Page 96 of Some Like It Hott

“I told her that, too. We talked, and…I walked away at the end of the conversation. I don’t know if that’s it for us, or what. But I think I’m okay either way.”

I give her a big hug. She feels amazing in my arms, curvy and alive and strong, her body relaxing and softening into our embrace. I can feel my own muscles tighten in answer, and her thigh presses a little closer.

“You really quit your job?” she asks. “Before you even knew if I wanted us to be together?”

I nod. “I did it for me. Because I don’t need a decision I made years ago in anger to be the last word on what I want from my life.”

“If you end up wanting to go back to New York?—”

“Ifthat happens, we’ll talk about it,” I tell her. “We’ll make a decision together. But it won’t be to prove something. It’ll be because it’s what I want and what works forus.”

“Us,” she repeats with wonder in her voice.

I cup her head gently and stand there a moment. I want my mouth on hers so much it feels like hunger, but the anticipation is so good, I don’t want that to end, either.

She’s the one who pulls me down, making a little greedy sound as our lips meet. Hers part, and I groan into her mouth.

“We should?—”

She makes a gesture toward the lodge, tilting her head to one side. “I’d say your place or mine, but I’m guessing?—”

“‘Mine’ right now is the guest room at Hanna’s.”

“And given that your plans for me involved me screaming your name while you were—what?—‘buried in me to the hilt’?”

The words in her desire-roughened voice wrap themselves around my cock, and another groan husks out of me.

“C’mon,” she says and takes my hand.

51

Natalie

If you’d asked me to picture makeup sex, I guess I would have said slow and tender. Or maybe really intense—some angst, a bunch of eye contact.

But Preston?

Wants to play.

And I am so, so here for it.

As soon as the door closes behind us, Preston kisses me. The briefest, lightest touch. Then again, teasing. Nipping. Pulling away as soon as I try to get more. He grins at me, and I can’t help smiling back, overcome, as I so frequently am with him, by how much I like him.

He kisses me again, harder, but as soon as I try to deepen the kiss, he draws away. Kisses a line from the sensitive shell of my ear along my tingling jawline to my mouth—but won’t kiss my mouth.

I groan and reach for him, but he angles my hands out of the way, not letting me touch him, not letting me grab at his clothes.

“Oh, so that’s how it is?” I tease.

“I missed you,” he says simply. “I missed playing with you. I missed how fun you are.”

“Not just fun, though, right?” I ask, doubt crowding in.

He draws back so he can read my face—and that’s what it is. A long, slow perusal, like he’s trying to understand exactly what I need.

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” he asks.

I nod.

---