Solomon chuckles.
Reaching back, she strokes the hard length of his cock. A strangled growl erupting, he grits his teeth and shakes his head. “This is about you.”
About her? God, could this man be any more perfect?
A dark husk from Solomon. “Stop me if I hurt you.”
She meets his worried eyes. “You won’t.”
Then, lifting herself, she sinks onto his cock, the hard length of him making her whimper.
A guttural moan rips out of Solomon. His dark blue eyes dusky with desire, his hands tremble as he grips her hips and yanks her tighter against him. He holds her steady. Like he’ll never let her go.
“Christ, you’re gorgeous,” he grits out. “Goddamn woman, what you do to me. . .”
Her body humming, Tessie throws her head back, sucking him in, taking him in deep. Small palms pressed against his broad chest, his thatch of dark hair, she rocks, undulating against him.
Solomon keeps his dark gaze locked on her. The sheer ache. His handsome face, his tender expression. . .he’s starved. Been hungry for so long. He needs this as much as she does.
She spreads her thighs and rocks. His hips grind and pump in solidarity, his slow and measured thrusts sending jolts of pleasure to her very core. He’s so deep, hitting all the right angles that have her body singing like a song.
“Oh God, Solomon. . .yes. Like that. Keep going. Don’t stop. Please. Please.”
She’s pleading, moaning like a lovesick girl, but she doesn’t care. She wants everything he can give her, and she wants it now.
“Rough or soft, Tessie? You call it. You tell me, baby. Tell me what you need.”
Her eyes practically roll back in her skull.
“Harder,” she demands. “Fuck me harder, Solomon.”
He all but growls his approval.
Pumping deep, he plows into her, nearly lifting her off the bed, but he grips her thighs, keeping her secure. She pushes back, grinding against him. A white-hot current arcs between them as their movements sync up.
She drinks in the look on his face. Heated blue eyes, one corner of his bearded mouth lifting in smug satisfaction.
She’s happy. He’s happy.
Just like the night at the Bear’s Ear bar. Two broken people with axes to grind.
And she sees him—straining against his release, holding on for her, and it only turns her on more. All he’s doing, it’s for her. No one’s ever put her first.
No longer able to control herself, Tessie whispers, “Don’t wait. I’ll come with you. I’m ready.”
A roar rips out of him. “Tessie.”
“Solomon.” She whispers it.
It’s his undoing. His name on her lips.
When Solomon’s hoarse shout sounds, she lets herself go. She throws her head back, closes her eyes, and cries out. Every limb, every organ tremors. Warmth builds in her, bursts of color spark in her vision. A delicious, glorious euphoria racks her body. Saps every last ounce of her energy.
Down for the count, Tessie sways.
Solomon moves quickly, gathering her up in his arms before she topples over. Every muscle in his toned body flexes as he rolls her over, easily maneuvering her into a more comfortable position propped up against the pillows.
His rugged voice rakes over her. “I’ll be right back.”
Tessie lies there, eyes on the ceiling, her heartbeat pounding in her jugular, as she comes down from her high. Her emotions jump ship. Straight-up overboard. Tears pool at her lashes. It’s been so long since she’s felt sexy. Cared for. Happy. And Solomon did that. He keeps waking her up. Making her live.
She lets out a sob, and then she bursts into tears.
Oh God. Oh shit. She’s crying again.
Solomon returns with a warm washcloth, the bed shifting as he eases onto the mattress beside her. “Tess?” Worry stains his gruff drawl.
Even the gentle way he cleans her up has hot tears blurring her eyes again.
“I’m fine,” she says, wiping her cheeks, but she’s a leaky faucet that won’t stop. She sits up. Takes in his beard, disheveled and wild. “I’m fine. I’m happy. You’re the first person to make me feel sexy in a long time. I needed that. Thank you.” She sniffles. “I’m sorry for the hormonal monster meltdown.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he says firmly. “C’mere.” Getting back into bed, he pulls a faux fur blanket around her and gathers her up against his broad chest. He lets her cry and he holds her. He doesn’t tell her to stop or try to distract her.
How long has it been since she’s let someone in? Let someone see her cry. Ache. Want. Has she ever?
And she’s not embarrassed.
Because here, in Solomon’s strong arms, she feels the safest.
She should get out of bed. Get out of his arms, snap out of it, and go back to work. She wants to regret it. But she doesn’t. She can’t. All she feels is incredibly grateful to Solomon for his. . .help? Understanding? Plowing into her like a freight train? Yeah. That.
Tomorrow.
She’ll rein it in, pull it back tomorrow.
A graze against her belly makes her jump.
“Shit,” Solomon mutters, his handsome face abashed. His hand held out and away from her abdomen. “Sorry, I shouldn’t—”
“No. It’s okay.” A strange sort of softness opening in the pit of her stomach, she takes his large hand and presses it to her belly. “You can.”
A breath shakes out of him like he can barely believe it.
Neither speak. They wait.
Tessie studies his palm splayed out on her stomach with curiosity. It’s huge. Monstrous. Like a giant holding the world in his hand.
But for once, Bear’s quiet.
She palms her stomach too. Side-eyes Solomon. “Think we scared him off?”
“That’s a good sign. Kid knows when to lay low.”
She laughs. “Yeah.”
Despite his easy tone, he looks crestfallen.
“Now what do you need?”
Her breath catches. She turns her head to find him peering at her.
He keeps asking her that, and she’s going to turn into a puddle pretty damn quick.
Nothing. Everything. Should she say it? She hesitates.
But then her traitorous mouth blurts, “You?”
He nods, his face going soft with an emotion she can’t place. “You got me.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, pulls back. “But first food. You hungry?”
She sits up on her elbows, the blanket draped across her like a slinky toga outfit. “Starved.”
Solomon gives her a stern look of reproach. “You should have eaten earlier.” On his feet quickly, he picks up the phone and paces the room as he rattles off a room service order. His large body a solid wall of tensing muscle. “There,” he says, hanging up. “Ordered everything off the damn menu.”
She smiles. “As one should.”
His attention moves to the record player. He lifts a big finger. “Can I?”
She nods. “They’re in the case.”
Solomon shuffles through the three records she brought, finally settling on Hank Williams. Lonely, melodic music fills the suite. A strange contrast to the bright sun, the cheery atmosphere of the beach outside.
“You’re from LA,” comes his soft rumble of a voice. He climbs back into bed and pulls her into his brawny shoulder. She sighs, not fighting it. Her legs wouldn’t work anyway, thanks to the way he knocked the gravity out of her.
One night.
She can do one night.
“So why country?”
She adjusts herself in his arms. Instead of her go-to defense—walls up—Tessie relents. Softens. They’re having a child together. He should know a little about her. It’s only fair.
“My mom worked in a country bar when I was a kid.” Tessie smiles at the memory. “We’d sing along to the jukebox at the end of her shift, and it just stuck.” Then she laughs and covers her face. “I used to have a fantasy that my dad was George Straight. How cringe is that?”
“What happened to your dad?”
“I don’t remember him. He left us when I was two. Walked out for cigarettes and never came back.” A sad laugh tumbles out of her. “If that’s not a country song, I don’t know what is.”