Not when his hot, deep kisses made her rub herself against him. Her swollen center came in contact with his hard, thick erection and they both groaned.
“You first,” he said, pushing her back until she settled against the desk. He was already fumbling with her shorts.
She helped, then pushed them off, along with her bikini briefs. Then his tongue was in her mouth and his fingers were between her legs, and nothing mattered but the way he made her feel.
It was too good, she thought, barely able to stay standing. She clung to him as she sucked on his tongue and parted her thighs even more. Fingers plunged in and out of her. His thumb rubbed and circled and teased. She was seconds away from losing herself when he broke the kiss and crouched down.
“I want to taste you,” he told her.
She was hardly going to protest. With one quick push, she sat on the edge of the desk. Sam knelt on the floor and drew her swollen flesh apart. He leaned close, then placed an open-mouthed kiss on the very heart of her.
The orgasm came from nowhere. One second she’d been anticipating the intimate act and the next she was caught up in a whirlwind of pleasure and release. She bit back a scream as she clutched at his head. He licked and sucked, forcing one orgasm into two, then three. She shuddered and gasped, finally stilling.
When she was done, he straightened and smiled at her. Francesca felt more than a little embarrassed.
“I, ah, should have taken longer.”
He grinned. “You’re going to make me think I have super powers.”
“You do.”
She slid off the desk and reached for the front of his jeans. “Your turn.”
He covered her hands with his. “You don’t have to do that.”
Now it was her turn to grin. “I know.”
They exchanged places, with him leaning against the desk and her standing in front. She unfastened his belt, then the button. When the zipper was released, she pushed jeans and briefs down his thighs. His erection sprang free.
He was already hard. She pressed her mouth to his neck as she took him in her hand. He tasted sweet and salty, and he felt like barely controled power encased in baby-soft velvet. The first stroke made her wish they’d brought a condom with them. The second stroke made them both moan.
“I’m going to beat your record,” he whispered.
“Promise?” She rubbed her thumb against the tip of his penis.
He shuddered. “Oh, yeah.”
Smiling, she knelt on the thick carpeting and took him in her mouth. He clutched the edge of the desk and muttered something about control. She held in a chuckle and began to move.
Francesca wasn’t sure he beat her record, but he certainly matched it. In thirty seconds he was breathing hard, in forty-five he was swearing, and somewhere around a minute, he lost it completely.
“I like your enthusiasm,” she murmured as they straightened their clothing. “It’s inspiring.”
He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “So are you. But now I’m starved. Is there any pasta left?”
“Are you kidding? I’m half Italian. There were three of us for dinner, so I brought enough for, oh, twenty.”
Sam grinned, then crossed to the door. After unlocking it, he glanced into the hallway, then nodded.
Francesca could hear Kelly moving around upstairs as they made their way to the kitchen.
While she reheated ravioli and sauce, Sam poured them each a glass of wine.
“Did I thank you for bringing dinner?” he asked as he leaned against the counter.
“About four times.”
“It was really good.”
He’d already told her about his attempt to provide a “healthy” dinner the previous evening. She’d done her best not to laugh.
“The Grands know how to cook,” she said. “Grandma Tessa does all the traditional Italian dishes, while Grammy M could bake her way into heaven.”
She pulled steaming bowls out of the microwave and tried not to notice the delightfully squishy sensation that lingered after their quickie. She felt satiated, content, and just a little bit wicked.
“Do you cook?” he asked.
Francesca pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat. “No. I’ve taken tons of classes on every kind of cooking. I do fabulous garnishes, but I’m lousy at real food. Honestly, I don’t even like cooking.”
“So why do you take the classes?” he asked as he settled next to her and picked up a fork.
“Guilt,” she said cheerfully. “I’m not interested in the traditional marriage role, and in my family that’s about as blasphemous as not acknowledging the Pope. So I study cooking.”
“You can rebel enough not to remarry, but not enough to tell them you don’t like to cook?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but even being aware of what’s happening doesn’t take away the guilt. I’m Irish, Italian, and Catholic. Guilt is my birthright.”
Sam chewed a mouthful of ravioli. It had been pretty good at dinner, but after what they’d just done in his office, it was delicious. As was Francesca. Her mouth was swollen, her skin flushed. She looked content and satisfied, which pleased him.
“I’m not trying to make trouble here,” he said, “but shouldn’t your professional training make a difference?”
“Psychologist, heal thyself?” she asked, then laughed. “You’d think it would, but then you’d be wrong. Besides, without guilt, I’d have too much mental free time.”
“Good point.” He grinned. “I never did show you my Picasso.”
She looked at him, blushed slightly, then laughed. “Oh. Yes, well, we’ll have to do that another time.”
“Just say the word.”
Not that he wanted to make a habit of five-minute sex. Not with her. Their night together had been too extraordinary. But with Kelly in the house, everything was different.
“I can tell by your change in facial expression that you’ve shifted to another mental topic,” she said.
He nodded.
Francesca leaned toward him. “It’s only been a few days.”
“I know. We both have to adjust. It’s going to take time.” He pushed the bowl away. “I understand all that, but I’m ready to get on with fixing the problem.”
“Have you defined what’s wrong yet?”
Yeah, some kid he’d never known about had unexpectedly entered his life. Instead of being someone he could relate to-a boy, or quiet, or normal-Kelly was difficult, stubborn, and ill-mannered.
“We don’t exactly get along,” he said instead.
“That will come. First you have to get to know each other.”
“Not easy when she spends all her time pissed off at me.” He picked up his wine. “Was I wrong to cancel her credit card?”
“Of course not. I’m shocked her mother let her have one. The thing is you have one set of expectations and she has another. You’re going to have to find some middle ground. And maybe next time warn her before you cancel her card.”
“Good point. Too bad her idea of middle ground is for me to do everything she wants and stay out of her face.” He took a sip of wine, then set the glass on the table. “She’s going to be annoyed when she finds out I’ve hired a nanny.”
“You found someone?”
He nodded. “The service wasn’t thrilled to be providing car service and baby-sitting for a twelve-year-old, but for the right money, they’ll do it. She starts Monday.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “You’ve been great helping me out, but I can’t take up all your time.”
“I haven’t minded. If nothing else, I’m learning about ballet.” She hesitated. “I’ve been debating this for a while and I’d like to take Kelly to my folks’ place after class. My older sister is getting married, and we have a ‘girls only’ planning meeting scheduled.”
Sam squeezed her fingers and released them. “She’s going to be in the way. I’ll take the day off work and cart her around myself.”
“You don’t have to,” she told him. “I don’t mind taking Kelly to meet my family. I think they’ll overwhelm her
