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She took. She plunged down, bringing every sweet inch of him into herself. Filling her body with him until he touched her deep inside, in a place she hadn’t even known about. She filled her eyes with the perfect sight of him, her ears with his groan of pleasure, she was surrounded by his masculine scent.
She was completely filled—in every way—for the first time in years.
“Oh yes,” she said.
He gave her one of those lazy, sultry, so-Mick smiles. Lifting his arms, he laced his hands together and put them behind his head. His biceps flexed. “Ride me, Caro.”
“I intend to.”
She rode him, slowly, deliberately, without any of the awkwardness their long separation should have inspired. They fell into perfect sync, as if they’d never been apart. She plunged and he thrust. Both of them moaned and both began to sweat. The air was thick with the scent of hot, steamy sex.
But when she started to move faster, Mick grabbed her hips, slowing her down. “When did you get so impatient?” he asked, leaning his head to capture one sensitive nipple in his mouth. That sent another shock of sensation down to her lower body, where she and Mick were joined, and she felt her first orgasm begin to build.
“I’m just…taking what you didn’t…give me Thursday night,” she replied brokenly. Then she couldn’t talk at all, she could only urge him with moans and sighs, until he reached down and plucked the sensitive skin at the apex of her thighs with his fingertips, bringing her to the edge and sending her screaming over it.
When she finally could breathe again, she opened her eyes and looked at him, seeing the look of pleasure he didn’t try to hide. He liked bringing her to climax. Over and over again. He always had. And that was way back when he wasn’t as controlled and patient as now.
This was shaping up to be one of the most amazing nights of her life. Even if she did now have rug burn on her knees.
“Bed,” he ordered, not waiting for her to agree.
He held her around the waist as he stood up and urged her to wrap her legs around his hips. They were still deeply joined and as he walked up the stairs, Caro dropped her head back, reveling in the movements of their bodies. “Oh, God, yes.”
They reached the top of the stairs and he stopped, backing her against the wall, as if unable to help himself. “You drive me to the brink of insanity,” he growled, plunging into her three or four mind-blowing times. The wall scraped her back, but it was a delicious roughness. She responded by digging her nails into his shoulders, demanding more, taking all he had.
Then he walked again, kissing her, deeply and powerfully, as they finally reached his room and fell onto the bed.
“Caroline, now that we’ve evened the score for Thursday night, we’re doing thingsmyway,” he said as he pulled out of her. “And my way means backing up to cover all the steps we just skipped.”
“I don’t remember skipping any steps,” she teased. “I think we covered that stairwell from bottom to top.”
He gave her a cocky, Mick-like grin. “My way means now I’m going to coveryoufrom bottom to top.”
Before she realized what he meant, he was moving down, lowering his mouth, down her body in a never-ending line of kisses, licks and tastes.
Her last coherent thought was that his way was pretty damn good, too.
MICK WOKE UP Monday morning, hearing the trash truck cruise down the street and the slam of the back door of his neighbor’s house. Mr. Tyler was letting Buddy, his chocolate lab, out into the backyard. In ten minutes, the door would open again. Buddy would gallop back across the lawn into the kitchen where the kids ate breakfast and prepared for another school day, wondering why the long, glorious summer days had come to an end so quickly.
Across the street, the Wilson boy would be delivering papers. Mrs. Larson would be sipping tea on her front porch, watching the world come to life on another cool, sunny morning. The day would stretch out, seeming long and endless as warm September days tended to do before they allowed themselves to be swept away by October winds and rain.
None of it surprised him.
Here in Derryville, it was as if there was all the time in the world to visit with a neighbor or have a beer with a buddy after work. Small towns stretched time somehow. They didn’t go by the regular clock. And while on some days the pace, the routine, thesamenessof it all threatened to send him screaming out of his mind, on mornings like this he remembered what he loved about it.
He turned toward Caroline in the bed in the semi-shadowed bedroom, listening to her breathe. Sharing the air. Reliving the night.
And wondering what the hell he’d done.
Because she didn’t loveanythingabout this life. Not its people. Not its pace. Not the attitude it engendered. Not the kind of man it had made him become.
Mick’s casual familiarity with anyone had been considered friendliness in a town like Derryville, where there was all the time in the world to cultivate relationships. But in Caroline’s world it had meant something else. A lack of commitment. A lack of seriousness. A laziness toward his emotional responsibilities. He was very much afraid Caroline viewed it as the inability to be serious and faithful and all the other things she’d thought she wanted because of the way her lousy old man had been.
She’d painted him with that brush before. And nothing had changed, in spite of last night. She was the same. He was the same. The geography still sucked.
So why the hell was he doing this again? Getting involved with Caroline was the last thing he’d planned on doing. Christ, it had taken him years to get over her the last time.
That had been back when he’d been a stupid kid. Now he was a grown man. So, what had he let himself in for this time? A lifetime of wondering if he should have asked her to stay—which he wouldn’t, knowing how much she loved her life? Or wondering if he should have gone with her, which—on a morning such as this—seemed as foreign to him as the idea of relocating to the moon?
