Something Reckless
Page 45
“You’re still cold.”
I nod.
“How about we check out the hot tub while that fire warms up?”
“Hot tub?”
He grins and nods to the French doors. “Right out there.”
Slowly, he removes my bra and peels my panties from my hips. Then he climbs out of bed, and I watch him as he undresses. My mouth waters at the sight of all that hard muscle and bare skin. I want to touch him. Taste him.
He offers me his hand. “Come with me?”
* * *
Sam
Liz waits for me in the hot tub as I gather our wine glasses and a few candles to put around the edge of the spa that sits into the covered deck. There are lights on the deck, but I don’t want to turn them on and sacrifice our privacy. Tonight it’s just us, Liz and me, and the rest of the world is the silent darkness beyond. It’ll be waiting for us in the morning, and until then, we can ignore it.
“This is romantic,” Liz says as I climb into the gurgling spa. Candlelight flickers across her features, and the steam that rises from the spa has made the tendrils of hair around her face curl. If it’s possible, she looks even more beautiful now than she did at the wedding.
I hand her a glass of wine and watch as she takes a long drink and moans softly. I settle into a spot across from her, but I can’t take my eyes off her—her flushed cheeks, the rise and fall of her breasts just above the water. I didn’t believe I’d ever get another night with Liz. But here we are.
She sets her wine glass on the edge and swims across to me. “You’re too far away.”
“Is that so?”
She climbs onto my lap, straddling me and wrapping her legs behind my back. “That’s better.”
I groan as she shifts her hips and settles against the hard length of my cock. “Better and worse,” I breathe. Because it makes me want more. I could lift her by the hips and bring her down on me, could fuck her right here with the water bubbling around us and no protective barrier between me and all that hot, tight flesh.
I kiss her softly, nibbling at her lips and sliding my hands into her hair. More pins fly loose and her hair tumbles into my hands. My chest fills with a tenderness I can’t handle, and I deepen the kiss, knot my hand into her hair and pull until she cries out.
“God, please,” she murmurs as I latch on to her neck.
That tenderness inside me won’t scatter. Don’t let me use you, Liz. But this moment—in the steam of the spa, shrouded in night—this isn’t about the campaign or my appearance to the press. This is just about me, and Liz. It’s just about this undeniable chemistry we’ve always had. It’s about pleasure and need and nothing else.
I cup her breasts in my hands and dip my head to give attention to each nipple, laving one, then the other, before I return to the first and suck it between my teeth. Her hands are in my hair and she presses my face to her breast, silently begging for more.
She rocks her hips against me, and even though it’s torture, even though she’s pushing me to skate on the edge of my control, I pull her closer. Wrapping my hands around her hips, I squeeze her ass and continue to torture her nipples—sucking, licking, biting.
Her moans turn to desperate, louder cries, and the rocking of her hips turns to grinding as she climbs toward her orgasm.
“Ride me, baby.” Pain laces my words. I’m fighting the need to slide inside her. “I want to hear you come.” I bring my hand to her nipple and pinch, and she spasms, at once arching toward my touch and away. She breaks, falling apart in my hands, her scream echoing off the snow-covered trees.
I kiss her shoulder, her neck, and her temple. She catches her breath against my chest, circling her hips every few seconds as she rides the receding tide of her orgasm back down. Then, her feet still locked behind my back, I wrap my arms around her, lift her out of the water, and carry her inside.
I lay her down in front of the fire, watching the light of the flame flicker in her eyes and make her skin glow. She parts her legs and watches me slide on a condom, and reaches for me as I lower myself to the floor. I take her hands above her head and hold them there as I slowly slide into her.
She moans and then cries out at the intrusion, but when I try to withdraw, she whispers, “Please,” and I’m lost.
Chapter Twelve
Sam
Elizabeth Thompson is my downfall. My temptation. My shouldn’t-want-it-but-can’t-stay-away.
I could watch her sleep for hours, memorizing the shape of her face, the flat of her stomach, the curve of her hipbone. I could lose track of time inhaling her scent. She’s beautiful, and when she sleeps, all that beauty is raw and unguarded.
Dappled morning light is coming through the leafless trees outside and into the windows. The heater hums as it cycles on. I should get out of bed and start a fire so it’s more comfortable in here when she wakes up, but I don’t want to leave her side.
Once upon a time, there was a guy who kept his heart locked away in a box. One night, when he was in a darker place than he’d ever been in his life, she showed him light. She made him laugh. She turned him on. She looked so fucking beautiful when she came that it was hard for the guy to imagine his heart needed protecting, that it could be pulverized.
That first night with Liz was a wave of sunshine in the middle of a dark and ugly time. It changed something about me, made me consider things I’d seen as fairytales before.
I’ve never been a romantic. That doesn’t mean I’m an asshole, but I’ve never been the kind of guy who believes in happily-ever-after. My parents are making it work, but at what cost? And are they really happy, or is the secret to a happy marriage really just lying to yourself every morning, telling yourself there’s nowhere you’d rather be?
I nod.
“How about we check out the hot tub while that fire warms up?”
“Hot tub?”
He grins and nods to the French doors. “Right out there.”
Slowly, he removes my bra and peels my panties from my hips. Then he climbs out of bed, and I watch him as he undresses. My mouth waters at the sight of all that hard muscle and bare skin. I want to touch him. Taste him.
He offers me his hand. “Come with me?”
* * *
Sam
Liz waits for me in the hot tub as I gather our wine glasses and a few candles to put around the edge of the spa that sits into the covered deck. There are lights on the deck, but I don’t want to turn them on and sacrifice our privacy. Tonight it’s just us, Liz and me, and the rest of the world is the silent darkness beyond. It’ll be waiting for us in the morning, and until then, we can ignore it.
“This is romantic,” Liz says as I climb into the gurgling spa. Candlelight flickers across her features, and the steam that rises from the spa has made the tendrils of hair around her face curl. If it’s possible, she looks even more beautiful now than she did at the wedding.
I hand her a glass of wine and watch as she takes a long drink and moans softly. I settle into a spot across from her, but I can’t take my eyes off her—her flushed cheeks, the rise and fall of her breasts just above the water. I didn’t believe I’d ever get another night with Liz. But here we are.
She sets her wine glass on the edge and swims across to me. “You’re too far away.”
“Is that so?”
She climbs onto my lap, straddling me and wrapping her legs behind my back. “That’s better.”
I groan as she shifts her hips and settles against the hard length of my cock. “Better and worse,” I breathe. Because it makes me want more. I could lift her by the hips and bring her down on me, could fuck her right here with the water bubbling around us and no protective barrier between me and all that hot, tight flesh.
I kiss her softly, nibbling at her lips and sliding my hands into her hair. More pins fly loose and her hair tumbles into my hands. My chest fills with a tenderness I can’t handle, and I deepen the kiss, knot my hand into her hair and pull until she cries out.
“God, please,” she murmurs as I latch on to her neck.
That tenderness inside me won’t scatter. Don’t let me use you, Liz. But this moment—in the steam of the spa, shrouded in night—this isn’t about the campaign or my appearance to the press. This is just about me, and Liz. It’s just about this undeniable chemistry we’ve always had. It’s about pleasure and need and nothing else.
I cup her breasts in my hands and dip my head to give attention to each nipple, laving one, then the other, before I return to the first and suck it between my teeth. Her hands are in my hair and she presses my face to her breast, silently begging for more.
She rocks her hips against me, and even though it’s torture, even though she’s pushing me to skate on the edge of my control, I pull her closer. Wrapping my hands around her hips, I squeeze her ass and continue to torture her nipples—sucking, licking, biting.
Her moans turn to desperate, louder cries, and the rocking of her hips turns to grinding as she climbs toward her orgasm.
“Ride me, baby.” Pain laces my words. I’m fighting the need to slide inside her. “I want to hear you come.” I bring my hand to her nipple and pinch, and she spasms, at once arching toward my touch and away. She breaks, falling apart in my hands, her scream echoing off the snow-covered trees.
I kiss her shoulder, her neck, and her temple. She catches her breath against my chest, circling her hips every few seconds as she rides the receding tide of her orgasm back down. Then, her feet still locked behind my back, I wrap my arms around her, lift her out of the water, and carry her inside.
I lay her down in front of the fire, watching the light of the flame flicker in her eyes and make her skin glow. She parts her legs and watches me slide on a condom, and reaches for me as I lower myself to the floor. I take her hands above her head and hold them there as I slowly slide into her.
She moans and then cries out at the intrusion, but when I try to withdraw, she whispers, “Please,” and I’m lost.
Chapter Twelve
Sam
Elizabeth Thompson is my downfall. My temptation. My shouldn’t-want-it-but-can’t-stay-away.
I could watch her sleep for hours, memorizing the shape of her face, the flat of her stomach, the curve of her hipbone. I could lose track of time inhaling her scent. She’s beautiful, and when she sleeps, all that beauty is raw and unguarded.
Dappled morning light is coming through the leafless trees outside and into the windows. The heater hums as it cycles on. I should get out of bed and start a fire so it’s more comfortable in here when she wakes up, but I don’t want to leave her side.
Once upon a time, there was a guy who kept his heart locked away in a box. One night, when he was in a darker place than he’d ever been in his life, she showed him light. She made him laugh. She turned him on. She looked so fucking beautiful when she came that it was hard for the guy to imagine his heart needed protecting, that it could be pulverized.
That first night with Liz was a wave of sunshine in the middle of a dark and ugly time. It changed something about me, made me consider things I’d seen as fairytales before.
I’ve never been a romantic. That doesn’t mean I’m an asshole, but I’ve never been the kind of guy who believes in happily-ever-after. My parents are making it work, but at what cost? And are they really happy, or is the secret to a happy marriage really just lying to yourself every morning, telling yourself there’s nowhere you’d rather be?
