Page 87 of Better Hate than Never

“Right.” He spins around, scraping both hands through his hair. “Where the hell are they?”

The key’s sliding into the lock. I stare at it. So does Christopher.

Shockingly fast, he bends and hoists me over his shoulder firefighter-style, then runs down the hallway, sliding into the bathroom with me and slamming the door shut just as I hear the front door open, then close.

The lights are on over the sink—I must have forgotten to turn them off before we left for paintball—so I can see as he crouches and eases me off his shoulder. I’m imbalanced, jelly-legged, and I thump back against the door.

Christopher stares up at me as he slumps from his crouch onto his knees. His forehead lands heavily against my hip. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “That was close.”

Jamie’s and Bea’s voices linger briefly in the main room, then die away, headed in the opposite direction in the apartment toward the bedrooms.

Peering up at me, he asks quietly, “Why are they here?”

I listen for a second and catch the high-pitched voice Bea uses for her pet hedgehog. My eyes slide shut with regret. “Cornelius needed his dinner. She probably tried to call and text to remind me to feed him, but I missed it.”

Come to think of it, I actually have no idea where my phone is. Hopefully buried in my coat pocket.

“Dammit, Kate,” he groans.

“Well, I’m sorry I was a little busy with you getting me off!” I hiss-whisper. “You want me preoccupied with modern technology while you’re going down on me?”

A groan rumbles out of him. He slides his hands around my waist, down lower, and wraps them around my ass. “I want you to make those sounds you were making again.” He lifts my shirt andpresses a kiss to my stomach. “I want your heels digging into my shoulders.”

“I wasn’t making sounds,” I protest weakly. His mouth is on my hip bone, lower, over my underwear again. He kisses me there, slow and wet, and my legs buckle. Thankfully he catches me, pinning me by the hips against the door.

“You were. And I loved them.” He kisses me again, then nuzzles me, breathing deep. “Fuck, I don’t want to stop.”

“I don’t want you to, either.” My fingers slide into his hair.

He peers up at me, his hands rubbing my ass, kneading it. “Kate, can you be very quiet?”

I exhale shakily, moving my hips against his thumb as it starts to tease me over my underwear. My nipples feel hard and tight as they brush my shirt, the ache between my thighs so close to sweet satisfaction. “Probably not.”

“Try for me, honey,” he mutters, before kissing me between my thighs again, sucking and licking. Between his tongue and my own arousal, my underwear is soaked, plastered to my skin. “I need this so bad.”

What he’s doing feels good, but what I want is more. I want the hard, thick ridge of his erection grinding against me. I want his groans and pleas in my ear, those sounds that reassure me he’s as undone as I am.

I tug his shirt at the shoulder and yank him toward me until he stands.

“What is it?” he asks. “Too much? I can stop—”

“No.” I shake my head, wrapping my leg around his hip, showing him what I need. “Like this.”

He presses a slow kiss to my jaw, then my neck. I sigh as I feel him on the first perfect grind of his hips that makes him, stiff and heavy inside his jeans, rub over my clit. His mouth meets mine andI tighten my thigh’s grip around his waist so I can move faster, gripping his shoulder for leverage, panting against his mouth.

After only a few strokes, my breathing has turned hoarse and jagged. His has, too.

Christopher’s grip on me intensifies, moving me against him. “Hold on,” he mutters.

“Don’t tell me what to do—ah!”

Two fingers push aside my underwear, curling up inside me, stroking just where I need. A warm, sweet ache spreads through my veins.

“So good,” I whisper. “Oh shit, you’re good at this.”

“For you,” he whispers against my neck. “Just for you.”

Reaching down, I find him so hard inside his jeans, stretching the fabric, it has to hurt. Tentatively, I stroke along his length. Christopher curses into my neck.

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