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“Okay?” he ground out, holding still, cupping and squeezing her backside with his big hand while her body adjusted to him. She made a small, affirmative sound, and anxious to meet his impending thrust, tried to support her upper body with her arms. Unfortunately, her trembling limbs refused to respond to her mind’s command. Bracing her forehead on her forearms and grasping his pillow was the best she could manage.
It hardly mattered, she realized, when he began to move. He had the situation handled. Pleasure built and tightened with every slap of his body against hers. Soon, she involuntarily punctuated each slap with a greedy cry of pleasure. The depraved sound coming from her own throat might have mortified her, but his low, husky “More” rolled over her shoulder at the same time he set about making it happen with renewed fervor. After that, she clung to the pillow like a shipwreck victim and simply rode out each powerful wave.
When the inescapable tide of the orgasm building inside her swelled to frightening proportions, she moaned, “Trevor, please, I—”
She didn’t get to finish, because at that precise moment, he reached between her legs, slid his thumb over her throbbing center, and said, “Come for me.”
She came. The orgasm broke over her. Inundated her. Took her under. Before she could surface, Trevor suddenly changed his angle and drove into her again, still bracing her from the front, so she was completely at his mercy. Her breath backed up in her throat, her heart thundered in her chest, and her vision blurred.
Helpless, she pressed her face to his pillow to muffle the sounds coming out of her mouth while her body, stretched to capacity and stimulated to a frenzy, clutched and released around him in quick, endless spasms. The contractions rolled through her and into him. She felt him stiffen, heard the almost pained groan that rose up from deep in his chest. Felt the heat of his release flood her and surrendered to her own scream of ecstasy.
…
Trevor eased out of her, savoring every tiny, involuntary flex of her body. Each felt like a little attempt to hold him inside her. A very gratifying whimper interrupted her shallow breaths when he finally slipped free.
He slid his hand from her abdomen to the curve of her hip, then let her go to deal with the condom. Unsupported, she sighed and melted to the mattress. Her stomach rumbled.
“Oh my God,” she exclaimed, clearly embarrassed.
Laughing, he swept her hair aside and kissed the warm, soft skin at the base of her neck, then collapsed beside her and hauled up his jeans, which had never made it completely off. “Chinese okay?”
She giggled and turned to face him. “That is, by far, the best offer I’ve had all night.”
“But not the only, I take it?”
Propping her chin in her hand, she aimed an oddly conspiratorial look his way. “Stacy cooked. Lasagna, garlic bread, salad…the works.”
“Wow. I’m flattered you gave up home-cooked lasagna with your sister for Chinese delivery and me.”
Apparently the thought of food invigorated her. She flipped over, sat up, and started righting her clothes. “It wasn’t intended for me, actually. I accidentally walked into something unprecedented. Stacy, surrounded by roses and candlelight, preparing a romantic dinner. For Ian,” she added with a glance toward him. “I didn’t think they’d appreciate a chaperone.”
“Ah.” He swallowed his disappointment and silently called himself every kind of idiot. What had he been hoping for, a heartfelt confession that she just couldn’t stay away? That she’d fallen for him as hard and fast as he for her? Both statements might be true, but iron-willed Kylie would never admit as much to herself, much less him. She’d share her body with him seven ways from Sunday, but was determined to keep her heart to herself. “I guess I’m honored to be your second choice tonight.”
He’d meant to sound flippant, but he could tell by her guilty expression he’d missed his mark. Shit. This was a new experience for him, being the one who wanted a relationship, while the other person adamantly didn’t. As if that wasn’t painful enough, he had to go and advertise his wounds with acerbic comments. She’d never second-guess her decision if he whined and picked at her, and he’d lose all respect for himself in the process. Reaching deep for patience and dignity, he got up, swept her sweats from the floor, and tossed them to her. “Come on. I’ve got an extra pair of chopsticks with your name on them.”
She relaxed and smiled, as he’d intended, and shimmied into her pants—which he’d also intended, but nonetheless regretted a little. Taking her hand, he led her out of the bedroom.
Dinner ended up a comfy, cozy picnic on his living room sofa. Tucked snugly into one corner with her knees drawn up, Kylie peered at him from over the cardboard container of sweet-and-
sour veggies she held.
“What?” he asked, and offered her the wanton clasped in his chopsticks.
She lifted her chin and took the crispy dumpling into her mouth. His gut tightened as her lips closed around the morsel. His eyes zoomed in on her throat as she swallowed, and all kinds of erotic visions filled his mind. Hoping to distract himself long enough to let her finish dinner, he cleared his own, suddenly dry throat. “What’s on your mind?”
“I was wondering about your family. You know a lot about my background because of the investigation, but all I know about you is that you’re the oldest of three boys. Are you from here? Does the rest of the McCade clan live nearby?”
Her curiosity struck him as telling. She might claim no interest in a relationship, but yet she wanted to know more about him—who he was, where he came from. He was happy enough to oblige.
“Born and raised in Studio City. My parents still live in the house I grew up in, and I see them every other week or so. My brother Michael currently lives wherever Uncle Sam sees fit to send him. He’s a major with the USMC. My youngest brother, Logan, attends grad school in Connecticut. I guess you’d say we’re a close but far-flung family. Thanks to e-mail and Skype, we stay in touch pretty well. I figure I feel about them the way you feel about Stacy. When they need something, I want to be there for them…and vice versa.”
“Sounds nice. Secure.”
“It is. We get along.” He didn’t miss the wistfulness in her expression. Obviously she and Stacy remained close, but everything he’d learned about her past led him to believe her own upbringing had been a bit bumpier. He wanted to know about her formative years—hell, he wanted to know everything about her—but didn’t want to dampen the moment with difficult memories. Instead, he chose what he assumed would be a less thorny topic.
“Why yoga?”
She stared into her dinner box, smiled, and shrugged. “During high school I worked in the local library and stumbled across some old DVDs they had in the stacks. I checked them out and”—her expression changed to one of wonder—“it was like discovering another world. A world populated with calm, centered people who were focused and kind. Definitely a more evolved place than the judgmental, narrow-minded town Stacy and I grew up in. With yoga, nobody judges. The reward is in the sincerity of the effort, not the proficiency of the result. You do what you can, as you can. Even from those scratched, out-of-date DVDs, I knew I had to learn more.”
