Moonlighter (The Company, #1)(35)

But tonight is a serious test of my skills. I can’t hold the thread of this TV show, because my cunning mind—the one that can spot a trend from two years away and make million-dollar decisions in the blink of an eye? It’s blown. To bits.

No man has ever overwhelmed me like Hurricane Eric. That was a Category 5 experience. Even before we made it into the bedroom, it was already the most passionate night of my life. The man carried me into the hotel suite, pressed me up against the door, and kissed the daylights out of me.

I honestly thought that only happened in films. Passion isn’t something I dwell upon. I’ve been more focused on finding my Forever Guy.

But tonight that seems like a mistake. Every man I dated was either A) looking only for fun or B) ultimately a bore. Or he was Jared Tatum, world’s biggest asshole.

I kept searching until this year, when I began to feel desperate and depressed. That led to some bad decision making. First, I got drunk and had sex with my old friend, Nate. It was awkward from start to finish. There’s nothing like endangering a really good friendship to make you see your own desperation for what it is.

And then—in an effort to move on from that disaster—I dated Jared Tatum. I’d met him before and dismissed him already. I knew in my gut that he wasn’t The One. He wasn’t even in the top fifty. But I let the charade drag on because I was in despair. Bad choice after bad choice.

But tonight, Eric Bayer demonstrated what I’ve been missing all along. Let’s hear it for incredible sex without expectations.

The TV flickers in front of me, but I’m too stuck inside my head to watch. I hand the remote control to Eric. “Here. Watch your game if you want.”

“No way, really?” He puts an arm around me as he begins to flip the channels. “I knew you were a fun date, Engels.”

When he smiles, I feel it everywhere.





After midnight, I finally fall asleep. But then I have dirty dreams. My subconscious has rediscovered sex, and it wants more.

The dream begins like a replay. Eric carries me into the suite and kisses me against the door. But this time we don’t stop. He lifts up my dress and just goes for it.

And then—because dreams don’t have to make sense—we’re on the bed again. We have sex in several different positions, without any kind of pause or end. Several times during the night, my eyes snap open in the dark. Each time I find the real Eric sleeping soundly beside me. I listen to his deep breathing and fall asleep again, still overheated and restless.

Eventually, I wake in the morning light to find that I’m wrapped around him. Honestly, I don’t know why this keeps happening. I’ve been sleeping alone for the vast majority of my life.

Note to self—I never once woke up wrapped around Jared Tatum. Maybe that should have been a sign.

Eric feels so good, though. A big solid hunk of man. I love the scrape of the rough hair on his legs against mine. And the tight abs beneath my palm are not to be believed.

Later, I’ll blame my dreams for making me so bold. But it seems perfectly natural to coast my palm down his bare skin until I meet the waistband of his boxers. Crisp cotton greets my fingers, and it’s covering a proud erection that’s trying to break free of those shorts.

Well, good morning. I slide my hand down his length. Just the heat against my palm turns me on. I’m already embarrassingly wet.

But I’ve always been a go-getter, so I run my hand lightly over the cotton. And when Eric gives a grunt of pleasure, I slip my hand beneath the waistband and close my fingers around his cock.

He groans happily. And after a minute or two, he rolls onto his back, reaches down and shoves his boxers off his body. “If you’re going to do a thing, do it right,” he says, opening his eyes. “Take that off.” He points at my nightgown.

Well, heck. I thought a sleepy Eric would be easier to control. Apparently, I was wrong, because I find myself lifting my silk gown over my head and throwing it onto the rug.

“Good morning to me,” he whispers. “Come give me a kiss.”

But I don’t remember handing him the reins. So I lean down and lick his cock from root to tip instead.

“Oh. Fuck. Wow. Yeah,” he sputters. He gathers my hair in one big hand. “Do that again.”

Part of me wants to argue. But most of me wants to do exactly what he says. I nuzzle his cock, letting the head bump against my nose. He smells salty and clean. I take a soft, teasing lick and hear myself moan. When I open my mouth and take him in, he’s weighty on my tongue.

“Yeah. More. Suck me.” His hips shift with eagerness.

But I take my time, of course. There’s no reason to let on that I had a fitful night’s sleep. That his naked body starred in my dreams and probably will again.

I’m winning at life right now, anyway. Who knew I’d get a last, sexual hurrah before I became a mother? And who could guess that I’d have it with a fine specimen like Eric Bayer? Seriously, pinch me.

And he might just do that. He has a firm grip on my hair, and he’s trying his best to fuck my mouth, twisting his hips for more.

I pop off him, just because I can.

“Fuuuuuck,” he moans. “Engels.”

“Yes?” I whisper playfully.

“Suck my cock, honey. You know you love it.”

My body tightens deliciously because he’s right. So I dip my head and take him as deeply as I dare. I give a solid suck and look up at him for approval. And—wow. He’s propped up on those incredible arms. His hair is wild, and his face is flushed. As he breathes, those abs ripple.