She lifted up, then slowly took him inside her. Closing her eyes, she moaned in pleasure as the man stretched and filled her. Jesus. She took a moment just to enjoy the feel of him, then she opened her eyes. And she started to ride. His fingertips bit into her hips as she moved her pelvis in a rhythmic motion. So good. It felt so damn good. She leaned her forehead against his, increasing the speed of her hips. It wasn’t enough. Not deep enough. Not fast enough. A frustrated moan stuttered past her lips.
Quick as a snap of his fingers, Mac flipped her on her back. His arms anchored beneath her knees, keeping her legs spread wide and pressed up close to her chest. He took control, pounding into her. How deep he got, how fast he thrust, how hard he took her, made uncontrollable sounds of pleasure escape her mouth. She bit her bottom lip, trying to mute them. Even hushed, they poured out of her. She couldn’t keep her responses contained because he dominated her body, yanked them from her. She fought against the urge to let every moan, groan, and “Oh, God,” rip loudly into the air.
She loved sex, enjoyed the hell out of it, but this overpowering carnal need was new—and a bit terrifying.
When he reached down and touched her, she came instantly, and the cry that pushed to erupt with it was smothered by her clamped teeth, the decibels chopped in half. Above her, Mac jerked, a guttural growl rumbling out of him, his eyes clenched tight. Breathing heavily, moments later, he lowered and braced himself on his elbows.
“Holy shit,” he whispered as he kissed her.
Holy shit was right. The man had just rocked her damn world. Sex with Mac had been a whole new experience, and she was giddily thankful she had a few more weeks with the man. Because this kind of sex, she could get used to.
A computerized music beat broke into Mac’s sleep as Gayle stirred beside him. Lifting his head, he watched her fumble for her cell phone on the end table. He rubbed his hand down her side and settled back against the pillow, thinking about the amazing night they’d shared and how utterly sated he felt. An intense training session didn’t wear him out this well.
“Hello?” The huskiness of sleep roughened her voice, and he found it so sexy he nipped her bare shoulder. She squeaked and swatted at him, but then she sent him a grin. A round of morning sex, then a nap, sounded like a great idea. He rained kisses over her skin.
“Really?” Her body tensed, and he lifted his head, concerned. “Wichita Falls, Texas. Got it.”
Flinging aside his arm and the covers, she hopped out of bed, revealing her beautiful naked ass as she scanned the floor, then glanced toward the door with a frown.
She was looking for her dress. It was downstairs where their clothes had been discarded in the living room.
She darted to her dresser and started yanking out garments. “It’s just shy of seven. If we leave within the hour we can be down there a little after lunch. With the late spring, it’s been quiet this season. Maybe we’ll get some footage. I need to have something to give to Peter soon, or I’m worried he’s going to pull the funding.”
Season. Footage. Funding. What was she talking about?
He lifted up on his elbow and watched her. There was an excited animation to her movements. What the hell was going on?
Balancing the cell on her shoulder, she shimmied into underwear and black shorts. “Yeah, meet me here. I’ve got to get some things ready, then we’ll hit the road.”
She tossed the phone on the bed and yanked on a shirt almost simultaneously.
“Who was that?” he asked.
“Rick,” she said as she gathered her hair in a ponytail and secured it with a band.
Why was she rushing around like a mad woman? He rubbed the heel of his palm against his eyes. “Your co-worker?”
“Yep. There’s a storm system forming down in Texas. The first of the season that has the potential to bring tornadic activity.”
At the mention of the violent natural disaster, every muscle in his body petrified. His heart squeezed painfully. He sat up straight. “Gayle, why are you so amped over a storm system?”
He feared he already knew the answer but prayed he was wrong.
“Damn it. I need a bra.” Distracted, she went back to the dresser and tugged one out.
“Gayle. Why?”
As she worked a bra on under her shirt, she scrunched her nose at him. “Potential tornadoes, handsome. Why else would I be excited about possible tornadic activity? I can’t chase if the atmosphere isn’t right to spawn twisters.”
Chase?
A roaring filled his head. His mind, his body…his heart protested against the repellant information. She grabbed a pair of hiking boots, perched on the end of the bed, and laced them on.
“Are”—He had to swallow hard against the chokehold her words had locked in around his throat—”you saying you’re a tornado chaser?”
“Technically, we’re called storm chasers, but yeah, the goal is to catch a tornado.”
Oblivious to his blossoming horror, she hopped to her feet and gave him a peck on his dazed lips. “We’re heading to Texas, so I’ll probably be gone a few days. Let yourself out, okay? I’ll see you when we get back.”
Then she was gone.
Just like that.