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She watches me, not missing the way my dick smacks against my stomach as soon as it's free. I'm hard again. I was the minute I saw her standing there. I'm always fucking hard for her.
"You looked like a god out there, rising out of the waves like Poseidon." There's a smile on her lips and wonder in her voice.
Christ, she's cute.
I stalk toward her, crowding her until she's pressed up against the glass doors. My hand slips beneath her shirt and around her waist before skimming over one bare ass cheek.
"Are you sore?" I ask, cupping her pussy in my hand. She's wet again. Her heat sears into my palm.
"No."
"Liar." I lean forward and nip at her throat, pulling a moan from her.
"It's not so bad," she says, but I know she's lying about that too.
I took her hard, raging inside her like a fucking demon. She loved every minute of it.
"Come on," I murmur, grabbing her hand in mine and pulling her into the condo. I don't even bother with the board and my wetsuit. If they don't survive the storm, fuck it. I'll buy new shit.
If we're lucky, we have an hour until the storm hits. Long enough to suit my purposes.
I drag her with me up the stairs and into the primary bedroom. The red sheets are twisted all over the bed. The room smells like sex, like her. I pull her into the bathroom.
"What are you doing?" she asks when I start the shower and then rip her shirt up and over her head.
"Thought that was obvious," I mumble, pulling her body into mine. I put her back to my chest. My hand slips across her hip and down her stomach. I skim my fingers across her pubic bone and then move them up again, running my palms across her hardened nipples.
"Oh," she moans, her head lolling back against my shoulder.
I nuzzle my face into the side of her neck, breathing her in. She smells like me. Like I've been all over her. Shit, I have. For the last forty-eight hours, I've been drowning in her.
Her skin tastes sweet against my tongue, causing my cock to press more firmly into her back. How is it possible to want one woman this much? I don't know.
Before I can think too deeply about that, I shuffle her into the shower. My hands don't leave her body as I explore her. I fucking love her curves. They're so goddamn sexy. She's soft and round everywhere. I can't keep my hands off her.
My fingers slip and slide against her soft skin as the water beats down on us. Steam swirls around us, shutting out everything but me, her, and the soft, happy sounds whispering from her lips.
"What are you doing to me?" she moans, wriggling against me like she can't stay still.
I don't answer her. There's no point. She knows what I'm doing to her, and saying it out loud will send those defenses of hers flying into place. I want to knock them down, not build them higher.
My hand slips between her thighs, my fingers finding her clit. My free arm goes around her chest, holding her against me when her legs wobble beneath her. I play with her until she's digging her nails into my skin, and then I push her into the wall, drop to my knees, and take her with my mouth.
Her hands fly to my head. She pulls my hair, crying out my name.
I want to drag it out, wring her dry, but I don't. I use my tongue and fingers to push her over the edge, not letting up until she's a trembling mess in my arms and her juices run down my chin. My cock aches for release, but this isn't about me. It's about her. I don't want her to regret a second of giving herself to me.
As she comes down, I push her gently beneath the water pouring down from the showerhead and clean her up. Her body is soft and pliant in my arms. A sated smile plays on her lips while I take care of her, those defensive walls nowhere in sight.
"My partner almost got his two-year-old son killed," I murmur, running my hands through her hair. Her body tenses against mine before she relaxes again. "Drug cartels in Mexico have a lot of people operating along the West Coast. They defend trade routes and do all kinds of shit for the cartels they serve. A couple of months ago, we got word that one of those cartels was snatching up a large number of guns. We were trying to get in with them to figure out what they've got planned, so we floated word that we had half a million in guns we were looking to move. My partner fucked up and asked one too many questions. One of our suspects, a higher-level member, got suspicious and followed him home."
"Oh no," she whispers.
"He took Brady's wife and kid hostage. He was going to kill them just to prove a point. I shot the son of a bitch from behind. He never even saw me coming."
I'm not really sure why I tell her this. I shouldn't. The things I do, the people I deal with…like I told her, she doesn't belong in that world any more than Tahani does. I don't ever want any of that shit to touch her.
But after what she said about her ex, about craving stability…I think she needs to know what I do. I think I need her to know. Because two weeks isn't enough. I can deny that. I can fight it. I can spend another four years lying to myself, but it won't matter, because it won't change anything. Two weeks isn't enough.
