Her Perfect Getaway (6 page)

He laughed softly, his breath
gusting over her skin. “Bend back against my hand.”

She did, and he took her hand,
arching her backwards so her hair almost brushed the floor. With a
tug, he drew her upright, closer, her breasts brushing his chest.
He grinned, spinning with her, and repeated the move. This time
when he straightened her, he leaned closer, his cheek against hers,
his breath against her ear. She closed her eyes as her nipples
hardened. She wanted to press close, to ease the ache, to feel if
he was as aroused as she was.

“More,” she said against his
ear.

He chuckled again and turned with
her, his fingertips moving lightly up and down her naked spine,
until, God, she didn’t care that they were in the middle of the
dance floor. She wanted to make love. Now.

Instead he spun her away from him,
then to him, her back against his chest, one arm wrapped around her
waist, the other riding her hip, guiding her movements. He swayed
with her, bending his knees into the backs of hers, then lifting
her again, twirling her away and back so they were face to face
again. His hand was on her hip again as he guided her backwards.
She managed not to stumble as he turned her, his eyes holding hers,
her fingers tight around his neck, their breath mingling, their
lips almost, almost touching.

The song ended and another began.
He didn’t release her, didn’t make a move to leave the dance floor.
He had to be as hot as she was, but he kept her on the floor,
dancing with her to this song, and the next.

“Keep this up and you won’t have
the energy to take me to bed,” she murmured, her lips brushing his
ears.

“Thought we were having fun. You
finally started dancing.”

“I’ve been dancing.”

“You’d been doing what I’d guided
you to do. Now, you’re dancing.” He swiveled his hips with hers,
his nostrils flared.

“You don’t want me all hot and
sweaty,” she said.

“In fact I do.” He turned her,
grinning.

She slid her hands down his chest.
“Then let’s go.”

He glanced toward the table where
her friends were. “Something I need to take care of
first.”

He took her hand and led her up the
stairs—God, her feet were killing her—and stopped at the table. He
pulled out his wallet and dropped a fifty dollar bill on the table.
“You ladies okay with getting a cab back to the hotel?”

“We’re great,” Joslyn
said.

“See you tomorrow, then.” Taking
Elizabeth’s hand again, he tucked it against the small of her back
and led her out of the club.

Chapter Four

Elizabeth’s ears were still ringing
when they pulled up in front of Sullivan’s house. He squeezed her
hand on her lap, then popped open his door and hopped out. She
reached for the small bag she’d stashed under the seat, with a
change of clothes and a toothbrush—he’d never believe her if she
said she’d never done this before—and joined him on the
sidewalk.

He held her hand until they reached
the door. He unlocked it and swung it open for her to precede
him.

“I’d like to freshen up,” she
said. This wasn’t going the way she’d expected at all. She’d
expected hot sex against the door, maybe, or stripping him on the
way to the bedroom.

He motioned to the bathroom down
the hall.

The house was simple, but neat.
Elizabeth could tell he didn’t spend a lot of time here. The
furniture seemed to be second-hand and there wasn’t much personal
about the house, except for one shelf. She couldn’t resist her
curiosity and stopped to look at the surfing trophies.

“Yours?”

“Some.” He walked up behind her.
“Some my mom’s.”

She turned to him with a smile. “So
I’m being taught by a champion?”

“You bet.” He curved his hand
around the back of her head and kissed her, his mouth hot and
seductive and tasting of beer. “Oh, you mean surfing,” he murmured
when he lifted his head.

She laughed, relaxing for the first
time this evening. She pushed against his chest and turned toward
the bathroom.

Once she felt presentable, she went
looking for him. She didn’t know why she half-way expected him to
be waiting in the hall for her.

He was in the tiny kitchen,
scooping coffee into the coffee maker. She watched for a minute,
fascinated by the domestic display. Why did he have to be sexy and
adorable? It was that much harder to keep her heart separate. He
grinned as he poured the water in the container.

“Setting it for the morning, but I
didn’t ask. Are you a coffee drinker?”

“I am.” She leaned against the
refrigerator. “So you’re not going to dump me back at the hotel
when you’re done with me?”

He flipped the lid of the coffee
maker closed and crossed to her, slipping his hand around her waist
and drawing her against him. “I have no intention of being done
with you.”

She stretched toward his kiss,
loving the way his lips molded to hers, the way his stubble scraped
her skin, the way his tongue teased hers, filling her with his
taste. His breathing deepened and he closed his hands around her
waist, pressing her to him. His arousal was unmistakeable and she
rolled her belly against it. He growled, tightened his arms around
her, lifted her against his chest until her feet were off the
floor.

“Why don’t I show you my
room?”

“I would like that.”

He didn’t set her down, but carried
her, legs dangling, out of the kitchen. She lifted her legs to wrap
them around his hips, her skirt riding up, her sex pressed against
his, rubbing with every step, feeling him grow how and hard. She
tightened her knees on his hips, holding herself away, not wanting
to come like this, wanting him inside her, naked on top of
her.

In a matter of moments, she was on
the neatly-made bed, and he was over her, between her legs. He
reached beneath her and unhooked the halter top at the back of her
neck. Rising, he pushed the fabric aside and his breath caught in
his throat. God, that was a sexy sound. She hooked her heel around
the back of his thigh, urging him forward, wanting his weight
against her pussy, but he wouldn’t be rushed. Instead, he cupped
his hand beneath her breast and caressed her nipple with his thumb,
then lowered his mouth. His breath heated her skin, tightening her
nipple, before he closed his lips over it.

She whimpered, angling her head to
watch him. He lifted his gaze to hers and took her deeper, his hand
sliding beneath her skirt, his thumb brushing the elastic leg of
her panties, sending a flood of wetness to her core. She closed her
eyes and tilted her head back. He turned to her other breast, his
stubble scraping the skin between, as his callused fingers teased
the flesh of her hip beneath her panties. She rolled her hips
toward his belly, but he pinned her to the mattress as he suckled
her.

“Sullivan!”

He lifted his head.
“Max.”

“Max. Take your clothes
off.”

He smiled against her breast. “I
will.” He nipped the underside of her breast with his teeth, the
shifted to drag her panties down her legs. He tossed them to the
side, then levered over her, capturing her mouth as she wrapped her
legs around his ass, pulling him closer.

Slipping her hands between them as
his tongue tangled with hers, she worked the buttons of his shirt
loose and slid her hands inside, her palms gliding over the
crispness of his chest hair, the warmth of his body. She whispered
his name again as he turned his mouth to tease the skin below her
ear. She arched so her nipples pressed against his chest, her hips
cradled his, inviting, hell, almost begging. Why was he insisting
on waiting? She had to admit, his mouth on her throat was
delicious, the way it skated along her collarbone before he lifted
his head to kiss her again.

He was a really good kisser, the
right amount of pressure, the way he moved his tongue in her mouth.
And maybe if her panties weren’t on the floor by the bed, if her
breasts weren’t naked against his chest, she’d have more
patience.

“Max. Let me take off my
dress.”

He lifted his head to look down at
where it bunched between them, then lifted himself off her to let
her shimmy it down her legs. Then she was naked. Apparently that
was motivation enough because he rolled off her, unlaced his boots,
stripped off his socks, then hopped to his feet to unzip his cargo
pants. She caught a glimpse of boxer briefs before he shoved both
garments down his legs.

She couldn’t help herself. She rose
to her knees on the edge of the bed and pressed against him, her
hand between them, her fingers wrapping around his cock, long and
stiff and curved toward his belly. This time he moaned softly
against her mouth as she stroked him. She eased her lips down his
throat, savoring the saltiness of his skin, remembering how she’d
wanted to do the same when they were on the dance floor. He closed
his hand around her wrist, breaking her grasp on him. Still holding
her wrist, he eased her onto her back and stretched out beside her.
She took initiative then, kissing his chest, his stomach. He made a
half-hearted protest when she captured his erection again and
brought it to her lips.

When she opened her mouth over him,
he made a strangled sound and rolled onto his back to allow her
greater access. She tongued the underside of him, just below the
rim, savoring the musky taste. His fingers played in her hair as
she explored the length of him, the ridges of veins thrumming
beneath her tongue. She took him deep, opening her throat to
accommodate him, and he lifted his hips, thrusting into her mouth
once before pushing at her shoulders. Only when she heard the
crinkle of the condom wrapper did she release him and watched as he
covered himself.

Still between his legs, she rose
over him, intent on bringing him inside her, needing him to fill
her. But he had other plans, tumbling her onto her back, parting
her legs, sliding his fingers between them, over her, in her,
making a soft sound of approval that shot through her, tightening
her nipples, when he found her wet and hot.

Yet he didn’t come into her, but
stroked her tender flesh, teasing her clit, slipping into her
channel, until she was writhing beneath him on the bed, ready to
beg. Only then did he ease between her thighs and push slowly
inside her.

Elizabeth was swamped by sensation,
his body over her, his scent surrounding her, his cock filling her,
stretching her.

“Don’t move,” she whispered. “Not
yet.” She shifted a bit, bringing him flush against her body, and
felt his arms tremble as he held himself still. He was so deep, and
her pussy contracted in approval.

“Can’t wait long.”

“No, just—God.
Feels so good.” She bumped into him.

He made a sound low in his throat.
“I can’t. Elizabeth.” He closed one hand around her bottom and
lifted her. Her legs spread wider, opening her so that when he
drove into her—

She gasped at the sensation and
lifted her legs higher around his waist. He groaned his
appreciation, his hips pistoning, his body slamming against hers,
the sound of flesh slapping and his cock sliding in and out of her
wetness filling the room. Everything in her tightened with the need
to come. She cupped her hand over his cheek and brought his mouth
to hers, needing his taste, his smell, so she could—

Her body took over her mind then,
seeking pleasure, lifting until he found just…the right…spot. She
came with a long, keening cry, her fingers digging into his
shoulders, grounding herself as the sensation carried her. He
pumped harder, faster into her clasping channel before he rose
enough to look down at her before he went completely still. She
felt his own orgasm pulse inside her. He let out a long breath,
then smoothed her hair back from her face and kissed her, tender
and sweet, before he left her body and flopped onto his back. She
twisted onto her side and pressed her hand to his beating heart,
looping her foot around his shin.

“That was a good start,” she
murmured.

That surprised a laugh out of him
and he rolled free to deal with the condom. “Want some
water?”

“Mm.” She nestled deeper into the
pillow.

“I’ll be right back.” He leaned
over to kiss her and walked off.

She closed her eyes to preserve the
image of his fine ass in her head, and heard the toilet flush and
the sink run and the refrigerator close, then the mattress dipped.
Her eyes popped open when cold plastic touched her
breast.

“I thought we were just getting
started,” he said when she yelped.

“Just giving you time to
recuperate.”

He took a long drink. “Maybe I’m
giving you time to recuperate.”

She shifted and trailed her fingers
down his arm. “All you have to do is whisper a few sweet nothings
in Japanese to get me going again.”

He set his bottle down and leaned
over her. “I don’t know any love words in Japanese.”

“Like I’d know
the difference.” She set her bottle on the nightstand and wound her
arms around his neck.