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She glanced at him through narrowed eyes. “It’d better be good. Really good.”
He gave her a hooded look. “Two years ago, March issue. Want to try it?”
Riley quickly went back through her mental catalog of previous issues. She remembered her own pieces pretty well, but she was surprised that he did. Must have been a doozy of an—
Her eyes widened as she remembered the one he was talking about. “Nighty night, Pippy!” she sang, quickly maneuvering the squirming dog into the crate and latching the door before launching herself at Sam.
But the problem became clear before their lips made contact.
The dogs obviously had no respect for the sacred March issue two years ago, nor for the dog experts’ crate-training advice.
Sam and Riley stared at each other as they listened to the angry set of high-pitched puppy barks. “You know, I’ve been keeping the distillery pretty warm—” he said hesitantly.
“Yes!” she said, already moving toward the crates.
Two seconds later they slid the sliding door closed, effectively shutting out the sound of two irate dogs.
Riley hesitated. “You don’t think they’ll be lonely?”
“They have each other,” he said, already reaching for her.
Riley led him toward the bed, scrambling to pull back the covers. She paused, running her hands along the soft gray bedding. “New sheets? They’re—”
“Forget the fucking sheets.”
He pulled her up onto her knees and pulled off her turtleneck in one motion. His hands framed her face, devouring her mouth as her hands wrestled with his belt and jeans.
“You’re getting better at that,” he said against her mouth as she pulled his jeans and boxers over his hips.
“A little practice. A lot of motivation.”
They pulled apart only long enough to shed their shoes and jeans, and then his hands found her once more, one arm banded firmly around her back as the other hand wrapped around the base of her neck.
Riley curled her own fingers in his hair, holding his head steady. Her tongue coaxed his into her mouth, where she sucked at it wantonly.
He pulled back and swore harshly before pressing a hand against her breastbone, another beneath her hip, and maneuvering her onto her back. Riley squirmed as he grabbed her hips and pulled her closer to the edge of the bed.
Sam skimmed a finger over the bow at her hip. “Red panties today. Nice.”
“You like? I just got them—”
Then Riley forgot all about the matching set of red lingerie she’d bought just because she knew it was his favorite color, because Sam was peeling them off and tossing them aside even as he dropped to his knees.
His eyes locked with hers for a split second before his hands found her thighs
, pushing them apart. And then his head dipped to her, tasting her in slow, torturous strokes as she arched up into him, her fingers clawing helplessly.
She’d known about the act, of course. Hell, she’d written about it. But hearing other women describing it and actually experiencing it? Not. The. Same. Thing.
He worked a finger inside her as his tongue moved faster, circling in exactly the place she needed it, and before she could register what was happening, she shattered against his mouth, confirming that she was, and likely always would be, a screamer.
Sam kissed his way up her body, nibbling her shoulder as she caught her breath.
“So?” he asked.
“Huh?” she asked sleepily.
“The March issue. You wrote about how some women liked that better than the actual sex.”
