Page 48 of Mensa's Match

She bit her lip. “Mensa… you’re driving me crazy.”

His eyes met hers. “Welcome to the club, Blume. You do that to me all the time.”

“Not intentionally,” she whispered.

He pulled down the cup of her bra, lowered his head, and sucked on her nipple. She drove a hand into his hair – another way he knew she loved what he did to her.

Her body wriggled, she arched her hips, and she tossed her panties on the floor.

Her cool fingers skimmed along his abs as she went for his jeans. He straightened, and took his pants off.

She pulled the sheets back on his bed and laid down. He never thought he’d have her in his bed, here at the clubhouse. Yet, everything about her being there felt exactly right.

Shit.

Seemed he had it wrong. He wasn’t falling for her… he’d already fallen.

“What are you waiting for, Kenneth?”

His hands grabbed her ankles, and he spread her legs before he climbed onto the bed. “Not a damn thing, Blume.”

He dragged two fingers through her folds and found her as wet as he expected.

Her hips jerked. “Are you teasing me?”

He lined himself up and drove inside her. “What do you think?”

Her eyes danced over his face. “I think it could go either way with you.”

He kissed her. Their tongues danced a gentle duel and Mensa’s hips moved in a steady rhythm. He made love to Whitney, even if he didn’t tell her how deep his feelings ran.

After she cleaned up, she came back to the bed, got under the covers, cuddled up next to him.

He thought she’d dozed off, and was on the verge of doing the same when she slung a leg over his thigh. “Have you extracted your head yet?”

He shot her a questioning look. “What?”

She arched a brow. “Am I annoying all the time?”

His eyes danced over her face while he grinned. “So annoying.”

She twisted and climbed on top of him. “Really? Anything else?”

He smirked while trailing his hands from her breasts down her body and around to her ass. “Not sure… think I need more data.”

She smiled. “What kind of data?”

He felt her sultry tone in his hardening cock and he licked his lower lip. “Physical data.”

With a kiss to his shoulder, she murmured, “How physical?”

“Very physical,” he said, thrusting his hips.

She reached down, lined him up, and sunk down. “I do like collecting data.”

Two minutes after twelve the next day, the brothers fell silent to listen to Har recount the shooting at Twisted Talons.

“We need to let the cops handle this,” Brute said.

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