Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(49)

He smelled good, felt even better, and when he leaned down and whispered, “Wrap your legs around me, Emi,” she did as she was told, because even though he could be bossy too, she wasn’t rude enough to point it out.

He gave her a devastating kiss, thorough and slow, building the heat, and she decided she liked him bossy. Because he rose in one fluid motion with her in his arms, and when they settled he was sitting on the chair and she was straddling his lap. She slid forward, rolling her hips so his hard ridge pressed against her sensitive flesh.

“A man has to sit to feast?” she guessed, then remembered his injury. “Or is it your knee?”

He laughed. “It’s not my knee that’s the problem, trust me.” At her confused expression, he took her face in his hands and whispered, “Baby, I have to sit because with you I have a hard time finding my footing.”

The honesty in his statement shook her. So did the undertone of affection she heard in his voice. Lust, fun, passion. Those emotions she could handle. They were basic and singular in nature. That’s what she’d signed up for. Not this weird fluttering that was happening in her chest.

She opened her mouth to say something light, something flippant to get them back on the same page—the page that ended come morning—but he was kissing her again, long, intoxicating kisses that scattered every last thought from her mind. And reminded her of why she’d chosen him.

Dax was a temporary kind of guy. Perfect, since she was temporary’s newest best friend. So when he leaned to reach for the condom he’d set on the table, she took it from his hands and, acting like a girl who did this all the time, ripped the foil.

“The rule at my house is—”

“There’s a rule?”

“Oh, you’ll like this one. I promise.” She moved enough to slide the condom over him, giving a little stroke and squeeze in the process. Then she laced her arms around his neck and tightened her legs until she was pressed up against him. “No one leaves the table until everyone is finished.”

“Best rule I’ve ever heard,” he said, running his hands up each rib to caress the underside of her breasts. With a little tug the lace came down, propping them up on display. “Almost as good as this look on you.”

His arms went around her, tight and unyielding, pulling her to him as he kissed her. Hard and all-consuming, he devoured her mouth. His hands roamed her body, his tongue traced the seam of her lip, her neck, even her breast as his grip tightened around her waist and lifted her to his mouth.

He had her on the brink and shuddering in less than two seconds. She was so caught up in the feel of his stubble rasping against her flesh that she gasped when he entered her in one slick, long thrust.

Dax groaned and held still as if savoring the moment. Emerson was savoring it too. Savoring how full she felt, how free.

Then she opened her eyes and saw him watching her, and she knew what else she felt. Connected. He must have felt it too because he didn’t move for a long moment.

Eyes on her, he guided her up, then back down, setting the pace. Taking them to exactly where they both wanted to be, and her further and further away from the soul-deep exhaustion that had become her life, until her grief and responsibilities melted away and all she could do was feel.

Feel Dax and their insane sexual connection.

Wanting more, she slid her arms around his neck and they moved together, skin to skin; the friction of their bodies was what she was seeking. Even then she needed more—more connection, more contact, more Dax.

She buried her face in his neck and breathed him in.

As if he could read her body, he deepened the thrusts, one hand sliding up to cradle her head to him, the other slipping under to stroke her swollen flesh. And she was gone.

The orgasm took her over and she clenched around him, screaming out his name, blissfully floating toward heaven. With one last thrust, Dax let out a rough groan and came with her.

His cheek rested on her head and they both sat there for a moment, breathing hard and holding on tight, as though if they let go it would all be over. Things would go back to the way they were before they’d entered her house.

Except that was what they’d agreed on.

Dax’s hands slowly ran up and down her spine, making her want to snuggle in closer. But that might be mistaken for being in this for the long haul, so she gave him a nudge and pushed back. “I still have my bra on.”

“Not for long.” He reached out and, poof, her bra fell to the floor. He looked at his handiwork and smiled. “Wouldn’t want it to get ruined in the shower.”





Monday morning, Dax slept through his alarm clock for the first time since basic training. He woke feeling relaxed, rested, and nightmare-free. Great sex seemed to be the cure his doctors had been looking for. He’d see if Kyle could write him up a prescription. Maybe it would change Emerson’s whole one-night stance. He hoped so, because it had been twenty-four hours since Emerson pointed out the sun was up and their night over, then kicked him out—and he could still taste her on his lips.

Pulling on his running shoes and a pair of sweats, he headed toward the Silverado Trail, where he was meeting Adam for a “therapeutic” jog. Last night a cold front had moved through and the early morning frost had yet to burn off, but the thick scent of harvested grapes hung in the air.

Adam was at their meeting spot in some matching name-brand ensemble, stretching like a playboy, when Dax sprinted up.