“Honey, in a second you won’t give a damn,” he promised. His fingers found her clit, rubbing back and forth. “I can’t hold out much longer. It’s been . . . too . . . long.”
He groaned as he pushed harder, taking more from her, sinking deeper.
“Oh wow.” Her fingers pressed into her breasts. The sensations—from her chest, to the thumb dancing over her clit, to his cock pulsing inside her—spiraled together, pushing her closer. “Oh, Dominic!”
Her head thumped against the wall and she let go, trusting him to hold her, to keep her safe, while she drifted away into a place where pleasure dominated. Each moment tried to surpass the last, offering more, more, more . . .
And then she felt the descent take hold, drawing her back to the panting man holding her against the wall. She opened her eyes and met his gaze.
“I’m going to let you down,” he said. “But don’t for a second think that I’m done with you.”
He gently lowered her legs and stepped back. And she obeyed. She remained rooted to the floor, her back leaning against the wall. “I need you to . . .” she began, panting through words.
“Anything,” he said as he disposed of the condom.
“I need you to take off your clothes.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Fair is fair and all that?”
She shook her head from side to side as he reached back and pulled off his T-shirt. “I love your curves too. The shape of your biceps, the way your waistline tapers down. The lines of your muscles disappearing beneath your pants.”
“Careful, you’ll make me blush.”
“Turn around and let me admire your backside,” she said. He obeyed, planting his feet hip-width apart and letting her look her fill. Her gaze touched on the place where a bullet had slipped out after nicking one of his major arteries. But she didn’t linger there. As far as she was concerned, the proof that he’d risked his life for his country only added to the perfection of his muscular back. And his ass . . . she could stare at his butt forever.
“Looked your fill?” he asked without moving one perfect muscle.
“Are you blushing yet?” she teased.
“Yeah, but I know a good place to hide my face until I recover.”
He turned around and walked over to her. Then he sank to his knees. She gasped as his hand touched the back of her thigh, her nerves still clinging to her last orgasm, unwilling to part with the pleasure just yet.
“Lift your leg, Lily. Rest it on my shoulder.”
“Dominic—”
“Shh.” His lips brushed the place he had teased earlier as his hands explored her backside. “It’s my turn to make your cheeks turn pink.”
WRAPPED AGAIN IN her towel, Lily sank down onto the couch, holding a glass of red wine from the bottle they’d knocked to the floor earlier. Her partner in orgasms and destruction had retrieved his boxer briefs but left the rest of his clothes in the hallway. While she’d opened the wine, he’d grabbed the cocktail shaker she’d sent flying off the top shelf of the bar when he’d tried his best to make her blush, and mixed a drink.
“No coffee tonight?” she asked.
“No. I caught enough sleep earlier to skip the caffeine for a few hours.” He raised the martini to his lips.
“May I have a sip?” she asked and he obliged. One taste was enough to confirm her suspicions. “You make a much better martini. The customers at Big Buck’s would love this. And I bet you know how to pour a beer and change a keg.”
“Trying to talk me into a job at Noah’s?” he asked mildly. “I thought he’d already taken in his share of strays.”
“With the baby, I’m sure he could use another bartender.” She ran her finger over the rim of her wine glass and tried not to build a fantasy future in her head. “I’m only filling in. But even when she’s in town April is only part-time.”
“He could always train my sister to bartend. She’s been waiting tables there long enough.”
She shook her head. “Josie wants to focus on her assistant manager role when she’s not with Isabelle.”
“Lily, are you trying to talk me into a job working for my sister?”
“Just while you’re in town,” she said. “I know you’re still planning to go back.”
He nodded.
“Why?” she blurted out.
She’d held this question back since he had first walked into the bar. She’d asked others. Would he stay? Why had he come back? But she’d been too afraid to hear the answer to this one. When he’d first come home, she’d told herself that she’d moved on—with Ted. But even before Mr. Good Guy had handed her flowers and an apology, she’d known she was lying to herself. She didn’t love Ted and she probably never would, not the way she’d once loved the man sipping a martini on her couch.