Not the Marrying Kind(44)

She kissed him like she’d missed him and the feeling was entirely mutual.

Heading for the shallows, he waited until his feet found the bottom before backing her up against the side of the pool. They came up for air, gasping, her wide-eyed gaze mirroring his terror at how damned good they were together.

“We should get you out of those wet clothes,” she said, her hands already pushing his jacket off his shoulders.

“Later.” He released her long enough to unzip his pants and fish a soggy wallet out of his back pocket.

“Lucky foil’s waterproof,” she said, her decadent smile making his fingers fumble. “Let me.”

While he shrugged out of his sodden jacket, kicked off his shoes, and wriggled out of his pants, her fingers slid off the slippery foil several times before finally ripping. When she reached for him, he was ready to plunge into her, protection be damned. Yeah, he was that crazily out of control.

He almost came when she touched the head of his penis and he couldn’t watch as she unrolled the condom along his shaft with deliberate slowness. The second she was done, he tugged off her bikini, hoisted her up and slid into her on a loud groan.

She propped her arms behind her on the top step, opening herself to him beneath the scorching sun. Water droplets clung to her skin, and as he drove into her repeatedly he watched them run in tempting rivulets between her bouncing breasts.

He touched her clit, circling it with his thumb, varying the pressure until she fell apart on a yell, and he joined her a second later, shooting into her with a cataclysmic climax that blew his mind.

It took at least ten seconds for rational thought to return, and when he summoned the energy to lift his head, her satisfied smirk made him incredibly glad he’d made this impromptu visit.

“That was freaking unbelievable.” She reached up and touched the dip between his collarbone, trailing a fingertip downward. “Maybe next time you should stay away for two weeks?”

…



Mount Charleston was only thirty-five miles northwest of the Vegas Valley, but for Poppy, it might as well have been the moon.

She was sure she was having an out-of-body experience as Beck steered the Maserati up the mountain. While he’d waxed lyrical about the Joshua trees at the lowest level, giving way to cedar and eventually the bristlecone pine in the alpine forest at the top, she’d been completely blissed out, her body still languid from their reunion    .

They’d done it three times yesterday morning, twice in the afternoon, and a record four last night. Was it legal to have so many orgasms in one day? Too bad if it was. Arrest her now.

If Beck wasn’t so bent on showing her some of the local countryside he seemed to love so much, they could’ve been holed up in his house right now trying to top yesterday’s marathon effort. Then again, she’d spied the king-size picnic blanket in the trunk. All they needed was a secluded spot among all these trees…

“You’re awfully quiet.” He shot her a quick glance as he pulled over and she stretched, enjoying the way his gaze zeroed in on her T-shirt stretching taut across her chest.

“I was waiting for you to cough up that encyclopedia you must’ve swallowed. I couldn’t get a word in.”

The Beck she’d first met a few weeks ago would’ve frowned. But the new, improved Beck, the one who seemed to have enjoyed yesterday as much as she had, shook his head with a tolerant grin. “It’s good for you to see there’s more to Vegas than bright lights and Elvis impersonators.”

She rested her hand on his thigh and squeezed. “I know there’s more.” Her fingers sneaked upward. “A lot more.”

“You’re a maniac,” he said, clamping down on her hand before she hit the jackpot. “But we’re not going to make it out of the car if you keep doing that.”

“Your point is?” She tried a fake pout for good measure.

“Later.” He laughed and unsnapped their seat belts. “I want to show you something.”

“Better be special.”

She earned an amused glance as he vaulted out of the car and grabbed the picnic basket from the backseat. “Can you get the blanket?”

“Sure thing, scout master.”

He popped the trunk and she hoisted the heavy blanket onto her shoulder, not fathoming his furtive expression when she slammed the trunk shut.

“It’s not far,” he said, heading off on a small trail that seemed to rise vertically, leaving her with a tempting view of his butt in faded denim.

“Spoken like a true exercise junkie.” She trudged after him in the same way she’d attended every gym class at high school. Reluctantly.