and waited with an eagerness that burned through her for the murder of crows to explode into the air.
She waited. At his mercy. Her damp fingers slipping on the spokes.
And then his large palms glided from her knees up her inner thighs. His thumbs parted her. His head bent.
Before his mouth touched her, she rolled her hips and let loose a moan. “Oh God, Sam.”
The tip of his hardened tongue dove inside her, swirling in her depths before slicking upward to flick her burgeoning clit.
Her back bowed, and the tips of her breasts tightened. Deciding his silent command to grip the headboard was more of a suggestion not to interfere with what he was doing, she cupped her small mounds, massaging, giving herself comfort as his clever tongue lapped and spanked and his teeth nibbled away.
“Sam… Sam…”
Two thick fingers entered her, and she squeezed her inner muscles to trap them. Fluid gushed and coated them as they began to plunge inside her, and he continued to torture her clitoris.
Her orgasm erupted, an explosion of painful pleasure—so quickly, she arched and screamed. Her eyelids drifted shut.
His body shifted, climbing over her, his knees bumping her thighs in his haste to be inside her. The moment he thrust forward, her eyes shot open and their gazes locked.
Sam
She’d have answered, but her throat was thick, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her heart outpaced her thoughts, thudding strong against her chest. “Just fuck me, please,” she managed to grit out.
His torso lowered, his hands slipped beneath her, cupping her ass, and he ground into her, deep, barreling thrusts that shook the bed and her to the very core.
Lord, how he filled her. In every way a woman could ask. His size dwarfed her, sinking her body deep into the mattress. His cock stretched her walls, his girth enough all by itself to incite another orgasm, which was quickly overtaking her. He understood her. Loved her despite the fact she thwarted him, lied to him, kept secrets. Despite her many weaknesses.
His face burrowing into her neck, Sam grunted, deep masculine gusts as his chest and belly rubbed against her skin, the fine dark hairs abrading her pebbled nipples.
The fingers cupping her, dug into her fleshy bottom, massaging her, nails dragging on her sensitive skin. She’d have bruises, scrapes, but she didn’t care. His passion was earthy, ardent—an extension of his overwhelming masculinity.
Cait lifted her legs and hugged them around his waist, pushing up her hips to grind against his strokes, heat building inside her as he continued to churn and thrust.
Sam withdrew his hands and leaned on one elbow. Without slowing the rocking of his hips, he slipped the other between their sweat-slicked bodies and burrowed one finger into the top of her folds. “Again.”
Not a question as to whether she could, but a command.
She stared upward, her mouth open as she panted. Her eyelids fluttered, and then she was there, writhing beneath him, coming undone. The pleasure overtook her slowly this time, radiating outward from where he rubbed and circled to shiver through her belly and limbs.
When her agonized cry echoed against the walls, he cursed, rising on his hands to power into her, unrelenting, stretching her orgasm into a glorious explosion of light and sizzling nerve endings.
When at last he shouted and slowed, she hugged him close, wrapping herself around him, squeezing to keep him there inside her, to make the moment last and last.
A kiss grazed her cheek. “You okay?” he murmured softly.
Tired, replete, she smiled, letting her head fall back as her hands roamed his sturdy body. “You killed me.”
“Twice, I think.” His grin was boyish. Beautiful against his strong, harshly etched features.
She bracketed his face with her hands and reached up to kiss his mouth, nuzzling his nose afterward. The scent of her arousal filled her nose. “I’ve never had better, you know.” And that fact was true. As luxuriously sensual as lovemaking with Morin had been, the raw intensity Sam brought to her bed made her tremble.
“You are not thinking about him in this bed,” he growled, lifting himself on one stiff arm.
“Jealous?” A thrill shot through her at his tone. “You shouldn’t be. I chose you.”
Sam gave a sharp shake of his head. “Better sleep. You and I both have to hit the ground running in the morning.”
She hadn’t wanted a reminder of the difficulties ahead, and made a face. “You had to kill the moment.”
His grin was roguish. “I could make you forget again…”
The wicked gleam in his eyes made her laugh. And then his cock twitched inside her, and she knew he wasn’t exaggerating one little bit. She blew a breath into his ear, then whispered, “Round two?”
“Someone should have paid closer attention in math class. The lady can’t count.”
Cait laughed. Her mother wouldn’t have agreed.
Cait wasn’t sure what woke her just before dawn. A tingling feeling that made her want to scratch her skin, but not really a physical thing.
She glanced beside her and smiled. Sam lay on his side, his shoulders broad and as high as a mountain. The urge to rake her fingers through his chest hair was strong, but the tingling persisted. Not that she thought something was wrong—the hairs on the back of her neck didn’t prickle—but something was definitely up.
As quietly as she could manage, she slipped out of the bed, dragged Sam’s white T-shirt over her head, and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. Then she tiptoed from the bedroom, through the living room, her gaze scanning the rooms. Nothing caught her attention. She opened her front door and stepped outside.
Already the sun was rising, with not a cloud in the sky. The air was balmy and would be hot as hell today. She sat on the stoop, her legs stretched out straight to watch the first cars whiz by.
“Finally!”
Cait’s head swiveled toward the voice. Her eyes widened. Beside her, a woman stood with blonde chin- length hair and dressed in a slim gray skirt and gray silk shell. Cait recognized her instantly. Gray-girl had been her first encounter with a ghost when Cait had accidentally barreled right through her on the sidewalk in front of her apartment.
“You do see me!” the woman exclaimed.
“No, I don’t,” Cait said, her voice flat. She didn’t have time for a conversation with a ghost who’d inevitably want something. And just because Cait could see her didn’t mean she owed gray-girl a thing.
“I’m Evelyn.”
“And I’m busy.”
The woman drew closer, eyeing her clothes. “You don’t look like you’re in a hurry to be anywhere.”
“And you do,” Cait said, giving the other woman’s business attire a similar sweep.
“I always do. I wake up, and I’m walking.” She shook her head. “I don’t know where. But I’m always on this street, heading to the trolley.”
Cait sighed. Chatty Cathy wasn’t going away.
“You see me.”
“Do you always repeat yourself?”
“No need to be rude,” the woman said, frowning. “I just can’t get over it. It’s been… I don’t know how long. Anyway, no one has ever seen me before.”
“Don’t you see other ghosts?”
She shook her head. “They don’t count. They have so many problems. If I stop to say hello, I get the whole story about how they passed, who they’re haunting. It gets tedious.”
“I can’t imagine,” Cait drawled.
“I saw you with a man the last time. You left together. Is he your husband?”
