Baddest Bad Boys(59)

Abruptly, he pulled out. She heard him inhale, then exhale with the force of the wind banging at the window.

“Damn!” he muttered. “No condom.”

“Unless you belong in sexual quarantine, it’s okay. I’m on the pill.” She circled his penis with her hand, ran a thumb over its lush tip, and drew him back to her opening. She wanted him, all of him, as deep inside as she could have him.

“Thank God for science.” He slid into her, this time with an easy, unhurried languor—as if he had all the time in the world, as if her body was created to sheath him, only him. She felt him to her soul…

Tommi raised her hips, closed her eyes, and gave herself over to the sensation of his rich fullness stroking her tender interior flesh. Mac tipped himself up, braced himself over her, until each luxurious penetration caught and rubbed the head of her erect clitoris.

Making her reach and reach…

She bucked, her inner walls clutching him, vibrating around his thickness.

“Oh, Mac”—she thrust up, held herself hard against him—“you feel…like heaven.” Then a whisper from inside, the first flutter of coming, low in her belly, lower…then a quivering, silent rush of release that grayed her mind, numbed her senses.

Limp now, she was a vessel for him, still hot, still wanting, dazed and entrapped by the hard muscles of his body, the plunge and pull of his sex in her sex.

Rock-hard and rooted in the depths of her, Mac reared up and looked down at her with glittering eyes. He reached between them, pressed his thumb on her hot nub and began a slow, lazy game. “One, baby. That was one. Three’s the charm.” He leaned down and softly bit her distended nipple.

She nearly shot off the carpet as heat pooled and spread to heat her thighs and pubis. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Overwhelmed by his length inside, his fingers and mouth outside, she writhed and panted, each breath shorter, harder to draw than the last. To speak, she stifled a yearning moan. “I’m willing to go for a record if you are.” She cupped his testicles. “But don’t hurry—we’ve got days.”

“And days,” he ground out, taking a nipple into his mouth on a strong, suckling pull.

Then he got serious.

Mac opened his eyes to paltry morning light and a hard-on with a hand around it. A hand that had either started the erection process or was determined to finish it. He wouldn’t have believed, after last night, she’d have the energy. But he knew a good thing when he felt it.

He turned to face Tommi, and she put a leg over his thigh to give him access. He went into her as if he were made for the purpose, and his lungs constricted at the sweetness of it. If there was a better way to start a day, he couldn’t think of it.

But he was having real trouble keeping it slow.

Tommi put her mouth to his ear, whispered, “Don’t fuss, lover. Just f*ck me.” She nipped his earlobe.

Not a man to refuse a gift, he took her hard and fast. When it was over, she gazed at him, her expression soft and satisfied, and ran her hand over his morning stubble.

“Now, that’s what I call a good morning,” he said when he could hear himself over his pounding heart.

“I figured you’d like that.” She smiled at him, a lazy, pleased smile that if he were standing would bring him to his knees.

His insides went quiet, and he shoved her wild hair behind her ears. “You’re more than I expected, Smith.”

“As in better or worse?”

“You know the answer to that one.” He brought a handful of her hair to his nose, took in her scent, then finger-combed it away from her face. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“And you’ll be glad when I go.”

Her comment rocked him. “Where did that come from?”

She sat up and pulled the top sheet over her breasts. “I thought we both needed a reminder that our time together will be short.”

He couldn’t read her. “That’s what you want?” He cursed himself, knew his question was leading, that an answer would take him where he hadn’t planned to be. In deeper with Tommi.

She stood and wrapped the sheet around her, toga style. “I have no idea what I want, but you were clear. You wanted to ‘f*ck me and forget about it.’” She arched a brow, then smiled, one of those weird woman smiles that knotted a man’s gut and would take a thousand years to decipher.

He did what any sane man would do under the circumstances—kept his mouth shut.

“I take that to mean,” she said, her voice cool as glass, “we won’t be exchanging apartment keys anytime soon.” It wasn’t a question, and she settled those big blues of hers on him as if they were sun rays.

Hell, she was right. He had said that, and even after last night, he meant it. Long term, Tommi wasn’t for him. He wouldn’t let her be, wouldn’t set himself up for a fall. Some women didn’t know how to love, didn’t know how to be loyal, and in some dark part of himself, Mac figured Tommi was one of them. Last night, he’d had the best sex of his life, but it didn’t wipe out history. And it didn’t erase distrust.

And they had Reid McNeil to deal with. A thief, maybe a dangerous one, and her latest lover.

Finally, he nodded, then got up. “I apologize for being crass, but, yeah, the sentiment stands.”