Tiffany had imagined this moment for over a year. The feel of his mouth on hers, the strength of his hand cupping her neck. The heat that curled through her blood, rushing to her lips, her breasts, her sex.

In her imagination, she’d felt every touch, every breath, every gentle stroke, every hard demand. She’d roamed her body with her own hands, and she’d arched up, crying out in wild abandon when the man in her fantasy had made her come.

The Eric in her dreams had taken her to soaring heights, reducing her to nothing but limp, satisfied ashes.

But that Eric had nothing on the man now touching her, his lips hard and demanding. His hands possessive and strong. She wanted to melt into him, to lay herself out as an offering and let him feast on her. On all of her.

His hand moved, coming to cup her face. He held her in place, taking the kiss the way he wanted. His tongue tasting all of her. His teeth clashing with hers. Drawing blood and heat and working them both into a wild frenzy that only got more desperate when his hand moved down to cup her breast roughly, then lower still to thigh. She spread her legs, and—finally—he slid his hand all the way up her leg until he reached her core and her blue panties that were surely now dark, wet from her own desire. Dripping with need.

He slid his finger along the band of her panties, teasing her by occasionally slipping beneath the material, his tongue thrusting deeper when he did so. And then, damn or bless him, he thrust his finger deep inside her, his tongue mimicking the thrusting motion of his finger until her mind was spinning and her body burning and she finally couldn’t take it anymore. This onslaught. This wicked, wonderful assault on her senses.

“Stop,” she finally said, impressed that he did so immediately, though the expression on his face was so confused and frustrated she almost wanted to laugh. Instead, she drew her breath in, calming herself as she put her finger to his lip. “I need something.”

Again, confusion darkened his eyes. “Anything.”

She stood up, then very slowly pulled the dress up over her head. For a moment, she couldn’t see his face, but when her head popped free of the material she saw an expression of such pure desire it seemed like worship.

She thought she should be embarrassed, standing there in nothing but her bra and panties, but she wasn’t. On the contrary, she saw the desire reflected in her eyes, and she felt powerful. Like a sensual creature that he’d come to worship.

Except it wasn’t worship she was looking for. She didn’t want a sweet encounter. She wanted wild. Rough, even.

She wanted him to claim her. To make her his. And she wanted it now.

Slowly, she stepped toward him. She’d long ago kicked off her sandals, and her body was so hyper-aware that it seemed as if she could feel every fiber of carpet beneath her feet. When she reached him, she held out her hand, and he stood. “I’m a little bit drunk, but I just want you to know that’s not why I’m sleeping with you.”

“No?” He had one hand on her waist, and the other was stroking her bare shoulder. Warmth flowed through her, originating with the sparks that the contact was generating and making it very hard to think.

She shook her head. “I’ve wanted this—you—for about forever. And thank goodness for liquid courage, because it’s clearly doing the talking here. God knows I’ve been tongue-tied for months.”

“Thank goodness is right,” he said. “Because I’ve wanted you, too, and never worked up the nerve to do anything about it.” He grinned. “Here’s to my fabulous margaritas.”

“Cheers to that.” She bit her lower lip as the hand on her waist trailed up, and then made a small noise in her throat when both hands slipped behind her back to unfasten her bra, and then to gently tug it off.

“So beautiful.”

She wasn’t very big, barely a b-cup, but he didn’t seem to mind. His look told her that as far as he was concerned, she was perfect. And that made her bold. “Sit back down. Watch me.”

He did, and she put one bare foot on the couch between his legs, then touched her own breasts, watching the way his cock got hard under his jeans as she teased her nipples. Then how his hand moved to his fly when she slid one palm down slowly, lower and lower until her fingers grazed her panty line.

Their eyes were locked now, though she could see him stroking himself through his jeans, and oh, God, the sense of power, knowing that she was turning him on like that. She’d never done anything like this before. Sex was nice, but straightforward. With Eric she wanted twists and turns. She wanted to play. To explore.

She wanted, she realized, to have fun.

He lifted a brow, and she understood the question. She inclined her head just slightly, and he finished unzipping and took out his cock. She honestly wasn’t an expert, but as far as she was concerned it was perfect. Thick and hard and looking as eager for her as she was to feel it inside her.

“Yes,” she murmured, sliding her hand down to cup herself. She was so wet, and she thrust her two fingers inside, imagining it was Eric filling her. Eric telling her how good she felt, how tight she was.

“Please,” she whispered. “I want it to be you.”

“Take off your panties,” he ordered, and she did, then walked naked in front of him. “Ride me,” he said, taking her hand with her still slick fingers. And as she straddled him, still fully clothed—and oh, God, how hot was that?—he sucked her slick fingers as she rose and fell in a slow rhythm on his cock. A rhythm that got faster as she got closer—as she felt the tug of the rising orgasm rushing from his mouth on her fingers all the way down to her core.

“Yes,” she cried, feeling her walls clench tight around his cock. “Eric, oh, please, oh, please.”

But the plea died on her lips when his hands moved to her hips and stilled her. “Not just yet, baby,” he said. And in one incredible motion, he stood up, one hand on her ass and the other on her back. And then, praise be, he carried her to the bedroom.

 

* * * *

 

She was incredible.

That was all he could think. That she was incredible and that through some miracle, she was his. His to touch. To explore. To take.

And, oh, yes, he was going to take everything she gave, and more. He craved the feel of her, hungered to feel her tremble beneath him.

He wanted to take her right to the edge, leave her balanced there, and then, in one hard and final moment of bliss, to take her over and make them both break apart together.

That’s what he wanted. But he wanted it slowly. And once he’d laid her out naked on the bed, he started at her ankle, then kissed his way up that beautiful calf to her runner’s thigh, higher and higher along the soft skin of her inner thigh that twitched and jumped beneath his lips, fighting the sweet punishment he was administering.

He gave her just a hint, licking the soft area between her thigh and pussy before he teased her higher up, his tongue playing with her navel, his mouth sucking her breast, his lips brushing lightly over his collar bone. And through all of it, his cock was throbbing, rubbing the bedspread, then her legs, then her sweet, wet pussy.

“Pull your knees up,” he ordered. “But keep them spread. And baby? I want you to look at me.”

She did as he said, and he almost lost it just looking at her, wide and open and so ready for him. Then he rose over her, his hands on either side of her head as the tip of his cock teased her core and she made little whimpering sounds of need.

He bent forward and kissed her, wanting to taste those sounds, and she claimed his mouth so hungrily that the kiss deepened even as he thrust inside her. And then he couldn’t stop. No power on earth could have made him stop. She was his, and this was their moment, and he thrust into her again and again, deeper, and then deeper still when she released one knee so that she could press her hand against the headboard.

She held her body steady as he ravaged her, going so deep they felt like one person. Until he was certain they were one person, because when he felt her start to go over, the contractions inside her milked his cock until he followed her out into space, lost and exhausted and feeling absolutely, deliciously wonderful.

He had no idea how long he lay like a man destroyed before reason returned. Then he stretched out beside her, their bodies touching, sharing her heat and feeling her heartbeat pound through him.

“That was so much better than my fantasies,” she murmured.

“You have fantasies of me?”

She rolled over to face him. “Are you saying you didn’t have any of me?”

“Hardly. I have a whole collection, all organized in my head according to theme.”

She propped herself up on one elbow, the seductive well-fucked glow now mixing with the expression of an eager kitten. “Tell me.”

“Too many to go through,” he teased.

“A random sampling then.”

“G, PG, R, or NC-17?”

“You have G-rated fantasies?”

“Ah, those are some of the best. A lazy afternoon in a boat or by the lake. Of course, that one can turn PG—or R—if it’s set at Hippie Hollow,” he added, referring to Austin’s nude beach on Lake Travis.

“Only up to R?”

“No sex in the park. Otherwise…” He waggled his eyebrows and she laughed. “But other than shifts from G to Not-G, I think my favorite G-rated fantasy is making dinner with you—just experimenting, you know? And then sharing a bottle of wine in front of the television, your head in my lap and my finger stroking your hair.”

“Sounds nice. What movie?”

“Casablanca.”

“Oh, but she leaves. We need one where they’re together at the end.”

“I’ll speak to the producers.”

She nodded, as if that settled that. “And what about after? Does it stay G?”

“Oh, no. It moves on to NC-17. But we don’t want to lose our rating. So that,” he said with a quick kiss to her nose, “is the sequel.”

“I like.”

“And your fantasies?”

“A lot like this,” she said. “And sometimes there are toys involved.”

His cock stiffened at the thought, his mind going through all sorts of possibilities. “I do like the way your mind works.”

She laughed, and he wondered how he got so lucky to have this woman in his life, especially when—

He closed his eyes, wishing his head hadn’t started going in that direction. “Eric?”

“Sorry. Mind wandering.”

“Yeah?” She brushed his jawline with her fingertips. “Where to?”

“It’s just— I mean— Oh, hell. Do you think we should talk about before? About you and Ben?”

She tugged her hand away. “Um, now? Because he’s a great guy and all, but I really don’t want him in bed with us. Do you?”

“I only—”

But her hand had slid down, and now she’d captured his cock. She stroked him, the movements firm and even and so goddamn erotic. Then she started to move down the bed, her body disappearing under the sheet. And before her head disappeared, she met his eyes and said once more. “Do you?”

And the only answer he had was—No.