His three favorite fucking things.
The best thing about Miranda Breslin, though? She loved sex. Absolutely loved it. Maybe it was the seven-year lull, but he’d never been with a more passionate woman. She gave 110 percent in the bedroom—eager, brazen, quick to laugh, open to experiment.
Oh, and the icing on the cake? She was into morning sex.
Very into it, he discovered when he crawled into her bed at ten in the morning, spooned her from behind, and slipped a finger inside her. He groaned at how wet she was. How, even in her sleep, she rocked into his finger and let out a moan.
“Seth?” she murmured.
“Mmm-hmmm.” He dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder, pleased that she hadn’t bothered with pajamas.
He knew she’d gotten home from the club at two a.m. last night and woke up at seven today to drive the twins to school. After spending another long night in the ocean, he’d turned on his phone to find a text from Miranda, informing him she was going back to bed and to let himself in. She’d signed the text with a winky face, which had brought a smile to his lips.
He’d stopped at his house to shower and change, then managed to drive to Miranda’s apartment without falling asleep at the wheel. The team would be doing classroom work for the rest of this week and most of the following one, which meant his sleep schedule would return to normal. For a bit, anyway.
“That feels good,” Miranda said sleepily.
He fingered her with lazy thrusts, his cock stiffening and straining against her naked ass. Moisture coated his finger, eliciting a deep growl of approval, and he greedily added a second digit, loving the way her sex clenched around it. His thumb tended to her clit as his fingers worked her pussy, and it wasn’t long before she was gasping and squirming and shaking with orgasm.
While she lay on the bed, warm and boneless and recovering from her climax, he donned a condom, then moved into the spooning position again and eased into her from behind.
“Oh, that’s nice,” she murmured when his entire length filled her.
“Very nice,” he murmured back, planting a soft kiss on the nape of her neck. The fine hairs there tickled his lips.
His cock throbbed, ordering him to go faster, to fuck her harder, but exhaustion and indolence overruled his body’s demand. Very deliberately, he pulled out, one inch at a time, but not completely. He kept just the tip inside her, an unbearable tease that resulted in Miranda clenching her inner muscles around him, a hot vise squeezing his engorged head.
Seth let out a curse. “You’re evil.”
Her choked laughter filled the air. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I guess my body wants to trap you in there.”
“Baby, I’d happily move in if I could.”
He rolled his hips and they both groaned at the tantalizing friction. All talking ceased as he closed his eyes and lost himself in mind-blowing sensation. The iron grip of her sex on his cock, her silky hair tickling his cheek, the way her nipple puckered when he brought one arm around her to cup a breast.
When he finally came, it wasn’t in one tidal wave of pleasure, but, rather, in little bursts of ecstasy, like waves lapping against the shore, dancing over his flesh and tingling in his balls and shivering through him in an endless, full-body rush. Huh. Exhausted sex apparently had its perks.
“Can’t move,” he mumbled when the bliss finally ebbed. “Sleepy.”
He scraped up enough energy to pull out and peel off the condom, then slung his arm over Miranda’s waist and snuggled close to her warm, lithe body.
He didn’t know how long he slept, but he’d never felt more rested when he finally opened his eyes a while later. Pleasure tugged at his heart when he realized Miranda was still in bed with him. No longer tucked into his chest, but lying on her side, her hazel eyes fixed on his face.
“What time is it?” he asked, reaching up to wipe the sleep from his eyes.
“One thirty.”
“Damn, woman, you let me sleep past one?”
“You needed it.” She touched his jaw, running her fingers over the thick stubble.
He groaned. “Oh, right there, scratch right there.”
With a laugh, she scratched the itchy spot on his chin, summoning a contented sigh from his lips.
“I should really shave,” he conceded.
Miranda gave a mock gasp. “Wait, you actually own a razor?”
“Yes, I own a razor.” He grinned. “I just don’t use it very often.”
“I can’t picture you clean-shaven.” Her fingertips skimmed the stubble above his upper lip, then trailed over the beard growth along the line of his jaw. “I don’t think I’d like it.”
“You like your men scruffy, huh?”
She offered a self-deprecating look. “I’ve always been attracted to scruffy, tattooed bad boys. It’s a problem of mine.” And then she gave his jaw another scratch and it felt so good he nearly purred like a fucking kitten.