Page 34 of Sasha’s Secret

Arousal spiraled and spiked. Any second now, she was going to fly straight into the sun, where she’d explode like a thousand stars, and she needed Rocco to soar with her. She needed eye contact with him, and as her gaze connected with his, her core contracted around him and he cried out her name.

His shaft pulsed inside her, marking time for her own seemingly endless orgasm, wave after wave of pleasure pounding at her as every muscle in Rocco’s beautiful body strained under the impact of his own climax. An anguished cry broke from him, and in response, Sasha wrapped her arms around him, took his weight as he collapsed against her. The aftershocks of his orgasm racked his body as she held him, until he finally raised his head from her shoulder.

When she looked into his eyes this time, she realized he was contemplating her as if she were a puzzle, something he couldn’t quite work out, but at the same time, was important to him. His chest heaved with the effort of dragging each breath into his body, mirroring the physical effects of their lovemaking on her. Then he rolled away—his cock abandoned her body, but before the space between them could destroy the moment, Rocco gathered her in his arms and held her close. As they slowly returned to reality, Sasha became aware of a new emotion—a sensation of coming home, as if she were finally where she’d always been meant to be.

Which probably explained the sense of loss when Rocco left her with a kiss, telling her he’d be right back. Compensation came in the form of the magnificent view as he made his way to the bathroom—the man had an ass she could bounce dimes off. That was the only reason she wasn’t wishing she’d gone with him to freshen up while he disposed of the condom.

He reappeared a few moments later, and as he drew closer to the bed, she saw what he was carrying.

“I thought this only happened in romance novels,” she murmured, watching as he used the warm, damp wash cloth between her legs and then used the soft towel to dry her. She was further puzzled by the amused expression that suddenly appeared on his face. “What are you laughing at?”

“Not laughing.” He moved the towel to her mound and applied a gentle pressure. “Now I know what you read. What genre of romance?”

Sasha groaned and let her head fall back on the pillow. “Not telling. If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.”

“Any sexy bodyguards in those stories? I might need to pick up a few hints.”

There was something comfortingly intimate about this crazy conversation. “Oh trust me, you don’t need any hints. Your technique is flawless.”

He wrapped the cloth in the towel and left the bundle on one side. The unsettled feeling in Sasha’s chest quieted as he lifted the sheet and returned to his place beside her. Though he’d only been gone from the bed a few minutes, in that short time, she’d missed him.

With Rocco’s arms wrapped tightly around her, his body spooning hers, Sasha was safer than she’d been in what seemed like forever. Tonight the dreams would be different, and as if to prove it, as her eyelids closed and the sleep of exhaustion stilled her mind, Jack came back one last time.

You’re back on the horse now, hon. You don’t need me no more. Be brave. You got this…

Maybe so, but a couple hours later, instead of guilt about Jack rousing her from sleep, it was a growing anxiety about what she hadn’t told Rocco about her past. Hiding it during a brief fling was one thing, but now Sasha wanted more than an extended one-night stand. How she could achieve that, she had no idea, but she was drawn to this man on much more than a physical level.

Making what she wanted happen came with a price, and that price was the truth about what she’d once been. She couldn’t assume that Rocco’s past would make it easier for him to accept hers. She was no closer to a solution the next morning, when she woke to kisses and caresses from the man with whom she was perilously close to falling in love.

Chapter 8

Rocco’s belly clenched at the blast of arousal that powered straight to his cock at the sensual sigh of pure pleasure that came from his dinner guest when she tasted her first mouthful of the steak he’d prepared for her.

“This is incredible. So tender. If Chef tried this, I think he’d be worried about his position here.” Sasha took a sip of water. “Where did you learn to cook like this? It’s perfect.”

Rocco chuckled. “I don’t think Chef needs to be too concerned. And to answer your question, my mother taught me.”

As soon as he was old enough and tall enough, Claire Equizi had taken her son into the kitchen and shown him how to make a slice of toast. From there, his culinary skills had progressed in leaps and bounds, and had even survived the minor setback of his years in the military.

“She did a great job. You even looked as if you enjoy doing it.”

That was another thing his mother had given him—her love of taking care of and providing for others. Although it had partly translated into his military service and the career that had brought him to Texas, he still missed the more… personal aspects. “I do. It’s very therapeutic—especially after a bad day at the office.”

It was a subjective judgement, but going through personnel records with a fine-toothed comb was not his natural go-to for fun times, especially when it produced nothing worth further investigation. Then again, sitting at a computer for any reason was not his preferred way of working, period. He preferred to be out and about—even if that did mean following his principal on a shopping expedition.

“A bad day at the office? And yet you don’t seem unhappy about it. Am I missing something?”

The corner of Rocco’s mouth curved up in a half-smile. “I’m not unhappy now. There’s more to life than work.”

Sasha looked at him with renewed focus. “Oh?”

“Finish your dinner before it gets cold. I’ll get rid of the dishes and then we’ll talk.”

“Should I worry?”

“I don’t think so. I hope you won’t.”

A gentle lift of her eyebrows signaled a mix of curiosity and acceptance. She wasn’t stupid—she’d know it was connected with the previous evening, the kiss that hadn’t happened, and what had come after it.