Block Shot (Hoops #2)(86)

“In a bed and with the lights on,” he says. “How do you want it?”

I know immediately.

“I want to be on top.”

It’s not that I’ve never been on top, but the self-consciousness never really went away. Am I too heavy? Can he breathe?

“I’d love that,” he replies.

“So you want me to ride you, Jared?” I ask playfully as he stretches out under me and I straddle his strong thighs.

“Do I want you to ride?” He challenges me with one cocked brow. “Hell, no. If you’re taking the top, you better drive.”

We laugh like the kids in that laundromat, hearts free and minds clear. And for a handful of seconds, it’s simple between us, but as I hover over him, the humor evaporates. I’m on the threshold of something I’m not sure I’m ready for. Not him being inside of me. I’m panting for that, but this intimacy with nothing between us. Not secrets, no lies, no misunderstandings, no one else. The path to him is clear, and I’m afraid once I start down it, there is no turning back. Jared is a one-way ticket.

I take him in my hand and into my body, and the hot, tight clasp has us both gasping, foreheads smashed together. The first thrust gives me that almost-too-much feeling, that slight stretch you first mistake for pain, but it’s actually the ache of your body begging for more. I’m wet, so I’m ready, but I’m not prepared to feel even more than I did before. I’m not prepared for the click in my soul, the key turning in my heart. I’m a door flung open when I rise and fall over him. He spans my back with his hands and buries his face in my neck, nuzzling me, licking me, biting me, growling and claiming like an animal. With every push in and pull out, he taps into something I didn’t know was there. Something I didn’t know needed to be found.

With one hand, he brushes the damp hair back from my face, and with the other he grips me by the hip.

“You’re so beautiful,” he gasps. His face contorts with pleasure, and he pistons up into my body, his pace bruising. I lift my legs and hook my ankles at his back, needing him even deeper, even harder. Steadily invading and withdrawing, he finds my fingers, linking them with his and leaning into me until his lips brush against my ear.

“Chinga,” he says, a salacious whisper, a memory from our first time together.

A breathless laugh escapes my lips, and I squeeze the fingers tangled with mine.

“Chinga,” I whisper back.

Fuck.

We exchange the vulgar word like an endearment, passing it between us, incited by the sound of it on each other’s lips. And then there are no words. Just our eyes holding as our bodies reunite—a sweet, sweaty merger. One heart slamming into the other. Breaths congregating between our mouths. The wills we both master with so much pride collapse, yield, give way. A détente between our bodies and a truce between our hearts. And with one final plunge, one last kiss, finally peace.





29





Jared





Classic rule of negotiation: when the terms are more than you bargained for, consider abandoning the deal.

Banner Morales is more than I bargained for. We’d had sex twice in ten years, and I remembered every vivid detail of both encounters. Last night was . . . more. Her stripping down to nothing, dropping her robe and her guard, not just showing me her skin and the ripe curves of her body but showing me herself, she completely bared her inner self to me. The trust of that act heightened the intimacy between us in a way I’ve never experienced.

“I think I’ll have steak.” She smiles at me in the glow of lit candles. The restaurant, one of the island’s finest, features a private terrace, which hangs over the Caribbean with its gradated shades of blue, a startling bed of aquamarine, cerulean, and turquoise. The balmy breeze off the water toys with loose strands of Banner’s hair and carries her clean scent across the table to me. If it weren’t for the solicitous server checking on us every few minutes, I could imagine we are the only ones here.

“Points be damned,” she says with a laugh. “I’m on vacation. What are you having?”

I stare into those long-lashed espresso-colored eyes, and all I can think of is how she looked down at me when I was between her knees, head buried in her pussy, slurping at her like one of the intoxicating island drinks that deceive you with their fruity sweetness. That’s Banner. She’s so sweet, you don’t realize how dangerous she is at first—that she goes to your head until you’re reeling from the effects. You don’t realize she’s a beautiful snare, and once you’re trapped, not only can you not get out, but you don’t want to.

“Jared?” She shoots me an inquiring look over her menu. “What are you having?”

“Oh.” I glance at the menu I’ve been holding for the last ten minutes, but hadn’t bothered reading. “The paella looks good.”

“Oooh.” She narrows her gaze on the menu and nods. “I’ve changed my mind. That does look delicious. I think I’ll have that, too. It’s one of my favorites to make.”

“You cook much?”

It’s when I have to ask these kinds of questions that I realize how much Banner and I don’t know about each other. Despite feeling like I left irretrievable parts of myself inside her last night, and that I’ll carry the secrets of her body to the grave, we’ve missed a lot in the decade we were apart.