Page 45 of Mixing Temptation (Second Shot 3)

“Are you ready?” He reached for her. Placing his hands on her hips, he drew her closer. And she came willingly, shifting to her side and then climbing onto his lap. Her legs straddled his and her knees pressed into the sand straddling his thighs.

“For hours of naughty foreplay after our dinner date?” she asked, running her hands over his supposedly orgasm-­worthy shoulders.

He laughed. And after the wound-­up, fucked-­up day they’d shared, it felt good. “You’re hungry again?” He ran his hand up her thighs and pictured stripping off her cargo pants. He wanted to feel her bare skin. “I brought you a lukewarm burger.”

“Hours ago. Plus, this is a date.”

“Hmm.” His fingers roamed over her hips, shifting higher and higher. He pressed the heel of his hand against her lower back and drew her closer. “I meant are you ready for those dirty words I promised you? I vote we skip dinner and kick off the foreplay with another showing of your underwear.”

She arched beneath his touch and then rocked her hips forward. Even though she’d given him one helluva green light, he didn’t thrust up to meet her. He let her set the motion, moving over his erection as if she also wished their clothes would magically disappear.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t wait?” she asked. “We could go back to the room and order room ser­vice. My treat. Talk some more . . .”

“If you keep moving like that, I won’t make it until we get back to the room.” His lips hovered over her neck. He punctuated the statement with a kiss to the soft skin just above her shoulder.

She leaned back and her hips stilled. And his dick throbbed, demanding that he voice an objection. But her gaze was fixed on a point over his shoulder.

“I’m not sure this place offers room ser­vice,” she said.

“We’ll order pizza. Later.” He wrapped his left arm around her. His right hand pressed into the sand seeking leverage. “Now, hold on tight.”

He pushed off the beach, but managed to keep her strong, petite body wrapped around his. Her thighs pressed tight against his sides.

So damn strong, he thought. She could hold on to him without his help, but he palmed her butt anyway, carrying her toward the motel with one firm cheek resting in each hand.

He saw an older ­couple, probably twenty years their senior, ahead of them on the path. He strode past them and offered a friendly greeting. And Caroline buried her face against his neck.

“Hiding?” he asked once they were out of earshot.

“Something like that.” She ran her tongue down the V-­neckline of his button-­down shirt. “Or maybe I just wanted a taste,” she added, her lips moving against his skin as she spoke.

“It’s a damn good thing our rooms are on the first floor with an ocean view,” he growled.

He reached the door and reluctantly lowered her to the ground. As soon as her feet touched the pavement, he missed the warmth of her body against his.

“So here’s the thing,” he said, withdrawing the room key, an old-­fashioned actual key on a ring, from his pocket. “I think we need to work our way up to pizza. Get good and hungry first.”

“A date in reverse? Start in bed and go backward?”

“Yeah, and later we can blame my memory. I still struggle with sequences,” he said. “Sometimes I add the baking soda before the eggs. But don’t worry, I never forget to preheat the oven.”

“I don’t know.” She looked up at him. “It could take up to thirty minutes for delivery . . . but if you think you’ll need more time.”

I don’t think I’ll last five minutes, he thought.

But he nodded. When they got inside, he would take a step back and remind himself to slow the hell down. The key turned and the locked clicked. He pushed the door open and held it for her.

As soon as it clicked shut behind them, she disappeared behind him. “Caroline?”

“Don’t mind me,” she murmured. He could feel her breath on his neck. “I’m just going to help you out of your shirt. And while I work your buttons . . .” She released the third one, extending the V of his neckline to the middle of his chest. He’d forgotten to pack an undershirt, but he’d tossed in a box of condoms just in case.

“You can tell me all of the naughty things you want to do to me after I get you out of these clothes. How you like to be touched—­” She’d released another two buttons and paused to slide her hands inside his open shirt, running her hands over his lower ribs. “Where you want my mouth . . .”

Her fingers moved to the top of his jeans and he groaned. But he caught hold of her wrists before she lowered his zipper and reached inside. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking the questions?” she asked.

She pulled away and he instantly released her.

“Sorry,” he said. Shit, he didn’t want to apologize for wanting to give her what she’d asked for. He had to do this right. “But I don’t want to frighten you. I need to know how to touch you, what you like—­”

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