Page 35

Sliding his hand down her belly, he dipped into her panties, between her legs, cupping her, and she gasped into his mouth, a vibration he felt all the way to his groin. He nuzzled the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “Did I tell you I love you today?”

“No.” The broken whisper puffed over his jaw, and he turned his head, nipping the side of her neck.

“I do.” He curled his fingers, finding the wetness between her thighs, entering her, and a quiet moan fell from her lips. He ground the heel of his palm in a slow circle over her clit, pumping his fingers into her, and she whimpered, folding a hand over his nape, melting into him. “More than you know.”

Her head fell back, and he gave a groaning laugh, loving the way he left her speechless sometimes, the way he felt like she’d climb him if he hadn’t weakened her knees.

And she definitely weakened his.

With his other arm about her waist, he tipped her onto the mattress and came down over her. Her necklace slid, gold pooling into her clavicle, and he kissed her, still touching her, intimate flesh snug and wet around his fingers. With restless hands, she stroked his shoulders, hips tilting into his caress.

“You’re so damn hot.” He pressed his lips to her throat and cupped his palm over the tattoo of his signature at her rib cage, finding the curve of her breast, nipples furled. Lowering his head, he grazed her with his teeth, and she rubbed into his hand, the sexiest sound ever escaping her parted lips. “So wet for me.”

And he was so hard for her, his teeth ached.

She shifted, arms stretched above her head, nails scratching the smooth cotton of their sheets, and he licked her other nipple, dragging his tongue over the taut little peak.

Holy hell, he’d missed her, missed them.

With one hand, he managed to strip her panties away, then fumbled out of his own boxer briefs, kicking them aside. His gaze locked on those desire-darkened green eyes, he nudged her thighs apart and spread his palm over her belly, angling his thumb to circle her clit while he positioned himself.

He slid home, her body closing tight and wet around him, and she arched under him, climaxing on that first thrust, and hot damn, he loved that, the taut contractions as he pushed deep and pulled back, thrusting home, her husky little cry filling his ears. Gritting his teeth, he planted a hand next to her head, touching her and finding a slow, deep rhythm, determined she’d come again before he did.

This was good, too, because levered up on his arm, he could stroke her, watch himself touch her, see the way her breasts moved with each drive home, witness the flutter of her lashes and the play of muscles in her throat, the glint of gold.

“Yes . . . there.” She raked her nails down his chest, over his abs. The tiny sparks of pain shot straight through his gut to his balls. She was still so tight from that first orgasm, contracting around him, and he groaned, hooking her knee up by his waist. “Tick, please.”

He loved that broken note in her husky voice, the one that told him how good it was. Mediocre after the first year, his ass — they just got better the longer they were together.

“Oh.” She arched under him again, the first clenchings of her orgasm tightening her body around his. She moaned, grinding harder into him, taking him impossibly deep, and the base of his spine tingled, balls drawing tight as his climax seized his gut, his chest, his throat, stopping his ability to breathe, to think, white-hot pleasure burning him down.

Coming down from the climax, he hooked his hands behind her knees and pulled her closer into him, nuzzling from her clavicle to her jaw. A satisfied laugh rumbled from his chest.

Lord, he was glad to be finally home.

With a kiss to the underside of her jawline, he shifted his weight off of her, cradling her side to his front. He spread a hand over her lower belly, and she covered his hand with her own. Eyes closed, he let a long breath bleed out, letting the residual stress go with it.

“This is the easy part.” Her quiet murmur slid over him, and he nodded, not opening his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He breathed the words into her hair, shifting his hold to her hip and drawing her nearer.

She traced a design on his belly, playing connect-the-dots with his abs. “Want to tell me about it?”

“Sounds really stupid when I say it out loud, Cait.” He’d felt really stupid when he’d broken it down in the car by himself, looking at his behavior, trying to pin down why he seemed intent on creating distance between them without being aware he was doing so.

“Mmm.” The little sound indicated she already had him figured out, which of course she did. She knew him better than he knew himself. “Emotional reactions are rarely rational.”

He lifted his head to meet knowing green eyes. Embedded in that statement was the idea that his emotional reactions could be even more irrational than most.

When it came to grief, well, yeah. He wasn’t good at it, had never been good at it.

“Watching Gene without Louise was . . .” His mouth tightened. Hell, how did he even put that into words? He’d been so freaking helpless in the face of that devastation, as helpless as he’d been pinned down in tall grass on the 300 median, listening to his father die. “Tough.”

She waited, gaze gentle on his face.

“I didn’t do it on purpose, Cait. At least, I don’t think it was a conscious decision.” Propped on his elbow, he scruffed his fingers through his hair. “I was just pissed at the whole world, drowning at work, trying to keep things steady with the girls, and I—”

He swallowed, hard.