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Tate kissed her before she could finish the sentence, swallowing her words, her laughter, the contented sigh that escaped when his tongue tangled with hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him, pressing her body against his, and he gripped her hips, setting her away from him and wincing when he saw the smudges on her skirt.
“Got you dirty,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving hers.
“I like it when you make me dirty,” she said with another sigh, the little smile curling her lips making his cock twitch. Even though he was filthy and hungry and exhausted, he still wanted her.
Had a feeling he’d always want her.
“Hmm, I bet.” He kissed her again, unable to resist her lips, though he made sure not to touch her too much. “Come home with me,” he murmured against her lips when they broke apart.
“I thought you’d never ask.” She leaned in and brushed her lips to his cheek. “I mean it. I don’t have a ride.”
Tate frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Delilah dropped me off about an hour ago. West was keeping me updated on your progress home.” She grinned. “I was kind of scared you’d turn me down.”
“Never.” He grabbed hold of her and kissed her thoroughly, forgetting all about his dirty clothes and hands, forgetting everything but the taste of Wren’s lips and the little sounds of pleasure she made when he swept his tongue inside her mouth. “Now that you’re here, I’ll never let you go.”
“Really?” Her voice squeaked, and she pressed her hands against his chest, her fingers fiddling with the collar of his uniform shirt.
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Really.”
Chapter Twenty
WREN SKIMMED HER fingers across Tate’s bare chest in lazy circles, first around one nipple, then the other, before running through the small patch of dark hair that was in the middle of his chest. She could touch him like this forever and never get tired of it. He probably wouldn’t get tired of it either.
That low, sexy murmur she just heard rumbling in his chest was proof.
They’d been home for hours, and in that time, Tate had taken a shower, with her help. Afterward, they’d called in a pizza order, and she’d given him a blow job while they waited. They ate dinner and hung out, until his wandering hands landed between her legs, and now they were in bed. Naked. After a rather vigorous bout of sex.
“I’m so tired,” he practically groaned, his eyes firmly closed. She stared at his thick, dark eyelashes, sort of hating him for a quick moment because he had the eyelashes of her dreams. There was not enough mascara in the world to give her those same results. “You’re keeping me awake.”
She poked him in the side with her index finger, making him swerve away from her. “I told you already that you don’t need to stay awake on my account.”
“But you keep touching me.”
“So?”
“So someone likes that.”
“Someone should just go to sleep,” she suggested.
“He can’t.”
She laid her head back on his warm chest, trying to smother her laughter. “Why not?”
“This is why.” He reached for her hand and slipped it under the covers, her fingers brushing against his very hard cock.
“Oh.” The laughter died in her throat, and her blood heated. “Um, that’s a problem.”
“I know.” He sighed, gently forcing her fingers to curl around his length. “You need to help me.”
“I do, huh?” She started to stroke him very slowly, from root to tip, earning a soft moan for her efforts. “How’s that?”
“It’s working,” he said, his voice tense.
“Good.” She kept up the slow pace, pressing her thighs together when he jerked the sheet back and exposed them. She watched in fascination as she continued to stroke him, marveling that he was so big, so thick, and so hard after they’d just had sex—when? Not even twenty minutes ago?
Maybe fifteen.
