The Hot One(59)

He pulses inside me, and he slides me up and down on his erection. “Love the way you move on me. Love how you want to fuck me so hard.”

My body says thank you again and again, because this is the best high, the greatest buzz as I rise up, then slam back down. Tremors roll through me, and I swear I’m vibrating. Tyler’s eyes squeeze shut, and he grips me so hard, it nearly hurts. When he opens his eyes, they’re blazing. His voice is demanding. “On your back. Now.”

In seconds, he’s flipped me flat, hiked up my legs, and draped them over his shoulders. I can barely move, so I surrender to him.

“Fuck me,” I moan, as he begins to punch his hips. A bead of sweat drips down his hard chest.

He shakes his head. “I’m not fucking you right now,” he says, as he slams into me.

Another roll of his hips. Another shuddering thrust that sends my world spinning. His palms press hard against the mattress, and he lowers himself against me. “I’m making love to you like this.”

I untangle my hands, rope them around his neck, and tug him even closer. “You are.”

And then words no longer matter. Only bodies. Only hearts. Only this connection that faded over the years but burned back brightly as soon as we came into each other’s lives again. Stronger, better, more certain the second time around.

Another climax claims me, rushing through my body, lighting me up.

My cries flip the switch in him because he fucks harder, relentlessly, taking me, owning me, then finally finding his release inside me.

When he collapses onto me, sweaty and elated, and asks me to spend the night, I tell him there’s no place I’d rather be.

Even though when the sun rises, all I want is to leave.





25





Tyler



* * *



I’ve been good at keeping secrets.

I have a great poker face. If I need to keep something to myself, I damn well keep that shit locked up tight. I don’t mean dangerous secrets that eat away at your soul. I simply mean that when I was a kid, I never gave up the goods on what my little brother was getting for Christmas even after I saw a receipt for a new bike sticking out of my mom’s purse. Likewise, I don’t ever let on in a negotiation that I’m one step away from signing a deal, not until I need to play those cards.

Last night, I was a vault, too.

This morning, the cat’s coming out of the bag.

I rise before Delaney, toss a fresh, clean T-shirt on the bed for her to tug on when she wakes up, then head quietly to the bathroom to take a piss. I wash my hands and brush my teeth, then put on a pair of boxer briefs. I walk to the kitchen, pull open a utensil drawer, and take out a few items I’ll need. Then, I whip up breakfast for my girl.

Eggs, toast, and fake bacon, as well as a steaming cup of green tea since I know she prefers that to coffee.

Soft feet pad across the floor, and she wanders in, sleepy-eyed with matted hair, but a fantastic morning-after smile on her face. My white T-shirt lands at her upper thighs and looks hot as fuck on her. Especially since I know she’s bare under it. She rises on tiptoe and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Morning,” she whispers, as her minty fresh breath floats near my mouth.

I turn away from the pot of tea and give her a full and proper kiss. When I break it, I arch an eyebrow. “If I were president, I’d abolish morning breath.”

“You so have my vote.”

I gesture to the stool at the counter. “Sit. Eat. I made you breakfast. Your favorite. And I got you free-range, farm-fresh, all-natural, one hundred percent organic eggs. Actually, come to think of it, I even hand-picked the eggs from a sustainable local farm, and I met the hen in advance. Nice gal. Her name was Cluckity-cluck.”

She shoots me a look that says impressed. “And did you thank Cluckity-Cluck for her services?”

“I told her I was most appreciative,” I say as I slide a plate to her then set one down for me.

She peers over the counter at the clock on the microwave. “I have a massage at ten. But that give us time for breakfast, and . . .”

“I’ll take both the meal and the and.” I join her at the counter, and we eat and talk. It all feels so natural and right. I’m more confident than ever that there’s so much more to us getting back together than just the sparks in bed. But I need her to know that, too. I want to give her all the security I can. I want her to know this time is for real. I drum my fingers on the counter. “Remember in my office when you said you were worried this was just sex?”

She nods. “Yeah? Why do you ask?”

“It’s not, Delaney. It’s so much more than that.”

She smiles and swipes a strand of hair off her cheek. “I know that, Tyler. I’m good on that front.”

But I want her to know it in a bone-deep way. I reach over the counter, grab the box I removed from the utensil drawer, and take her hand in my free one. “Marry me.”

She blinks.

This is the secret I kept last night. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I want to do this right. I want us to be together. I’m not going anywhere this time, and I need you to know that.” I say it with certainty, with confidence. And yeah, with bravado. She’s going to say yes. She has to. This is what we both want.

Her lips part, but no sound comes out. Her irises go wide. Then she closes her eyes, and when she opens them, she regards me as if she’s viewing a disaster scene, taking in rubble, broken homes, shards of glass. “I don’t . . .”