The second she started rolling her nipples between her fingers, he inhaled a sharp breath and his fingers bit into her hips. Oh, he liked that, did he? Never taking her eyes off his face as she rocked herself up and down his thick cock, the move making her thighs ache at the same time it sent shivers of pleasure through her body, she pinched her nipples and tugged hard on them.
His brown eyes darkened with lust so primal, it sent a thrill right to her clit. “I’m claiming my turn.”
Without losing their connection, he shifted underneath her, tilting her until her back was on the rug and he was on his knees, with her feet planted on the floor on either side of his thighs. Oh hell yes. She arched her body, bringing her hips higher and in line with his. His hands cupped her ass, each finger digging into her flesh with just the right amount of pleasure as he pistoned his hips, plunging into her, filling her so completely that it stole her breath.
“So damn tight, so wet, so hot,” he said, pushing into her with each declaration. “You feel so fucking good.”
If she could speak at that moment, she would have returned the compliment, but as it was, she wasn’t sure she could speak right then. She was already too far gone.
His hands moved from her ass to her back and he lifted her upper body until her breasts were pressed against his chest, never once losing his rhythm. She wrapped her arms around his corded neck and met every one of his thrusts with a swirl of her hips as she climbed toward her orgasm. Her grip tightened and she leaned back, changing the angle so his cock stroked the sensitive bundle of nerves just inside her opening with every stroke.
He let out a possessive growl. “Look at how wet you’ve made my dick.”
She glanced down. Fuck. She could see herself on him and it was one of the hottest things she’d ever seen.
“Ian.” She wanted to say more, but that one syllable was all that she could get out. The sensations building in her core were like a ball of megawatt electricity growing with each thrust and retreat, making it almost impossible to do anything but chase after her climax.
“Say it again.” He plunged into her harder, deeper.
“Ian.” Breathy. Begging. On the verge.
“Jesus, Shelby, I’m gonna come.” He slipped his hand between their bodies and rolled her clit with the pad of his thumb, round and round.
The pleasure built and built until— “Oh. My. God.”
And she broke apart as her orgasm crashed into her, turning her entire body electric. Ian sank back onto his heels, taking her with him and shoving her up and down his length in an ever faster rhythm before sinking deep within her and coming with a harsh groan.
She was floating and sinking at the same time as she collapsed against him, secure at least in this moment, that he’d catch her. And he did, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight as they both came down.
Four hundred and sixty-eight days later—or at least that’s what it felt like—her heart rate finally returned to normal and she slid off him and back onto the rug. She swore her eyes didn’t flicker shut, but the next thing she was aware of was Ian scooping her up from the floor and carrying her to the couch. He’d made up one of the chaise ends with blankets and two pillows. He laid her down and then scooted in beside her.
“Where’d you go?” she asked, trying to regain her mental footing.
“Got rid of the condom.” He grabbed the grizzly-bear comforter and threw it over both of them, then pulled her in close so her head was resting on his chest. “Now, rest up. I was serious about taking advantage of being snowed in. I have plans for us tomorrow.”
Even as sleep tugged at her, she knew that she should remind him this was a one-time-only thing. Hell, she should probably be reminding herself. She would. Tomorrow. Tonight, she was going to enjoy the post-orgasm snuggle.
Chapter Seven
“You’re gonna wanna get up real slowly and make sure I can see your hands.”
If there was anything that would make Shelby wake up in an instant, it was those words spoken by an unfamiliar voice. Heart hammering, she sat straight up, clutching the comforter to her chest. Ian shifted so his body blocked hers from the older couple in head-to-toe plaid flannel—including matching fuzzy hats with ear flaps—and the sheriff’s deputy. The trio stood in front of the fireplace right next to a large framed photo on the mantel showing the same older couple surrounded by about a million grandkids ranging from toddlers to college-age.
“There’s obviously been some kind of mistake,” Ian said, clearly making an effort to keep the situation calm. “Officer, we haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Nothing wrong? Nothing wrong! You just thought you could get away with it again, huh?” the man said. “Well, this time we caught you, and we have the video surveillance. I hope you like jail, because we are most definitely pressing charges.”
Jail? Charges? Video? A frigid blast of fear went straight through her, and she pulled the blanket tighter around her bare shoulders. “What’s going on, Ian?”
“No fucking clue,” he grumbled. “Stay behind me.”
The man let out a sharp, crowing laugh. “You finally got caught—that’s what’s going on.”
The deputy who barely looked like he could grow a full mustache kept his hand loosely on his holstered service weapon and turned his attention to Ian and Shelby. “Mr. and Mrs. Morgan received a silent-alarm call prior to the storm. Once the storm had passed, they contacted the sheriff’s department and requested assistance.”
“Listen to you,” Mrs. Morgan said, turning to the deputy with a proud smile. “You
