Page 32 of Sure Shot
I up the ante and run a shameless hand up her bare leg. And I’m a little rough when I invade her panties and give her ass a dirty squeeze.
Bess makes a shocked sound against my tongue, but then her arms snake around my neck and she pulls me in closer. Nine years might as well be nine minutes. My body remembers how it is between us. I’m the one who’s supposed to push her boundaries. And she’s the one who takes it all and asks for more.
I sink into another slow, twisting kiss, rocking my erection against the cradle of her hips. There’s no mistaking my intentions. There’s no point in hiding how I feel about her.
Maybe I wasn’t looking for this. I thought I was too raw and angry to be anyone’s good time. But here’s Bess with her big blue eyes and her questing hands sliding under my shirt, asking for more skin. More heat.
For the first time in days, I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. The ugly noise of my life quiets as I sit back and yank my shirt over my head. “Need you, Bess,” I rasp.
And then I spend the next hour showing her just how much.
* * *
When I begin to wake the next morning, I find that I’m buck-ass naked and wrapped around her. She feels perfect against my bare skin. I push my nose into her wavy hair and doze a little longer.
It doesn’t take, because images of last night begin to play through my sleepy mind. Carrying Bess into the bedroom and then yanking down her skirt. Laying her out on the quilt and kissing and licking and teasing until she was begging for me. And then turning her around and bending her over the bed…
Ungh. It’s been a long time since I woke up feeling happy and aroused.
“Tank,” Bess whispers.
“Mmm?”
“Are you awake?”
“You can’t tell?” I push my cock against her ass in a blatant display of just how awake I am.
“What time is it?”
“Who cares?”
She does, apparently, because she rolls, pushing me onto my back. I open my eyes. A puffy white cloud is the first thing I see. And when I sit up, the Manhattan Bridge appears against the blue sky. “Nice view. Kind of makes up for the tiny rooms.”
She runs a hand down my abs. “I do like the view. And I don’t need a big apartment.”
“Fair enough. But I want lots of things that I don’t really need.”
“Like me, for instance?”
“Oh, please.” I lie down again and kiss her bare shoulder. “Who says we didn’t need that? Both of us.” I roll over and trap her under my naked body. “I might need it again right now.”
Bess looks up at me with humor in her eyes. She reaches toward the bedside table and picks up her phone to check the time. “Says the man who has practice in thirty-five minutes.”
“Aw hell.” That’s unfortunate. The rink is right up the block, but my gym bag is at the Marriott. She’s right, I don’t have time. I run the pad of my thumb over her nipple, anyway. God, she’s sexy.
This summer I’d thought my dick was broken. I’d been single again after many years of marriage, but I hadn’t even glanced at a woman. I’d thought my marriage had permanently killed my libido.
But, nope. Bess makes me feel like a hormonal teenager. I’ll probably spend the quiet moments of my day remembering how I laid her out and had my filthy way with her.
Groaning, I lean down to flick my tongue over her nipple.
“Tank.” Bess puts her palm on my face and pushes me off her boob, the same way you’d discourage a dog who put his face somewhere he wasn’t invited. “Get up, stud. The new guy can’t be late.”
“I know,” I grumble. Thirty-year-old Bess isn’t intimidated by me at all, not like she’d been when she was twenty-one. I’m so screwed, because her confidence just makes me want her even more. When she’d flipped me off at the restaurant last night, I’d wanted to kiss her senseless.
It made me crazy to see her dining with another guy. And I’ve never felt more relief than when she left the restaurant alone. In my haste to follow her out of there, I’d left a hundred dollar tip because it was faster than calculating a reasonable number.
Bess makes me hungry again. Not for steak and ice cream, but for life. I’d spent the summer throwing a tennis ball for my teammate’s labradoodles and feeling sorry for myself. But I don’t feel that way any longer. “When can I see you again?”
