I trail my lips over his jaw to his ear and whisper, “Double bay systems.”
“Baby, that is so fucking hot.”
I giggle and squirm backward on his thighs, pressing my mouth to his neck, his smooth shoulders, the slopes of his chest. The sensation of his firm, taut skin and hard muscles has my own body responding with a surge of heat. I straddle one of his thighs and press my cleft against him. He groans, his hands flexing on my hips.
I move lower, spreading my hands over his stomach, until I can slide my lips over his cock and take him into my mouth.
“Oh, shit, Liv…” He tightens his hand in my hair as his erection swells in my mouth.
I love this, love the salty, male taste of him, feeling him harden, his muscles tensing beneath me. I lick his shaft, swirl my tongue around the tip, wrap my hand around the base. When I feel him straining toward me, I ease away to roll a condom onto him, then move back up to straddle him again.
His eyes seethe with lust as he clutches my waist to adjust my angle. I lower myself onto his cock, gasping at the sensation of him filling me, pulsing and hot. I brace my hands against his chest and ride him, our bodies thrusting, our breath rasping in the air. We fall into it at the same time, the overwhelming need and passion, the slick, easy way that we move together, the rhythm of us.
I lower myself onto him, my breasts rubbing against his chest. He tightens his grip on my hips as he pushes inside me, driving us both toward the explosive release that only we can create. When we’re on the edge, he grabs the back of my neck and brings my mouth to his as bliss shatters us both.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dean
iv is still sleeping, half-buried under the covers, her hair spilling over the pillows. I bend to press a kiss against her cheek, breathe in her peachy scent.
I go into the kitchen to start the coffee, liking the familiarity of being back in our apartment. I haven’t been here in weeks. Out of habit, I glance at the clock a few times, even though I have nowhere I need to be anytime soon.
Deflecting a stab of irritation, I take two mugs from the cupboard. I’ve never had nothing to do, nowhere to go. There have always been classes, work, lectures, research, meetings. As much as I hated being away from Liv, she was right when she told me I had to go to Altopascio or I’d go crazy just sitting around.
“Is it really almost seven?” Liv shuffles out of the bedroom in her nightshirt, rubbing one eye and yawning. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I didn’t know I should. You’re never up before seven.”
“These days I’m up by six,” Liv says. “Got work to do. Oh, hey, look at you standing in our kitchen all shirtless and sexy.”
I smile and extend my arms to her. She walks into them, burrowing against my chest, her body warm and soft. I press my mouth to her hair and tighten my arms around her. Exactly where we both belong.
To my unexpected pleasure, we fall into our old routine with ease, as if we’ve never been apart, as if I’ve been here all along. I pour the coffee, she sets the table, I make eggs, she gets out the bread for toasting and brushes up against me whenever she passes by.
Exactly the way it’s supposed to be.
After breakfast, Liv gets ready and leaves for the day. I answer emails and phone calls about the Altopascio dig before going to meet Frances Hunter at a nearby coffeehouse.
“Sorry I’m late, Dean.” Frances stops by the table, trying to balance a coffee, a wet umbrella, and her bag.
I stand to help her, and she mutters a few complaints about the rainy weather before settling in across from me.
“You look tired,” she remarks.
“Jet lag.”
“How’s Liv?”
“Fine.” Better than she’s ever been, probably. That thought eases my apprehension about what Frances might have to tell me this time.
“How’s her café coming along?” Frances asks. “I read an article in a professional women’s magazine about it.”
“The article is out already?”
“The latest issue came out just a couple of days ago,” Frances says. “It was a great article, all about the history of the building and the tearoom, and how Liv and some friends are turning it into a children’s café.”
My pride in my wife knows no bounds. I make a mental note to stop at the store and buy the magazine.
“Well.” I pull my cup toward me. “All the more reason I need to put an end to this nightmare.”
“Just a few more weeks, Dean,” Frances says. “May twentieth.”
“What about it?”
“That’s when Ben Stafford will make his recommendation about the case.” Frances removes the lid from her coffee and takes a sip. “If he determines there’s enough evidence against you, he’ll go to the board of trustees and recommend that they pursue the case. If not, he’ll close the file.”
“Then what happens?”
“Either you get formally suspended or you return to your job.”
Her tone is so matter-of-fact—either you get regular or decaf—that I almost laugh.
“That’s it?” I ask.