by Tawna Fenske
He blinked at her, still looking dumbfounded. Then he glanced up, and Sheri directed her gaze skyward as well. A chunk of beet lost its grip on the ceiling and dropped down the front of her shirt with a splat.
She sighed. “Normal moms would know how to make homemade baby food without destroying a kitchen.”
“What?”
She shook her head and reached down the front of her shirt to fish the beet out of her bra. After dropping it in the garbage disposal, she rinsed off her hand with a sense of defeat.
“I read this article about how beets make great baby food because they’re colorful and packed with calcium and potassium and vitamin A. Kelli got a bunch of them on sale at the farmers’ market by her house, so I thought I could steam them and blend them into this great organic baby food.” She shrugged and wiped a hunk of beet off her arm. “The story of my life.”
“Your life,” Sam choked out. “Jesus, I’m just glad you’re okay. I don’t care about the damn kitchen, that’s easy to clean.”
She gave him a halfhearted smile and pulled a piece of beet out of her hair. “Easy for you to say, Martha Stewart.”
“Seriously. You almost gave me a heart attack. Let me clean this up while you go take a shower.”
“No!” she said, staving off a fresh wave of shame. “I made this mess, and I didn’t even get any baby food out of it. The least I can do is clean it up.”
She took a step toward the sink and winced, glancing down at her beet-stained bare foot. “Dammit, the glass is everywhere. I just need to—”
He slung an arm around her waist, picking her up like she weighed less than a bag of palm fronds. She squirmed against him, but he locked his other arm around her, gripping her tight against his chest.
“The only thing you need to do is take a shower so you don’t look like the victim of a shrapnel explosion,” he said, carrying her toward the door of the kitchen. “The mess will wait. Or you’ll swallow your goddamn pride and let someone else help you for a change. Either way, you’re getting in the shower right now.”
Sheri pushed at his chest, not sure if she wanted to break free or just to touch him. It didn’t really matter, since the solid plane of muscle resisting her hand was clearly not budging.
“Put me down!” she demanded.
He ignored her, striding through the dining room and down the hall, making a beeline for her bedroom. He kicked open the door, stepping over her discarded robe and panties en route to the master bath. He loosened his grip on her for an instant, just enough to twist the taps for the shower.
“Sam, stop it! Just let me clean up the mess, and then I’ll—”
“This isn’t negotiable,” he said, perching her on the edge of the bathroom counter with one hand holding her in place. He held fast to her rib cage while the other hand moved down her beet-stained calf. She gasped with the pleasure of his palm on her skin, then yelped as he grabbed her foot.
“Ow!”
“Exactly,” he said, clutching her heel in one massive palm. “You’ve got glass in your foot and you’re bleeding all over the place. You’re going to get cleaned up and bandaged, and that’s happening whether you want it to or not. We can do this the hard way, or we can do this the easy way. Your choice.”
She winced as he plucked a piece of glass from her heel, then another one up near the ball of her foot. He flicked them into the sink and ran water to wash away the small shards. Then he opened her medicine cabinet and located a bottle of antibacterial rinse, setting it on the counter long enough to scrounge a Q-tip from the jar beside the sink.
She said nothing as he grabbed her foot again, bending over his work as he tended to the tiny wounds.
“There,” he said. “I think I got all the glass. Wash off in the shower, and we’ll take another look afterward to see if there’s more. Then I’ll put a bandage on it.”
“But I’m already covered in beet juice. Just let me clean up the kitchen now while I’m a mess, and then I’ll come back here and—”
“Goddamn it.” He grabbed her around the waist, hoisting her off the counter with a quick jerk.
Startled, she braced herself as he thrust her into the tiled shower. She gasped as the warm spray hit her, stunned to be standing in the shower in her clothes while some Neanderthal gripped her around the rib cage.
Sam grabbed the hem of her shirt and tugged up. Too shocked to resist, she lifted her arms and let him pull off her drenched, beet-stained T-shirt while the water pounded her from above.
She blinked as he tossed aside the shirt, his eyes pinning her in place as she stood there in her pink satin bra made transparent by the water. Her nipples tightened as he grabbed the waistband of her skirt.
He hesitated, probably realizing he’d crossed at least a dozen lines they’d sworn they wouldn’t get near. He started to draw his hand back, but Sheri grabbed his wrist and gripped it tight. Her fingers locked around his hand, and her eyes locked with his. She watched as his eyes went from flashing anger to mild alarm.
Good.
Her belly rolled with a surge of triumph and dizzying lust, and she let go of his hand and slid her palm down the plane of his abdomen, grabbing the top of his shorts. She jerked him to her, catching him off guard. Sam stumbled, tripping forward into the tiled shower, into her.
It was his turn to be shocked as the warm spray hit him squarely in the face. He was still sputtering when she grabbed the neck of his T-shirt shirt and yanked his face down to hers.
“You said we can do this the hard way,” she purred, grazing her breasts against his chest. “Show me you’re a man of your word.”
He swallowed, closing his eyes for the briefest instant before opening them to look down at her.
“My pleasure,” he said, and pushed her against the slick tile wall.
Chapter Twelve
Keep your hands off my sister.
Mac’s words were a distant buzz in the back of Sam’s brain, something faint and hollow and not entirely human.
The woman in his arms—Sheri, with her arms twined around his neck and her breasts pressed against his chest—she was all human. All woman. And all his, at least for the moment.
He watched her panting with need and hesitated. He could still walk away now, stick with the agreement they’d made only hours before. It was the right thing to do, especially knowing how much she’d hate him if she knew who he really was. Why he was really here.
He started to pull back.
Sheri grabbed his arm. “Please,” she begged, her voice raspy with lust and steam from the shower. “I want you. Just this once.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. Hell, she didn’t need to ask the first time. All she had was to do exactly what she was doing now, sliding her wet hands over his arms, down his chest, clutching at the sodden fabric of his T-shirt.
He grabbed the hem and jerked it over his head, tossing it above the glass shower door so it landed with a splat on the other side. He reached for her again, desperate to feel her writhing wet and lush against him.
He skimmed his hands around her back, enjoying the satiny softness of her skin as he found the clasp on her bra. He fumbled a bit there, his hands shaking with urgency and desire and the powerful nature of what he was about to do. What they were about to do.
“Please.” She whimpered. “Rip it off if you have to. I want to feel you.”
Sam gave a mighty tug and the bra came apart. He had no idea whether he’d ripped the fabric or just forced the clasp into submission, but he didn’t care. He dropped the bra to the floor and kicked it aside, groaning as he lowered his mouth to her exposed breasts. She gasped and gripped his hair, pulling him against her as she arched to meet him.
“Yes,” she hissed as he sucked hard on her nipple, drawing it into his mouth and devouring it with his tongue. He grazed her with his teeth, then turned gentle again with a series of soft licks and warm breaths against her skin. She was moaning low in her throat, gripping his hair so hard he expected to see clum
ps of it washing down the drain.
He moved to the other breast, licking, sucking, nipping as he brushed his hands down her back to cup that magnificent ass through her wet skirt. She arched willingly, pressing herself against the fly of his shorts.
He palmed her ass, stroking and rubbing through the soaked cotton, aware that there was nothing beneath it but Sheri. Only Sheri. He drew back and looked down at her, his breath catching in his throat at the heat in her eyes.
“Too many clothes,” he said, clutching the wet fabric bunched around her hips.
“Any ideas how to fix that?” she breathed, giving him a coy smile.
“One or two.”
He tugged down, dropping to his knees in front of her as he pulled the wet fabric over her thighs, down her beautiful calves and into a wet puddle at her feet. He stayed kneeling before her with the water pounding his skull and her fingers still clenched in his hair.
He moved his palms up her calves, then over her knees and up her thighs, parting them gently as he breathed against her silky skin. Cupping her ass, he pulled her so close he could almost taste her.
“I thought of you earlier,” she said.
He looked up, admiring the undersides of her breasts. “What?”
“Before dinner. I touched myself and thought of you.”
The words went straight to his throbbing hard-on. He planted a slow kiss at the top of her pubic bone, then another an inch lower. She moaned as he moved even lower.
“What did you think about?”
“This,” she gasped, gripping the back of his head. “This.”
He tasted her then, tentatively at first, then like a starving man with an ice cream cone. He dipped his tongue into her, probing, licking, devouring. She cried out, squirming against him as she gripped the back of his head with a fierceness that surprised him.
She was dripping wet, and he knew it wasn’t just the shower. He flattened his tongue, making broad strokes that covered every inch of her flesh. Her whimpers were growing louder now, and he let go of her ass with one hand and moved it slowly around, gliding up her inner thigh.
He slipped one finger into her, awestruck by the hot wetness of her. She gasped as he slid another finger inside, moving deep into her when she cried out again. He kept his tongue on her swollen clit, circling faster now.
“Don’t stop!” she gasped. “Oh, God.”
He felt her clench around his finger, felt her whole body go rigid. Then she spasmed around him, a tight, rhythmic squeeze that left him wondering what she’d feel like wrapped around something other than his fingers.
He licked her again, faster this time, more rhythmically. She bucked and tensed and called out his name, twisting her fingers in his hair.
When she finally went still, she released her grip on his hair. Her cries subsided, replaced by soft breathing and the spatter of water on the tile floor. Sam planted a kiss at the top of her right thigh, then another on her left hip bone as he stood up, his own legs a little shaky. He held her around the waist in case she toppled.
She looked at him through hooded eyes, her cheeks flushed and damp. Her hair was plastered to her throat and shoulders, and her panting breaths made her breasts rise and fall in a tantalizing motion.
“Thank you,” she whispered, then smiled at him.
“You’re welcome,” he said, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Do you need to rest now or—”
“Are you kidding?” She grabbed his waistband and fixed her fingers around his zipper, giving him a wicked grin. “I’m not even close to done with you.”
She tugged the zipper and fumbled the button open, then shoved down his shorts and underwear. They fell to his feet and Sam kicked them away, gasping as her fingers circled him. She stroked gently at first, testing him, adjusting her grip. She quickened her pace, stroking, squeezing, her fingers deft and hot.
He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the shower wall. She stroked him faster, her fingers moving expertly as she bent down and flicked her tongue over the tip of him. Sam felt his heart rip away from his chest and felt certain he’d die happy if he passed out right now.
“I want you inside me,” she whispered, her breath soft on his shaft. “Right now.”
He swallowed and opened his eyes, knowing there was no way he could possibly tell her no, but also knowing he couldn’t be completely stupid.
“I don’t have any—”
“Condoms?” she asked, rising up to lick her way over his belly, across his chest. Her fingers still stroked him in a rhythm he knew would have him teetering over the edge in about ten seconds.
“Medicine cabinet. Kelli put them there the day you arrived.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, then stepped out of the shower. “Kelli was planning ahead?” He popped open the cabinet and grabbed the box, his eyes skimming over the wording. “Super-magnum-jumbo?”
“She hadn’t actually met you when she bought them,” she said, dropping her eyes to his crotch, “but obviously there won’t be any problems with the fit.”
“You’re making my head swell.”
She gave him a devilish grin as she pulled him back into the shower and pried the condom from his hand. “That’s sorta the idea.”
She stroked him again, putting on the condom with expert hands. Her words became a distant buzz in his ears, smothered by the thought of being inside her, of holding her around the waist and plunging in deep and losing himself completely.
He gripped her hips and hoisted her up, pinning her against the shower wall. Her breath caught, and she smiled, urging him, daring him to do it. He knew he should take his time, should go slow. She was a new mom, sweet, vulnerable. His best friend’s sister.
But there was no way to hold back. No way to stop himself from taking her fast and hard and deep.
She saw the look in his eye and gave him a devilish smile.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Take me now. Please.”
He plunged into her, all shreds of restraint falling away. He moaned as she sheathed him, wet, tight, and warm around him as he drove himself into her. He drew back, thinking there was still time to slow things down, to make sure she was okay, that they were okay.
“Again!” she cried, squirming to force him deeper.
He gripped her thighs and plunged into her again, then again and again and again. She shrieked his name, hissing words in his ear that he never imagined a sweet mother of two would know, much less beg him to do as he drove into her over and over, pushing them both toward the edge of the cliff.
“Sheri,” he groaned. “I can’t—”
“Do it,” she gasped, and he did.
Electrified waves of pleasure hit him as he thrust deeper, burying himself inside her, losing himself completely as she cried out, giving in to her own shudders of pleasure. She clenched around him, squeezing, grinding, matching him thrust for thrust as she called his name over and over.
Everything went dark in Sam’s brain. Pitch black, no light at all. Or maybe he’d lost his vision. Or maybe—
“The power’s out,” Sheri whispered, slipping down his hips and detaching their bodies with more haste than he expected. “It happens sometimes on the island. I should make sure the boys are okay.”
Sam nodded, not sure he could manage to breathe, much less walk down the hall and peer over the edge of a crib. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and he could make out the faint shape of her silhouette. “Power. Right. Definitely. I’ll be right there.”
Sheri laughed and patted him on the butt, then pirouetted under the shower spray, smoothing her hair back. “I’m all clean. Looks like you managed to fuck all the beet off me.”
“There’s a phrase I’ve never heard after sex.”
She laughed again, then twirled under the spray once more before hopping out of the shower and grabbing a fluffy towel off the hook by the door. She lit a lone candle on the counter, giving him a better view of her damp, naked body. The candlelight gave
everything a soft, dreamy glow, and Sam felt certain he’d never been this happy after sex.
She toweled herself off, smiling at him as she bent down to dry her legs, looking so beautiful and warm and fuckable he wanted her all over again.
Just as soon as he got feeling back in his legs.
“What’s that tattoo on your shoulder?” she asked, rubbing the towel through her hair. “I can’t see it in this light.”
Sam did a mental cringe and turned so his back was to her. “It’s nothing. Just something I got when I was a lot younger.”
“Can I look at it?”
“Maybe later,” he said, grabbing a towel off the bar beside the shower and pulling it over his shoulders. He angled away and began drying his hair, careful to keep the terry cloth over the telltale mark.
Sheri studied him a moment, her expression somewhere between wariness and intrigue. Sam gave her a reassuring smile. He draped the towel over his shoulders and bent to kiss her.
“You’re amazing,” he said. “You know that? I knew you were beautiful back when I was a dumb college student with too much testosterone and you were this goddess in a white bikini, but now—” He shook his head, at a loss for words. “I didn’t expect you to be like this.”
“Like what?”
“So sweet and funny and sexy and smart and caring and sexy and clever and kind and sexy and—Christ, I sound like a fucking Hallmark card.” He shook his head. “I’m not good at this stuff.”
She blinked, her eyes suddenly damp. “I think you’re doing pretty well.”
“Did I mention sexy?”
“Maybe once or twice.”
She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, a softer, gentler kiss than they’d shared just moments before. When she dropped back on her heels, she looked at him for several beats without saying a word.
“You’re amazing.”
“So are you.”
She smiled and turned away. “I’m going to go check on the boys,” she called as she padded into the bedroom and emerged a few seconds later with the purple robe draped around her. “Take your time getting dressed.”
