Текст книги "Crosstown Crush"

Автор книги: Cara McKenna

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

CHAPTER NINE

Sam flipped off the lights and headed back upstairs. Mike’s name begged to burst from her lips, but she didn’t know for sure if they’d still be role-playing, if she was allowed to acknowledge that he’d been watching this entire time…

Her pulse was everywhere as she entered the bedroom – in her throat, pounding in her chest, and still thrumming between her legs, from Bern. Then as her eyes met Mike’s, her heart froze all together. He was leaning against the doorway of the bathroom, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and an intense, focused expression she couldn’t begin to read.

Say something. Please.

He didn’t. She didn’t dare flash a smile or say a word, just stood inside the door, hands clasped before her. After a long pause, he approached. He stopped in front of her, face still inscrutable, his gaze scanning her up and down.

“I wish you’d say something,” she murmured, wrecking any illusion he might be enjoying. “I need to know how you’re feeling.”

Still, he didn’t. He said nothing. Instead his hands rose, fingers tangling in her hair, and when he kissed her he felt a foot taller than the man who’d just left, his mouth driving every memory of Bern’s body and contact straight out of her head.

If she’d expected anything from her first kiss with Mike in the wake of the night’s events, it would have been neediness. Uncertainty. But there was pure, fierce possession in the stroke of his tongue and the press of his lips. She held his shoulders and welcomed it. Surrendered to it.

He ended that muscle-melting kiss after a thorough minute. Surprise had tamped down everything she’d felt, messing around with Bern, but as Mike stepped away, all the hot, antsy longing flooded back in, a fever consuming her body all over again.

He took her hand, rubbing her knuckles and glancing her wedding band. In a calm, neutral tone, he said, “Thank you.”

She couldn’t suppress a smile of relief. “You’re welcome. Did it feel how you wanted it to?”

He led her to the bed and they lay on their sides, facing each other with their knees locked. He stroked her hair and spoke to her collarbone or throat. “It felt… It felt like everything I feel when we’re just talking about it, but times a hundred.”

“But it wasn’t too much?”

“It wasn’t easy. The jealousy always hurts. And it hurt deeper than I ever would have guessed, this time.”

She frowned, a pang twisting in her chest.

“But the way the jealousy gets me hot, it did that just as deep. Jesus…” He laughed and shook his head, clearly at a loss for how to articulate it.

“Just tell me you don’t regret it.”

He shook his head again, then leaned close to kiss her, softly this time. Sweet and brief. “I don’t regret a second of it. Do you?”

“Only if you had. So no.”

With reassurances tendered, Sam relaxed. She didn’t have the emotional stamina to launch back into role-playing, and she sensed Mike didn’t, either. She wanted him to ease the ache Bern had left in her body, but only on an authentic Sam-to-Mike level – no games.

“So what was the hottest thing about it?” she asked, tracing the seam where his arm lay against his ribs.

“The stuff you guys said. And just seeing another man touching you. All the weird stuff that gets me off. Watching you enjoying another guy, more than me. Or pretending you do.”

“So we did a good job?”

Another laugh, candid with over-the-top disbelief. “Oh, you did a great job. And I’ll never tell him to his face, but he’s fucking good at this. I felt like we ought to be paying him or something.”

“Yeah, I was pretty impressed, myself.”

Mike smiled slyly. “What else about him impressed you?” He stroked the side of her breast, bringing a tight, tingling heat to her skin. He wanted a little taste of their game, but luckily nothing that demanded she pretend.

“I think he’s really attractive,” she said.

“He a good kisser?”

“Yeah. Different than you, but nice. It was strange, being with someone new after five years.” God forbid if Mike ever wanted a similar chance – she’d be loath to grant him one, hypocrisy be damned. “He doesn’t know me anywhere near as well as you do, obviously, but it was kind of sexy that he didn’t. And that I didn’t know what he likes.”

Mike scooted lower on the bed and brought his mouth to her cleavage, his words steaming her skin between glancing kisses. “What about when he went down on you?”

“Way different, but it felt really good. Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course.”

“I faked it.”

His lazy kisses paused for a few thoughtful seconds. “Did you?”

“Yeah. It felt great, but he doesn’t know my body the way you do, and it didn’t seem like the scenario called for me to be giving him pointers, you know? I thought it’d be hotter to pretend he was utterly blowing my mind. I thought your fantasy would have him be just… perfect.”

“So he didn’t get you off?”

“No. But it was really hot. I wasn’t faking enjoying it.”

He’d gone quiet and still, and she stroked his hair, waiting as he examined his thoughts. She knew him well, and perhaps three times a week she watched this process – watched his expression go blank while he considered a choice that needed making or a piece of news that demanded digestion, turned a development around in his mind and decided how he felt about it.

After a minute’s silence, her curiosity elbowed her patience aside. “Is that disappointing, or a relief, or…?”

“I guess relief is the right sort of word. Or, I dunno… pride. I like that, knowing he can’t actually please you the way I can. Not right out of the gate.”

“Of course he can’t. You’ve been perfecting that art for years.”

“As long as it was still hot for you.”

“Incredibly hot. And in no small part because I felt you watching.” She traced his ear, then his jaw. “I was dying to know if you were touching yourself or not.”

“Not really. I had my hand clamped over my dick most of the time, and I really wanted to, but I was afraid I’d come after three strokes and then the watching wouldn’t feel good anymore.”

She smiled to herself and raked his scalp with her nails. “So you’ve really been suffering this whole time.”

“So bad it hurt. Like, fucking physically hurt.”

She slid her hand between them to palm him through his jeans, finding him stiff, making him stiffer with a couple of soft squeezes. Her own sex roused in response, pleasure gathering in her body like an angry fist. She was right back where Bern had gotten her, and here with her was the man who knew how to bring her home as no other ever had. “Did you want to watch him fuck me?”

“Yeah.” He was distracted, voice breathy. “But I’m glad you didn’t. Not tonight. But yeah, I wanted to see it.”

“Did you like watching me go down on him?”

He shifted and swallowed, exhaled heavily against her neck. “Yeah. That was as hot as the talking.”

“He was as big as we’d hoped.”

“I know. I liked watching you touch him. And suck him. Did you want him? Want him to fuck you?” He was speaking more quickly now, his breath growing short.

“I did, but not yet, like you said. But I loved his voice when I was turning him on. I think that was the hottest part for me.”

It was a relief to be speaking frankly about the experience, to be able to talk dirty about it with complete honesty, no cruel part to play. It told her maybe this kink really was a gift she could give to Mike, without it feeling like a burden to bestow. Steadily, she was coming to see that there was more in this for her than the simple granting of his darkest wishes.

She kissed his chin, then whispered, “I loved making him moan and knowing you were watching.” And it’d be a thousand times sexier the next time, knowing for sure Mike was enjoying himself. The next time…

“I kind of hope I get to fuck him,” she admitted, a sheepish smile probably audible in her voice.

“I kind of hope the same thing.”

“So does he. Or so he said when I walked him out.” She slid Mike’s zipper down and freed his button, stroking his erection through his underwear until he was panting. “You think you’ll be in the same room next time?”

“I think maybe we could pretend I walked in on you guys. Maybe he could be a cocky dick about it, and you could make me watch, like he was going to show me how you needed to get fucked.”

Her body jolted at the notion, Mike’s kink sinking another barb into her sexuality, reminding her it was steadily becoming her kink, too.

“He’d like that. He wants to be watched.”

“Wants to be watched while he fucks another man’s wife.”

“Lucky us.”

Mike laughed at that. “True. How about you and me, right now? You up for it?”

Sam’s turn to laugh. “I thought you’d never ask. I’m dying over here.”

He left the bed to strip naked and Sam slipped out of her dress and underwear once more. She felt another hot jolt, knowing Mike was about to find her soaking wet, and that this time it really was from thoughts of another man, just as he loved to pretend it was.

He sank inside her from above with an easy, deep push, both his body and voice shuddering from the contact.

“He did all that,” she said.

“I know. And with his mouth.”

True. She was slick with her own desire, and with Bern’s spit. Mike had never given her reason to think he wanted direct contact with the man they might find to fill the role of their bull, but he did seem to fixate on all that damning evidence.

“If he and I fuck, do you think you’d want to do what we talked about? Using a female condom so he can, you know… leave his mark in me.”

“In theory, yeah.”

She’d read plenty about the rituals cuckolding practitioners favored during the reclaiming process. Once the humiliation was done, the husband would be overcome by competitive urges and want to cleanse his woman of the other man, replace the intruder’s come with his own. Even clean it away with his mouth, in some cases. She didn’t know what Mike might want to do, but none of the popular options turned her off. And even the things she didn’t think Mike or Bern were up for – the ultimate humiliation of the defeated, outmanned male going down on his rival, tasting his wife on another man’s cock or being made to swallow his come – actually turned her crank a little.

But that stuff was the big leagues. Let them get some practice playing this game as amateurs before they tried going pro.

Still, she imagined those things as Mike took her. She studied his mouth and theorized about selfish things, about watching him service another man. About him being made to lap another man’s trespass from between her legs.

Not so selfish, considering what I’m doing for him.

Just as Mike’s jealousy warped under the heat of his arousal, the taboo, too-far aspects warped for Sam, becoming her most potent triggers. After all, Mike was never more worked up than when he was fantasizing about being demeaned by a competitor. Maybe one day she’d watch him slide his lips down a man’s cock, see another’s release glistening on those lips. The idea made her pussy clench and heat, a change not lost on Mike.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Just about all the stuff that might happen, if we took things further. When we take things further.”

“Tell me.” He leaned back so he could tease her clit, also giving her a gorgeous view of his body working.

She wouldn’t tell him exactly what she’d been imagining. Baby steps were always the best practice. “Just about what you might do, after he was done. To reassert yourself.”

“There’s stuff I want to do, but I think I might have to get drunk the first time.”

“Like going down on me, after?”

“Yeah. Exactly. I want it, in my head, but it might take a couple of shots of bourbon to actually get my brain to shut up long enough for me to actually do it.”

“That’s what alcohol’s for.”

“That wouldn’t be too nasty for you?”

She shook her head. “No, I think it’d be sexy.”

His thrusts sped at her proclamation. For minutes on end they simply fucked, Mike’s taunting fingers teasing her in time with his driving hips. Eventually he broke their silence.

“Did you…”

“Did I what?”

“Did you clean yourself up, where he… you know.”

“No.” Bern was still there, basted into her skin. Mike’s territory.

He said nothing at first, just took her with a slowing, pensive intensity. Surely pondering how his thighs were pressed to the spot where another man had soiled her.

She stroked his short, soft hair, dying of curiosity. “What are you thinking?”

He grunted a wordless sound, looking overwhelmed.

“You can tell me anything.”

“I was wondering… what he’d taste like.”

So exactly the answer she’d been hoping for. “He’d probably taste like another man, violating your wife.”

He muttered a “Yeah,” body slowing ever more with distraction.

“You can find out, if you want. I wouldn’t be grossed out.”

“No?”

“No. I’d like it if you would, actually.”

He didn’t accept the invitation right away. For another minute he made steady, pensive love to her, both of them surely tangled up in the idea that had been broached. Eventually he slid from her without a word, moving not down the mattress, but to the floor, where he knelt facing the bed.

“Come here,” he said softly.

She scooted to dangle her legs over the edge, and for a long moment he stroked her calves and thighs, unfocused gaze seeming to hover at the spot where Bern had branded her. She could sense him needing a nudge of permission, so she put her hand to his ear, stroking, coaxing, inviting. Still he didn’t take the leap, so she brought them back to the fantasy.

“You going to just let some other man leave his mark all over me?” She said it tenderly, the sweetest accusation.

He brought his face close, searching for a scent, perhaps. He kissed her thigh first, two inches or more from the spot. Another kiss, closer, and then right there – a tentative glance of his tongue chased by a more forceful lap. Sam could see how he changed from the way his back tightened, tensing with pleasurable jealousy or aggression. Stroking those muscles, she imagined this territorial ritual taken further still, Mike’s tongue banishing all trace of his rival from deep between her legs.

When he’d laved her clean, she tugged at his arm and he joined her on the bed.

“He’s gone now,” she murmured, and he did as she hoped, picking up where they’d left off. He looked stern and cool as he took her, but she smiled her affection up at his face, then drew him down for a kiss. If any trace of Bern still lingered on his lips, she couldn’t find it. When their mouths broke apart, she let her hands continue the tour, stroking his powerful arms and back, palms riding his undulating hips as he claimed what was his. Only his.

“Mike.”

He moaned his reply, eyes closing.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” He sounded pained as he said it, but a happy pain.

Sam snaked an arm between them to tease herself, eager for the release that had been simmering inside her for so long. It took little more than her fingers’ deft friction and the spectacle of Mike unraveling above her to bring it all to a boil. She succumbed to an orgasm more deep and violent and animalistic than she’d ever have found the creativity to fake, a smaller tremor not far behind.

Mike kept his pace through her pleasure, determined.

“He couldn’t do that to me,” she told him, voice wavering.

“Only me.”

“Only you.” Perhaps Bern could be taught to make her come, but it’d take a lifetime for him to ever get close to knowing her as well as Mike did. She admired her husband’s body, thinking she’d never felt him this hard before. She made a circle with her forefinger and thumb, squeezing his shaft where it drove into her.

“You’re so big.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course. You’re perfect.” She could tell him that now, and it felt good after all the make-believe. She was thankful there was still room in their sex life for praise and appreciation. It would hurt to feel she couldn’t ever watch him with open adoration when they fucked, lest she pop the bubble of his fantasy.

“You make me feel big, when you look at me like that.”

She kept her gaze on his cock as it disappeared again and again inside her hand and sex.

Relief bloomed inside her as the haze of the orgasm lifted. She’d given him what he’d wanted, and he’d liked it as much as they’d hoped. She’d liked it, and here they were, still enough for each other, just the two of them. She released his cock to cup his jaw with both hands, staring right into his eyes.

“Come for me, Mike.”

“I’m close.”

“Good. I want you to do what he can’t.” She meant come inside her, bare, as Mike well knew. It was much too soon to say whether their three-way chemistry might prove strong enough for Bern to join them regularly, and be allowed that ultimate trespass.

“Turn over.” Mike’s impatient hands guided the actions as she got to her hands and knees.

Jesus, she’d missed this. It had been Mike’s favorite position before the games had begun, perfect for a possessive man. He pulled her roughly into his thrusts, ownership resounding in every slap of skin and grunted male breath. In no time at all she could feel him losing control. The hammering of his hips forced her thighs wider, wider, until she lay flat on her belly, Mike sliding his hands beneath to cup her breasts, coming with a flurry of wild groans.

Kisses punctuated the spaces between his panting breaths, peppering her shoulder blades and the nape of her neck. She nudged him and he turned over, closing her in his arms as they’d done hundreds of times before. She felt his cock softening at the small of her back, felt his heartbeat pulsing at her spine, felt his come breaching her lips to wet her thighs. She smiled.

“Have I mentioned lately what an awesome wife you are?” he mumbled, sounding wasted.

“Probably. But you’re always welcome to say it again.”

He kissed her instead, a firm press of his lips to the crown of her head.

Sam sighed and flexed her toes. “I’m so glad that went well.”

“Me, too.”

“I wonder if he liked it.”

Mike’s soft laugh warmed her hair. “It sure looked like he enjoyed himself. Plus how could he not – he got to fuck around with you.”

“You flatterer.” After a long pause she added, “I can’t believe vacation’s already half over. Though no one can say we haven’t been making the most of it.”

“You know what I think?” Mike asked, shifting so she could twist around and face him.

She kissed his chin. “What do you think, Detective Heyer?”

“I think you should give him a call tomorrow. Or e-mail him. See if he’s free this Saturday night.”

“I’d be awfully insulted if he had a better offer.”

“Better than us? Impossible.”

She grinned at his confident tone. “We’ll just have to find out. I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

“You know what else I think?” he asked, voice turning low and seductive.

“What’s that?”

He kissed her nose. “I think we ought to order a pizza. I’m fucking starving.”

CHAPTER TEN

Late Thursday morning, Bern felt his cell buzz in his pocket. A dozen times in a given workday he might feel a new call or text stir at his hip, but rarely before this week had he been one to drop what he was doing to check whose name was gracing his phone. He eased the heavy spool of cable looped over his shoulder to the ground.

A little envelope winked at him from his screen. He opened it, pulse throbbing in his throat. A hopeful smile tried to hijack his lips as he saw Sam’s name at the top of the text, but he bit it back. No need for a coworker to bust him and ask what girl had clearly put such a shit-eating grin on his face.

Hello again, he read. Thanks for meeting up last night. We both had a great time, and were wondering if you might be free to hang out again this Saturday, around eight? Let me know!

He hit REPLY. Hello yourself. Saturday at eight sounds perfect. At the bar, or your place? Tell me if I should bring anything. Wine, condoms, camcorder, whatever.

Her answer came only a minute later and he pursed his lips to quell another smile.

Just your charming self. See you at our place at eight. E-mail if you need the directions.

The rest of the day passed in a horny blur, with Bern distracted by what was likely to go down on Saturday. He had been wiped out this morning, and not merely from skipping dinner, fucking around with a stranger’s wife, getting to bed late, and starting the workday at seven. By the time he’d made it home, all the relief of his orgasm had faded to nothing, and he wound up lying awake, replaying everything and theorizing about what might come next until past midnight, abusing himself with the embarrassing, boundless enthusiasm of a teenager.

Now he was… what? Fifty-eight hours from who-knew-what.

If he got his way, who-knew-what would consist of enjoying Sam’s gorgeous body again, and getting spoiled not only by her attention and the theoretical attention of her unseen husband, but maybe an actual, live, visible audience. Better than any mirror, and much safer than some video beamed off into the ether. And though it had never occurred to Bern that he might enjoy fucking somebody else’s woman while the guy watched, lately it was all he could think about.

Maybe he and Sam were alike in that respect – they’d gotten snagged by her husband’s kink like a snatch of catchy music, or a craving for a certain food once the aroma wafted past. Felt like he’d fallen under its twisted spell, and now he’d never come out of it unless the wish got granted, the curiosity satisfied.

Fifty-eight hours, he thought, hefting the cable back onto his shoulder. In fifty-eight hours all his borrowed fantasies might come true. Until then he’d be like a kid on Christmas Eve, dying of impatience, waiting to sprint down those steps and tear open his presents.

This was going to be a long-ass end to the workweek.

Sam barely touched her dinner on Saturday evening. She’d made chicken soup, and made it early so they’d have plenty of time to digest. Made it with less salt than usual so she wouldn’t feel bloated, picked it because it promised she wouldn’t wind up gassy or sleepy. Still, she spent much of the meal letting it spill from her spoon back into the bowl, barely half a serving making it past her lips. Mike’s hand crept across the breakfast bar to take hers. She thought he’d been watching the news playing behind her on the TV, but when she looked up, his face was full of concern.

“You okay?”

“I am. I’m nervous, but not bad nervous. Just all keyed up.” She pushed the bowl away. There were too many butterflies in her stomach, no room for soup.

Mike left his side of the counter to rummage in the freezer. He shut the door and handed her an ice-cream sandwich. She had to smile at that. “Thanks.”

“Gotta keep your strength up.”

The ice cream tasted more right than the soup: decadent, in keeping with the evening. Chicken soup – what had she been thinking? Save the comfort food for the flu.

In a couple of hours’ time she was going to sleep with a relative stranger while her husband watched. Why on earth was she letting herself get worked up over gas and a bit of water weight? She licked grooves into the sides of the sandwich, as she had as a kid, licked deep enough that the soft chocolate cookie sheets could be sealed together like a ravioli. Only then did she let herself bite in and enjoy both textures together.

Mike did the dishes and stowed the leftovers, giving Sam the luxury of taking a long, thorough shower, scrubbing and shaving and exfoliating all her nooks and crannies. Each and every one was on Bern’s personal menu for the evening.

She used the expensive lotion her mother had given her for her birthday… surely not with these preparations in mind. It smelled good, like vanilla and rum. Bern’s dessert, she thought as she plugged in her styling brush. She got her hair as shiny and perfect as she might for a wedding. Funny, when the only vows involved in tonight’s festivities were the ones she and Mike planned on desecrating.

“Looking good.”

She jumped at his voice, then rolled her eyes at herself for being so wound up. She stowed the brush and met his gaze in the mirror. “Thought I’d make an effort.”

Mike came in and leaned on the counter as she did her makeup. “Can I get you a glass of something?”

“Oh God, yeah. Please. Wine. A big one.”

He laughed and disappeared, returning with her order. Sam took a gulp and finished up her mascara, plucked a stray brow. Mike followed as she went to the bedroom. He sat on the bed and watched as she got dressed – deep blue underwear, a casual, silvery gray dress with beading along the bust. She auditioned a few pieces of jewelry, settling on a black pearl necklace. Plus her wedding ring, of course, which she shined on her hem.

“You go to all this trouble before our dates?” No true jealousy edged Mike’s tone, just a playful chiding.

“Yes, I did. More, in fact – I was still into waxing back then.”

He rose and stepped close to run his palms down her sides. “Damn, you look good.”

She smiled at him, smoothing his T-shirt along his firm shoulders, stroking his arms. If he was a leg man, she was an arm girl.

“What about you?” she asked. “You get yourself all gussied up special for me back when we were a-courtin’?”

“Do extra reps in the gym count?”

“Oh my, yes.” She squeezed his biceps, her favorite of all his fine features.

“Then I did indeed.”

“What time is it?”

Mike checked his cell phone. “Twenty minutes.”

“Hooo.” She shook out her hands and let loose a deep breath, willing the fearful excitement to stay at a manageable level. She shouldn’t be this worked up. After the last time, she knew Mike was truly into it, as was she. As was Bern. Still…

“Jesus, I’m nervous.”

“That’s good. Pretend you’re nervous about me coming home and catching you with him.”

“I could.” She straightened her shoulders. “Yes, I will.”

Tonight, Mike would once again be hiding in a bathroom, this time the half bath in the downstairs hall. Once Bern arrived and things were getting hot and heavy, he’d sneak upstairs to the bedroom threshold and watch for a bit before asserting himself. Or before Sam pretended to spot him, caught in the act – whoever found the balls to break through the fourth wall first.

They headed back to the living room and Mike poured himself a bourbon. Sam was tempted to drain her glass and have another, but chances were Bern would want a little something to get loose, and if she joined him, she’d be three sheets to the wind and probably trip trying to get her dress off. Or tip over and clock her head on the corner of the dresser, leaving Bern and Mike to suffer a very awkward introduction as they waited for the ambulance.

At eight-oh-two, the bell rang.

All the relaxation Sam had found in her wineglass fled like a frightened bird.

Mike kissed her cheek. “See you soon.” He headed for the bathroom, leaving her shaking in her heels, ever the unprepared hostess. She walked to the front, pausing at the mirror in the hall, checking her teeth for wine blackening, hurrying on. What must Mike make of all her clomping from the closed bathroom?

A knock at the door emptied her brain. She strode to answer it in a state of eerie calm. The door swung in, and there he was.

Dear God.

Had ever a man been made who looked this good in jeans and a work shirt, hair tousled, face unshaven? Flowers and a bottle of wine accompanied him.

She smiled and accepted the tulips. “Hello. And thank you.”

“Hello yourself.”

Now get inside before a neighbor sees you wooing me.

Bern did as her brain begged and she locked up behind him.

“You look amazing.” He wasted no time, leaning down to kiss her, slow and seductive. Heat moved through her at the taste of his mouth, lust snaking low, hot and heady. After a wooze-inducing moment, she managed to pry herself away. She took the wine from him, body tugged in two clashing directions – arousal and anxiety. But she could feel the nerves easing. She’d underestimated this man’s ability to draw out her sensual, slinky side.

“Would you like a glass?” she asked, holding up the wine.

“Sure.” He followed her to the kitchen and gestured for the bottle. “Let me.”

She found him the corkscrew and two glasses, busying herself with arranging the flowers in a vase. She stage-whispered, “He’s in the first-floor bathroom.”

Bern nodded and slid her glass across the counter, leaning in on his elbows. “So. When’s he due home?”

Game on. “Not for a couple of hours.”

Looking smug, he toasted the notion with a clink of his glass against hers.

“It’s been ages since I’ve been brought flowers.”

“That’s a shame.”

And a lie. Mike had sent her roses at work not even two weeks ago to celebrate a small promotion she’d earned. Man, had he ever gotten laid that night.

“It’s been ages since he’s given me a lot of things.” She looked straight into Bern’s eyes and sipped her wine.

“Maybe I can make up for some of those shortcomings tonight.”

“Maybe.” She gave him a wicked grin, anxiety gone. She wished he were wearing a necktie so she could draw him across the counter and kiss him. Not that Mike could see. Studying Bern’s shoulders and chest through his T-shirt, a wave of gratitude swept over Sam, leaving her momentarily misty. She got to have sex with this man. Some husbands might spoil their wives with a trip to the spa, but she got to indulge herself with another man’s body. A gorgeous body. A more enticing, decadent weekend getaway she couldn’t imagine.

Bern set aside his glass as she rounded the counter. She stroked one hand over his arm, sipped her wine with the other. “This is very nice,” she said, gaze moving all down his front.

“It’s Chilean.”

She grinned. Neither of them really believed she was speaking about the vintage. His warm palms slid down her sides to her hips, the sheer size of them thrilling her.

“You look great.”

“Thanks. A bit overdressed, maybe.”

“I don’t mind.” His eager gaze moved down her body and up again. “You look like a present, waiting to get unwrapped.” He looked exactly like what he was – an electrician sent to rewire her with his rough, capable hands.

Their mouths came together, hers eager and his hungry. She felt the glass being coaxed from her fingers and heard it find the counter, then he was walking her backward into the hall.

Between deep laps of his tongue he growled, “Goddamn, you smell fucking amazing.”

She squeezed his arms. “You feel amazing.”