Page 72 of Wicked Lies

“I get it.” She wiggled her hips against him.

Great. He couldn’t believe it. For once in his life, he’d put it out there, bared his soul, and all she wanted was his dick. She wasn’t even listening to him. This had to be some kind of screwed-up payback for all the women he’d fucked and forgotten, as Samson so eloquently put it.

When she snaked her hand into his pants, his mind shut down. Blood rushed through his ears while his heart pounded. He toed off his shoes and vowed to have this conversation with her tomorrow when she wasn’t rubbing against him in a way that made his eyes cross.

She squirmed under him, arching her back, her slick heat against his thigh. He nipped at the front of her throat, then soothed it with his tongue. When she dragged away his pants and boxers, he kicked them to the floor. The flat palm of his hand pressed under her thong, and she shimmied her hips enough for him to work them down her legs.

“I’m glad you didn’t rip those.” She cupped his chin. “They’re my favorites.”

He crooked his finger. “Mine too.” Then flung them to the floor.

He slid higher, still working her, plunging his fingers into her, his thumb twisting and hitting her spot until she arched up, lips parted in a strangled cry. She kissed him hard, and their tongues tangled with the taste of smoky tequila. He moaned into her mouth and then trailed wet kisses down her stomach. when he reached her thighs, he smiled.

“Please, Nick,” she pleaded.

He replaced his fingers with the tip of his tongue. Her hips bucked, and he spread her thighs wider, hooking one leg over his shoulder, the heel of her stiletto digging into his back. He growled against her sensitive flesh, and she pressed harder. His tongue found her swollen clit, and he sucked it while he squeezed her ass. When her breathing turned sharp and short, he changed direction and latched on to the soft skin of her inner thigh.

“Don’t stop.” She moaned.

“My greedy girl wants more?”

“Yes.”

He sucked the delicate skin of her thigh hard enough to leave a mark reminding her she was his. She wiggled and moaned again as he broke free, admired his work, then laved the tender skin with his tongue.

“Marking your territory?” Her breathy voice teased while a fuck-me smile curled her lips.

“Damn straight. You. Are. Mine.”

He pressed his lips against her mouth, hard and possessive. He took his fill, then pulled back. “You like the way you taste on my lips?”

“Oh, yeah.” She moaned as he hovered over her and captured her hands above her head. Sinking inside her, he let her soft, sweet body set him free. She moved with him and let him go hard, pushing it to the edge until her teeth grazed his shoulder and bit down. When her spasms hit and she clenched around his dick, he couldn’t stop the smile of satisfaction from knowing he’d brought her to that place.

“You’re so tight, so wet, so fuckin’ beautiful,” he whispered into her hair.

Each thrust punctuated his desire. She stripped him bare and tripped off a primal sensation deep within him. Intense and unforgiving, he drove harder, needing all of her, giving her what she wanted, and taking what he needed. He bottomed out, and his balls filled to the point of sweet pain. He swiveled his hips, and the tension built for a brief eternity before he broke apart and shattered into pieces. Their bodies were slick and breathless, still entwined and sated. Boneless and unable to move, Nick collapsed at her side. All his emotions of the last few weeks bubbled up and collided together.

She tightened her arms around him, her lips pressed to the side of his neck. “Please forgive me,” she mumbled against his skin. She lifted her head and stared into his eyes their faces only inches apart. “I’m so sorry.”

She buried her face in his shoulder and he stroked her hair. “Sorry for what?”

“Everything.” Her body relaxed against the hard plane of his chest, and a second later her soft, steady breathing filled the room.

He blamed her apology on too much tequila because in his book, she had not a damn thing to be sorry about. As he played the night back in his head, he decided she was just about perfect, and aside from the bullshit with Alejandro, the whole night turned out pretty damn good. Cheryl was the perfect mix of silky soft and fiercely strong. Everything he didn’t even know he wanted in a woman.

He cuddled her to him and she burrowed closer. “I love you, baby,” he murmured against her ear.

Nick heard the words like someone else said them. Then the realization hit. He’d said them. He was sure she was asleep, but he waited anyway, his heart pounding, skin damp, breathing choppy. Silence. Maybe she had heard him, and his admission freaked her out. Was she trying to figure out how to let him down easy? What would she say? I love the sex but not you? He couldn’t stand it any longer. He needed to make sure. Propping himself on his elbow, he stared down at her. Her legs were still wound around his thighs, her hair tousled, and her eyes closed in a deep sleep.

He brushed her hair off her forehead and smiled at the woman he loved. Tomorrow, when she was sober, he would make sure she knew how much. He would tell her he loved her again, then he’d ask her to be a part of his life.

* * *

The next morning,Nick woke before Cheryl. The sight of her all cuddled up in his bed calmed him, and with any luck, he would get to enjoy this sight every morning from now on.

He’d hoped the ocean view from his balcony would help him sort his feelings into words, but everything he planned to say sounded lame and stupid in his head. Either too forced and stiff or too corny and dumb. He’d already drunk his way through one pot of coffee, which left him tense and jittery, and when dark rain clouds gathered, he went inside.

Cheryl surfaced just before noon, paler than the white robe she’d wrapped around her.

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