Overkill(79)

She carried her wine and a bourbon on the rocks over to the hearth where Zach was squatted, arranging kindling beneath firewood he’d stacked on the grate. She extended the glass of whiskey down to him, they clinked, then sipped.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome.” She shrugged off her jacket and laid it on the sofa alongside his. “Is there any food in the house?”

“Go check it out while I get this going.”

“Shooing the little woman off to the kitchen while you do the manly stuff?”

He looked up at her from over his shoulder. One of his eyebrows was raised. “Stuff like delivering you safely after a perilous drive through the foggy mountains while you were cringing in terror and gouging bruises into my thigh? I didn’t hear any snarky comments about that manly stuff.”

He rose slowly out of his crouch until he was standing at his full height, which gave him a foot and a half advantage over her. Nevertheless, she held her ground. Watching her from over the rim of the glass, he took a drink of bourbon, then, slowly and with precision, set it on the coffee table.

He moved in close and lowered his head until his lips were within a hairsbreadth of hers. “Still spoiling for a fight, aren’t you?” He whisked her lower lip with his tongue. “I’ll give you a fight, Kate.”

He set his hands on her hips and pulled her against him. He was hard, solid, large, strong, manly, and she wanted it. All of it. All of him. “My fight hasn’t been with you. It’s been with myself. I give.” She threw her arms around his neck and hooked her leg around the thigh that no doubt did bear bruises where her fingers had dug into it.

He reached down and cupped the back of her knee to lift and secure her leg around his. The kiss attending that move was purposeful, wicked, and deliciously carnal. He tasted of whiskey, he tasted of Zach, and she became instantly intoxicated by both. She delighted in the rasp of his scruff. His tongue was sleek and deft, and a growl emanated from deep inside his chest when she drew it into her mouth.

The angles changed, they made head adjustments, but their mouths never broke contact, until eventually they had to breathe. His open mouth scaled down her neck, supping on it with gentle fervor. He nuzzled the hollow between her throat and collarbone.

Speaking in a rumble, he said, “Kate, if you don’t want this to go any further—“

“I do.”

“Thank God.”

He swooped in for another kiss, which wound up being awkwardly interrupted when he tried using his shin to push the coffee table against the sofa and create a wider space in front of the hearth. Her leg that was hooked on his slid off.

Cursing their imbalance, he released her to reposition the coffee table. He lifted a folded throw off the back of the sofa and unfurled it onto the rug. It had cost him only seconds to accomplish the rearrangement, but when he came back to her, his caresses were more urgent than before.

He undid the placket on the front of her slacks and she wiggled out of them and her underwear. Her long, slouchy sweater dropped back into place, providing modest coverage as she lay down on the pallet he’d made.

He unbuttoned his shirt only halfway before impatiently clawing it up from his back and over his head. He tugged off his boots and pitched them away, then dropped to his knees, bridging her legs with his. She reached for the top button on the fly of his jeans. Her fingers fumbled to undo it, her knuckles bumping against his erection, causing his breath to burst from his mouth along with an expletive.

“Are you shy?” she teased.

Impatiently, he moved her hands aside and skillfully undid the metal buttons himself, then shoved his jeans below his hips. “I’m shy,” he said huskily. “It’s not.”

Voice faint, she said, “So I see.”

He pushed her top above her waist and paused for a heartbeat, maybe two, to gaze at her. Then he parted her thighs, moved between them, and lowered himself until the pressure and weight and substance of him settled into her cleft.

But now wasn’t the time for settling. They began feverishly rubbing against each other. He thrust. And again. The imperative prods seeking entrance. When he found her, she was open and giving and glazed with want. Intent and possessive, he penetrated, grafting himself to her completely.

Braced above her, he looked into her face. His was flushed and taut. His eyes glinted with firelight and lust. His body radiated more heat than the flames licking at the logs.

Beneath him, she stirred. A slight lifting of her hips. A subtle grind. He hissed, “Christ, Kate.”

He pressed deeper and, lowering himself, took her mouth in a passionate kiss as he began to move. Her body fell into a rhythm of expansion and contraction. She wanted to clench him tightly and hold him deep, but his slow withdrawals and rapid stroking felt so good that she gladly gave herself over to the tempo he set.

As it escalated, he nestled his face against her ear and spoke in a rushed litany. The words ranged from romantic to earthy, sometimes profane, and often unintelligible.

But when an orgasm seized her, he also came, and his gruff whisper was clear, dear, and unmistakable. “It’s you, Kate.”





Gazing into Zach’s face, she knew that her smile must look very sappy. He lay on his back, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, limbs loose and still, a study in lassitude. Just when she was about to ask if he was awake, he emitted a soft snore. She felt her smile becoming even dopier.