A New Hope (Thunder Point #8)(50)

“Worse headaches. How did you know?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t have headaches anymore.” She kissed his cheek tenderly. “If you can’t trust me with whatever it is, there must be someone you can talk to. A priest, maybe?”

He laughed. “Definitely not a priest.” Then he kissed her neck, holding her against him. “I feel better already.” He ran his hand down her back and over her butt. “Much better.”

“Maybe we could sit down. Would you like something to drink?”

He looked down into her eyes. “Can I have something to drink later? Right now all I want is you. And I want you real damn bad.”

“You should have given me a little notice...”

“For what? You feel like velvet and you taste like...hmm. Heaven. What is that smell in your hair? It’s like dessert.”

“Vanilla. I don’t have any birth control...”

His laugh was deep and a little evil. He looked into her eyes again, and his were getting fiery. “I’ll take care of you,” he said. “I’m prepared.”

She shook her head. “How does that not surprise me? Don’t most men bring flowers or champagne or chocolates? Okay, forget the flowers...”

“I’ll do that next time. This time—I was in a little panic.”

She pressed herself against him. “I think the panic has passed.”

“Are you ready for this? I’ll be careful. I’ll take good care of you.”

“I trust you, Matt.”

“Then why? Why the phone number thing?”

“After,” she said. “We’ll talk when there’s less distraction.”

“Good idea,” he said, lifting her into his arms. He carried her into the tiny living room, eyed the couch and moved on past it to the bed. He set her down gently, sitting down beside her to kick off his shoes, get rid of his belt and shirt, then turned to take her into his arms again, delivering kisses that were hot and strong. He slid the straps of her dress down over her shoulders, pulled it down and kissed her breasts for a long time. She held his head there, his mouth sucking gently, then not so gently.

She turned into soup. She felt the hot and molten passion inside her flow through her until she was almost aching for him. And that made her squirm. She pulled him down on the bed and reached for his jeans, struggling to find the snap or button or zipper but after a moment of that, he stilled her hands. “Easy,” he said. “I’ve got it.”

“I thought it would be slow,” she said with a shade of embarrassment.

He pulled condoms out of his pocket before tossing the jeans aside. “It’ll be slow next time,” he promised. “Right now I think I should take care of you. Orgasm.” He laughed. “Great icebreaker.”

Her dress came down to her waist, up to her waist, and there she was with a whole bunch of clothing around her waist while everything above and below lay bare to his hungry eyes. “Aw, Ginger, I love those little panties. I think I’ll take them off. With my teeth.”

“No teeth!” she said, laughing.

“Okay, no teeth,” he said. They were white lace, fitting around her hips. He tugged them down and said, “Well now.”

“Natural blonde,” she confirmed.

He got out of his boxers fast. He suited up right away, leaving nothing to chance, then he lay down beside her, brought her into his arms and, kissing her, his hands explored her whole body from her knees to her neck. Finally, frustrated by the cumbersome folds of that discarded sundress, he tugged it lower, down her legs and off. He tossed it. His hands on her were much freer and deeper, and she pushed at him with her hips, so ready. But it was when she tried to close her legs against the pressure of his hand on her that he stopped. He looked into her eyes and said, “Uh-uh. No.” He pushed her legs apart once more and put himself there. “Let’s do this the old-fashioned way. You want to come, don’t you, my love?”

She squeezed her eyes closed and just nodded.

“Good idea,” he whispered. “You first.”

He entered her slowly, watching her face the whole time. “Perfect,” he said. “Perfect.” Then he began to move, creatively at first, listening for the response that said he’d found the sweet spot. There was only the slightest whimper but she held his shoulders in a death grip and inhaled sharply. Her heels dug into the bed and she pushed against him. “There it is,” he whispered against her lips. “There it is.” And he slid down her neck to her breasts, licking them and sucking them while he pumped his hips.

Ginger wasn’t sure what hit her—she was full of him. Full and aching and tingling and spiraling, hanging on for dear life, letting go of every other thought and focused only on one thing—let it go, let it go, let it go. And then it came, hot and hard and sweet and she pushed her pelvis against him suddenly, holding him there.

He slid a hand behind her, under her butt, and pressed himself deeply into her, his thrusts smaller and deeper, and she felt her insides grip him. Grip him, hold him tight, tremble, spasm. She heard him moan appreciatively and then it started to subside. She couldn’t believe her own ears when she heard herself say, “More.”

He chuckled. “We can do more.” His mouth latched on a nipple and sucked hard while he pumped his hips anew, hard and deep, and in just a second she had another one—so deep and hot and heavenly she thought she might faint. She relaxed beneath him, still quivering. “More?” he asked, a smile in his voice.