He tried to suppress a grin. He tried to fight off the images dominating his brain, but it was near impossible when all he could see was her alone, legs spread, fingers flying, moans piercing the silence. “How did I do it? The time I wasn’t there.”
She parted her lips to answer, and he was dying to know what she’d pictured, when a loud voice called out.
“We’re thinking of doing a little midnight bowling. Who’s going to join? It’s on me since I won the pancake bet and served the most flapjacks at the fund-raiser.”
Smith had returned with his arm draped around Jamie, and Becker wanted to strangle his friend and thank him at the same time. Because he was picturing the scene that would have unfolded next. She’d grab at his hair in a frenzied rush, and he’d yank off her shirt, and there’d be little time for anything more than the main attraction. He’d spin her around, hike up that crazy short skirt she was wearing, pull down her panties, and she’d be ready. Hot and wet and inviting. He’d run a hand down the soft, smooth skin of her back, watching as her spine bowed in a ridiculously sexy way that made him harder than he’d ever been, and then she’d say, Now. Take me now.
Yeah, Becker decided he’d send a thank-you note to Smith. Because there was no way he’d have stopped otherwise.
“You three go. I need to finish up,” he said.
Megan rose, shot him a brief look that was both lusty and wistful, then left.
He was rock-hard, and he was still turned on thirty minutes later when he unlocked the door to his dark and quiet home. But he wasn’t going to give in. He went to bed, keeping his hands to himself, as if that would keep the thoughts of her at bay.
Becker’s dreams were restless that night, as they were every night. They were bits and pieces—stuck in a building he couldn’t find his way out of, endless stairwells that rose and fell in all directions, paths in the woods that went nowhere and everywhere at the same time. He was used to these demons by now, too familiar with the way nighttime ushered in agitation in his mind.
He wished he was dreaming of something pleasant, maybe a quiet run in the woods, or a barbecue, even a walk with a dog.
A light flashed from his nightstand and he reached for his phone. There was a text from Megan.
Didn’t want to leave you hanging. But it was reverse cowgirl, and it was toe-curlingly good. Good night.
Well, there went any and all resistance.
He latched onto the image instantly, and he instructed his brain to stay there the rest of the night, to never stray from her legs, and belly, and long neck that invited kisses. It was far more pleasant than his previous dreams.
Though “pleasant” wasn’t entirely the right word. More like “too hot to let go of.”
Pictures raced across his closed eyelids. The swell of her breasts. The curve of her waist. The smooth skin of her belly.
Ah, hell. Sometimes the brain needed a helping hand. He pushed off the sheets, took his hard length in his hand, and imagined Megan.
Straddling him.
Lowering herself onto him.
Moaning as she took him in.
He’d grab her hips and bring her down on him hard, filling her completely. He pictured how she’d look riding him right now, her long hair flowing down her back, taking him reverse-cowgirl style, rocking up and down on his cock, her glorious wetness nice and snug, as she braced herself on his thighs with her hands. Back bowed, hair falling, just the sides of those gorgeous full breasts visible from his vantage point. He gripped himself harder, stroking faster, picturing Megan on him, making her throaty moans and whimpers.
Slamming in and out of her, until she cried out his name, the sounds of her pleasure sending him over the edge. He jacked himself harder, feeling the build start in the base of his spine. God, it felt good, picturing her, imagining her doing this to him.
Megan, so hot and so beautiful. Megan, a live wire under his touch. Megan, the woman he wanted to fuck, and to lick, and to kiss.
He groaned, her name a long rumble from his throat as he came.
Chapter Ten
Megan parked her bike in the small dirt lot at the base of one of the hiking trails in Hidden Oaks. The single-track trail was rarely used, since it was too bumpy for all but the most resilient of mountain bikers, and it kept away the day hikers, too.
A long, winding path full of switchbacks awaited her, and she could use a good run to plan the rest of the shoot. Running was the perfect backdrop to review her photo plans. After her brother, Smith had been next in front of the camera. Megan had posed him in a traditional sort of shot—leaning against the fire truck, shirtless, staring off in the distance. He was Jamie’s man, and Megan had no interest in him, but the subject matter sure made for a fun shoot. One of her favorite photographic assignments, it turned out.