Good with His Hands

Gray kissed the same way he shot pool, with bold assurance and innate skill. He speared his tongue into her mouth, his possessiveness nearly making her moan, then pulled back, teasing, nipping at her lower lip. She was glad she was balanced between him and the pool table. Despite mocking his earlier boast that he made her knees weak, the longer he kissed her, the less steady she felt.

His hands dropped to her hips, and he pulled her tightly against him. The hard length of his erection was unmistakable. An answering need pooled between her thighs. As much as she was enjoying their kiss, suddenly, it wasn’t enough. The sensual hunger blooming inside her had turned ravening.

He must have felt the same way. Lifting his head, he reached for the eight ball on the table and swiped it into a pocket. “Oops.” His breathing was rapid, his voice strained. “Guess I lose. Ready to get out of here?”

Wordlessly, she nodded. If she were any more ready, they’d be arrested for public indecency. A hundred detailed fantasies were bursting to life in her mind, but they all required the same starting point—getting this man alone. Immediately.

* * *

IRONICALLY, DESPITE DANI’S urgency to reach the seclusion of her apartment, the walk across the adjacent parking lots was taking twice as long as usual. Probably because she and Gray couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

The starlit line of trees around the perimeter of her complex offered far more privacy than a pool hall. Gray spun her into his arms, taking her mouth in another kiss that made every nerve ending in her body sing with pleasure. But the pleasure was edged with rising desperation. Her breasts ached to be freed from their confines, bared to his touch. The humid spring night around them was silky against her skin, so soft it was a tease. She needed his calloused fingers on her, needed friction.

She moaned into the kiss, dimly aware that she was rubbing her body against his. “My place.” She tugged his lip between her teeth. “I want you, but not so badly that I’m willing to embarrass myself in a parking lot.” Only half sure she spoke the truth, she quickened her pace.

With his long legs, he easily matched her stride. “Dare I ask what you are willing to do?”

She could hear the smile in his voice, knew he was kidding, but that didn’t stop her fevered mind from creating vivid images in silent reply. “Keep up and you’ll find out.”

It wasn’t until she turned her key in the lock that she experienced a tiny splinter of shyness. Beyond the physical intimacy of what they were about to do, there was a certain amount of intimacy in simply bringing him home. She’d leased the place a few months ago, when she was still engaged, and had never had a man here.

As if sensing a change in her mood, Gray massaged her neck soothingly, circling his thumb at her nape, applying just the right amount of heavenly pressure. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Resolutely, she opened the door. “I was just thinking I should warn you, I’m not the world’s most diligent housekeeper.”

She flipped on the lamp that sat on a small entry table along with her mail. It didn’t offer much illumination, only a minimal rebuff against the darkness beyond. Still, it was enough that he’d be able to notice her habit of haphazardly kicking off her shoes when she walked through the door. Open-toed pumps and platform wedges were scattered about, some fallen on their sides like defeated warriors in a mythical shoe battle. Since she hadn’t expected to return from the office with a date, she hadn’t bothered to tidy the client files, property brochures and books on real estate that cluttered her living room.

“I mean, I’m not a slob,” she defended herself. She never left the apartment with dirty dishes out, and she’d put fresh sheets on her bed just last night. “But my place wouldn’t pass military inspection.”

“No worries. I’m not the neat freak in my family. My...”

When he didn’t finish his sentence, she glanced over her shoulder and found him frowning. Nice going, Yates. You had a very sexy man all hot and bothered five minutes ago, then ruined the moment with your inane chatter about housekeeping.

“Danica.” His gaze bore into hers, troubled. “There’s—”

“Sorry,” she interrupted. “I don’t know why I’d waste a single second thinking about something like laundry or dusting when I could be doing this.” She stepped toward him, not stopping until their bodies touched. His hips cradled hers, the heat of him potent even through his jeans, and her breasts were cushioned against the unyielding muscular wall of his chest.

She meshed her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. Not that it required any effort. He was already lowering his face to hers. But at the last minute, he shifted direction. Instead of meeting her lips, he kissed her jaw and worked his way down the excruciatingly sensitive line of her neck. He bit gently, then less gently, and she trembled. His hands palmed her butt, kneading, making her inwardly curse her skirt. She wanted closer contact, wanted to wrap her legs around him.

He lifted his head long enough to ask, “You’re sure? That you want me?” There was an oddly vulnerable emphasis to his words, but she was too lost in sensation to analyze it.

He couldn’t tell the effect he had on her? Her pulse was thundering, and she was so wet, she half expected to scent the musky perfume of her own arousal. Her voice was hoarse but audible. “Never been more sure of anything.”

That was obviously the permission he’d needed. His mouth captured hers, feasting. The kiss they shared was deep and wet and gloriously carnal. Not breaking the contact between them, she shuffled back a step with vague thoughts of her bedroom on the far side of the living room. His hands fisted in the hem of her camisole. She obligingly raised her arms, ending the kiss long enough for him to lift the material over her head.

They’d moved away from the slight glow of lamplight in the doorway, but even in the shadows, Gray growled approval at the sight of her breasts covered only by pale blue demi cups. He outlined the swell of one breast, and her nipples contracted to even tighter points. She shifted her weight restlessly, slick with need. It was inexplicable, how the delicate brush of his finger over her skin could trigger such a powerful response. He circled one rigid tip, and she arched her back, reflexively offering herself up for further exploration.

But when he slid his fingers beneath the cotton of her bra, pinching lightly, it was almost too much. She nearly lost her balance.

“W-wait.” Clutching his arm for support, she raised a foot and unstrapped first one high-heeled sandal, then the other. Pivoting, she kicked them under the coffee table by the couch so they weren’t lying in the path to the bedroom. This evening was going to end in mind-blowing orgasms, not someone tripping over discarded shoes.

Before she could turn back around to face him, his hands settled on her denim-clad hips. He kissed his way from one shoulder blade to the other. He traced her spine to the top of her skirt, then pointedly tugged the waistband.

She reached for the button above the zipper but paused. “I feel underdressed, comparatively speaking.” Twisting to look back at him, she grinned. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

He whipped off his shirt and balled it up, tossing it in the general vicinity of the coffee table. As he quickly stripped off socks and shoes and fumbled with his belt, she watched over her shoulder. She greedily drank in the sight of his chiseled chest and abs, cursing herself for not turning on more lights. The man was living art. His shoulders were broad and strong, his chest dusted in dark hair that added to his virile air. His torso tapered to an impressively ridged six-pack that she would have assumed was airbrushed if she’d seen it in a photo.

When he stepped out of the jeans, her eyes widened in renewed appreciation at the erection outlined in snug boxer briefs. He was male perfection. And, for tonight, he was hers.

“Your skirt,” he said, his voice thick with expectation.

She gave a quick shimmy, letting the unzipped skirt slide down her legs. He hauled her closer, so that they were pressed together. She swiveled her hips, grinding against him, hearing the way he sucked in his breath, loving that his reaction to her was every bit as strong as hers to him. He reached between them to unhook her bra. Her muscles were so taut with anticipation she struggled to shrug free of the material. He skimmed his fingers over her midriff, upward. But before he reached her breasts, he changed direction. She let him get away with a second teasing pass before grabbing his hands and cupping them over her. His low chuckle, more vibration than sound, rumbled through her.

He plucked at one nipple, making her gasp. “Is that more what you had in mind?” he murmured against her ear.

Yes. She arched into his touch, words escaping her when he repeated the movement, this time tweaking both at once while he kissed her shoulder. She rocked back against him, the movement more instinct than conscious volition. He slid a hand past her hipbone, his fingers curling beneath the thin fabric of her panties to graze her skin.

She was both frantic for him to reach the throbbing juncture between her legs and a touch apprehensive that, once he did, she’d ignite like a roman candle. She had a fanciful image of herself, sated in boneless aftermath, her apartment a smoldering ruin around her. When he began lowering her panties, she had a moment of clarity.

“Condoms,” she blurted. That was nonnegotiable, something they needed to agree on before either of them was fully naked.

“Of course.” His acceptance was immediate, although his voice was gruff. “Jeans pocket. In a minute. First...” His fingers parted the dewy folds at her core, expertly targeting where she was most sensitive. She whimpered, moving against him with primal urgency, reaching out blindly for a way to steady herself.

He steered her toward the couch and splayed his hand on the small of her back, gently urging her forward. She bent over the arm of the sofa, the leather cool against her bare skin. He eased a finger inside her, and she bit her lip.

“Condoms,” she repeated. Now.

“Right.” His voice echoed with the same hunger surging through her.

She heard the rustle of his jeans, the thud of a wallet hitting the floor, the discreet rip of foil. His talented fingers returned, working their magic and heightening the frenzied need inside her until she almost screamed into the sofa cushion. Then he gripped her hips in a hold that bordered on bruising and thrust into her.

He withdrew partially, then pushed back even deeper. It felt so damn good. As their rhythm increased, she raised her hips to meet him, their bodies coming together with enough force to send her up on her toes. Already, a wicked, shimmering pressure was building, spreading through her body as she tightened around him. He reached around her, his fingers stroking just above where they were joined, and she cried out. The pressure broke, exploding in ripples of pleasure that radiated through every cell of her body.

Somewhere in the glittery starburst of bliss, as Gray pistoned his hips again and found his own release, she had a single coherent thought. Pretending that nothing had happened when she saw him again on Monday would be a problem. Having experienced this shattering, all-consuming ecstasy, how would she ever have a simply platonic exchange with him again?

5 (#ulink_59fecd9c-2283-5537-aa20-9fdbf424b0f3)

SEAN CONSIDERED HIMSELF pretty fit, but right now—sprawled across Dani’s couch with her tucked against him—he wasn’t sure he would ever catch his breath again. Should his heart still be pounding against his rib cage? At least the spots in his vision were clearing, which made it easier to appreciate the view of the naked brunette in his arms. Technically, they were both too tall for the sofa, but even given the awkwardness of his legs hanging over the side, he was surprisingly comfortable.

Dani’s head rested on his chest. She sighed happily. “That was...”

“Very athletic of us. I wonder if the Olympic committee has ever considered adding couch sex as an event.”

“You’d definitely be on the medal podium.”

“Both of us,” he corrected. “Pairs event. Singles isn’t nearly as much fun.”

“Or as sweaty.” She propped herself up on one arm. “I’m feeling pretty sticky. Care to join me in the shower?”