Stone Cold Heart (Tracers #13)(61)

He tasted so good, and she lost herself in the kiss, pressing her body against him and running her hands over his strong arms. He started to ease back, and she brought her hands to his face.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered against his mouth, tracing her fingertips over his jaw, his neck, his shoulders. She loved everything about touching him and feeling his hard, powerful body beneath her.

She kept kissing him and kissing him, and she heard the drawer beside her open and close and the tear of paper. Then he guided her down on top of him, and she gripped his shoulder as she felt pressure, followed by pain. Then he shifted her hips, and the pain turned to shocked pleasure as he filled her completely and every nerve in her body sang.

For a moment, she didn’t move or even breathe. But then the warm stroke of his hands down her back made her relax, and she started moving against him. He held her by the hips and let her set the rhythm, and everything felt so amazingly, intensely good she never wanted it to end. His body was so strong and powerful, and she felt his energy rocking into her with every move.

“Sara?”

“Hmm.”

“Babe, look at me.”

She opened her eyes, and the raw need on his face made it better. Stronger. Brighter—if that was even possible. She kissed him deeply and felt like she was burning from the inside out, and she surged against him again and again until their skin was slick with sweat and she couldn’t wait anymore.

“Nolan, please.”

“Come on.”

“Please.”

He thrust into her, reaching a place so deep that she cried out and came apart. And then his hips bucked hard, and he pulled her even tighter against him as he came, too. For an endless moment, they were fused together, and he held her tightly through the aftershocks.

Her head fell against his shoulder. His skin was hot. Damp. For a moment, she didn’t move, she just absorbed the feeling of his arms around her as her mind reeled.

She eased back, panting, and he brushed the hair from her eyes and looked at her.

“You okay?”

She smiled.

“Did I hurt your ribs?”

“No.” She leaned back, trailing her hand down his chest. She shifted up and off him, then flopped back on the bed, closing her eyes. The bedspread was cool against her skin, and the room seemed like it was spinning.

“Be right back,” he said gruffly.

She didn’t move. She felt lax. Liquidy. Like if she drifted off right now, she might never wake up.

Everything dimmed as he switched off the lamp, and then the mattress sank as he stretched out beside her. He smelled so good. His skin. His bed. His room. She wanted to stay here all night, but she couldn’t. Sleeping here would contradict all that she’d told him about not wanting to start something.

Of course, everything she’d just done contradicted that.

A sharp noise had her bolting upright. “What’s that?”

He sighed heavily. “Someone’s at the door.” He snagged his jeans off the floor and pulled them on. He picked up his T-shirt and pulled it over his head as he walked out.

Sara looked around and spotted the clock on the nightstand. Ten fifteen. She leaned close to the window and parted the blinds. But the window faced a fence, and she couldn’t see the street.

Sara listened. The front door opened and closed. A moment later, he was back. She watched his shadowy silhouette as he got rid of his clothes again.

“Who was it?”

“Brad dropping off my truck.”

“By himself?”

“Talia brought him.”

He stretched out beside her as she propped up on her elbows.

“So . . . they know I’m here?”

“I’m guessing they noticed your car.”

She fell back against the bed and sighed.

He stroked a hand over her hip. She moved closer and rested her head against his chest. It was easier to be beside him without eye contact. He caressed her hip, his fingers sending warm ripples over her skin.

Two years.

No, two years, one week, and . . . four days.

She wondered what he’d think if he knew she’d just broken a long streak of celibacy. Maybe he did know. It might have been obvious when she’d practically begged him not to stop.

Sara rested her hand on his chest. His skin was warm, and she nestled closer, because even now, even in his bed, she still couldn’t get enough of him.

What was she doing? She hadn’t planned this. Fantasized, yes, but she hadn’t planned what would happen if she threw caution out the window and had sex with him, even though this couldn’t go anywhere, and she didn’t want a relationship.

Hey, I’m not denying it.

She’d been right. He’d basically told her he wanted to start something, something she was sure would get thorny and complicated. It was already complicated. His coworkers knew she was here.

She pulled her hand back and sighed.

“Sara.” He took her hand and put it back on his chest. “Stop worrying.”

“I can’t.”

She felt the vibration in his chest as he laughed softly.

“What?” She sat up on her elbow, and he was smiling at her, looking infuriatingly sexy with his perfect chest and his mussed hair. “What are you laughing at?”

“You. Who cares who knows you’re here?”