The Hot One

“I’m so close.”


And that drives him crazy. I feel him go faster, and then I’m aware of movement behind me. I turn my head, open my eyes, and find he’s only using one hand to hold me, because the other? Dear God. It’s between his legs. He’s got his fist curled around his cock, and he’s stroking. Rough, hard, needy strokes. The sight of him like that is a detonation.

His need for relief, his need to touch himself while he gives me pleasure—it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever witnessed.

Another orgasm blasts through me, rocketing through my body, blotting out the world. Everything goes dark and black and wonderful.



Intimacy was never my strong suit. It’s the bedfellow of trust, and that’s a tough one for me, too. That’s why oral sex was something I didn’t rush to try. To me, it’s even closer than intercourse. It’s the ultimate intimacy. To let go and give in.

All that went against my instincts.

But with Tyler, when we were younger, I was ready to try. Damn good thing, too, because I quickly learned I did not want to miss out on that special item on the menu. I took as much as I could get. I was voracious. Easily, it became a daily practice.

Now, as I float down from the clouds, I’m ready to beg for it every day again.

But I also want something else, right this second. I want another form of closeness. I want as much from this man as I can take. My appetite is endless.

I want him bare.

As I slide down his body, nearing his cock, I meet his eyes. They blaze with desire, heating up even more as I rub myself against the head of his dick. God, he feels so incredibly good that sparks fly across my whole body. “I’m on the pill,” I say, my breath coming fast as I move against him, wanting to take him into me right now. “Are you safe?”

He swallows and rasps out a scratchy yes.

I sink down on him.

Trembles. Everywhere. Across my entire body.

“Delaney,” he moans, and I can hear the sheer pleasure in every syllable of my name. His hands dart out to clasp around my hips. “You feel . . .”

I nod as I breathe out, a long, lingering breath that shudders through me. “I know . . . It’s so good.”

He pushes up into me, filling me. The waves crash over me once more. Every stroke, every second—it’s all my fantasies and more. Because it’s real, achingly real, as I ride this man.

This man I loved madly once before.

This man I’ve fallen in love with once again.

“Look at you. Fucking me again. Your sweet little body taking me deep, my sexy angel,” he says, and I shiver from his dirty words. “This is where I want to be. Buried the fuck inside my woman. You’re mine, Delaney. You need to know that.”

I nod, my breath coming faster as I rock up and down on him. “I do know that. I swear.”

“Not letting you go. Not this time. Need you with me.”

“Don’t let me go,” I say on a whimper.

He pulses inside me, and he slides me up and down on his erection. “Love the way you move on me. Love how you want to fuck me so hard.”

My body says thank you again and again, because this is the best high, the greatest buzz as I rise up, then slam back down. Tremors roll through me, and I swear I’m vibrating. Tyler’s eyes squeeze shut, and he grips me so hard, it nearly hurts. When he opens his eyes, they’re blazing. His voice is demanding. “On your back. Now.”

In seconds, he’s flipped me flat, hiked up my legs, and draped them over his shoulders. I can barely move, so I surrender to him.

“Fuck me,” I moan, as he begins to punch his hips. A bead of sweat drips down his hard chest.

He shakes his head. “I’m not fucking you right now,” he says, as he slams into me.

Another roll of his hips. Another shuddering thrust that sends my world spinning. His palms press hard against the mattress, and he lowers himself against me. “I’m making love to you like this.”

I untangle my hands, rope them around his neck, and tug him even closer. “You are.”

And then words no longer matter. Only bodies. Only hearts. Only this connection that faded over the years but burned back brightly as soon as we came into each other’s lives again. Stronger, better, more certain the second time around.

Another climax claims me, rushing through my body, lighting me up.

My cries flip the switch in him because he fucks harder, relentlessly, taking me, owning me, then finally finding his release inside me.

When he collapses onto me, sweaty and elated, and asks me to spend the night, I tell him there’s no place I’d rather be.

Even though when the sun rises, all I want is to leave.





25





Tyler



* * *



I’ve been good at keeping secrets.

I have a great poker face. If I need to keep something to myself, I damn well keep that shit locked up tight. I don’t mean dangerous secrets that eat away at your soul. I simply mean that when I was a kid, I never gave up the goods on what my little brother was getting for Christmas even after I saw a receipt for a new bike sticking out of my mom’s purse. Likewise, I don’t ever let on in a negotiation that I’m one step away from signing a deal, not until I need to play those cards.

Last night, I was a vault, too.

This morning, the cat’s coming out of the bag.

I rise before Delaney, toss a fresh, clean T-shirt on the bed for her to tug on when she wakes up, then head quietly to the bathroom to take a piss. I wash my hands and brush my teeth, then put on a pair of boxer briefs. I walk to the kitchen, pull open a utensil drawer, and take out a few items I’ll need. Then, I whip up breakfast for my girl.

Eggs, toast, and fake bacon, as well as a steaming cup of green tea since I know she prefers that to coffee.

Soft feet pad across the floor, and she wanders in, sleepy-eyed with matted hair, but a fantastic morning-after smile on her face. My white T-shirt lands at her upper thighs and looks hot as fuck on her. Especially since I know she’s bare under it. She rises on tiptoe and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Morning,” she whispers, as her minty fresh breath floats near my mouth.

I turn away from the pot of tea and give her a full and proper kiss. When I break it, I arch an eyebrow. “If I were president, I’d abolish morning breath.”

“You so have my vote.”

I gesture to the stool at the counter. “Sit. Eat. I made you breakfast. Your favorite. And I got you free-range, farm-fresh, all-natural, one hundred percent organic eggs. Actually, come to think of it, I even hand-picked the eggs from a sustainable local farm, and I met the hen in advance. Nice gal. Her name was Cluckity-cluck.”

She shoots me a look that says impressed. “And did you thank Cluckity-Cluck for her services?”

“I told her I was most appreciative,” I say as I slide a plate to her then set one down for me.