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Slowly he lowered her back against the sofa cushions, their lips still locked together. Her heart raced at the sensation of his strong body pressing against hers.
God. She’d never felt like this before, all hot and glittery with melted honey sliding through her veins. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d made a decision she didn’t feel the need to question or overthink.
When she was with him like this, all of her misgivings and worries fell away. All that mattered was the friction of their bodies, the glide of his hands and press of his lips. All that mattered was them.
Sam lifted his head, his dark eyes burning into hers. “Okay?”
She nodded, too breathless to speak, and pulled him back to her again. He slipped his hand down to her breast, covering it with unmistakable possession. With a groan, she clutched the back of his shirt and arched her hips against the hard bulge in his jeans. Her heart jumped wildly. She tugged at his shirt.
“Take this off.”
He pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth before easing away to shrug out of his button-down and pull off his T-shirt.
Brooke rose to her elbows. Heat unfurled in her belly as he revealed his smooth, muscular shoulders, and the gorgeous slopes of his pecs leading down to his rigid abdomen. A trail of hair led from his naval below the waistband of his jeans. She wanted to trace his muscles with her fingers and follow that trail right down into the forbidden zone.
She wound her arms around his neck as their lips met again. The temperature of the air increased by slow degrees until a trickle of sweat ran down her spine. Sam separated himself from her again, but this time to strip her of her clothes.
Glad that she’d had the foresight to wear her best bra and panties, she wiggled out of her pants and shirt. Tension coiled through his muscles as he raked his hot gaze over her body.
“Beautiful.” He whispered the word against her bare shoulder before trailing his lips to her cleavage.
Electric sparks shot through her. She shifted to take off her bra, giving him full access to her breasts. He stroked his hands down her sides and captured one of her nipples between his teeth. She squirmed, yearning for him to fill her and ease the empty ache.
Time distilled to both a second and an eternity. To both her intense pleasure and slight frustration, Sam took his time exploring every inch of her body, touching and kissing her from the arch of her throat to her toes. They only parted when he made a quick trip to the bathroom to retrieve a condom. By the time he sheathed himself and eased between her legs, she was panting with need.
Bracing his hands on either side of her head, he pressed forward slowly. Oh, the easy, slick immersion was the sweetest torture. She moaned, writhing as he seated himself fully inside her, his head lowered and his chest heaving.
Then he eased back and pushed forward again, a slow rocking that fired her with urgency. She arched upward to match his movements. Streams of pleasure washed over her, filling her blood with heat.
She gripped his biceps, and a cry tore from her throat when bliss exploded over her nerves. He lowered his mouth to hers, sweeping his tongue between her lips. His muscles tightened. He surged inside her and stilled with a rough groan, his own body shuddering with release.
With a grunt of satisfaction, he rolled off her and adjusted their positions so she was sprawled on top of him. Stroking her hands over his powerful arms, Brooke sighed deeply with pleasure.
“Really?” she murmured.
“Hmm?” His voice was lazy and slow.
“You’re happy?” She lifted her head to look at him.
A smile tugged at his mouth. “With you, yeah.”
“I’m happy with you too.” She propped her chin on her hand. “You know, a lot of reviewers have wondered if John Kane is a fictionalized version of you. Mostly because they have no idea who Sam Harris really is. And now that I know you’re not a solitary, crime-fighting, ex-CIA agent…wait a second.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Never even considered joining the CIA. I’ve never had a regular job. When I was on the road, I worked odd jobs or whatever I could get. But mostly I just wrote.”
“When did you publish your first book?”
“Ten years ago.” A shadow crossed his features. “I’d written one novel under my given name, but it went out of print pretty fast. So I created Sam Harris and tried again. Second time, I was lucky. The Sam Harris books didn’t start taking off until the third one was published, but my publisher stuck with me until then. Thankfully, readers are still buying the books.”
“Any plans to end John’s story?”
He shook his head. “Maybe one day, I’ll give him a happy ending. Not anytime soon, though.”
Brooke stroked her finger over his beautifully shaped lower lip. She saw a lot of Sam in John Kane—his self-imposed isolation, his struggle with expressing his emotions, his difficult childhood, his preference for solitude, his rich inner life.
“How much of John’s story is yours?” she asked.
His mouth twisted. “Remember that scene inCold Shotwhen Kane is telling the diner waitress about getting lost when he was a kid?”
