Falling for the Good Guy (Can't Resist #2)(36)

Good lord, the woman could disarm him like no one else could.

He dragged her closer and fit his mouth over hers. She tasted like every dream he’d never allowed himself to chase, everything he’d ever wanted but never thought he’d be allowed to have. And slowly, almost shyly, he felt her hands slip under the hem of his shirt and begin roaming over his skin. How the woman managed to drive him crazy with just a simple touch was beyond him.

He helped her pull off his shirt and watched the naked desire in her eyes burn as she took in every inch of him. “I love how you look at me,” he said gruffly, forcing himself to hold back and let her look her fill. “You look at me as if you can’t get enough of me.”

“I can’t.” She raised her eyes up to meet his. “Honestly, I don’t think I ever will.”

Jesus.

He covered her body with his and stripped her slowly, trailing his hands over every lush curve of her body.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Her skin flushed and he followed that blush down her body, drew a path across the petal soft skin of her belly slowly before gently parting her thighs. She trembled under his fingertips, jolted at even the lightest graze of his lips, and began shaking with need when he shadowed closer and closer to her core. “I love how you respond to me.” He traced little circles with his thumb, his tongue, watching her until she was a writhing, sultry canvas of fierce pleasure. “Brian.” His body corded as if whipped and he spread her wider, savored her, raked his teeth lightly over her tight bud.

She arched up into his mouth over and over, the desire rolling off of her in waves until soon, she was shuddering, melting, her liquid heat licking over his fingers, spilling slick and wild into his mouth as she came with a broken rush of passion that drove him straight to the brink.

Primal, intense hunger clawed at him, made him mindless, feral in his need to be inside of her—hell, even the simple act of slipping on a condom had him on a razor sharp edge. But he forced himself to slow down. And he would’ve succeeded in getting a handle on his hunger too, had it not been for her curious little hands stroking over his torso, taking such immense pleasure in just touching him, feeling him. His control slipped another dangerous notch. It was no use. “I have to have you, honey. Right now,” he growled.

He caught her nipple between his teeth and slid into her in one long, slick stroke. Buried himself in her heat. She cried out, clamping down on him like a red-hot vise as she scored her nails down his back. Holy hell. His arms locked tight around her and he took her faster, harder, plunging into her core as deep as he could go.

“Brian.” He felt the ripples of her climax starting again and he lost it. The feel of her pulsing all around him robbed him of his senses, stole his sanity. He shuddered, drinking in her broken cries as he drove into her one last time. The most intense pleasure he’d ever known pounded through his veins, ripped through his heart, and hurtled him over the edge right along with her.

Breathing ragged, heart racing, Brian cradled Abby’s face in his hands and whispered, “The stories I told Beth weren’t just stories, Abby. You’ve been in my dreams for years. I’ve dreamed up a lifetime of ways to love you.”

“And if you’ll let me, I’ll spend a lifetime making every single one of them come true.”





CHAPTER TEN



ABBY REMOVED HER CHARCOAL PANTSUIT from the dry cleaning bag and hung it from her doorframe, right above the smart black pumps she’d picked out weeks ago to match, and just behind the crisp white poplin button-down she’d ironed to within an inch of its life a few minutes ago. Stepping back, she began second-guessing the ensemble yet again when her cell phone rang from her bag.

Shoot! Her bag! She hadn’t even thought about getting a purse to match her suit!

Scrambling for her phone, she jabbed the answer button on the screen while running to her closet to try and find a dignified black purse. And while you’re at it, maybe you can find the key to Narnia in this magical closet as well. Why on earth was she bothering to look? She didn’t own any dignified purses. Yet there she stood, staring into her closet like she did the sad shelves in her fridge the day before she’d finally break down and head to the grocery store.

“Abby?”

Crap. Her phone. “Hello?”

Deep, teasing chuckles filled her ear. “By all that cursing I just heard, I’m assuming you’re changing your outfit again.”

“I don’t have a purse, Brian! I can’t walk into my dissertation defense today wearing the pantsuit with my old denim messenger bag slung over my shoulder!”

“Why not? All those novelty button pins on your bag will really pop against the gray of your suit.”

Oh for goodness sakes, she forgot about the buttons! “Brian! You’re not helping!” She ran back to her bag and surveyed the fifty or so round buttons pinned to her front flap.

“Don’t you dare take off those buttons. You’ve spent years collecting them.”

“But—”

“Woman, step away from the bag and head to your front door.”

“What? Why?” she asked, her hand hovering above her bag.

“Because I’m coming over to collect a good morning kiss. And give you a small gift.”

Hearing that was the equivalent of taking a smooth shot of whiskey. A buzzing warmth spread all through her veins, instantly calming her nerves. How did he always do that?