With each pass of his thumbs he opened the tender folds a little more, exposing her clit. Right now his touch was a faint promise, but with her first rise and fall on his cock he brushed the slick, swollen bud. She quivered, let out a trembling sigh.
She set a slow pace, giving him every opportunity to feel the hot, slick clutch of her walls around him, drawing up until his tip barely nestled inside her, pausing, then back down just as slowly. Pleasing herself, and him. He found a rhythm that matched hers, slow circles of his thumb at the top of her folds, dipping lower to rub her clit just as she took him inside her. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, so he could see the shadowy outline of his hands on her, gripping something solid and real, not fighting to hold on to his temper. Unless he gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises, fine tremors ran through his fingers. He gave up fighting it and started to guide her movements, bring her down hard and firm, the soft slap of her bottom against his thighs muffled by the fluffy comforter.
Then her mouth found his, blundering from his ear along his jaw to pause, her lips gently pressed against his in a not-quite kiss. Hot, soft, swollen lips parted over his, then her tongue flickered into his mouth. She drew out of him all of the darkness and pain, taking it into herself. It was enough to almost shut him down, send him into overload. Without seeming to, she was taking him apart, picking him apart at the seams, but gently, like she knew she’d have to put him back together afterward and wanted to make sure all the pieces would fit.
He slid one hand from her hip up her back to close in her hair and press her mouth to his. Their rhythm was disintegrating, flying apart as the pressure rose in his cock. His hips snapped up, thudding against her body. She gasped, braced her hands against his chest and pushed back into his thrusts. The comforter dropped to her waist, revealing her cheek, flushed with desire, and the fine bones of her shoulders and arms, muscles straining in greedy demand for all he could give her. The sight pushed him over the edge. Instinctively he sustained the deepest possible thrust as he tipped over the edge, grinding his hips against hers.
Her head dropped back. She gave a sharp cry of release and froze. Even through his own release he could feel the tight clench of her sex. Then the tension ebbed from her muscles and she languidly shimmied her hips.
“Oh, yes,” she whispered.
Words were beyond him. Maybe when his heart settled back into his chest. After a long moment Cady lifted herself off him and collapsed to the side. “Yup. That’s what I needed.”
He grabbed onto the casual lifeline like a comedian getting no love, and huffed out a laugh. “Not drag racing?”
Her head lifted. She tried to shove her hair out of her face, but a thick tendril escaped her, hanging over one eye. “I didn’t drive,” she said, emphasis on I. “I sat on my ass on the bleachers and watched you drive.”
He couldn’t help himself. He smiled at her outraged tone. “Based on what I saw when we left the track, I’m doing my civic duty keeping you from behind the wheel.”
“It’s a rural paved road through twenty-seven miles of farmland until you hit Pender. In winter the fields are stubble, so you can turn on the high beams and floor it. Or so I hear. From, you know, lawbreakers who do things like that.”
“So you’re saying we should run some speed traps out there?”
“Spoilsport.” Giving up on controlling her hair, she dropped a kiss on his nose, of all places, then clambered over him, heading for the bathroom. “It was kind of fun to be an anonymous spectator.”
He gave her a minute, and when he heard water running in the steam shower, he followed her in and dealt with the condom. Steam puffed from the jets in the walls, enshrouding Cady’s figure. As he watched, her finger appeared, writing letters backward on the glass wall.
YOU COMING IN?
He couldn’t help himself. Despite everything—his false allegations, suspension—he laughed. Maybe he was paranoid. Maybe the website thing was a coincidence, coming on the heels of the mysterious person lurking in the trees. Maybe this would all clear up.
Until then, he’d wring every last moment out of his time with Cady. He opened the door and stepped into the heat.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sunday morning Cady woke up alone and with her troubles on her mind. The alone part wasn’t a surprise, as Conn had wrapped a towel around his lean hips, gone to get dressed, and not returned before she fell asleep. She pawed back the comforter and her hair, and looked around the wreck of her bed. Her side, closest to the door, was a tumble of pillows smashed against the headboard and rumpled sheets. The other side was pristine—fluffy pillows protected by pillows in shams, little throw pillows neatly arranged in descending size.