Page 32 of Fighting Gravity

She moved her dancing eyes to his. “About what we were doing earlier?”

Tate tapped the rim of his glass. “Of course, I dream about fucking you in every way you’ll let me, Rosie. But sex is not enough. At least not when I’m dreaming.”

Her smile didn’t disappear. Maybe she’d started dreaming, too.

18

Rosie woke to a sun-filled room and a softly snoring Tate. She had not slept in the guest room.

She rolled to her side, smiling, as she stretched sinuously in the expansive bed covered in cream fabrics. She felt rested. Happy. A soft, warm ball had bloomed in her belly since she’d been at Tate’s villa. After one more session of sex so pleasurable she’d come apart in five mere thrusts, he had actually let her sleep. She thought she’d been pretty clear that this foray into his life, his bed, had been a one-night arrangement, but by letting her sleep Tate was acting like they had all the time in the world together.

They didn’t.

She felt more drawn to Tate than any man before him. On paper, though, he was not someone she’d date. A billionaire businessman who lived hours away? The money, his looks, the distance were all red flags. He’d almost slipped with the neighbor at his cabin. Maisie. The more she liked him, the more enticed she was by letting herself be his world, the more power he had to break her.

Rosie sat up to study the man sleeping beside her. The lines of his face looked angelic against the bed linens. So far, his thin lips had bestowed only pleasure. And those startling eyes held feelings tender and real. Yet she knew smooth seas could change without warning.

Tate’s amber-streaked aqua eyes flicked open, and smiles spread across their faces simultaneously. Butterflies took flight in her belly. She’d made some bold moves the night before. Rosie didn’t feel so brazen in the bright light of day.

“Morning,” she murmured. She had to fight the urge to run her fingers through the stubble on his Disney prince jaw.

“How’d you sleep?” His gravelly morning voice went straight to her lady parts.

“So well. Thank you.”

He nodded. One muscled arm went behind his head while his free hand stroked her hair. He let the strands flow through his fingers in a loving gesture that swelled that new soft, warm spot in her belly. Rosie didn’t hold back from touching the stubble on his chin then. She even chanced a quick kiss on his mouth.

She should have known better.

Tate’s strong arms pulled her on top of him as his head came up to meet and deepen her chaste kiss. She allowed the kiss for a moment before pushing herself up. She stared down at him, hands on his solid, bronze chest for balance. She could feel his erection growing as she straddled his thighs. Her body responded with slick heat. Her nipples tightened painfully as his eyes brushed over them.

Tate squeezed her bum and Rosie whimpered.

“We said one night,” she reminded him.

A smirk played on his lips. He was so sexy when disheveled. “Yousaid one night. I would never set myself up for failure like that.”

Rosie didn’t move. Logically, she knew that every kiss, every orgasm, every easy conversation put her in more danger of being burned. But she was already turning to ash. Willingly.

“If this needs to be just sex for you, that’s fine.”

Rosie’s tense muscles released. Tate justgother. She must have willpower of iron. How else was she resisting this beautiful, kind man? “And is this just sex for you?”

He shook his head. “Whole world, remember? That’s not going to change.”

As if she could forget the gravity ofwhole world. It became harder to breathe.

“Fuck me,” he whispered. Challenged. His fingers spread across the tops of her thighs toward her hips. “Fuck me and tell me you don’t feel what I feel.”

Her breath left her then. What melted iron? Tate Geier, that’s what.

Rosie ran her hands over the ridges of his torso, marveling at his beauty. Tate wasn’t rugged, even with the sexy stubble and square jaw and lean muscles. He was beautiful while still being masculine.

He moved a hand to palm her breast. He tweaked her nipple, eliciting a gasp and more slickness between her thighs. Rosie gripped his silky, rigid cock in retribution. He growled, the amber in his eyes catching fire. He shoved on a condom, grabbed her hips, and held her above the appendage she had just yielded like a weapon. Rosie cried out as he thrust up into her wet heat.

“Fuck me like you want to, Rosie.”

Tate pulled her nipple into his mouth and she had no choice. Her body moved over his supine form in a rhythm born deep within her. There was no thinking with Tate. There was just feeling. Her blood hummed with pleasure that spread from her core, from the way they moved together. She felt herself tightening around him. She was already close. His gentle tongue and unrelenting hips undid her easily.

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