Page 65 of Noble Neighbor
Wasting no time, he crawled over her, his hands gliding beneath her long-sleeved tee, pushing it up.
His hand slid under her shoulder blades, and he lifted. “Top off,” he ordered.
Sunny obeyed, grasping, yanking up. It caught around her neck. She groaned as his mouth closed around over her breast, sucking her nipple into his mouth.
She wrestled the stubborn material over her face and clamped her hands to his nape. His palm replaced his mouth, stroking, soothing a heavy, aching breast, while attaching his lips to the other.
“Oliver,” she keened.
His head lifted, letting go of her back, and she dropped to the mattress. He sat back, shifted his legs between hers, shoved her knees up, and drove into her. Fast and furious, he filled her.
She cried his name, over and over, as he powered in, withdrew, and surged back, grunting, groaning. Together they rode the storm, and when her climax tore through her body, she called his name, drawing it out, syllable by syllable as she clamped viselike around him, heels digging into his back.
He changed his tempo, his motion, circling his hips, grinding against her, prolonging her peak, until he stilled, and his torso arched back, tendons in his neck bulging as he emptied inside her.
Watching Oliver climax was beautiful. It was something she wanted to see, experience, again. And again.
She’d wondered if their first night together had been an anomaly.
But she’d been wrong. So very wrong. Being intimate with Oliver was beyond what she’d ever experienced.
How would she ever be able to let him go?
She was so screwed. Literally and figuratively.
*
Oliver couldn’t remember a day he enjoyed more, despitethe crowds surrounding them as they watched the dozens of classic cars drive by. As far back as he could remember, his father had been involved in the Arkansas Classic Car Show.
This year’s event was by far the best because Sunny was with him, a broad smile on her face. He’d shamelessly used his father to persuade her and the girls to join them on their annual pilgrimage to the event, and he refused to feel any guilt for those actions.
He draped his arm about her shoulders, drawing her close. “Having fun?”
“Oliver,” she hissed, trying to duck from under his arm.
In response, he hooked his arm about her neck, pulling her even nearer, calmly explaining, “The children aren’t with us, baby.” He risked a quick kiss to her lips. She tasted sweet, all sugary goodness thanks to the cotton candy she’d devoured with as much relish as she’d devoured him earlier.
He didn’t think he’d ever have enough of Sunny Jones, especially after this morning making love with her. Her response in bed had blown him away, but when he’d joined her in the shower — he’d worked up enough of a sweat to need another one — and she’d gone down on her knees, taking him in her mouth. Wow. Just wow.
But now she was squirming in his arms, and he let her go. Best not to test their new intimacy too much. “Look,” he said, pointing. “There’s Priscilla.”
The pink Cadillac lumbered behind a black Pontiac GTO. Clement rode shotgun, a grin as wide as the Grand Canyon plastered across his face. Lorena was in the back behind Clement, a kneeling Molly wedgedbetween her and Kenzie. Molly was blowing kisses to a cheering crowd, and Kenzie waved her hand as elegantly as a real princess.
Sunny sighed beside him. “The girls are having so much fun. Kenzie! Molly!” she called out, her voice rising above the ambient noise, and waved enthusiastically when her girls turned to her.
His gaze moved from the heartwarming sight of the girls’ laughing faces to the woman beside him. Happiness shone from her as she beamed back at them.
And the truth slammed into him with the force of a high velocity bullet.
He loved those little girls almost as much as he loved their mother.
He, Oliver Armstrong, loved Sunny Jones.
Was deeply, irrevocably,inlove with her.
The notion he had earlier about being able to walk away from her … utter nonsense.
*
