by Jill Shalvis
“Keep going,” he said, voice husky.
Erotic.
When she didn’t move, he gave her a come-here finger crook.
Her legs took her the last few steps, and then she was in the shower, the water plastering her cami and panties to her body.
Sam groaned at the sight and hooked an arm around her, settling a hand low on her back, pulling her into him. He did this slowly, giving her plenty of time to stop him.
She didn’t.
Not only didn’t she stop him, she reached up and slid her fingers into his wet hair and pulled him down, hoping for a mindless kiss.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured. “Still cold?”
“No.”
He met her gaze. “You’re nervous.”
“Aren’t you?”
He gave her a heart-melting smile. “It’s going to be good, Becca, I promise.”
Another promise. She could have told him she didn’t believe in them, but there was something so absolute about his voice, something so sure in his eyes. “Okay,” she whispered.
He smiled against her lips, and then brought his other hand up, tilting her face to suit him as he kissed her. Soft at first, then serious and demanding, and though she’d hoped he’d take her out of her own head for a while. He did even better than that, and an utterly unexpected wave of desire washed over her. She sank her fingers into his thick, unruly hair and held on.
He was right so far. It was good.
So good she lost herself in the sensations of being held, the barrage of heat and need, and a hunger so strong it made her weak in the knees.
When was the last time a man had made her weak in the knees?
A long time.
Too long.
His tongue swept along hers, and she moaned into his mouth. At the sound, Sam pulled back and gave her a very hot look. She tugged him in again because he was a good kisser. The best kisser. In fact, he was the king of all kissers, so much so that when he ended the next kiss, she’d have slithered to the shower floor in a boneless heap of arousal if he wasn’t holding her up with a strong arm around her back. The fingers of his other hand unpeeled hers to see what she still held fisted. When he caught sight of the extra-large blueberry condom, he smiled.
“I was planning ahead,” she whispered.
“Love a woman who plans ahead.” He set the condom on the soap rack, and then nudged a wet cami strap off her shoulder. Lowering his head, his lips grazed her jaw, her throat, across her collarbone. “Mmm,” he murmured against her skin, then pulled back a fraction of an inch to meet her gaze, his own hot as fire and intense. “Tell me this is what you want, Becca.”
She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Why was nothing coming out?
“If I stay,” he said very gently but with utter steel, “I’m going to take you to your bed and make you feel so good that you forget whatever is putting that hollow look in your eyes. I promise you that.”
Another promise, but this one seemed as irresistible as the last one, so in answer to his very alpha-man statement, she mustered up some courage and pressed up against him, running her hands over sleek, hot, wet, male skin. God. God, he felt good.
His hands went to her hair, releasing it from her ponytail so that his fingers could run through the wavy, wet mess. “Becca?”
He wanted the words. “Stay,” she said.
He peeled her out of her cami and panties and groaned at the sight of her bared before him, kissing her long and hard and wet and deep. He grabbed the soap, and with a dark, heavy-lidded smile, started with her arms. Her stomach and chest were next. Slowly and deliberately, his hands stroked upward, teasing the heavy undersides of her breasts until she sighed with pleasure, her head falling back to thunk against the tile. “Sam.”
“Learning what you like,” he said, and then kept teasing her until she said his name again, not so soft, and finally, oh God finally, his thumbs brushed over her nipples.
She sucked in a breath and trembled from head to toe. So long. So long since she’d felt this way.
He let his fingers come into play then, meeting up with his thumbs, gently rolling. “Well, you like that.”
She couldn’t talk, but if she could have, she’d have said she loved it. Luckily he didn’t seem to need words because he dropped to his knees and soaped up her legs next, running his hands up the backs of them, cupping her ass, squeezing, before stroking back down. Then he began again with the front of her, up her shins, her thighs. And then between.
She gasped. “Sam—”
“Open, babe.”
“Um—” she started, thinking she was in way over her head, but he took over, his hands urging her to spread her feet. She did, and found herself wide open in every possible way, but there wasn’t any space in the shower or her head for self-consciousness, not with his hands on her.
And his mouth. And God, his mouth . . .
He took his sweet time about it, too, stroking, touching, kissing, licking every single inch of her so that she was breathing like a lunatic, worked up into a near frenzy. “Sam,” she gasped again. “Sam, I’m going to—”
“Do it,” he said, mouth still on her. “Come.”
She flew apart, but he was right there to put her back together again, holding her, slowly bringing her back. When she could, she blinked her eyes open and caught his slow, sexy-as-hell smile.
He’d watched her lose it, and she realized she badly wanted to do the same for him. Pulling him upright, she admired his gorgeous, tough, hard-muscled body with her hands first, and that was so good that she had to taste, too. She slid to her knees to do just that.
Pressing her mouth low on a very sexy spot just beneath his hip, she watched in pleasure and fascination as the muscles in his abs jerked. She wasn’t too sure of her skills in this arena, but he looked good enough to lick. So she did. And then again.
And then she took him into her mouth.
He made a low, rough noise, and she looked up at him through her lashes. His head was tipped back, eyes closed, the water flowing over his face and down his chest. His fingers slid in her hair and held on. She tensed, but his hold remained gentle, not guiding or pushing her. It was more like he needed the grip just to hold on, which actually made her feel powerful, and sexy. So sexy . . .
All good signs, she figured, and continued on, absorbing the groan that came from above her and echoed against the tiled walls when she experimented a little bit.
“Sweet Jesus,” he muttered, his body as tense as a tightly coiled spring ready to snap. After a few moments, he swore and roughly hauled her up.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Nuzzling his face in her neck, he shook his head. “Gotta slow down or I’m gonna come.”
“Wouldn’t that be only fair?”
He groaned again, kissed her, and then said against her lips as he hoisted her up, “I want to be inside you when I come, when we both come.”
The words nearly sent her up in flames, but she needed to tell him—
“Hold on to me,” he said. Leaning her into the tile wall, he slapped a hand out for the condom. “Magnum blueberry,” he read with a lip twitch.
She’d had her hands around him. And her lips. So she was speaking on good authority. “At least the size is right.”
He snorted and, holding her pinned against the wall, seared his mouth to hers. She parted her lips for him and garnered herself a low, sexy growl from the back of Sam’s throat as their tongues touched. She’d been doing her best to stay lost in his gaze, in his kisses and touches, and not let Real Life intercede, but she still had to tell him. “Sam.”
He sucked at the sweet spot right beneath her ear and her eyes nearly crossed in ecstasy. “Sam,” she said again, but he wasn’t listening. She tapped his chest. “Sam, I need to—”
“Anything,” he murmured and kept kissing her, his hot mouth robbing her of cognitive thought.
“I—” She blinked. “Anything? You can’t offer me anything.”
“Why not?”
She paused and appeared to process this question very seriously. “Well. . .I could take advantage for one.”
“Go for it,” he said hotly, letting out a slow, absolutely wicked bad-boy smile. “Just remember, paybacks are a bitch.”
She shivered, not in fear but in arousal. Good Lord, he was potent. “I’m trying to tell you something.”
“Okay, babe,” he murmured, and kissed his way along her jaw toward her mouth. “You tell me whatever you want while I—”
“Sam!”
At the seriousness in her voice, he again lifted his head, giving her his full attention. Which she’d totally and completely underestimated, because Sam’s full attention made it difficult if not impossible to think. “I don’t want to disappoint you, but—”
“Becca.” His features immediately softened. “You won’t. You couldn’t—”
“I won’t come with you inside me,” she blurted out.
He went still for a beat. “No?”
“I. . .can’t.” Oh, God, this was embarrassing. Why had she thought this a good idea? She should have faked it. But she wasn’t good at faking it. “I want to, I try to, but it just doesn’t happen for me. And sometimes that can be . . . upsetting for a guy, I know, and I just really don’t want you to be upset.”
Something passed across his eyes, and it wasn’t pity or she’d have shriveled into a tiny ball and died. She couldn’t put her finger on it because he kissed her, softly at first, then not so softly, and before she knew it she was panting for air and whimpering with need, gripping him like he was her lifeline.
“Becca.”
“Huh?” she asked dimly.
“Open your eyes.”
She did with difficulty and met his very intense gaze.
“You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried,” he said, and with that, he turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and dried her.
She was so lost in the pleasure of him running the towel over her body, and the way he then tossed aside the towel to use his hands—and mouth—deliciously rough, demanding, and thorough, that she didn’t even realize they were moving until they fell together on her bed.
There he began all over again from the beginning, with long drugging kisses and teasing touches that had her rocking into him, desperate for release. He made her come twice like that, once with his fingers, and then again with his mouth, so that she was still thrumming with adrenaline and shuddering with it when he finally rolled on the blue condom and pushed inside her. His hands slid beneath her bottom and pulled her into him, grinding the two of them together with every stroke. Her eyes drifted shut but he nipped at her lower lip until she opened them again.
His gaze was intently fierce, so much so that she quivered. “Stay with me,” he said. He had one arm wrapped around her; the other slid down the back of her thigh, further opening her up for him as he thrust long and hard and deep, holding her gaze captive in his the entire time. The muscles in his arms and shoulders strained with the effort of holding himself back, keeping the pace slow.
Heaven.
She was close, so shockingly, desperately close, her nerves were screaming. “Please,” she gasped, unable to say more. Luckily for her Sam didn’t need additional instruction. It took only a few more of those hard, masterful strokes for him to bring her to the very edge of sanity, and then his arms pulled her in even closer, so that they touched in every way possible, skin on skin, and the exquisite slow sliding of friction sending her flying. As the surprise orgasm rippled through her, she clenched tight around him, absorbing his low, rough groan. With one more thrust, he came right along with her.
It was a long few moments before she regained control of her limbs and could loosen the arms she had in a death grip around his neck. “Sorry,” she murmured and tried to pull back.
But Sam was having none of it. “Stay with me,” he said again, and then brushed a kiss over her damp temple. Lifting his head, he studied her. “You okay?”
“I— You—” Words failed.
He huffed a soft laugh and kissed her. “Yeah, you’re okay,” he said, and slid out of her. She made a sound of helpless regret at the loss, and he kissed her again. “Don’t move,” he commanded, and vanished into her bathroom.
He was back in less than two minutes, sliding beneath her covers and hauling her in tight against him. He’d made good on his promises, proving that when he warned her about something, it was best to listen. It’d been good, and he’d indeed made her forget about the pizza.
He held her for a while, certainly long beyond what she’d have deemed the polite amount of cuddle time, his cheek resting lightly on top of her head, his arms around her. She had her face plastered to his bare chest and was listening to his steady heartbeat beneath her, waiting for him to extract himself.
He never did.
Finally, exhausted, she fell into a coma-like sleep and woke with a smile on her face to the sun streaming in her windows.
And an empty bed.
Chapter 8
Sam might have left Becca’s bed as surprisingly as he’d arrived in it, but the bigger surprise had been what had happened in it.
She smiled every time she thought about it, which was often enough to prompt Olivia to stop in the hallway the next day and ask Becca what was so damn wonderful.
Becca had laughed but shaken her head. She wasn’t going to share, but it turned out that despite Sam’s silent departure, having crazy hot sex was good for a person’s frame of mind.
Real good.
Becca didn’t come up with a jingle for Diaxsis over the next few days, but she felt infinitely relaxed about it. She felt infinitely relaxed about everything, including the fact that it was time to supplement her jingle income. The only thing that could have improved her mood was a Sexy Grumpy Surfer sighting.
But she didn’t get that. Not from her window, not on the beach, not from his boat, not anywhere Sam I am . . .
She did get pizza with Olivia. And as promised, it was homemade, and out of this world. Becca learned that Olivia not only ran the vintage store but owned it, which explained her fabulous clothes. She also made a mean chocolate chip cookie, and if Sam hadn’t already rocked her world, Becca might have said the cookies were better than orgasms. As it was, the cookies were a close second.
But though they’d spent several hours together, Olivia didn’t open up much, and her eyes stayed hooded.
Olivia had secrets.
As Becca had her own, she hadn’t pushed.
She spent a few days perusing the want ads and cleaning up her space, making it a home. She realized that said a lot about Lucky Harbor being more than a so-called pit stop, but she wasn’t going to feel bad for loving it here.
Three days after her night with Sam, she’d unwrapped a new—to her—lamp and couch she’d bought from Olivia’s shop and was lugging the paper the lamp had been wrapped in to the Dumpster when she realized Sam was there with his shop vac. He was emptying the bag when he caught her staring. He stared right back like maybe he liked what he saw. He did that, she’d noticed, showed his appreciation in nonverbal ways. With his eyes. His slow, sexy smile. The sound he made deep in his throat when he—
“Hey,” he said.
Wherever he’d been, he’d gotten some sun and, as usual, looked good enough to eat. “Hey yourself.” She turned to go.
“About the other night,” he said to her back. “I didn’t mean to vanish on you. I got called out on a job that took me away for a few days. And out of cell range.”
She had to admit that she’d wondered if he’d disappeared to distance himself from what had proven to be an explosive chemistry between them. At the realization that this wasn’t what had happened, something loosened in her chest. Relief. She hadn’t scared him off. “You’re covered in sawdust,” she said inanely.
He looked down. “Got home late last night and went right to work on a boat I’m building for another client.” He shifted closer and stroked
a thumb over her jaw. “You okay?”
Something about his proximity made her a little speechless, so she nodded.