After so many years not even thinking about sex – let alone wanting to actually indulge in any – Ellie had been sure that once she’d made the decision not to have any with Art, her libido would eventually get the message. And start behaving itself.
Wrong.
Two days after his melt-your-brain-cells kiss in the workshop, she lay in bed, watching the fairy lights her mother had draped over the mantel sparkle on the ceiling like stars, and contemplated another sleepless night spent trying not to fixate on all the things she should not want to do with Art Dalton.
Correction: Did not want to do.
Of course, it would have been a whole lot easier to convince herself of that, if Art hadn’t started popping up all over the place since that moment of insanity in the workshop.
After weeks and weeks of hardly crossing paths with him, now he seemed to be constantly in her face.
Had he always looked at her like that? The way he’d stared at her that night at the millpond? Why hadn’t she noticed it before now? Or was she just imagining it? Maybe it was all in her sex-starved, sleep-deprived head? She flopped onto her stomach, and shoved her head under the pillow. But the maddening memory of those dark chocolate eyes on her, refused to piss off.
He’d shown up to dinner on both Saturday and Sunday, his conversation as monosyllabic as usual, but she’d caught him staring at her. His arm had brushed hers as he reached past her for the salt yesterday and it felt as if she’d touched a power line. Was he getting in her face deliberately? Why would he? To what purpose? Was he trying to drive her insane?
They’d agreed, hadn’t they? That they weren’t going to take this thing further? Or rather she’d said it and he hadn’t disagreed. There were so many reasons why them having a sexual relationship had the potential for catastrophe. It would be madness to jeopardise everything she’d found at Willow Tree this summer, for the sake of an endorphin fix…
She’d always been so good at ignoring her desires, subjugating them to the common good, the higher purpose, so how come all Art had to do was look at her a certain way and she had the insane urge to leap across the dinner table and take him down?
The front door shut downstairs, and then the loose floorboard squeaked as footsteps came up the stairs, lighter than usual. She slipped out of bed, grabbed her robe and yanked it on, then tied her hair in a soft knot.
Art had disappeared after dinner – leaving her achy and tense and unable to sleep – to head to the workshop as he did every night. It was now five minutes past midnight. Everyone else had been asleep for hours, and she wanted to sleep, too.
With Maddy and Jacob now happily nesting on the other side of the farm acreage she ought to be getting ten solid hours a night. She needed ten solid hours a night, what with the shop chores and all the wedding planning, she had a lot of responsibilities on her shoulder. And she couldn’t do any of it efficiently with Art and his ‘jump me I dare you’ looks turning her into an insomniac.
She’d had enough. This situation required action.
Taking two deep breaths, she whipped open the door as the footsteps approached in the corridor outside.
‘Art,’ she whispered furiously.
He stopped, his broad body illuminated by the light from her room. She noticed the sheen on his slicked-back hair and the damp patch on his T-shirt. Her gaze travelled down to take in his bare feet. He carried his boots, which would explain the lighter tread on the stairs. Liquid fire tugged at her abdominal muscles. Had he just been for another midnight swim?
Visions of the swim she’d observed two weeks ago swam into her head.
Down, girl.
He didn’t move, didn’t say anything. No surprise there then. He was going to leave it up to her to handle the awkwardness.
‘We need to talk,’ she finally managed.
‘About what?’ His gaze didn’t even flicker.
‘The WI’s new jam-making regulations, what do you think?’ she snapped. Was he actually serious?
‘Huh?’
‘Don’t be dense. We need to talk about what happened on Friday evening.’ She oscillated her hand between them. ‘The… That bloody kiss.’
‘What about it?’
‘I don’t want it to happen again. So you need to stop looking at me like that.’
‘Looking at you like what?’ he said, as if he didn’t know. But his gaze flicked away and she knew either he was lying to himself, or he was lying to her or quite possibly both.
So she hadn’t been imagining those hot looks.
‘Like you want it to happen again,’ she said.
He didn’t deny it.
‘Look, Art, I’ll admit I’m struggling not to…’ She paused. Did she really want to give him this much ammunition?
If he’d looked smug, she might have stopped there, but he was giving her that intense look again, the one that made every one of her pulse points throb with unrequited need.
‘Not to want to do something about it, too.’ There, she’d said it. He didn’t respond, not in words, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. ‘But we both know it wouldn’t stop with a kiss next time,’ she carried on. ‘And we both agreed that would not be a good idea.’
He stepped into her personal space. The smell of fresh water and the underlying hint of man had her catching her breath, audibly.
‘When did I agree to that?’
She tried to get her objections in order, but the sight of him, the smell of him, so close was having a predictable effect.
‘We can’t have an affair, it would be too awkward, for Dee… And Toto. And it would be beyond confusing for Josh. I only told him three nights ago that I’m divorcing his father. He’s still processing that and…’
‘Who says they have to find out?’
‘But… What?’ Her voice trailed off into breathlessness as he bent to put his work boots on. The narrowed expression when he straightened was even more exciting than his damp T-shirt. Blast the man.
‘How could they not find out?’ Was that hope she could hear in her voice? Or madness? ‘We all live in the same house? And we both know from Jacob and Maddy that sound carries in this house.’ He remained mute as her common sense explanation gathered pace. ‘I’m not having sex with you with my son and your daughter and my mother right down the hall.’ Of that much she was certain… Or certain-ish. The feral glint in his eyes doing weird things to her resolve. ‘They might hear us.’
There were loads of other reasons why this would be a very bad idea, why couldn’t she verbalise a single one of them?
‘Get some shoes on,’ he said.
‘What? Why?’
‘I’ve got a place I want you to see.’
‘Where?’ she said, fairly sure she should not go anywhere with this man. Because she could not trust the endorphins rampaging round her body like teenagers at their first all-night Acid House rave.
His lips tipped up, the elicit smile a devastating combination of smug and sexy. ‘It’s a surprise.’
She waited two pregnant seconds. Should she go? Could she stay? And spend another night fighting the memory of having that hot avid mouth on hers?
She cursed and shot into her room to slip on walking boots over her bare feet. She must look ridiculous, but when she returned to the doorway, he took her hand and led her down the stairs without a word.
He dragged her out into the starry night, the air warm and still. He found his way in the darkness as if he had twenty-twenty night vision, leading her through the farm outbuildings, past his workshop, and round the back of the shop, and into the woods. The night smelled of wild honeysuckle and wet earth.
They followed the track that circumnavigated the millpond. It reminded her of another night two weeks ago, when she’d foolishly embarked on a midnight stroll.
Where is he taking me? And why am I going? What am I? A lemming?
But the denial eluded her, as his hand flexed on hers. She stumbled over something and his grip tightened.
‘You OK?’ he asked as he steadied her.
‘Yes,’ she managed, past burning lungs.
He guided her over a stile and then led her up the hill through the trees. A cloud passed over the moon, but, as her vision adjusted to the darkness, a shape appeared through the treeline at the top of the meadow.
‘What’s that?’ she mumbled, as the shape morphed into a bow-top gypsy caravan similar to the one in his workshop.
‘Somewhere private.’
He let go of her hand to climb the steps and swing open the door.
She stopped in the doorway, both unbearably aroused and completely horrified. With herself and him. What was she doing here? What were they doing here? This was still a really bad idea.
But, even as she lectured herself on the sense of letting Art drag her away from the safety of the farmhouse, she couldn’t find the will to move.
He dug around in the darkness. A scratching sound was followed by the scent of kerosene. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the caravan’s interior. It was beautiful, compact and cosy but also luxuriously finished. Her pulse skipped and skidded at the sight of the double bed built into the end of the space, covered by a colourful patchwork quilt which had to be her mother’s work.
She dragged her gaze away from it, to encounter a series of expertly finished dark wood cabinets which had to be Art’s work, with a gas stove and an icebox on top. Gingham curtains, like the ones in her room, fluttered over the narrow windows propped open on one side. The fresh scent of lemon polish and the fragrant smell of summer flowers infused the air.
‘It’s exquisite,’ she whispered.
‘It’s useful,’ he corrected. He leaned his butt against the cabinet and folded his arms over his chest. The lamplight shifted over the harsh planes of his face. ‘We’re at least half a mile from the farmhouse, and even further from the other homesteads,’ he said, his voice matter of fact. ‘No one’s gonna disturb us or get traumatised by us being here and doing whatever we want to each other…’
She had to force herself to breathe. The enormity of what he was suggesting so huge she couldn’t quite process it in her head. Even though her body was already way ahead of itself, her nipples hard enough to drill nails.
You muppet. Why did you let him bring you here? And why can’t you just turn around and run back out into the night? Before you get pressured into doing something you don’t want to do.
But annoyingly, despite the provocative things he’d said, and the hot way he was staring at her, she didn’t feel pressured. She felt aroused. Hopelessly, stupidly, unbearably aroused.
‘We can’t,’ she said, her voice a great deal less demonstrative than she needed it to be.
He released his arms, and braced his hands on the cabinets behind him, making his shoulders bunch under the damp T-shirt.
He ducked his head, and crossed his legs at the ankle, his fingers tightening on the cabinet edge as he stared down at his work boots. Was he nervous, too?
But then his head came up and he said in that same matter-of-fact voice: ‘Why not?’
There was no anger or irritation, it sounded like a genuine question. That deserved a genuine answer. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of a single, solitary one that would make any sense.
After a pregnant pause, she managed, ‘Because it would be dishonest?’
Unfortunately, the lift in her voice made it sound more like another question than an answer.
He huffed out a strained laughed, then dropped his head back down to examine his boots some more. When he spoke, his voice rumbled out from his chest, making the hairs on her nape prickle.
‘You know what’s dishonest?’ He trapped her in that tractor beam gaze. ‘Pretending we don’t want to do this, when we do.’
Pushing himself upright, he walked towards her, each step slow, and careful, as if he were approaching a wild animal that might bolt at any moment.
Her heart beat so fast it felt as if it were going to gallop right out of her mouth. He raised his arm, and slid his hand across her cheek, barely touching.
The calluses on his palm rasped over sensitive skin and her breath gushed out in a rush. His eyes remained locked on hers, as if he were waiting for her to tell him no.
That would be the no that had deserted her seconds ago, no minutes ago, no hours, and weeks and months ago. The first time he’d kissed her. Maybe even before that. The no that had now floated out into the close night never to be heard of again.
His fingers threaded into her hair, and he lowered his lips to hers, but, just as he paused a whisper away, she flattened her hands against his waist.
‘I should warn you,’ she whispered against his lips, ‘I’m not very good at this.’
He lifted his head, and cupped her face in both his palms. ‘What?’ he said, searching her face.
Why the hell had she said that?
‘Forget I said that, let’s just do it and see how it goes. It’ll probably be OK, I have it on good authority you’re a guaranteed orgasm.’
His lips curved, his eyes lighting with amusement. Was he laughing at her?
She pulled back. ‘Why are you smiling?’
‘Shhh.’ He propped his forehead against hers, grinning now.
‘Did you just shush me?’
‘Stop talking, Ellie.’ His fingers curled around her nape then slid into her hair. The top knot released, spilling her hair onto her shoulders. His abdominal muscles jumped under her touch.
‘It’s going to be good.’ He chuckled again, the rusty sound sending a renewed rush of blood to her cheeks. ‘I guarantee it.’
The yank in her abdomen became a hot slow glide of pressure, and instead of pushing him away, instead of being outraged, or scared, or indignant, she laughed, too.
He found her ear lobe and bit into the tender flesh. She choked out a sob, all her performance anxiety issues dissolving in the rush of blood to regions that had been neglected for far too long. He nuzzled, sucking the rampaging pulse, as rough hands sank beneath the waistband of her flannel pyjamas to cup her bare bottom.
She jolted, hot breath skating over her skin, as the ache became heavy and insistent.
‘It’s just sex, Ellie,’ he rasped.
Just sex.
She spread her fingers determined to believe it, absorbing the hard planes of muscle and sinew.
Art was a mercurial and enigmatic man. And she had always wanted him, even as a girl. Why not take this for herself? It would be their secret and no one would ever need to know.
The tension that had been punishing her for days, for weeks, sang a hallelujah chorus in her blood. She tipped her head back, and lifted her hands to rub the day-old stubble on his cheeks, loving the rugged feel of him, absorbing the sublime strength in his jaw. Arousal darkened his irises to rich chocolate. Her pulse leapt at the evidence he was as wild for her as she was for him.
She could have this. They could have this. It would be their secret.
‘How about it?’ he asked.
She nodded, the power of speech having deserted her.
The quick grin made her heart stutter, before he turned his head to bite into her thumb, the playful nip sending sensation shuddering down.
He bent and scooped her into his arms.
She choked out a laugh, exhilarated and overwhelmed, as he carried her to the bed and placed her on the coverlet.
‘Time to get naked, Princess Drama,’ he said.
She laughed, joy and excitement battling in her chest with the swooping beat of affection.
*
Art felt the rush of blood southwards, as the adrenaline mainlined into his bloodstream.
This was mad. Certifiable. He’d been telling himself that for days, for weeks, ever since she’d watched him from the edge of the millpond. But with his hands on her at last, her subtle sexy scent driving him nuts, mad seemed like the only way to go.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Hadn’t even been able to keep out of her way any more. When she’d told him she wanted it too, had made it clear that whatever she’d said three days ago, her desire for him wasn’t in question, he’d had all the permission he needed to demand more.
Everything else was just practicalities. Sex was simple, and satisfying, and would take this ache away.
He perched her on the edge of the bunk, then gripped his T-shirt and hauled it over his head. He flung it aside, gratified when her gaze fixed on his chest. ‘Lose the pyjamas.’
‘Stop acting like a caveman.’ Her chin took on that stubborn tilt he’d become addicted to.
‘Then stop wasting time,’ he countered. ‘We haven’t got all night.’
She huffed, but did as she was told, undoing the buttons on the soft cotton top. Underneath was a wispy lacy thing that moulded to her breasts and did nothing to disguise the shadow of her nipples.
Arousal gripped the base of his spine. He kicked off his boots and ripped open his flies, releasing the aching erection confined in his shorts.
‘Do you have protection?’ she asked, as she wiggled out of her pyjama shorts.
‘Yup.’ He reached over to prise open the draw on the bedside table, digging out the box of condoms he had stuffed there yesterday, while convincing himself he wasn’t going to use them.
Now that she was here, delightfully naked as she perched on the bed, her arm drawn tight over those lush breasts, he knew that was a big fat lie.
After dropping the box on the bed, he finished tearing off his clothes.
‘I see you keep yourself well stocked here.’ He noted the sarcasm. Was she jealous? Why should that please him? ‘So I’m not the first to be invited to Art’s gypsy love nest?’
He smiled at the indignant tone. Unlike other women, an arsey Ellie turned him on – probably because everything about her turned him on.
He’d never had sex with anyone at the farm, not since Alicia. But he wasn’t going to tell her that, and give this moment too much significance.
‘Do you want to talk about my past conquests?’ He picked up the box and tore off the packaging. He tossed out a couple of foil packages, and handed her one. ‘Or do you want to do the honours?’
She took the offering, unfolding her arm from across her breasts. The soft mounds jiggled, the puckered nipples making his straining erection pound harder.
‘Pretty full of yourself aren’t you, Dalton?’ she said, as she ripped the package open, and pulled out the rubber.
Taking her shoulders, he pressed her back onto the bed and climbed up to join her. ‘If you shut up for two seconds, you’re going to be pretty full of me, too.’
She chuckled. But the sound turned to a gasp when he cupped her breasts, the hard nubs of her nipples pressing into his palms.
He watched intently as he played with the tips, and her snarky smile softened. Her breath released on a sob as he kissed her collarbone, then trailed his tongue down to circle the dark rigid areolas. First one, then the other.
At last he nipped with his teeth, loving the feeling of her quivering beneath him, and the sight of her flushed with need as she bucked off the bed. He held her steady, until her palm wrapped around his erection.
He tried to draw away. He didn’t want this to be over too soon.
But Ellie had other ideas, her fingers closing around him, running down to the base then gliding to the tip. Her thumb circled, touching and stroking.
He swore against her neck, pumping into her touch. She let him go and pushed against his shoulders.
His eyes flew open, to find her face close to his, the blush blossoming on her cheeks, her hair wild and untamed, her eyes reflecting the fierce desire knotting his gut. She pressed a hand to his shoulder. He rolled away and lay on his back, then, to his amazement, she bent over and licked his erection.
The groan guttered out, rising up through his torso, sawing out of his lungs.
He gathered her hair, to watch her, the sweet glide of her tongue both tentative and somehow determined.
He’d been given head before. But this felt like more. Too much more. The quick exploratory licks gathering his taste, making his whole body jerk with a joy that reached into his soul.
‘Bloody hell, Ellie, you have to stop.’ He cradled her cheeks and lifted her head. Her gaze connected with his then darted away.
Suddenly she was climbing off the bed, rushing round to scoop up her clothes. ‘I knew this would be a disaster.’
He lay for a moment in a state of stunned disbelief. Where had this come from? What had he done wrong? He jackknifed off the bed and went after her. Grabbing her shoulders, he pulled her upright.
‘What’s up?’
She stood with her back against his chest, shaking, her arms clasping her clothes to cover her breasts. ‘I told you, I’m rubbish at this.’
He looped her hair round her ear, pressed a kiss to her neck, where her pulse fluttered furiously. ‘Who told you that?’
Why would she even think that? Was this something to do with the husband she was divorcing?
‘You did.’ The unsteady voice cut through his rising irritation. ‘You just asked me to stop.’
He shifted her round in his arms, keeping a tight grip on her in case she tried to bolt again. ‘Only because I guaranteed you an orgasm,’ he explained, reaching for practicality again. ‘That means you get yours first.’
She had her head down, clutching her clothes.
‘You can see what you do to me,’ he said, the straining erection trapped against her belly. ‘Does that look like I’m not enjoying it?’
Her head came up at last. The fierce flush of embarrassment on her face somehow brave and yet stoic with determination. ‘I was joking about the orgasm,’ she said. ‘I probably won’t have one. I don’t usually. Please don’t make a big deal of it.’
He so would make a big deal of it. What was the point of illicit sex if she didn’t get off on it too? But he checked his thoughts, feeling the rigid tension in her shoulders, seeing it on her face. The first order of business was to take the pressure off, or neither one of them was going to be getting an orgasm tonight.
‘Relax,’ he said.
Taking hold of the clothes she was using as a shield, he tugged them gently. She held fast for a moment then let them fall from her grasp. He glided his hands up her arms. And clasped her head. A shiver raced through her as her lips softened against his, the sigh deep and heartfelt. He massaged her scalp, drawing out the moment, licking and coaxing.
Dragging his mouth from hers with an effort, he led her back to the bed. She lay back, still wary as he climbed over her. He kissed her breasts, those perky nipples, then trailed down, absorbing the rapid rise and fall of her breathing, the sultry spice of her scent.
Hunger consumed him, hunger and an urge he hadn’t felt in far too long. To nurture and protect.
*
Ellie raised up on her elbows, shocked when Art parted her knees, his dark head ducking between her legs. She shuddered. ‘You don’t have to do that.’
Dan had always hated oral sex, unless she was the one doing the honours.
But all thoughts of Dan and her mediocre sex life flowed right out of her head when Art glanced up, the grin fierce and feral. ‘Are you kidding? I’ve been fantasising about this for weeks.’
She lost the ability to breathe let alone protest, as he separated her with his thumbs and blew on the swollen flesh.
‘Oh God.’
He explored gently, cautiously at first, as if learning her taste. The leisurely licks tantalising then maddening. Her own caution drifted away on the warm wave of pleasure. She relaxed back onto the bed. Slowly, gradually, letting the liquid warmth replace the tension. But then he lapped at the heart of her, and the rasp of sensation made her jerk.
‘Easy,’ he whispered against her flesh. Stroking her thighs, her hips, settling her back. Building the pleasure again, tightening the coil in long, incremental licks, moving back towards that beating pulse. She hovered, the vice becoming painful in its intensity as it tightened.
Was that her sobbing, begging, needing him to touch her there again? Then he lapped right over the heart of her, concentrating there, not retreating this time. She bucked off the bed, cried out as the coil released in a rush, detonating in a blissful surge of release.
He continued to lick and suck, squeezing the last drops of the climax out of her. Before rising above her. He licked her juices from bearded lips.
Goodness, was she going to have beard burn on her clit tomorrow?
‘No big deal,’ he said.
She laughed at the absurdity of how good she felt as she watched him sheath himself with the condom. No big deal, not any more.
He held her hips, and the laugh guttered out as he pressed into her.
She panted, stretched wide, the exquisite feeling so intense it was a little disorientating. He held her bottom to angle her hips, and slid the rest of the way in one slow, glorious thrust.
Her breathing sawed out of her lungs, as he held still for a moment, seated deep, allowing her to adjust to his size. Then he drew out, and rocked back, going deeper still.
‘Good?’ he asked.
Tenderness engulfed her at the note of uncertainty.
‘Yes, very.’
Touching his forehead to hers, he continued that slow, relentless rocking, drawing out, digging in, stroking a place deep inside.
Her whole body began to shake, the pleasure sublime and intense, the smell of turpentine and lake water that clung to him a potent aphrodisiac.
She dug her heels into his backside, clung to his shoulders, as the rocking lost that slow relentless rhythm, becoming fiercer, more frantic. He shuddered, muffling his hoarse shout of release against her neck.
They lay entwined for several moments, her fingers tangled in his damp hair, the shelf of his shoulder digging into her chest where he’d collapsed on top of her, the pulsing in her sex brutally tender.
Lifting up, he rolled off her and flopped back on the bed.
She let her mind drift, still fogged by the delirium of afterglow – and the glorious sense of achievement.
The tiny part of her that had always blamed herself for Dan’s infidelities – because she’d stopped being able to achieve orgasm with him the first time he’d cheated – finally gone for good.
Gradually a parade of fire-breathing dragons, whimsical elves, dancing unicorns, and all manner of mythical creatures painted in bold splashes of colour emerged from the shadows on the caravan ceiling.
She tilted her head, the lantern light flickering across the exquisite illustration. Her chest tightened, the tenderness in her limbs and between her legs butting into her heart.
Art stirred beside her. ‘You all right?’
She turned to find him watching her. ‘Yes,’ she murmured. Should she thank him for the orgasm? No, that was silly, they were even. He’d had one too, hadn’t he?
‘Who did that?’ she asked, studying the ceiling, the subject of unicorns and elves easier to negotiate.
He slung his arm above his head, the awkwardness lifting as they lay together staring at the illustration. ‘I did.’
She caught the reticence in his voice. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah.’ Was that a blush she could see slashing across his cheekbones? Since when did Art blush?
‘It’s beautiful.’ She examined the detailed painting which wouldn’t have looked out of place in a children’s picture book. ‘And rather… well, romantic.’
Sitting up, he swung his legs off the bunk, presenting his back to her. ‘I didn’t pick the subject matter.’ He climbed off the bunk and dealt with the condom. ‘Toto did. She likes magical creatures. She’s a Harry Potter nut.’
It wasn’t the subject she’d found so touching, but his obvious embarrassment only made the effort he’d taken to fulfil a little girl’s wishes all the more sweet. She wondered if he had any clue how devoted he was to his daughter.
All the questions she had about his past, and how he’d come to be a single dad, crowded into her mind.
He bent to fish his boxers off the pile of clothing they’d left on the floor. She stifled the flicker of disappointment when he tugged them on. Had she left those score marks on his back?
The hum of renewed arousal became more pronounced.
She should probably get dressed now too, so they could sneak back to the farmhouse. But, instead, she slipped under the quilt to enjoy the show as he pulled two bottles of beer out of the icebox.
The thought that he might have planned this seduction, had certainly prepared for it, was almost as touching as the fairy-tale creatures he’d painted on the ceiling.
He offered her a bottle. ‘You want one?’
‘I’d love one,’ she said. Her mouth dried as she watched his pecs flex while he popped off the caps against the cabinet edge and slung them in the bin.
She sat, plumping the pillows and drawing the quilt up to cover her breasts. He handed her the cool bottle and perched on the edge of the bed. She rolled it over her forehead, feeling flushed as he took a long gulp.
She sipped her own beer. Swallowed. ‘What happened with Toto’s mother?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
The slight edge in the tone, and the lift of one eyebrow told her loud and clear she was overstepping the bounds of a casual sex-for-sex’s-sakes fling.
‘I just wondered. Dee mentioned her.’ Surely having sex with Art entitled her to satisfy at least some of her curiosity? ‘She said she had problems and that she left before Toto’s first birthday. Do you miss her?’
‘Hardly. I kicked her out.’
‘I see,’ she said, the abrupt tone making her pulse bobble.
Instead of filling the gaping hole in the conversation, he concentrated on finishing the beer, then shot the bottle into the bin at the end of the caravan. It hit the rim and dropped into the metal container. The perfect slam dunk.
‘Why did you kick her out?’ she asked, finally forced to fill the gap for him.
He glanced her way, his expression suspiciously blank. ‘I woke up one night and found her shooting up next to Toto’s crib.’
Standing, he slipped off his boxers, then climbed back onto the bunk. The sight of his erection bobbing up to his belly button shocked her almost as much as the information about Toto’s mother.
Seriously? Again already?
She choked on her beer. He grabbed another condom from the pile on the bedside cabinet.
She pressed into the pillows, the liquid pull in her abdomen swift and unstoppable as his hands flattened on the headboard on either side of her head. He swung one knee over her, caging her in. Her gaze glided down his chest as she watched him roll on the condom.
She finished her beer in one long gulp.
He took the empty bottle from her fingers and slung it towards the bin without looking. It landed with a resounding crash. Another direct hit.
She stared into those piercing eyes. Dark, intent and glazed with hunger. For her.
‘What if I want to talk some more?’ she said, the husky tone of her voice fooling no one – but it was the principle of the thing.
‘Then I’ll take you back to the farmhouse,’ he said, the wry tilt of his lips even more of a turn-on than the challenging tone. ‘We’re not here to talk.’
The air backed up in her lungs as he took hold of the quilt and gave it a sharp tug. It dropped away, leaving her breasts bare.
He circled one pouting nipple with his tongue. The liquid pull became a definite yank as the peak engorged in a rush.
He lifted his head. ‘You want to go back?’
She thrust her fingers into his hair and dragged his mouth towards hers. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ she murmured against his lips. ‘Just yet.’