The space between us was like an open window. Cold air rushed in, taking with it the sparks. And like a flood, every worry, every fear, came surging back.
I was so tired of my own damn thoughts. I wanted the sparks back. I wanted to just feel.
For the first time since Cormac, I craved another person’s touch. Vance’s touch. That seemed like a miracle. So I reached for the scarf around my neck and tugged it free, letting it fall to the floor.
Vance’s eyes stayed locked on mine. The torment, the restraint, burned in those light irises.
Fucking restraint.
I ripped off my jacket, the move violent, and threw it on the floor. Then I reached for the hem of my tee, whipping it over my head. Next came my ivory lace bra. It joined the other items on the floor.
Vance wanted me. The bulge tenting his towel was evidence enough. But he stood statue still, refusing to cross the invisible line between us.
Never in my life had I been this brazen or bold. Doubt crept its way beneath my skin, my confidence withering with every second that he still didn’t move. Was he even breathing?
My heart pounded as we stared at each other. His Adam’s apple bobbed, but otherwise, he might as well have been a granite statue.
All while I stood half naked, exposed, bruised and desperate.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I was just about to swipe my clothing from the floor and scurry out of this room when Vance moved.
With a flick of his wrist, his towel was gone, pooled at his bare feet. His cock, hard and thick, sprang free, jutting between us.
I gulped. Oh sweet lord. Every part of this man was massive.
With a single step, he crossed the space between us, his mouth claiming mine once more.
If the first kiss had been sparks and fire, this was an inferno of blue flame. My pulse boomed in my ears as his tongue twisted with mine. There was nothing gentle about this kiss. Nothing slow. It was a kiss that echoed with a single word.
Fuck.
We were going to fuck.
Just like before, he wiped my mind clean.
Vance reached between us, flicking open the button on my jeans and ripping down the zipper. He shoved them off my hips so fast that I stumbled. But before I could fall, he caught me at the ribs, hoisting me into the air. Then he threw me.
I yelped as I landed on the mattress with a bounce.
No man had ever craved me so desperately he’d tossed me around a bedroom.
My laugh was wild, the sound as hysterical as my movements as I kicked my shoes to the floor.
Vance moved just as frantically, tearing away my jeans. Then with a fist he gripped my lace panties and shredded them from my body. The torn fabric went sailing over his shoulder as he sank into the cradle of my hips.
His mouth crashed onto mine. His tongue plundered and stroked as he lined up at my entrance. We didn’t waste time with foreplay. Neither of us needed it. I was drenched from the kiss alone.
With one thrust, he drove in to the hilt.
I gasped down his throat, my eyes squeezing closed as I adjusted to his size. To the delicious stretch of my body around his.
Vance stilled, tearing his mouth away. “So fucking tight,” he gritted out.
My breath came in labored pants. “Move.”
He thrust forward, making my back arch off the mattress.
“Vance,” I cried. No man had ever gone so deep.
“Take it, Lyla. Take the whole fucking thing.”
I whimpered at his dirty mouth. Yes. My fingertips dug into his skin, clutching his shoulders as he eased out.
He slammed inside again, hard enough to shake the bed and earn another cry. “You feel . . .”
“So good,” I panted.
As he rocked into me, I wrapped my legs around his bulky thighs, matching his rhythm. Then I lifted my head from the pillow, putting my mouth at his ear. “Fuck me, Vance.”
He groaned, easing out to slam inside again. He set a fast, hard pace as our bodies slapped together.
It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t sweet or gentle. But God, it was good. So, so good.
The hair on his chest brushed against my pebbled nipples, turning them to stone. The feel of him was like no other, and my insides turned to liquid as I held on for the ride.
Vance dipped his lips, trailing them along my throat. He kissed every mark, every bruise, all while his hips pistoned, his cock sinking inside my body. He kept me pinned to the bed, dwarfed by his large frame.
Never in my life had I felt so craved. Worshiped. Protected.
My orgasm built with a fierce power, my inner walls fluttering.
Vance drove me to the edge, stroke after stroke, until my legs began to tremble. Until my toes curled and it was impossible to fill my lungs. Heat bloomed across my skin, my breath caught in my throat.
“Let go,” he commanded. “Come for me.”
I shattered. Every muscle in my body pulsed as I came on a cry. My limbs shook. Stars broke across my vision, my mind blissfully blank.
Vance didn’t stop. He fucked me, harder. Faster. Chasing his own release. “Fucking hell.” He let out a roar before pouring inside of me.
I clung to him, holding tight until the aftershocks began to fade and I floated back to reality. Our bodies were slick with sweat and my hair was everywhere, the knot in it having worked loose. My heart raced like I’d just run ten miles.
Vance collapsed on top of me, his weight crushing for a split second as he wrapped me tight. Then he rolled off, his chest heaving like my own as he worked to regain his breath. “Fuck.”
I hummed. “Yes, we did.”
The corner of his mouth turned up.
A giggle escaped, and I fought the urge to pinch myself. I’d come to his room for answers, not sex. Two days without a word from Vance and my fears had gotten the best of me. Somehow, in just days, having him in my coffee shop had become an anchor. My hope was tied directly to his presence.
Then he’d disappeared.
On the walk over to the hotel, I’d convinced myself that he was gone. That he’d already checked out and there’d be no chance of finding Cormac Gallagher. But I’d had to know.
So I’d lied to the desk clerk about Vance leaving his wallet at the shop.
I wasn’t a good liar. But apparently that had changed in the past week because she hadn’t even blinked twice before looking up his room number.
My ability to tell a fib wasn’t the only change. Two years ago, I’d forbidden myself one-night stands. Bad, drunk sex with a stranger I’d met at a bar had been the catalyst. Hookups always left me feeling cheap and empty.
Yet here I was, naked in Vance’s bed with no delusions that this was anything more than one night.
Oh my God, we’d had sex. Crazed, reckless sex. The evidence was dripping down my slit.
“We didn’t use a condom,” I whispered, more to myself than Vance. “I’m on birth control.”
He lifted a hand, dragging it over his beard. “Sorry. Got caught up.”
“Me too.” I sighed. “I haven’t been with anyone in a while.”
“I just got out of a relationship. We were exclusive for three years.”
I was a rebound then.
A year, a month, a week ago, that would have sent me into a tailspin. I was a woman who loved relationships and commitment. After witnessing my parents live their lives madly in love, they had become the gold standard.
Maybe, for me, that standard was just too high.
At the moment, I felt too fragile to enforce my own rules. To insist any man I take to bed be husband material.
So I let it go. All of it.
Vance was a visitor in Quincy, like most guests in this hotel. He’d be gone sooner rather than later. If all he had to give me was an orgasm, then I’d be the rebound. I’d be the hookup.
I’d be the easy one-night stand.
Shifting to sit up, I threw my legs over the edge of the bed, about to get up and dress. But before my feet could touch the floor, Vance’s hand wrapped around my elbow.
“Wait.” He let me go, climbed out of bed and walked toward my pile of clothes, bending to snag my torn panties on the way.
His body was truly a work of art. Perfect, sculpted muscle. Male power and virility. The globes of his ass were mouthwatering, round and hard. If this were more than one night, I’d spend hours licking along his narrow waist and tracing the dimples at the base of his spine.
Vance’s shoulders were covered with tiny crescent moons. My nails. Had I ever marked a man before? No. But I liked it. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
Definitely not myself lately.
He collected my clothes and brought them over. But as I reached for them, he pulled them back, his gaze raking down my naked body. A muscle in his jaw feathered. The same conflicted expression he’d had earlier marred his handsome face.
I held out a hand for my bra.
Vance shook his head. Then my ball of clothes went flying across the room, crashing into the dresser beneath the TV.
“What—”
He bent and crushed his mouth to mine, silencing any protest. His hands drifted down my ribs, trailing over my hips. With a quick lift, he hauled me to my feet and swept me off my toes before carrying me to the shower.
Then Vance showed me just how good one night could be.