She tucks her head next to mine, our faces brushing together as she bears down harder and faster. My heart thuds, my body straining not to break her rhythm. Her breathing turns to soft gasps in my ear. Her hands press heavier.
I grab her hips and grind her against me. In seconds, shudders roll through her and her hands slip off my shoulders, her body resigning onto mine. I wrap my arms around her and slowly slide in and out as she makes small noises against my chest.
I give her a minute, growing harder every time she trembles. Just before I flip positions, she pushes back up and rocks her pelvis. Slow. Agonizingly slow. My hands go to her hips again, but she braces herself—and smiles. Mischievously.
When I let my hands slide down her thighs, she relaxes and resumes the teasing, exaggerated undulations until I'm a twitch away. Then she stops. Again.
I grit my teeth. My fingers press into her thighs. I want so badly to make her finish me, but she's enjoying this way too much. And so am I.
She smiles, and all demure is gone. “Your house, huh?”
“Syd,” I say with clenched jaw, and no other words find their way out.
She jerks her hips. I'm blinded for a moment. I grab her waist so she has to keep going until I can see again. My eyes are heavy, and so is the rest of my body.
She lies down on me, her head under my chin. One of my hands rests on the small of her back and the other on her ass.
After my breathing steadies, I say, “So, that's what happens when I tick you off.”
“Very funny.”
“Hmm,” I say, “I'll have to keep this in mind.”
She turns her head into my chest, muffling her voice. “I would still smash your windows and slit your tires.”
“But I get this?” I laugh. “Small price to pay.”
We lie together on the living room floor, bodies warm and tight against each other.
At length, she lifts her head and looks at me. “Does this mean I get to come back?”
I study her face. She has such amazing features: dark eyes set against pale skin and hair, straight nose, and a soft, rounded jaw. I like it. And she's fun. And she knows a thing or two about scromping.
But maybe greater than all of that is the fact she wants to see me again. She likes being here, and I like having her here.
“Hmm,” I say. “I can probably allow that.”
***
I sit with a start. I'd fallen asleep naked on the living room floor. Fantastic. I scramble for my clothes and phone. The phone clock reads 2 A.M. The hum in my brain says I need to get rolling.
I pull on my boxers and stumble toward the hallway. “Syd?”
She enters the living room from the kitchen, wearing a camouflage t-shirt hanging halfway to her knees. My camouflage t-shirt.
I point at her. “Take that off.”
Admittedly, she looks good in it, but this can't happen. None of this wearing my clothes shit. One night stands shouldn't wear my clothes, not even on the second night.
The fact the one-nighter is on round deux might indicate I have a problem. I don't have time to deal with it right now. Phil needs to die.
She frowns and looks down at herself. “I thought we could squeeze in one—”
“No. No time for anything else.”
She glances at me. “Want me to take you to the airport?”
“No, thank you,” I say, sharper than I intended, but I know what's coming. Of course, Syd doesn't, and I'm just being a jerk and insensitive to her feelings or whatever. She isn't supposed to have feelings, though. Not about me. Not about this. “Get out.”
She quirks her lips, and then stalks into the living room and changes. She seems to have to bend over a lot for someone replacing a single item of clothing with another.
Tease.
She catches me staring as she straightens her dress and gives a taunting smile. I force a scowl, turning for the hallway. No time for her nonsense. Even if I wanted—which I do.
She comes up and slides her arm over my shoulder.
I start to protest, but she steps around to my front and presses her lips against mine. Her hand goes to the back of my head, and her tongue slips into my mouth. I deepen the kiss. My hand slides under her dress.
The hum kicks up. A reminder.
I pull away and nod toward the front door. She rolls her eyes, pushing past me. My gaze follows her as she crosses the living room and plucks up her purse.
“Stop calling me, Syd.”
With a sly glance over her shoulder, she says, “Let me know when you get back.”
She blows me a kiss and leaves.
I consider going after her. Maybe I could drag one more hour out of my brain.
Thirty minutes?
I shake my head. Time to focus.
Time to kill.
***
I sit on my couch, still just in my boxers, and read through Phil's file again. The guy has written three non-fiction books and a list of magazine articles so long I crumple the bibliography print out and toss them aside. Couldn't care less about his writings.