I’m not that experienced. We’re making up for a lot of lost time.
I catch her wrist before she gets my fly undone. “Whoa. Maybe let’s head back to the house.”
“Right.” She kisses me again, smiling as she teases her tongue against mine. “In a minute.”
“In a minute, I’ll be coming all over your hand.” I fist my other hand in her hair and tug gently. “And I’d rather be deep inside you when I do that, wouldn’t you?”
Her pupils dilate as she nods. “Uh-huh.”
“Then take one last look at the sunrise.”
She’s still giggling when I press her into the thankfully private shower in her tiny bedroom.
“Turn on the water,” I tell her as I shove my jeans down my legs.
She points back to the bedroom. “Condoms.”
“Plural?”
“Just in case.” She catches her lower lip between her teeth, and I sprint to my bag. I’ll bring the whole damn box. Just in case.
The shower stall is full of steam when I get back. As I step inside, Cara plasters herself to me, and we go from zero to sixty just like that.
I push her against the slick tiles and spread my legs wide, holding her perched just above my eager erection. He can wait a damn minute. I cup her breast and roll my thumb over her nipple.
“You wanted to do this on the beach?” I ask her, licking away a line of water droplets from her neck.
“Not this. Just a little touching.”
I squeeze, kneading her soft flesh. “I’m touching.”
“Toby…” She groans and rolls her hips. “Please.”
I grin. “Not that fast. We’ll have to be social all day. I want to get my fill of you and your sweet touches now.” I rock against her. We’ll fuck soon enough. Slow and hard and fast, too, at the end. But first, she was teasing me. I want more of that. I set her down, then step back, leaning against the other wall.
I spread my arms wide. “Touch away.”
Her face lights up and she reaches for me. My abs first, just like on the beach. Then lower, tracing her fingertips through the grooves in front of my hips. My muscles bunch and tighten under her attention, and she drifts to her knees.
Oh, yes.
So far, the only blow jobs she’s given me have been in bed, with her on top and in control.
But I love her kneeling in front of me. It satisfies something heady and primal deep inside me—even though of course, she’s still in charge here, too.
She blinks up at me, her eyes bright and wide as she wraps her fingers around my cock. “Just touch?”
I swallow hard. “Your choice.”
She slides her tongue around the head, and I thunk my skull back against the tile. All awareness in my body has converged on my rock-hard erection and the delicate licks she’s laying on it. Soft, velvet teases.
My balls tighten up, and my throbbing tip slicks with pre-come. Before I can tell her to lick that up, she wraps her mouth around the entire head and pulls gently as she begins to stroke me.
Up, suck. Down, lick. In between each stroke, a wide-eyed, pleased glance up at me.
Fuck yeah, I’m pleased too. “You’re so good at that,” I murmur, pushing a wet strand of hair off her cheek. “Take me a little deeper. That’s my girl. God, Cara, yes. Your mouth. Ah…”
I pump my hips gently as she swallows more of my length, bringing her lips all the way to her fingers. In and out. Tight and hot and perfect.
When she pulls off with a slurp, I lurch from the loss. But she returns immediately with a condom, and I watch through lust-hazed eyes as she rolls it down my length.
Then I lift her up again and press her back against the wall, my legs pushing her thighs open. I stroke through her folds, testing that she’s ready for me. I find her wet, slick, hot.
We’re both breathing hard as I push up, spearing into her and stretching her pussy wide.
Her breathy moan as I bottom out inside her makes me crazy.
“So good,” she whispers, and that’s even better. “How is this so good?”
Because love. Because friendship. Because kismet and chemistry and fearless promises.
Promise me you won’t marry some random guy. I didn’t have any right to make that demand, but I’m so damn glad I did.
“Only with you,” I growl, thrusting into her again. She wraps her wet limbs around my body as I surge us together. Her breasts mash against my chest, her mouth latches onto my neck, and I lose myself to the swirl of the best sex of my life.
When she comes, it’s a long, sustained, rippling orgasm that demands my own climax. Her body milks me with almost endless spasms, until I sag against her and my softened erection slips out of her.
My heart pounds as I hold her against me.
She looks up at me and everything stops. It’s just the two of us in this moment. I can feel myself smiling at her, tender and soft. See the light in her eyes as she returns the expression.
“A sunrise and shower sex,” she says softly. “Not bad for our one-week anniversary.”
I catch her mouth with mine and kiss her swollen lips before reaching past her to turn off the water. “And the day is still young.”
EPILOGUE
CARA
Toronto
June, again
JET LAG IS A BITCH. I’m wide awake and it’s four in the morning.
“Come back to bed,” Toby mumbles, circling my wrist with his fingers.
“I think I’ve slept as much as I can,” I murmur, letting him tug me close anyway. I don’t know how he does this regularly.
“Then I should do something to exhaust you again.” He rolls on top of me, his body big and hard and very awake even as sleep still drips from his voice. “I didn’t get a chance last night.”
He did his best to keep me up, but after a marathon thirty-hour set of flights from Sydney through Dubai, and finally back to Toronto, I zonked out hard after he picked me up from the airport.
One more month, and we’ll be making the journey back to Australia together.
In the end, it was Toby who made the first move down under, and I’ll be the one who technically follows along. It started with our conversations in Sagaponack, and it never stopped. By Christmas, he’d announced that Starfish Instrumentation would be starting two new divisions, with headquarters in Australia and India. A commitment to the other side of the world, he said, that his company had a global vision and international commitment.
Now it’s official—I’m going to continue my studies in Sydney, and we just closed on a house overlooking the beach.
A slight upgrade from my tiny, one-bedroom condo here.
The new house is a wedding present, he told me.
Tomorrow is our one-year anniversary. We’re going to Toronto City Hall, and Mr. Graham, the officiant who unofficially married us the first time, is going to do it all over again. This time, with a marriage license and everything.
Our wedding date won’t change. Only the year.
And then it will be a whirlwind month. Packing and moving and graduating for me, handing over North American operations to a new command team for Toby.
He’ll have someone do all his packing for him. Perk of being a billionaire.
We’ll have one last monthly tea with Nana in New York. I think she’ll miss Toby more than me. He humors her business talk and isn’t lippy in the least.
Then we’ll fly around the world to our new home, where we will finally make love in our marriage bed, in the house he bought me as a wedding gift, in the city I’ve dreamed of living in as long as I’ve been an adult.
I can’t wait.
“Ah, Cara, I’ve missed you…” Toby’s voice is soft, and the words rub right against my soul as I arch beneath him.
Correction. I can wait. I will wait, always, for whatever comes next for us. Because waiting is no hardship. I’ve got Toby, and he’s got me.
“I missed you, too,” I whisper, curling my legs up on either side of his
body.
His hands go to my thighs and push them open. We’ve come a long way in a year, and we know each other inside and out. I flex against his touch and he growls for me.
“You offered to exhaust me,” I tease as he pins me down and nips at my shoulder. “Is it too early to wrestle?”
“Never.” He handily flips me over and while I’m laughing at him, he kisses his way down my spine, his lips brushing over my tattoo. He loves that spot on my back. Maybe I should get another one.
I push back against him. My husband. The only man who’s ever lit me up inside, and he does it all the time. His hand snakes between my legs from behind and he finds my clit. He slides it between two flat fingers, pinching the nub as I try to squirm.
“Surrender,” he murmurs in my ear. I stretch out my arms and push my hips into the air, and he chuckles. “That was easy.”
“I missed you,” I admit, blushing. “Now fuck me.”
“A week in Australia and already you’re cursing up a storm. I like it.” This time it’s his cock that rubs against my clit, and I press my face into the bed as I moan. “Ready for me?”
“Fuck. Me.”
He’s laughing as he presses into me, stealing my breath. Am I ever ready for this? It’s the best thing in the world.
I close my eyes as he pumps his hips, setting a sweet, slow tempo that tortures and pleases me in equal measure.
“I’m going to take my time, since I’m awake,” he murmurs. “Nice and slow and deep, just like this. Until you’re begging for my thumb on your clit. Or in your ass, maybe.”
I gasp. “No.” But I clench around him. Maybe yes. Okay, definitely yes. “Okay.”
“Hussy. I missed you too.” On that, he flexes his hips, driving himself an extra bit deeper on the bottom of the thrust. “Touch yourself, then. My fingers are going to be busy.”
Mr. Graham meets us in front of the brightly colored TORONTO sign in front of city hall.
“Has it been a year already?” he asks as he shakes Toby’s hand. “It’s a great honor to see you both again.”
We hand over the license, and he slides it into his leather folder. “Same vows again?”
“Yes, please,” I say, my voice surprisingly shaky.
Toby squeezes my hand reassuringly.
Mr. Graham starts with him. “Do you, Tobias Alexander Hunt, re-commit your life to this woman? Do you take her to be your partner in all meanings of the word, to support her and nurture her in her life’s endeavors?”
“I do.”
Those two words haven’t lost their punch. My eyes well up as the officiant turns to me. “And do you, Cara Elizabeth Russo, re-commit your life to this man? Do you take him to be your partner in all meanings of the word, to support him and nurture him in his life’s endeavors?”
“I do.”
“As we have already had an exchange of rings…” Mr. Graham starts to move forward in the ceremony, but this time, I’m the one who’s got the surprise.
I hold up my finger, then open my clutch. Damn it, I should have practiced this part. “Actually, last year, only Toby had a ring that day.” The band I’ve secreted away in there slips under my fingers before I grab it properly and pull it out. “Ah ha!”
Toby’s mouth drops open, then he bites his lip and nods, his eyes full of warmth.
“I don’t remember what you said.” My voice is so thick with emotion maybe it doesn’t matter—I won’t be able to say much, anyway.
Mr. Graham clears his throat. “This is, uh, one of my duties.” We turn toward him and his cheeks turn pink. “I wrote it down.”
“Oh, excellent. Okay. What do I say?” I turn back to Toby and he holds out his hand. Unlike me, he’s not shaking at all.
“Toby, I give you this ring…” Mr. Graham prompts, and I repeat it as I slide the plain platinum band over his knuckle.
“Toby, I give you this ring… As a symbol of my endless love… our enduring friendship… and the adventures still to come.” I beam at him as I finish, then I throw my arms around his neck. “I can kiss him now, right? He did that last year.”
“Absolutely, Mrs. Hunt. I now pronounce you husband and wife, by the power vested in me by the Province of Ontario. You may kiss your groom.”
THE END
for Toby and Cara…
But Marcus’s story is next. Visit my website to keep reading!
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PERSONAL DISASTER EXCERPT
Personal Disaster was first published as a short story in the Rogue Desire anthology, and is coming soon as an expanded novella.
CHAPTER ONE
MARCUS
Colorado
Whoever she is, the stacked brunette with the perky ponytail and open-toed sandals peering in the windows of my office isn’t from around here. Which is a shame, because I like perky ponytails.
The sandals are an interesting choice in the Rocky Mountains, but to each their own.
I don’t like industrious outsiders who drive halfway up a mountain to find me, though.
And I don’t need to make it easy for her now.
“Can I help you?” I ask in that probably not, but ask your piece anyway voice that usually sends people running.
She straightens and turns around, a polite smile on her face. “Perhaps you can. I’m looking for Marcus Dane. Do you know him?”
Like I’m your stereotypical bearded mountain man who knows everyone in the national park, but couldn’t possible be the guy she’s looking for. She’s right on the former point, and too bad for her, very wrong on the latter.
“Not sure anyone really knows Marcus Dane.”
“That’s what I’ve heard.”
Well that’s not good. “Are you here on official business or…” I leer at her, because it’s both effective and fun. When was the last time I got a good leer in? College, probably. “Something more personal?”
Sadly, the leer I’m so proud of doesn’t send her shrieking for the hills. She gives me a bland look and hands over a business card. “Business, Mr. Dane. Nice beard, by the way. Killer disguise.”
I sigh as I read the card. Her name is Poppy Lisowski and she’s a journalist. Her card lists a few different places she’s been published. I recognize The Washington Record, and I think Poindexter is a blog I’ve heard about on the morning news.
So she’s not here about anything good, then.
“It’s not a disguise,” I say slowly, taking my time so I can figure out something, anything more about her. “It’s just my face. Which you looked at and appeared not to recognize, and since I was just about to take a coffee break, Ms. Lisowski, I thought I’d better find out if your reason for being here was more important than caffeine.”
“Do you use Twitter, Mr. Dane?”
Ah. That kind of question. I take a deep breath and cross my arms over my chest. “That’s none of your God damned business.”
CHAPTER TWO
POPPY
The beard definitely helps him look pissed off. It’s close-cropped, so I can see the hard cut of his jaw as he grits his teeth. He’s clearly uncomfortable with being hunted down, and part of me feels bad—just for a second—about poking this particular bear.
It’s not like I don’t have sympathy for the ideals he claims to protect. It’s just that the truth is more important than political ideology.
I take a deep breath and try again. “Do you know Toby Hunt?”
“We went to college together.”
“And you have visited him in San Francisco recently.” Not a question. I’ve done my research.
“Technically he lives in Palo Alto, not San Francisco.”
“Thank you for confirming your close relationship—”
“Go away, Ms. Lisowski. Nothing good will come of your nosing around here.” He drops his hands to his sides, and the muscles in his shoulders bunch and r
oll, big and strong.
How big and strong he is doesn’t matter in the least. I shouldn’t notice that he’s super tall, either. I’m not short, and he dwarfs me. So it’s not the smartest idea to march forward and get right into his space, but that’s what I do. I pull out my recorder, and ignoring the obvious shake in my hand, I turn it on. “Would you repeat that on the record?”
He leans in, his brown eyes sparkling for a split second before he shutters his gaze and directs his voice to the mic. “Go. Away. Ms. Lisowski.”
“And the threat?”
“I didn’t threaten you.”
“You said nothing good will come of me nosing around here.”
“Mighty big stretch to call that a threat.” He shrugs. “But sure, I said that. On the record and everything.”
“What do you mean, nothing good?”
He straightens up and props his hands on his hips now. He’s constantly in motion, this park ranger. This rebel. This likely resistance leader. “What do you think you’re going to find here, little one?”
I roll my eyes. First he tried to perv on me—which totally didn’t work—and now he’s being condescending? “You need to work on your scare tactics.”
He grins unexpectedly. “But you are little.”
“Not to most people.”
“Ah.” He winks. “Well, Poppy. I think you’re going to discover I am not most people. Now, I’ve decided this conversation isn’t more important than caffeine, so if you’ll excuse me, it’s my coffee break.”
He brushes past me and heads into his office.
That’s his prerogative, but I wouldn’t be a half-decent reporter if I left it at that. Also, there’s no way I’d be able to justify my flight to Colorado.
I’ve got two options. I can chase after him and keep asking him questions he doesn’t want to answer, or I can wait him out.
I like door number two.
I plop my butt down on the porch outside his little log building and pull out my phone. I wonder what Mr. Alt Park Service is tweeting about right now?
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