Nuts (Hudson Valley, #1)(47)

Once he was inside, he didn’t move. He just rose over me, his strong arms on either side of my head, and gazed down at me, something like relief on his face, something almost sad. But then the corner of his mouth lifted, and lust crowded back into his eyes, and his hips thrust into mine. “Fucking hell, Roxie,” he groaned, and he laid back down on me, my legs wrapped firmly around his waist.

It was furious.



On the porch, in the middle of the night, under a cover of darkness and to the delightful sounds of mosquito zapping, I lay tangled in a heap of naked farmer. Limbs splayed, heads lolling, hands still roaming in that sweet lazy way after orgasms rocket through and turn everyone into goo. Happy goo. Intensely satisfied goo.

Leo slapped my ass.

“Pardon me?” I asked, raising my head and looking at him strangely.

“Mosquito,” he grinned, showing me his hand.

“Ew.” I grimaced, pushing his hand down to the porch floor and wiping it for him.

Wooden planks aren’t exactly the most comfortable location for a first time. But would I change it? No way. I’d wear this doorknob imprint on my thigh proudly. I lay in the circle of his arms, one leg still wrapped high around his hips. Fast and furious it had been, the opposite of the way Leo lived his life. But I wasn’t complaining. The three trips around the world had clued me in to the fact that Leo was killer in the sack. And up against the side of a house . . .

I nuzzled into his neck, smelling the warmth of his skin. Describing his scent as earthy seems too easy, but truly, it was. A bit like green growing things, loamy but clean. Accented with a tinge of Lava soap. He had a bit of hair on his chest, which was nice. Not thick in a seventies porn way, but in this day and age of manscaping, it was nice to discover some fluff under the vintage concert tees.

What could not be described as a “bit” of anything was what was between his legs, and I could feel it already stirring again against my bottom. I rolled over slightly to look at him, and found him watching me with lazy eyes.

“I should get you off this porch,” he murmured.

I nodded vigorously. “And into my bed?”

His response was to scoop me up, throw me over his shoulder in one quick motion, and carry me into the house. “I thought you’d never ask.” Inside, he looked for the stairs. “Which way?”

Laughing, I kicked up a foot and pointed. With one hand firmly wedged between my thighs, he headed toward them. “I hope you’re up for round two, because I plan on going slow this time.”

“And you heard me complaining . . . when?”

“I’m just saying, I hadn’t planned on f*cking you on the front porch,” he replied, planting a kiss on my right cheek as he ran (oh my god, he ran!) up the stairs.

“If you weren’t planning on f*cking me, then why the late-night visit?” I giggled, pointing toward my room now with my foot.

“Oh, I planned on f*cking you.” He dropped me onto my bed, where I bounced back into the air. “The front porch was just the surprising part.”

“How did you know I’d let you?” I asked, coming to rest. Still naked as the day is long, mind you.

Leo, also still naked and in possession of his own long day, leaned over me. Planting a kiss in between my breasts, he groaned into my skin. “I was hoping you’d let me f*ck you.” Another kiss. “And then when I heard what was going on up there—aw, hell, Sugar Snap. You were already up here f*cking me, all by yourself.”

A decent person would blush now. I had blushed when I fell on him, twice. I’d blushed when I thought about his beard, and where else I’d like to feel it tickle me. Occasionally I blushed when he talked so freely about his walnuts. But now? When I legitimately could and should blush?

I simply took him by the neck, pulled him down to me, and kissed him slow and sweet and long. As his tongue dipped into my mouth, I shivered. The initial itch had been scratched, and now I longed to explore, to taste, to luxuriate in getting to know his body, and how it responded to mine. We fell back onto the bed, lazy and close, the air still thick and still, but now filled with quiet kisses and the insistent creaking of my bed as we rolled and rocked.

“I think I’ve got some WD-40 in my Jeep,” Leo murmured, and I giggled into his throat. He rolled me on top of him, and I kissed his Adam’s apple.

“You think I haven’t tried that before? It’s just a squeaker.”

“You’re kind a of a squeaker too.” He scooted me higher on his body, nibbling as he went. As his lips closed around my nipple, I did indeed squeak a bit. “See?”

“That was a squeal, not a squeak,” I protested, beginning to pant as he surrounded me with his teeth. I squeaked and the bed creaked and the farmer laughed into my breast.

“I knew the minute you screamed at that poor bumblebee that you were going to be mouthy.”

I sat up in pseudo-indignation, crossing my arms over my naked chest. “For the record, that bee and I were going to have trouble the minute I set foot in the forest. They always see me coming.”

“I’d like to see you coming,” he murmured, running his hands up and down my thighs, encouraging me to sit astride him. “I still can’t believe how tense you get when I mention bees. Are you even aware how tight your thighs are right now on my hips? You’re like a nutcracker.”