by Tracy Wolff
He took in a very wet, very flushed Lyric—obviously fresh out of a bath instead of a shower—standing in the middle of the room, soap suds on her legs and the skimpiest towel ever invented wrapped around her unmentionables. Unmentionables that he really wanted to mention because—like her—they were so fucking gorgeous.
“What are you doing in here?” She stared at him.
“I knocked and you didn’t answer. I thought you might have slipped and hit your head like before …” He should leave, he knew that, but his legs wouldn’t move, and he couldn’t stop staring at her.
“Why are you still here?” She took a step toward him, tripped over her own two feet, and caught the edge of the dresser. Her towel came undone and fell to the floor. “Oh God.” She tried to cover herself and leaned over, grabbing for the towel and pulling it in front of her.
She was standing there beautifully, gloriously almost naked.
He should walk away, or at least look away, but for long seconds he could do nothing but stare at Lyric, absolutely spellbound. If that made him an asshole, then he was willing to live with it. Some things were worth being an asshole over, and this look at Lyric’s wet, flushed, gorgeous body was definitely one of them.
“I brought up … um … food.” He sounded like an idiot. Hell, he’d been charming ladies out of their panties since he’d realized the difference between girls and boys, but this time he was flustered.
For long seconds, neither of them moved. Instead, they just stood there staring at each other as arousal arced between them like an ungrounded electrical current. Powerful, unchecked, and dangerous enough to burn everything in its path.
“Lyric.” Her name was as much groan as it was prayer as he stepped forward.
She sucked on her bottom lip, but she didn’t turn him away.
Dropping the tray of food on the nearest flat surface that wasn’t a bed, he stepped forward and gently took the towel from her.
And holy shit was she beautiful. And glorious. And absolutely fucking incredible. Despite his recent orgasm, he felt his dick harden to the point of pain, felt his mouth drop open and his tongue all but hang out, like when one of the cartoon characters from his youth saw a pretty girl.
He wrapped one hand around her shoulder and the other arm around her waist. Then he yanked her forward, until all those soft, glorious curves of hers were pressed against all the hard, lonely planes of his own body.
And reveled in the moan she didn’t even try to hide.
# # #
Oh my God. Oh My God. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. For long seconds, they were the only three words Lyric could think. Well, except for hot and hard and that feels so good. Oh, and mine. She couldn’t help thinking mine over and over again as Heath pulled her against him and slowly, sexily, lowered his mouth to hers.
For long seconds, that’s all it was. The sweet and tender meeting of his mouth and hers. And then, with the quick slide of his tongue along the seam of her lips, everything changed.
Heath might have initiated the kiss, but she took over in the space of one heartbeat to the next. She slid her hands up the sexy stubble on his jaw, tangled her fingers in the cool silk of his too-long hair, pressed her body against the lean, hard length of his.
Then she opened her mouth, let his tongue slip inside to tease and tangle with her own. And savored every second of it.
Of him.
It had been so long since someone had held her like this, kissed her like this. Even longer since someone had made her body come to life like this. And as he skimmed his own fingers down her back, as he cupped her ass in his big, rough hands, she admitted to herself—only to herself, and only in this moment—that the last time she’d felt like this had also been with him.
Oh, it had been different then, because she’d been desperate for him. Desperate for his touch, his breath, his body, and desperate to get as much of him as she could in the small amount of time that they’d had.
This time, she wasn’t going to do that. She was going to savor every moment she had with Heath Montgomery, so that when it was over—when he walked away—she would have this one perfect memory.
This was forbidden and out of character for her and delicious.
Opening her mouth, she swept her tongue along his lower lip. Softly, sweetly, asking not demanding. As she did, she felt the curve of his lips that told her he was smiling.
It was all she needed to keep her going, to have her toying with the lush fullness of his lower lip before moving on to the sweet indentation in the middle of his upper lip. When they’d been younger, she’d teased Heath about his cupid bow mouth, and he’d always hated it. Had always threatened to bite her with it. Maybe today she’d finally let him make that threat a reality.
She felt him grow hard against her as she nibbled at him, and she reveled in the way every one of his muscles tightened as she teased the corner of his mouth. He opened for her right away, as if he’d just been waiting for her to make the move. Waiting for her to ask. She loved it, loved everything about the way he responded to her. Just like she had always loved him.
The realization swept through her like a wildfire, burning down every defense she’d built against him in the last few years. Twisting her up inside as she realized that no matter how far she’d gotten from her West Texas roots, no matter how much distance she’d put between the two of them, nothing had changed for her at all.
She didn’t know how she felt about it, didn’t know if she could handle how exposed, how utterly naked, she felt at that moment. For a second she thought about backing up, about backing out. About running as far and as fast from Heath as she could get.
But then he lifted his head and looked down at her with concern—with a question—in those black-magic eyes of his, and she knew she wouldn’t be going anywhere. Not right now, when she finally had him in her arms again.
There was a part of her that knew this was going to end badly, that she was going to end up hurting as badly—or worse—than she’d hurt the last time she’d made love with Heath.
Then again, she was smarter now. Wiser. She knew what this meant—and what it didn’t. She wouldn’t be hanging her hopes for a future with him on this one roll in the hay.
But just because she knew how this was going to end—badly—didn’t mean that she couldn’t enjoy it while it was going on. Because say what she would about him, Heath Montgomery knew how to show a woman a good time. And she wanted him to say the same thing about her.
With that thought in mind, she pulled her mouth from his. Skimmed her lips across his strong jaw, down the corded muscles of his neck, over the thick muscles of his pecs as she tugged his shirt free of his jeans and threw it behind her. She smoothed her hands over his eight-pack abs—and the sexy, sexy V-cut that disappeared into the top of his jeans.
And then she went lower still, dropping to her knees in front of him and skimming her lips across his stomach, his navel, and the waistband of his jeans as her fingers fumbled with his button fly.
He groaned a little as he tangled his hands in her hair, and she grinned against his heated skin. Then lowered her mouth to kiss along the perfect V-cut that made her mouth water every single time she’d seen him on television over the last decade.
He groaned again, tried to tug her mouth over to where he wanted it. But she was in no rush to give him what he wanted, not when she was busy exploring every sexy inch of him. Not that she wanted him to beg, but if he did, it would be fun to watch. It was the same game she’d played with him that long-ago night—her working to drive him as crazy as she could without actually taking him in her mouth, and him doing everything he could to convince her to do just that.
“Lyric, darlin’,” he told her in a voice gone deep and dark with desire. “Please. I need you. I need this.”
His pleas shot straight to the heart of her, and she couldn’t resist any longer. Kissing her way back across his stomach, she licked her way down his happy trail and took him slowly, slowly, slowly into her m
outh.
He groaned her name out, his voice breaking on the second syllable as his hands clutched at her hair and his body moved restlessly against her.
Loving his reaction, loving the way he needed her—even if it was just for this—she slid her hands up the backs of his thighs. Cupped his ass. Then pulled him deeper into her mouth, sucking and stroking, licking and laving, until he was pleading with every breath he took. Until her name was the only sound he could make.
# # #
“I can’t take any more,” he told her hoarsely. “Please, darlin’. I’m losing my mind here.” He tugged on her hair, pulled her off slowly, when all he really wanted to do was fuck her mouth until he came.
“That’s the point, isn’t it?” She reached for him again, and she looked so sexy doing it that he nearly blew his wad right there. Normally he had more control than this—a lot more. But it was Lyric on her knees in front of him. Lyric whose wild blonde hair his fingers were currently tugging on. Lyric whose beautiful breasts and raspberry-colored nipples were brushing against his overheated skin.
And that wasn’t the point, or wasn’t just the point. Not with her. It felt so good to have her in his arms, so right and familiar, even though they’d never done this before. Maybe it was because she had been his best friend for so long, maybe it was because there was no artifice between the two of them, or maybe it was because what was going on between them was so, so real. Or maybe it was because this was Lyric, and she was special, so fucking special, and he wanted to savor every minute—every second that he had with her.
Whatever it was, he knew that he wanted a lot more than to just get off. He wanted to come deep inside of her, wanted to feel her clench around him when her own orgasm hit. Wanted to look deep into her royal blues as ecstasy swept them both away.
Leaning forward, he took her mouth with his own, used his lips and tongue to arouse her—to care for her—in a way he’d never done with another woman. He wanted her, God did he want her, but even more than the desire blasting through him was the tenderness he felt for Lyric.
Sinking to his knees beside her, he nipped at her mouth. reveling in the sexy moan that followed as he sucked her lip between his teeth. Then he nipped again, and she went wild, her body bucking and twisting and pumping against his.
Then she wrenched her mouth from his, skimmed her lips down his neck and over his shoulder, and he shuddered with the effort it took to restrain himself, when he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her for as long as she would have him.
He pulled back then, cupped her face in his hands, and looked at her. Just looked at her. From the little laugh lines starting to form at the corner of her glorious eyes to the small scar that ran along the edge of her jaw to the random mess of freckles that decorated her nose, he saw her. More, he memorized her. Pulled her face—pulled her—deep inside himself so that no matter what happened, she would always be inside him. She would always be his.
Lyric had always been a little excitable, a little wary of being seen too clearly, and he was afraid that she would pull away. She didn’t, though. Instead, she sat back on her heels and stayed very still as she let him look his fill. And, he realized with a little jolt of surprise, she watched him as intently as he was watching her.
When his need to be inside her overwhelmed everything else, he picked her up and laid her on the bed. Then moved over her so that every part of her long, lithe body was covered up by every part of his. He wanted to feel her everywhere, needed to know that she was feeling him the same way.
Leaning forward, he kissed the softness of her lips, the corners of her mouth. She was like the richest, smoothest velvet mixed with the darkest chocolate.
He wanted to be gentle, wanted to give her the tenderness he knew she deserved. But the moment her tongue tangled with his, he was lost.
Lust rose, sharp and terrible and all-consuming. He ignored it, beat it down, kissed her some more. And some more. And some more after that.
Her mouth was the sexiest thing he’d ever tasted in his life, and he didn’t want to give it up. Didn’t want to give her up and break the connection between them when everything inside of him clamored to be a part of her. To make her a part of him. To prove that this one moment in time with her was special and different from any encounter he’d ever had before.
She whimpered, a high-pitched, wild sound that shot from the top of his head to the tip of his dick in a streak of blazing white heat. And still he didn’t lift his mouth from hers until they were both literally gasping for air.
Knowing that if he didn’t do it now, he would never do it, Heath climbed awkwardly to his feet and fumbled with his jeans before he could finally get them off. He tripped on the right leg, nearly went down, and as Lyric laughed softly, he couldn’t help joining her.
He was never this clumsy—not on the field and definitely not in the bedroom. But something about being with Lyric, something about holding her and kissing her and loving her, made him clumsy.
Was it because she mattered, he wondered, as he laid down on the bed next to her. Then she was moving against him, and he forget everything but what it felt like to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her.
Wrapping his hand around her wrists, he pulled her arms above her head and pinned them there as he looked his fill at her beautiful, beautiful body.
Her legs were long, her waist small, her pussy freshly shaved. He wanted to bend his head and lick her, wanted to thrust his tongue inside of her and listen to her scream as fireworks went off inside of her. But first he wanted to look at her breasts. Her beautiful, beautiful breasts.
Large and full, with gorgeous dark-pink nipples, they were the sexiest thing he had ever seen. Amazing, glorious, so much more woman than he generally deserved. Not that he wasn’t going to take advantage of this moment, because he was. He was.
Leaning down, he pressed kisses to the delicate underside of her breast. Then skimmed his lips up a little so he could trace his tongue around her areola before sucking her nipple into his mouth.
She cried out then, her fingers tugging on his hair just hard enough to sting. He loved it, loved the little bites of pain that came from being the one kissing her, and loved even more the fact that she was so responsive to everything he did.
She called his name, and it was the last straw. His control snapped, and he forget everything but the ecstasy of being with her as he licked and kissed his way over every inch of her body. He explored the curve of her shoulder, the bend in her elbow, the back of her knee. Then tickled her ribs with his tongue before moving between her legs and tasting her. Claiming her.
Fuck, she felt good, tasted good. He slid his tongue over her sex, once, twice, loving the spicy scent and taste of her. Slipped inside and stroked her as her hands clutched at his hair, his shoulders. As her suddenly hoarse voice cried out his name.
He savored the sound as he ran his tongue over the hard button of her clit, savored even more the way she sighed and moaned. And then, with a quick flick of his tongue and a stroke of his fingers deep inside her, he brought her to climax.
He was desperate now, desperate to be inside her, desperate to see her face as the pleasure took her. So he pulled back and focused on her face even as he worked his thumb over her, building the pleasure higher and higher and higher.
She came again, her body convulsing anew before the first contractions had even stopped, and she cried out then, her back bowing and her body arching off the bed as her hips moved against his hand.
She was so beautiful like this. So fucking beautiful with her swollen lips and flushed pink skin and wild hair spread out around her like a halo.
He was hard to the point of pain, his body desperate for relief. But he wasn’t ready to give up the view quite yet. Not when she was spread out before him like a feast. Which was why, when she finally stilled, he spread her legs a little wider, then simply looked at her. Trailed a finger over the warm, slick folds of her, reveling in the feel of her desire for him.
> “Heath.” It was a plea, and they both knew it. “I want you.”
“You have me,” he murmured, for the first time in his life meaning more than just for the moment. But then he was sliding first one finger and then another inside of her once more, nearly losing it at the unbelievable perfection of her body. She was tight, hot, her muscles clenching his finger in a rhythm that resonated all the way to his erection.
Suddenly, he knew he couldn’t take any more. Rolling onto his back, he grabbed his jeans off the floor and pulled out the emergency condom he always kept in the back pocket. Then, after rolling it quickly down his cock—and batting Lyric’s hands away as she tried, unsuccessfully, to help—he pulled her over him and, with his hands on her hips, gently guided her over him.
She cried out as he sank into her, arching her back and clutching at his hands until he twined his fingers with hers. Something about that connection, that joining of Lyric’s hands with his as she rode him, sent him right to the edge of his control.
Fighting to hang on, never wanting the feeling to end—never wanting the closeness between them to dissipate—he clung to sanity even as her breath grew quicker and her movements more frantic. He reveled in the feel of her around him, rejoiced in the slight pressure of her warm weight on his stomach as she slowly moved herself up and down his cock.
“Heath,” she moaned breathlessly, and he knew it was time, knew she was close to shattering again. And he loved it. Loved even more that he was the one who had brought her to this state.
She gasped, arched, and he whispered, “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you.”
And she did, her back arching as the waves exploded through her. Her sex clenched on him again and again, pulling him deeper. Taking him home.
At the last moment, she leaned down and brushed her lips over his as her crazy-blue eyes looked deep into his own. That was all it took, those moments of connection, to have him hurtling over the edge himself. With a groan, he let himself go, gave her everything inside of him. Gave her everything he had to give.
