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He hovered over her. “Lena. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“Food has not gone well with me lately,” she whispered.
His heart jogged. She’d confided in him. It was a start.
Sliding into the seat adjacent to her, he kept his voice low. “Just try the food. Please.”
She lifted her head from her hands and met his gaze. In the warm brown depths of hers, he saw how much it cost her to admit any weakness.
Pulling the bag toward her, she gingerly cracked it open and leaned in to give it a sniff.
She straightened. “Oh.”
He studied her. “You sound surprised.”
“I am. No need to puke. Nice,” she said as if to herself.
As she drew the foam box out of the bag and took off the lid, she contemplated the chicken, pasta and vegetables in a light sauce. With more satisfaction than he should feel at simply seeing his woman eat, he watched her fork up some pasta and take a bite.
When she moaned around the food, his cock swelled against his fly. Damn, he wanted to hear her make that noise in his bed while arching to meet his thrusts.
She flicked her eyes to him. “How did you know what food to get me?”
He couldn’t help his crooked grin. “I have my ways.”
Her lips popped open. Dropping her plastic fork to the tray, she darted a glance at the door then back to him.
Oh no. Was she going to be sick?
“Lena—”
She leaned across the table, grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him.
At the first taste of her, a growl rumbled through his chest. He pushed his mouth against hers, applying a demanding pressure that made her moan out again.
He reached for her, but she was already circling the table to straddle him. The heat between her legs scorched over the bulge in his jeans. Grinding his teeth against the urge to rip off her clothes, set her on the table and feast on her sweet pussy, he planted a hand on her ass and pressed into her.
“Slade!” She raked her fingers through his hair, down his nape and across his shoulders. The light sting drove his libido up a notch. The table was looking pretty damn tempting right now.
She rocked against him, reminding him in a lightning strike how she’d rubbed against his cock to get herself off the previous night. How much he wanted to give her that again. And again. And again.
He delved his tongue into her mouth, claiming her cries for his own. She crushed her breasts to his chest and wantonly wiggled.
“Fuck, lover,” he gritted out. “Your room. Now.”
She leaped off him, twisted the front of his shirt and yanked him out of his seat with all the strength she normally had but fueled by an insatiable desire that seemed to be taking over his beautiful wife.
She didn’t have to drag him out the door to her room—he would have followed her to the ends of the earth. But he let her tow him through a corridor and down the flight of stairs.
When she shoved a palm into a door, slamming it open for them, a pink flush rode her high cheekbones.
“Are you sure?” he rasped, chest heaving. He couldn’t believe he was asking her to slow down and think things through.
“Shut up, Slade.” She fisted his shirt and brought him back to her lips.
Oh hell, he wasn’t going slow. Now that he had a taste of her, he wasn’t stopping until she screamed his name loud enough for the entire team to hear.
He only broke their kiss long enough to whip his shirt over his head. Then he slammed his lips across hers again, angling to swipe his tongue deeper on every pass while he backed her up against the nearest wall.
