Tough Love

by Lori Foster

  Her back arched, and he felt the sting of her nails on his shoulders, quickly replaced with a deliberately easier hold.

  He wanted to tell her that he didn’t mind if she got carried away; he loved turning her on. But he wasn’t about to give up suckling her to say anything. Not when she showed so much amazing reaction.

  Squirming, she lifted her body against his leg. Every breath sounded like a faint gasp that turned into a soft moan and then a sharper groan. Jesus, would she come just from this?

  The idea of that nearly put him over the edge. Before he lost it completely he sat up and wrestled the shirt off over her head. The second her hands were free she reached for him.

  “Not yet, darlin’.” He bent to kiss her midriff, then her cute belly. The scent of her skin drew him back again and again until he was nuzzling against her with soft love bites.

  Groaning, he slid off the bed to stand at the side, then grabbed her waistband and dragged down the flannel pants.

  She’d gone commando, and he hadn’t realized it. Breathing hard, he lightly touched her with his fingertips.

  “My socks...” she whispered.

  “They’re cute.” Who the hell cared about socks? He opened the remaining buttons on his shirt. “Next time, tell me if you want my shirt off. I’m happy to oblige.”

  “Note—I always want your shirt off.” She came up to her knees in front of him and opened both hands on his chest. “Your body is amazing.”

  Throwing her concerns back at her, he asked, “Is that what you like most about me?”

  “I like everything about you.”

  “Yeah?” He opened his jeans and eased the zipper past his erection. “This?”

  Her hand slid around him, and she murmured huskily, “Yes, this.”

  For a minute or two he let her play. Not like he had the willpower to stop her, not when it felt so damned good. When her thumb teased over the head, slicking pre-cum in lazy circles guaranteed to make him explode, he caught her wrist.

  It wasn’t his preference, but since a gentleman always asked, he said, “Condom?”

  Her eyes, dazed and dark, stared into his. “Just you and just me.”

  “Perfect.” Better than perfect. He’d like a week with just the two of them. Maybe a month.

  Maybe longer.

  He stepped back from her. “Lie down. Let me look at you.”

  “You’ll finish stripping?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  She smiled and reclined, one arm over her head, the other resting on her stomach. She bent a knee, and all the lust and need inside him coiled tight.

  Lifting first his right foot, then his left, he tugged off his boots—and all the while his gaze strayed over her body, investigating and appreciating every curve and hollow and swell. Her skin had that peachy residual glow from the sun, except for her whiter breasts, tipped by tight pink nipples.

  And the neat triangle around her sex.

  He could see exactly where her little bikini had covered, and now, naked, the paler skin highlighted the most sexual parts of her.

  Parts he needed to touch, and kiss. And lick.

  Still looking at her, he pushed down his jeans and boxers.

  She inhaled, shifted, clutched her hands in the bedding.

  Stepping up to her, Stack rested a hand on each of her knees—and parted her legs.

  “Stack,” she whispered.

  He came down over her, balanced on one forearm, and kissed her other breast. “I’ve thought nonstop about this. About you.” He circled a nipple with his tongue, caught her in his teeth and lightly tugged.

  Her back arched on a vibrating groan.

  He did the same to the other breast, then kissed her ribs. Down her waist to her belly.

  “Stack?”

  The high, breathless way she said his name told him she knew what was coming and wanted it. Not as badly as he did, but maybe enough.

  Leaving warm, damp, open-mouth love bites all over her softly fragrant skin, he inched his way down. She put the back of her hand against her mouth, her eyes closed and her breathing labored.

  “Damn, you’re hot.” And quick to respond.

  She whispered, “With you.”

  Only him? He’d like to think this was special for her, because it sure as hell was special for him. In so many small, indefinable ways, making love with Vanity was a revelation. Hotter. Sweeter.

  More.

  He lifted her legs over his shoulders. She made a small, anxious sound and bit her lip.

  Adjusting her to his liking, he kissed the inside of each thigh, nuzzling, breathing in her musky scent and going so taut it seemed she could break him.

  He liked seeing her like this. Open to him and what he wanted to do to her and with her. His.

  Instead of alarming him, that thought settled in comfortably. He wanted her, every part of her, like this and in other ways. All ways.

  Her energy level astounded him. Her disregard of wealth intrigued him. The warm way she accepted his family, how she quickly aligned with them, touched him in immeasurable ways.

  And her sexuality, the perfect way they matched up, burned him to the core.

  Sliding an arm under her hips, he lifted her up. “So pretty.” He hadn’t yet touched her here, but already her lips were glistening from her excitement, her clit swollen. With one fingertip he explored, dipping slightly between her lips, relishing her moan, the rush of new wetness. He traced her, teasing up and over that ultrasensitive bud, enjoying how she tensed and moved, the sounds she made.

  Without warning, he added a second finger, moved back and forth along her entrance—and sank deep.

  Her body bowed, then quickly resettled, as if she feared discouraging him.

  Not likely.

  Blowing softly on her, easing closer, he kept his fingers in her, curling them slightly to find just the right spot. With his other hand, he used his fingers to part her, then opened his mouth over her.

  This time they both groaned.

  Now it was his tongue exploring, teasing. Her taste was indescribable. The heat of her, her sweetness intoxicated him, making him want more. He licked and sucked, aware of her growing tension, the way she stiffened and the quickening of her breath.

  “Stack,” she moaned.

  He felt ready to come just from hearing her, tasting her.

  More urgently, she cried, “Stack!”

  He held her closer, concentrating on suckling in just the right spot, at the same time using his tongue to rasp—and she broke, her body lifting on a high cry, her legs tightening, her tender inner thighs closing on his jaws.

  Damn, he loved it.

  He loved having her like this.

  He loved her response, and the way she made him feel.

  Refusing to let his brain travel beyond that, he kept pace with her, wringing as much pleasure from her as he could. When her body sank back to the mattress, when her fingers tunneled into his hair and she whimpered, he eased away, kissed a hot path back up her body until he took her mouth.

  She remained limp, not really participating but not rejecting him either. He smiled against her mouth. “Stay with me, darlin’.”

  “I’m here,” she said drowsily, her voice rough.

  “Like this, okay?” He hooked each of her legs into the crook of his elbows, then raised them high.

  That got her eyes open. “Oh, um...”

  Not giving her time to think about it, he sank in.

  Creamy wet, hot and wide-open to him, he entered easily.

  Heaven.

  The way she gripped him made him want to explode. He paused, his chest billowing, eyes squeezed tight, concentration flagging. He needed it to last more than a minute.

  He wouldn’t mind if it lasted forever.

  Idly, Vanity’s hand touched his chest, then flattened over his galloping heart. “You are so deep,” she whispered. She inhaled, her inner muscles gripping him, and she softly moaned his name.

  He lost it. Taking her mou
th in a tongue-twining kiss, he pounded into her, loving how she reacted and tightened over each strong thrust.

  Her arms curled around his neck. Clutching at him, she freed her mouth on a wild cry, releasing once more.

  Opening his mouth on her neck to muffle his own shout, Stack let himself go. The draining pleasure seemed to go on and on until Vanity started stroking his back and making shushing noises in his ear.

  Still struggling for breath, Stack released her legs carefully, waited for her to adjust, then eased on to her. He loved how her full breasts cushioned his chest, the way her face tucked against his neck, how she curled one leg over his, giving him a full body hug. She continued petting him, every so often kissing his shoulder.

  Hell, he’d spent more time thinking on all the things he loved about her than about the mind-blowing sex they had.

  She whispered, “You are such a stud,” making him grin tiredly. He’d never had a woman offer so many compliments, sometimes on the oddest things—like his ass—while disregarding the compliments he gave her.

  He smoothed a hand down her side to her hip. And yeah, he loved that, too, the warmth of her silky skin, how she luxuriated like a cat every time he stroked her. Everything.

  Damn it, he loved everything about her. Drawing her closer, he asked, “You’re okay?”

  “Mmm. Still pulsing all over, sticky from you and me—” she lightly bit his throat “—and pretty much blown away.”

  “Sounds good to me.” He turned to his back but brought her along so she rested atop him. Using both hands to hold her bottom, he kept her close so that they stayed connected. “I like this.”

  She pressed in her hips, emphasizing that he was still inside her. “You and me, together?”

  “Yeah.” He drifted his thumbs over those sweet dimples at the top of her behind. Maybe it was the satisfaction glowing from her beautiful blue eyes, or maybe it was the satisfaction inside him, leaving him utterly sated in a way he hadn’t felt before. But whatever the cause, it seemed the right time to ask. He kissed her shoulder, her cheek, her temple. “What do you think of that?”

  Quizzical, she shook her head. “What?”

  “You and me, exclusive. Not for convenience, not just for sex, but because I want you, only you. And I think you want me?”

  Eyes widening, she nodded quick confirmation.

  Nice that she didn’t make him wait and wonder. Vanity was always so honest; he loved that about her. “Then it’s official.” You with me and only me, now and into the near future. “I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

  A breathtaking smile brightened her flushed, damp face. Putting her pointy elbows on his chest, she pushed back her hair. “You’re sure?”

  She looked far from disturbed by the idea. “Very sure.” Her hair was wild, everywhere, and he helped her in smoothing it. Making sure she understood, he cupped her face. “I don’t want to share you with anyone. I get that you’re friends with the guys. I’m okay with that as long as they know you’re off-limits.” After losing her family, those friendships were especially important to her. To him, it was just as important that she have backup if or when she ever needed it. He wouldn’t always be available. Fighters traveled, sometimes out of the country.

  By staking a claim, he also ensured she had a new family, one well equipped to ensure her safety, to offer support when she needed it, whenever he wasn’t around.

  Her lips trembled, alarming him before she managed to turn the show of emotion into a shaky smile. “Okay.” She nodded hard. “As long as everyone understands that you’re off-limits as well, then, yes, I’d like that.”

  He wanted her to love it, but for now he’d take what he could get.

  Again he rolled, putting her on her back, then reluctantly leaving her. “Let me check on the dogs, then what do you think about a soak in the tub?”

  Her gaze went immediately to his arm. “It’s hurting?”

  Like a mother. “Just a dull ache.” He couldn’t think of a better way to ease it than relaxing in a hot tub with Vanity naked, wet, soapy, leaning back on him. His. “What do you say?”

  Interest darkened her eyes yet again. “Go check the dogs,” she told him with a slow smile. “I’ll get the tub ready.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SOME DISTANT NOISE roused Stack, and as he went to stretch awake, his bruised arm protested. Disgusted with himself for getting caught, he opened his eyes and winced at the bright light sneaking through a part in the curtain.

  He turned his head, found the other side of the bed empty, and rose to an elbow.

  Eight-thirty.

  What the hell? He hadn’t slept past five in forever. His routine included rising early, often starting his day with a jog. Sure, he and Vanity had extended the night with sex, but he was pretty sure they’d both passed out by midnight.

  He threw back the covers, put his legs over the side of the bed, and listened to yet another unfamiliar sound. Barking, as if the dogs were outside playing, but in the front instead of the back.

  The silence of the house made him more than curious, maybe even a little worried. He made a quick trip to the john, then pulled on jeans and his flannel shirt. Coffee awaited him in the kitchen. Through the window over the sink he saw a sea of white in the backyard.

  Snow. Not just a sprinkling, either. The backyard glistened, unmarred by footprints, each tree branch layered in ice, tinkling with the breeze.

  Carrying a mug of coffee, he went to the front room, lifted aside a curtain, and looked out.

  Son of a bitch.

  Bundled up like a sexy snow bunny, Vanity stood in the yard, her boots nearly covered. She wore a white puffy jacket, white fuzzy hat and white mittens. She held a shovel and the dogs bounded this way and that around her.

  The walkway was shoveled clear and half the driveway...because Leese, with his own shovel, his back to the house and Vanity, was working on it.

  A salt truck drove by—the odd sound that had awakened Stack. The winter storm had come early and unexpectedly. Not that Vanity seemed to mind.

  Grinning, she set aside her shovel, then packed a snowball in her mittens. Drawing back, she sent it zinging toward Leese.

  It hit him dead center between his shoulder blades, and he whipped around, incredulous, before dropping the shovel and bending to scoop up his own snow. Vanity squealed, lifting her shovel to use like a shield. When she peeked out, Leese lobbed the snowball at her face.

  As she ducked, her laughter carried across the yard.

  Stack opened the door and immediately drew their attention. He said nothing. Hell, he wasn’t sure what to say.

  Elated, Vanity came clumping through the snow toward him. Both dogs, woofing happily, followed her.

  “It snowed!”

  “So I see.” He sipped the coffee and ignored the freezing air on his naked toes. “Having fun?”

  “Yes. I love the snow. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  She’d tugged the hat down to her brows, and her long blond hair tangled around her shoulders. A red nose and cheeks made her blue eyes appear brighter. “Very.”

  “Usually I only saw it when we traveled, and then only to ski, not to play in. It’s amazing—oof.” She bumped into Stack, then whipped around. “Hey!”

  Leese had thrown another snowball, and this one got her right in the butt.

  Laughing, she dusted off her backside. “You’re fired!”

  “Fine by me.” Carrying the shovel, Leese started toward them. He glanced at Stack and smirked. “I know you said he needed to rest, but now that Stack’s dragged his sorry ass out of the bed, he can take over.”

  “His arm is hurt,” Vanity protested. “I’ll finish up.”

  Before Stack could get the protest said, Leese slanted him a look—one that both quelled his objections and said there was more to the situation than he realized. “She did the walkway.” Leese shrugged while maintaining eye contact. “Says she enjoys it.”

  “I do.” Vanity patted Leese’s
shoulder. “You two go on in, and I’ll be there as soon as I finish up. You’ve almost finished it already anyway.”

  Expecting them both to obey, to just leave her outside in frigid temps and a half foot of snow, Vanity headed to the driveway. Both dogs leaped happily after her.

  “Get that evil glint out of your eyes,” Leese said low while stomping his feet to shake off the snow. “I came to talk to you.”

  “Right. You wanted to see me, so instead you played in the snow with Vanity.”

  “I brought along a snow shovel and a canister of salt as an excuse to stop by since you haven’t yet told her you got jumped.” He propped the second shovel on the porch. “Then I was going to head back to my place to clean the walkway. The kids play outside, but the landlord is slow to do anything.”

  Ignoring most of that, Stack asked, “What makes you think I haven’t?”

  Leese grinned. “She asked me about it.”

  “Yeah?” Standing back, Stack held the door for Leese to enter. “What’d you tell her?”

  “To ask you.”

  The perfect answer. “She did.”

  Leese paused. “So you gave her all the details?”

  “No.” Hell no. Stack looked at Vanity. “Not all.”

  Leese glanced back, too, then shook his head as Vanity dumped a heavy shovelful of snow to the side. “She’s a workhorse. I gave her that shovel, and she acted like it was Christmas morning and I’d given the best gift.”

  Stack watched her work a moment, saw she wasn’t overtaxed, and closed the door. “She’s unusual.”

  “Unique,” Leese corrected as he tugged off his boots. The second he finished, he headed to the kitchen and got a mug from the cabinet.

  The way he made himself at home continued to irk Stack, but he kept it to himself. He and Vanity had a new, more concrete relationship, and he’d trust in it.

  He’d trust in her.

  “Why’d you want to see me?”

  Instead of answering, Leese sipped his coffee while noting Stack’s “just out of bed” rumpled appearance. “So, you two are an item now?”

  Holding back his ire became more difficult. “She told you that, too?”

  Leese shrugged. “Pretty much.”