She nodded her head on the pillow.
Excellent. He did too.
He lifted his lips to her temple, kissed her there, moved them to her ear and said softly, “You got it.”
Then, without another look at her in her bed, sleepy, sexy and sated, something he knew he couldn’t walk away from, he walked away from her, through her house and out the sliding glass door, putting Lanie Heron out of his mind.
Until tonight.
Chapter One
Cheese Whiz
I was on a hand and my knees. My other arm was straight out, hand flat against my cream linen padded headboard, Hop behind me, f**king me hard.
I was close. This was good, the best.
The best I ever had.
Then he did what I knew he’d do—four nights, no matter how many times we did it, he always ended it the same way.
He pulled out and my head jerked around, my eyes went to him and I pleaded, “Hop. Please don’t. I’m close.”
He dropped to a hip at my side and pulled me over him. Head to my pillows and God, God, he looked hot, all that messy hair, that biker ’tache, his badass gorgeousness framed by my pale pink pillowcase.
“Ride me, lady,” he muttered and I didn’t make him ask twice.
I lifted up to straddle him, wrapped my hand around his cock, guided the tip inside and slid down until he filled me.
My head dropped back. I loved this, I missed it. He’d been pounding inside me not ten seconds before but having him back, it felt like I hadn’t had him in years.
Hop shifted then I felt his fingers slide into my hair so his hand could cup the back of my head. He tilted it down. I opened my eyes to see he’d knifed up so I was staring into his, close.
His eyes were intense. Always when we were like this, they were intense in a way I never felt before. Like he could read my thoughts. See into my head. Touch my soul through a gaze.
“Move, Lanie,” he murmured, and again, I didn’t make him ask twice.
My gaze held captive in his, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and moved. His arm snaked around my waist, holding me close so my body slid against his as I rode him, his hand cupped to my head pulling me down so my lips grazed his. Through this, his eyes held mine, not letting go.
My soft breaths whispered against his lips as it built again, just as his deep groans sounded against mine.
I was getting close. This was good, the best. The best.
The best I ever had.
His arm around my waist moved so his hand could glide over my belly and down. Suddenly, his thumb hit the spot and God, God, perfect aim.
Elliott couldn’t do that. Because I was me and more than a little crazy, I’d done the math and Elliott had hit the spot on his first try one out of every four times.
Hop never missed.
I closed my eyes as it shot through me, my head automatically arching back only to be caught in Hop’s grip, forced forward, my lips to his, my moans sounding in his mouth. I kept moving, faster, faster even as it shook me.
The best I ever had.
I finished and kept moving, my rhythm not breaking, needing to give to Hop what I’d just had. Needing to get it back. Needing it like a drug.
Hazy from my orgasm, I watched his face get dark, hungry. He was close.
Then he shoved my face into his neck as he shoved his into mine, his arm clamped around me, holding me down on his c**k as he groaned deep, the sound vibrating against my skin.
Absolutely, bar none, the best I ever had.
Every time.
Damn.
After he came down, he loosened his arm around my waist but still held me close as his mouth worked my neck, his mustache tickling, making me shiver.
I returned the favor, gliding my lips along his neck, my tongue snaking out so I could touch the tip to his earlobe. When I did, his arm around me grew tighter.
I ran the tip of my tongue down his neck to his collarbone.
His arm again grew tighter.
He tasted good. He smelled good. Both man. All man. I couldn’t describe it. He didn’t wear cologne but his scent was spicy. Intoxicating.
It was… him.
His head went back, his hand in my hair relaxed and my head came up.
His eyes caught mine.
God, badass biker beauty.
Every inch.
“Climb off me, beautiful,” he murmured and I didn’t want to but I nodded, maneuvered up, sliding him out of me, and I moved off him, dropping to my side next to him.
That was when he did something that I was trying not to process. Something sweet. Something un-biker (or what I expected a biker to do). Something thoughtful.
Something gorgeous.
He pulled the sheet around my nudity and yanked a pillow down to shove it under me right before he bent deep and kissed the hair at the side of my head.
Damn.
I struggled. It was hard not to let his sweet actions penetrate and every night, every time he did something like that, it got harder.
Do… not… process, Lanie!
Curled around the pillow, my leg tangling in the sheets and comforter, straddling them, I managed to shove how I felt out of my head. Instead I watched him walk to the bathroom thinking that I liked how tall he was. Elliott hadn’t been taller than me. I’d towered over him in heels. I told myself I didn’t mind this and when he was alive and sweet and always being Elliott, I didn’t.
But having a tall man was fabulous.
And Hop’s sculpted ass made it all the more fabulous.
He hit the bathroom, the light went on and he disappeared.
I closed my eyes.
It was Saturday night. We’d started this at the hog roast on Wednesday.
Only bikers would have a blowout hog roast on a Wednesday night but then again, most of them had jobs where it didn’t matter that they showed up late and/or hungover and their hangers-on had jobs in bars or strip clubs; their shifts didn’t start until late so they had time to recuperate.
As for me, I came back to Denver and was greeted warmly (and in some cases with relief) by a number of old clients, so I made the mammoth decision to be my own boss. That was, the boss of an advertising agency, which was not conducive to ha**ng s*x all night long and dragging into work the next morning. And Hop and I had been going at each other all night long, from dark to dawn, every night for four nights. I was exhausted.
Still, I wanted him to come back so I could have more. I was just going to have to inform him that he needed to do all the work.
He would not quibble. Unlike Elliott, Hop had staying power. He actually liked taking over, dominating, doing the hard work. Sure, I rode him on occasion but he didn’t lie back and enjoy it. He participated fully, like just now.
Elliott could start giving it to me but then he’d stop, panting and grunting, and ask me to take over and I always did. I didn’t mind. I liked the top.