Loving Him Off the Field (Santa Fe Bobcats #2)(36)

“More,” she groaned. “Everything. Killian, everything.”

“Nothing less,” he promised, then kissed her and all but sprinted to grab a condom from his toiletries case in the bathroom. Probably looked like a jackwagon, jogging around the hotel room with his dick wagging, but if she thought so, she kept quiet. When he returned to the bed, she had one leg drawn up, both arms over her head, and a sleepy, dreamy look in her eyes.

Nudging her drawn leg down and over, he settled between her thighs. “Aileen, I—”

“If that’s another get-out-now speech, I’m going to roll you over and put your penis in me myself,” she warned, determination glinting in her smoky eyes.

It was enough. It was more than enough. He pulled back, positioned himself, and pushed home. The feel of her surrounding him made his chest tighten. His arms flexed with the effort to control himself. He would last more than thirty seconds. He would.

Thirty-five, minimum.

“Oh, God. Killian.” Head thrown back, she laced her fingers around his neck and pulled him down. He let his mouth explore her neck, her shoulders, the pulse just under her jaw. With every thrust, that pulse jumped. When he twisted his pelvis around, it all but stopped. And when he sucked lightly, leaving a red patch behind, it nearly leapt through her skin.

“Like that, don’t you?” he murmured into the crook of her neck.

“Like you,” she whispered.

His heart jumped, pressed against her breast, and his hips sped up in time. Reaching down, he used one finger to find the little bundle of nerves he knew would hold the keys to her climax and rubbed until he found the pattern that affected her breathing.

“Oh . . . okay yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Just like that, just like . . . oh!” She half-spiked up, but pinned by his body weight she didn’t get far. “Oh, I’m . . . yeah, I’m definitely coming.”

Thank God, he thought, since he was about seven seconds behind her. He kissed her to cover her cries and moans as she reached her orgasm.

And to cover his own.

*

If she smoked, now would have been a fabulous time to light up. Aileen tensed all her muscles, then slowly relaxed them in one of the few yoga moves she remembered from that one time she’d been tricked into going. Her body responded with almost as much mindless pleasure as it had minutes earlier when Killian had given her that third orgasm.

Orgasm. Killian. Her eyes flew open.

Oh, holy hell. What have I done?

He was lying mostly on his stomach next to her, one knee drawn up to leverage his hips off the bed. His face, however, was turned away from her. And she heard a small rumbling sound. She placed her hand flat on his back, smiling when it vibrated. He was purring in his sleep, like a cat who’d been petted and stroked into an afternoon nap.

Her phone rang, and she snatched her hand away from his back. She went diving for her jeans, but came up with her shirt instead. She found her jeans half-buried under the comforter, which had been thrown to the floor somewhere between their second and third round of heart-stopping sex.

The instant she located her pants, she knew it wasn’t her phone. Hers vibrated along with the ring. Which meant it was his. Damn it, one of them really needed to change their ringtone.

She started to grope around in the dark to find his pants to dig the phone out, then stopped. Would she be tempted to check the read-out to see who the call was from?

Probably.

And unless she got lucky and pulled it out of his pocket upside down, there was no way she could miss the display. It would be a line she didn’t like skirting around. He’d probably call her out for snooping. Which was really rude, considering she was mostly concerned about him getting to the phone in time.

Irritated with him—though he hadn’t actually done anything, technically—she pushed at him with both her feet. His legs went sideways over the slick hotel sheets, but he didn’t wake up. She sighed, then shook his shoulders. He grumbled, wriggled, then nuzzled back into the pillow.

The ringing stopped. Oh, well, his loss. She was ready to follow his lead and burrow back under the covers when the phone started up again.

Okay, either he was going to answer it, or turn it on silent. She was not listening to that for another hour. It was ruining the post-coital high.

“Killian.”

He held up a finger . . . the impolite one.

“Your phone is ringing.”

He flapped his arm off the side of the bed, as if that could magically make it go away.

“Do you want me to answer it?”

That, as it turned out, was the magic bean that got his ass out of bed. If she’d yelled “Fire!” he might not have moved so fast. He bolted out, stumbled as his feet tangled in the heap of sheets at the end of the bed, and fell to the floor with a muffled expletive. The whole thing would have been pretty darn amusing, if it weren’t for the fact it was happening because he didn’t trust her to just pick up a damn cell phone and hand it to him without snooping.

That hurt. Just a little.

He pulled the phone out of his jeans pocket just as it stopped ringing. Another curse, then his fingers flew as he texted someone—presumably the caller. Then he flicked the phone to silent and shoved it back in his pocket.

Aileen raised a brow.

Killian scowled at her.

“What?”

He ran a hand over his face and hair. “Aren’t you going to ask who it was?”