Page 85 of Summer Reading

“I missed you,” he said. His voice was a fierce, low growl and I felt it echo in my bones.

“I missed you, too,” I said.

He moved across the living room, and when he sank onto the couch, my legs fell to each side so that I was straddling him, which was thrilling. I leaned back and dropped the flowers into my water glass, which I’d left on the coffee table. It would have to do for now.

When I turned back to him, he was making a face as if he was in pain. I sat up on my knees, lifting my weight off him.

“Sorry, am I crushing you?” I asked.

“Uh... no,” he said. He reached behind himself and pulled something out of his back pocket.

“Ha!” I laughed. “You brought our book.”

“I figured if you were really sore at me, I’d start reading and get you to forgive me by withholding the good stuff,” he said.

“Ah!” I gasped. “That’s devious.”

“A man does what he has to do,” he said. He opened the book. “In fact, where were we?”

I went to slide off him, eager to listen.

“No, don’t move,” he said. He glanced at me from beneath his thick dark lashes. So hot. “I like you right where you are.”

I felt a slow-boiling heat roil up inside of me. He splayed one hand across my abdomen, holding me in place, and then he began to read.

It was the love scene, the big moment where our hero and heroine finally give in to the lust that has been buzzing between them for most of the book. I would have thought I’d be mortified to listen to a guy read about a man going down on a woman, licking her, sucking her tits, sliding his cock into her. But nope. It was insanely hot.

Possibly, it was because I was distracted by his thumb, which he slid beneath the waistband of my shorts, seeking the aching center between my legs. He stroked in relentless circles, making my breath catchand my hips tilt as I pressed against the friction, wanting more. He did not give me more, however.

Instead, Ben kept reading in his dead-sexy voice. He drew out every word, savoring the description of the woman’s shattering orgasm as the male object of her desire thrust into her repeatedly. His voice was making my brain buzz, and my entire body was beginning to throb. I was overheated and knew I was going to require a bucket of ice and fan just to keep from combusting on the spot if he kept it up. He kept it up.

He flicked opened the buttons on my shorts, giving himself full access while he continued to read. The heroine was staking her claim this time. As she made love to her man, Ben deviously slid one finger into me while still rubbing that deliciously sensitive pressure point with his thumb. I was practically incoherent with blind lust, and then he slid a second finger inside me and I about blacked out. His voice was low and gritty, and he leaned forward to whisper the words of the story in my ear.

My orgasm came up so hard and fast, I grabbed the book out of his hands and tossed it aside while I arched against his wicked fingers and the magic they were unraveling inside of me. His eyes glinted with satisfaction, which was ridiculous because I hadn’t done anything for him at all.

When the spasms finally stopped, and I couldbreathe like a normal person and not someone who had just run a 10K, I collapsed against him. He held me close, his hands running up and down my back, trying to soothe me, but it didn’t work. I wanted more.

“How long are you here for?” I asked as I kissed his chin and behind his ear, and ran my lips down the side of his neck.

“The rest of my lunch hour,” he said on a hiss. He glanced at his watch. “About fifteen minutes.”

“Perfect,” I said. “That’s when my marinade will be ready.”

“Is that a euphemism?” he asked.

I laughed. “It can be our code word for sex. I’ll just look at you and say, ‘You want some marinade?’ ”

“So hot.” He laughed. Then his face grew serious. “Actually, it smells amazing.”

“I’m sorry, are you getting distracted from sex with me by food?” I asked.

His gaze when he looked at me was tender. “Samantha, I am not going to rush the first time we’re together by trying to beat the timer on your oven.”

“Oh.” My disappointment made it sound like a three-syllable word.

He kissed me. It was slow and deep and thorough, and I was certain I’d convinced him to change his mind, when he broke the kiss. His chest was heaving a little bit and I flattered myself that at least I was making it difficult for him. He leaned back and refastened my shorts.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow night,” he said. He lifted me up and set me on my feet. My head was still fuzzy, when he added, “I was thinking about our conversation in the parking lot the other day.”

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