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His dreams of slow and gentle evaporated. He wasn’t going to last that long.
As if she could read his mind, she removed her hand and stepped back. “They’ll be looking for us soon.”
She was right. Matt was surprised McCord hadn’t started pounding on the door already, or at least sent his mother to do it. He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. We should stop.”
“Stop?” Gina, whose fingers had just gone to the hem of her T-shirt, laughed. “I meant we should hurry.”
Matt hesitated. Despite the call of his body to do just that, he didn’t want to hurry. He wasn’t going to. People could pound on the door all they wanted, but this time he was going to make love to Gina the way he’d never made love to anyone before.
As if he meant it. Because he loved her and he believed that she loved him. In this strange, uncertain world they’d tumbled into, love might be the one thing they had to hold on to.
He put his hands over hers. She glanced up, a question in her dark eyes. “Let me.”
She smiled and lifted her arms.
He undressed her as if they had hours, touching and kissing, loving every inch as it was revealed. Within minutes, she’d forgotten about hurrying. He kind of thought she’d forgotten about everything.
Except them.
He herded her to the bed, and when her knees hit the mattress all it took was a little push for her to fall. Her laughter caused his belly to flutter. She had forgotten all that waited outside this room. Now he needed to. He doubted it would be much of a problem.
As Matt bent to tug the sweatpants from her hips, he paused. “Someday I’d like to see you in your boots.” He lifted his gaze. “And nothing else.”
“Someday,” she agreed, then put a fuzzy stocking–covered foot to the middle of his chest and shoved. “You’re such a guy.”
“Guilty.” He tossed the sweatpants aside.
“I’m glad,” she said.
“That I’m guilty?” He quickly divested her of her socks and panties, as well.
“That you’re a guy.” She dropped her now-bare foot to the part that made him a guy, and he gulped. “Lose the clothes, Professor.”
With her leaning back on the bed, completely naked, her hair tumbling over her shoulders and caressing her breasts as he wanted to, he needed no further encouragement. He lost the clothes, set his glasses on the nightstand, then covered her body with his.
He spent a good long while just kissing her, enjoying the slide of skin along skin, thigh to thigh, chest to breast—even her feet felt good against his.
He could have gone on kissing her, learning the contours of her mouth with his tongue, for hours, except she began to squirm and the friction, the pressure, made him hiss in a
breath and set his forehead to hers.
“Teo.” She licked his collarbone, and he gritted his teeth. Was she trying to kill him?
“You smell like oranges, but you taste like…” She paused, and then she licked him again.
He was done for. He couldn’t wait. He forgot all about gentle. Instead, he lifted his hips and he plunged.
Her breath caught; he was terrified he’d hurt her. He began to withdraw, but her nails dug into his shoulders even as her heels dug into his thighs.
He opened his eyes. Hers were right there—dark and fierce, stark with need.
“Don’t. You. Dare,” she said between her teeth.
He managed not to orgasm—barely. She was both gloriously tight and unbelievably wet. He slid in with ease, but when he slid out she clenched around him, causing him to mutter expletives in three different languages. Her lips curved as if he’d whispered endearments.
He needed to concentrate if he wanted to keep from exploding, so he began to close his eyes. If he looked at her dark hair spread across the creamy sheets, her lips swollen from his, her eyes begging him to do her, do her hard, there was no way he’d last another minute.
Then she murmured, “No, Teo, don’t,” and he froze, uncertain.
