile, his mouth was working miracles on her nipples, teasing and flicking, then sucking again, and, God, the sight of his dark head down to her naked skin was a turn-on.
Running her hands through his thick hair, she sawed her legs against his hips. “Veck—
“Tell me what you want,” he said against her breast.
“Touch me.”
He eased his head to the side and looked up at her. “I thought I was.”
On that note, his pink tongue extended and ran a warm, wet circle around her nipple. Groaning, she tried to arch back, but there was no room.
“Where do you want me to go, Reilly?” he demanded. As she went for his hand, prepared to give him a guided frickin’ tour, he held his arms away. “Nope. You have to say it.”
“Veck . . .”
“Nice name.” He put his lips next to her ear. “And even better, you sound like you’re about to come when you say it. But I don’t think you want me to touch myself.”
“That’d get the job done,” she moaned as she imagined his big fist gripping his shaft.
“Sorry, my focus is on you. Where, Reilly.”
Screw this. Two could play at the teasing game. She gave him a subtle push and he obligingly inched back, no doubt ready to hear all kinds of fun things hit the airwaves. Instead, she lowered her lids, stared up at him . . . and put her own hand between her legs.
“I’m thinking of you,” she said, rubbing herself. Then she bit her lip and worked her hips as well—not because she wanted to show off, but because that was how she was feeling him. “Touching me . . . I’m
