Serving Up Trouble

Angie’s anger vanished as heat and intense need surged through her body. He tasted good, so very good, and she was desperately hungry for him, the hunger fueled by the knowledge he felt the same about her whether he wanted to or not.

His mouth was greedy, and so were his hands. She held her breath as his fingers danced down the material of her sundress to the hem, then slowly returned, bunching up the dress as he went, using both hands now, on her bare thighs, scooting her even closer so that the very center of her slid over the vee of his jeans, and a most interesting bulge.

When she arched her hips, he let out a rough groan and filled his hands with her breasts. Humming with pleasure, she put her hands over his. “Sam, I need-”

“I know. Me, too.” He un but toned the bodice of her dress, unhooked her bra, and spilled her breasts into his waiting hands. Leaning forward, he used his mouth, his tongue, his teeth until she was nothing but a string of taut nerves, quivering and edgy.

She had to touch him. Her hands slid through his hair, over his shoulders, his back, beneath his T-shirt to the sleek, bare, heated skin she’d been dying to feel. “More, Sam.”

“More,” he agreed, reaching around her to open the glove compartment, shoving maps and CDs to the floor, searching… “Yes,” he breathed, and held up a condom, which she took in her fingers.

His hands were back on her bare thighs, beneath her dress now, cupping her bottom, rubbing her over his most impressive erection, and all she could do was whisper his name, begging for more. In tune to the squeaking leather beneath them and the moans and sighs of their own breath fogging up his windows, he gave it.

He slid aside her panties and used his fingers to bring her to a shuddering orgasm that hit her so fast she scared herself. When he opened his jeans, she caught her breath, stared down at him in wonder, and then taking the condom from his fingers, putting it on him herself, she impaled herself on him.

Filled to the limit, she let out a long, shuddering sigh that mingled with his quiet “oh yeah.” Then he cupped her face, brought her down for another soul-destroying kiss as he began to move.

She wanted to come again, her entire body strained and writhed for it, and she couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t control her breathing, or the arching of her hips or the soft panting echoing in her ears. “Sam…”

“I know.” He caressed her belly before gliding his hands to her thighs, holding them open for his thrusts while his thumbs brushed over the core of her. She sobbed out his name. He said hers, too, in a hoarse, tight whisper before he raised his hips and thrust so high inside her she exploded on the spot. Vaguely she heard the rough groan that told her he had found his release, too, in an explosion that shook his entire body.

Gasping, she set her forehead to his, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, hanging on through the little after shocks that rippled through her system, determined to stay this way forever. Darkness reigned, and all the windows had long ago fogged, so there was no outside, nothing but the two of them, alone, together. “Mmm.” She sighed.

“Yeah.” He waited until she lifted her face from where she’d plastered it to his neck. “I want you again,” he said. “Inside this time. In my bed.”

“Oh, yes.”

He helped her right her clothing; slowly drew her bra closed, care fully tucking a nipple back in place, running a finger over the tip as he did, eliciting a shiver.

He looked up at her, eyes aglow. “You like that.” To prove his point, he dipped his head and dragged his tongue over the hardened, aching point. “I want to taste the rest of you.”

All she could do was nod.

He slid a finger down the bunched elastic of her panties, straightening them, the pad of his thumb stroking the very center of her being as he did.

She let out a horribly needy whimper.

His eyes darkened. His thumb stroked again, and again she made the sound.

“Inside,” came his hoarse whisper. “Now.” He skimmed the material of her dress down her legs while she quivered with the knowledge he’d nearly driven her to another orgasm while just dressing her.

“Inside,” she agreed, and staggered against him when they got out.

He simply swept her into his arms, making her heart sigh. She was strong. In de pen dent. But for right now, this was where she wanted to be, against him, with his arms tight around her.

Then the front door whipped open, startling them.

Luke took one good long look at both of them and grinned widely. “Well, look who the cat dragged in.”

Angie, drugged in sensuality only a moment before, froze, her gaze on Sam’s above her. The two of them were obviously glowing. How would he react to someone seeing them like this?

Embarrassed?

Angry?

Would he push her away?

Luke leaned against the doorjamb and continued to grin.

Sam scowled but didn’t let Angie down. “Excuse me.”

“Certainly.” Luke shifted aside, and when Sam would have kicked the door closed on him, he neatly stepped inside first.

“I meant for you to be on the other side of it when it closed,” Sam told him. “What happened to your date?”

“Didn’t work out.”

From the living room came the sounds of a ball game and the un mistakable scent of pizza. “I’m guessing you don’t want to watch the game.”

Angie tried to get down, but Sam held firm. “No.” He looked slightly abashed but not ashamed, and definitely more than a little protective as he turned away so Luke could no longer see her.

At the endearing gesture, such a small thing really, but that he would think of it…her heart took a stumble.

But with her new angle of vision she could see into a mirror that hung above a small desk in the foyer. Sam stood there, towering and sexy. In his arms was this wild, mussed, erotic-looking woman- herself. Her mouth was still wet, her hair beyond rioted, and now that she could see up close and personal, she realized her buttons hadn’t been fastened in the correct order and that her right breast was in danger of presenting itself. With a little squeak, she lifted her hands to fix the problem.

Sam didn’t look much more together. His hair was standing on end-from her fingers-and his eyes blazed with the heat they’d just shared.

In the mirror, their gazes met for one long heartbeat, during which Angie’s pulse started to race again.

They weren’t finished. Oh, thank God, they weren’t finished.

“Sorry,” Sam said to Luke, still staring at Angie’s reflection, then he started down the hall with her.

They were halfway to the bedroom before Luke called out. “I’ll just leave the pizza and pick up some thing else for myself, since no doubt you’re about to work up an appetite.”

Sam just slammed his bedroom door, set Angie down on his huge, rumpled, unmade bed and followed her down.

He surrounded her with his arms, his body, the look in his eyes. “I’ve already worked up the appetite,” he said, and bent his head to her body to prove it.

The sun speared through the bedroom window and rudely woke Sam up. He might have grumbled and growled and shoved a pillow over his head, only there was a weight on his pillow.

And on his body, too, he realized. Both his arms were numb and there was some thing sprawled over his body-

Angie.

He hadn’t for got ten, but it’d been so long since he’d let a woman stay all night-

Wait. He’d never let a woman stay all night except his ex. And certainly not like this, all entwined like a pretzel, with no feeling left in any of his limbs.

His ex hadn’t liked sleeping like that. She’d claimed he made her all hot and sticky. Couldn’t have that, apparently. She’d slept all curled in a ball on her side of the bed, and woe was him if he’d attempted to invade her space.