He nibbles the back of my ear softly and uses his hand to gently penetrate me. “I haven’t been able to have a decent night’s rest since you left. The bed is so empty I’m either having a cold shower, or at the gym,” he murmurs as he tugs on my earlobe. “But I get hard just thinking about you, Brooke. Thinking I put a baby in you.” He nibbles the back of my ear softly and sticks his finger in me. Shuddering with need, I feel the length of his c**k behind my bu**ocks, and he rocks it slightly to me, our h*ps moving. More delicious pleasure shoots through me when I realize he’s not done. He rolls me over to face him, wraps a leg around his hips. “Move with me,” he roughly commands, and then he’s moving against me, f**king me without f**king me, our bodies grinding and rubbing.
My chest fills with love as we kiss, then we watch each other. His blue eyes, spiky hair, those bulging muscles. My sex grips wantonly with each rocking motion of his h*ps that brings the entire length of his c**k rubbing along my pu**y lips, stroking my over-sensitized clit. I love you, I want to say, but the only sounds I can make are breathy bubbly ones.
“Who do you love?” he tenderly growls.
“You.”
“Who’s your man?” He teases his tongue into my mouth, then drags his deliciously raspy jaw along mine with a groan. “Who’s your man?”
I love the feel of his stubble against my cheeks so much, I frame his face and stroke my jaw against his raspy one again. “Remington Tate, my Riptide.”
“Do you want me all over you?”
“Hmm, I want you all over me.”
When I say hmm, it’s supposed to mean I won’t bathe just so I can smell of him and his groan tells me it’s driving him crazy that I said that. But he drives me crazier with the way he calls his se**n “him.” I freaking love how he likes me to feel him on my skin, inside me, outside of me, in my mouth. Hmm . . .
“You asked for me, Brooke Dumas.” He pins my arms up over my head and clamps his fingers around my wrists as he drags his c**k along my pu**y lips, stroking my cl*t just right. He watches me in the same mesmerized, love-struck, lust-struck way that I watch him, memorizing him like he seems to memorize me. My neck arches as he slows the rocking motion, keeping me on the brink of ecstasy for a couple of delicious minutes as our bodies grind. And here we are. The rustling sounds of flesh against flesh, the slapping noises of our bodies, my moans, his groans, all I am aware of.
I whisper his name when I come, and my eyes spring open in that minute where everything tenses before it explodes, and I see him over me, closing his eyes tight, his jaw ground as he spurts all over my abdomen and convulses with me, his fingers clenching my wrists. I want it to bruise, the way he holds me down as he’s coming and I shudder, both of us groaning, long, drawn-out sounds of relief.
When we sag, he pulls me up to his side and gruffly murmurs, “I’ve waited for this for thirty-nine days.”
“And five hours.”
“And a little over thirty minutes.” Smirking in satisfaction, because obviously, I’ve been impressed to silence, he drinks in my face. He runs his thumb briefly along my jawline. “I think about you. Constantly. Day. Night.”
He uses his thumb to tip my face back and looks at me like he wants to eat me; then he bends down and does just that. He kisses me like I’m both precious and edible, treasuring and devouring me all at once. He slides his hand up and down my back. The feel of his calluses on my skin makes me shiver.
He looks at me, his hair a charming mess, standing up wet. “You’re so f**king beautiful.”
“I looked ridiculous.”
He laughs softly, then tweaks my nose. “Ridiculously beautiful.”
Fastening his gaze back on my face like he reveres the sight of me, he then bends and kisses my stomach and sets his head there.
“Are you mad I came to see you?” I ask, setting my hand on his hair.
“No.” He licks my belly button. “I know what I’ve got, and you’re a little handful of trouble, that’s who you are.”
“Me? You invented trouble. You were born and instead of ‘it’s a boy’ the doctors said, ‘Ahhh, it’s trouble!’?”
His chuckle is low and throaty, then it trails into silence and he looks at me, his eyes sober, almost tormented. “God, how I need you.” He props his forehead on mine and drags in a coarse breath. “How I go crazy thinking of you. The whole flight on my way here I listened to the song you’ve played to tell me you love me.” His hot mouth takes me again and we kiss feverishly, and he pulls back to bend over and kiss my stomach again. His breathing is rough. He can’t stop breathing me in. Touching all my body. Reminding me he owns it.
For hours we can’t stop kissing and murmuring and making each other feel good, until we lie back and settle and he spoons me. He nuzzles my neck for a brief moment and places a kiss on the hollow behind my ear. Then he caresses me for a while, and when he discovers there’s still some se**n remaining on my skin, he picks it up with two fingers and rubs it into my pu**y.
I gasp.
“Shh,” he says softly. “I need to be here. Right here.” He rubs his fingers inside my channel, licking the back of my neck softly, and I shudder and start coming. He chuckles softly and rubs me more, his warmth inside me, and it’s like having him thrust in me. My eyes burn as I keep trembling, and he pushes the heel of his palm into my sex to drive me higher.