Midnight Fever (Men of Midnight #5)(10)

Her legs weren't holding her up anymore. She was hanging by her arms around his neck and was held upright by his body pressing tightly against hers.

"Spread your legs more." Nick's voice was low, guttural. By some miracle, she understood and opened her legs more so he could enter deep, deep.

Her mouth found his. The kiss mimicked what they were doing with their sexes, thrusts in and out, mouths and groins making noises in the quiet of the night. Nick's hips were grinding against hers and he felt her coming again and was totally lost. With a wild cry, he emptied into her, holding himself against her, coming in spurts so intense he saw stars.

When he finally quieted, he found himself plastered against her, glued together by their juices and by his sweat, panting. It took a while for his breathing to come back under his control, for the pinwheels to stop behind his eyes.

They smelled. They smelled of sex, his sweat, a light perfume that was her skin. He gave a deep shudder and dropped his head to her shoulder. And took stock.

This was not the romantic start he'd planned. This was not romantic at all. He'd given the plaster-of-Paris wannabe model more romance than Kay. How could that be? She was a woman he wanted like he wanted his next breath and he'd jumped her. Slammed into her.

Nick pulled back a little, wincing as the skin at their bellies peeled apart. His hands had been gripping her hips. Was he hurting her? God. He lifted his fingers one by one, leaning back. One thing he found it hard to do was actually pull out of her.

A gentleman would pull out, wouldn't he? Maybe. He wasn't a gentleman, what did he know? Right now, his dick had no intention of pulling out of that warm, tight sheath.

He sighed, kissed her shoulder, opened his eyes.

Was she mad? Sad? Christ, he'd fucked it up. He'd been hoping for this, planning for this for a long time. He should have taken his time. Opened a little bottle of whatever bubbly they might have in the mini-fridge or order a nice bottle from room service. Kiss her, undress her slowly, romance his way into her body.

"How you-" His voice cracked. His head lifted and he looked into those beautiful eyes, a blue so bright they nearly blinded him in the dark. He couldn't read her expression at all. Now would be a good time to pull out, but nope. His dick refused. "How you doing?"



       
         
       
        

Her eyes-two pieces of summer sky-searched his, small movements as she studied his eyes, his face.

Suddenly, she smiled.

His heart opened up. She wasn't mad, she wasn't sad. She was smiling!

"How'm I doing?" she asked. "Wow."



Wow was right. Nick right now looked like the living embodiment of a super sexy man. Dark eyes, dark skin slightly red around the mouth and over the cheekbones. Was it possible that his hormones had made his beard grow in a few minutes? He'd been completely clean shaven in the restaurant and now it looked like he had a shadow.

He was still inside her, still semi-hard after an amazing orgasm. His and hers. She'd had several, one right after the other, if she remembered properly. It was all a little hazy. They'd walked into her hotel room and then she'd found herself plastered against the wall, somehow her clothes had come off and enough of his clothes had come off to make sex possible and the rest was a sweaty blur.

Her groin was wet. Really wet, and part of it was her. She remembered her last lover, a microbiologist who'd been a great scientist but a lousy lover. It had hurt when he'd penetrated, just a little. She hadn't been wet at all, even though he'd gone through foreplay a little like he was following a game plan or a protocol. Ticking off the body parts. She was sure he had a spreadsheet for sex in his head.

Nick hadn't even really done foreplay. Maybe dinner had been foreplay. He hadn't had any trouble penetrating at all.

At the memory of him entering her, so thick, so hot, her vagina contracted. His penis responded immediately, hardening a little.

Nick winced. "Oh God," he whispered.

"Sorry," she whispered back.

His eyebrows lifted. "Don't be sorry! I'm the one who should be sorry. I was going to romance you." He looked down at where they were joined. The sight was erotic but not romantic. "Didn't quite work out that way."

He kissed her neck, brushed his thumb across her nipple, and she contracted around him again.

No, it hadn't been romantic, but she'd never been desired like that before. He'd been ferocious and voracious and it had been wonderful.

He looked her in the eyes. "Do you think we can make it to the bed?"

Startled, Kay looked into the bedroom. The bed wasn't more than ten steps away. "We should make it, sure. Shouldn't we?"