by Jill Shalvis
“Do you think . . .” She nibbled on her lower lip in a way that made him want to do the same. “That maybe it’s all just an adrenaline rush? This . . . attraction? After all, there’s been a lot of adrenaline.”
“You really think what happened between us was just adrenaline?”
“Well, it’s possible, right?”
Possible, yes. And he’d love for it to be nothing more than that. In fact, having this all be just an adrenaline rush would be perfect.
So perfect, and to see if that was the case, he covered her mouth with his, and as his body leapt to attention, he had to agree. A good part of this was definitely adrenaline. Not to mention sheer, unadulterated lust.
But it wasn’t only his body involved here. Unfortunately, his heart was too, and that meant more than just adrenaline and lust. A little stunned, he lifted his head.
She was staring at him with the same shell-shocked expression. “It should have worn off by now.”
“Maybe we didn’t try hard enough to get it out of our system.”
“Okay,” she whispered, game, so he kissed her again, deeper, hotter, wetter, and this time when he lifted his head, she let out a slow, shaky smile. “Still feel it. You?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Maybe . . . maybe you should show me what you had in mind for this ice cream. Maybe that would do it, get each other out of our system.” Her smile was a little hopeful, and a whole lot hot.
But not nearly as hot as he felt. Slipping his hands beneath her, he stood and turned, then let go of her.
“Oh,” she gasped as she bounced into the cushions of the couch. “Oh,” she murmured again when he dropped to his knees.
Between hers.
The first thing she did was make sure her skirt was still covering her. Adorable. But so not necessary, because he had plans. Plans that did not involve the skirt. He held out his hand for the spoon. “May I?”
Looking a little breathless, she hesitated, then handed it to him. “Um, I—”
“Party for two now, remember?”
Her gaze never left the spoon. “Right.” Licking her lips and fidgeting, she looked a little nervous, which only upped the anticipation. Dipping the spoon into the now softened ice cream, he touched it to her nose.
“Hey—”
And her chin.
“Shayne.”
And the very base of her throat.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Making my very own ice cream sundae.” Leaning in, he licked the drop from her nose. Her chin.
Her throat.
“Oh,” she breathed with a sweet little shudder as her hands sank into his hair. “I like that.”
“Good. That’s good.” His fingers closed on the zippered tab of her sweater, just beneath her throat. He loved how she’d zipped it all the way up to the top, as if she was all prim and proper, because he’d seen her decidedly unprim and unproper, and was hoping to get her there again.
All in the name of getting her out of his system, of course.
With one hand he slowly pulled the zipper, the other dipping the spoon back in for more ice cream.
“Shayne?”
“Yep, still right here . . .” Oh, yeah, he thought, watching as he unzipped, revealing a strip of creamy smooth skin from her collarbone to her sexy belly button.
No bra, just some great cleavage.
Holding her gaze, he slid a hand into the sweater, gliding his fingers over her ribs, up to a breast, letting his thumb slowly circle her nipple.
Her breath caught, and she tugged her lower lip between her teeth. “Shayne.”
Sliding his hand up even higher, he nudged the sweater off her shoulder, which gorgeously exposed one of her breasts.
She shivered.
“Cold?”
She shook her head, her hair tumbled around her shoulders. “No.”
He felt lost in her illuminating eyes, in the rosy blush riding her cheeks, in that wild hair. Lost, and yet somehow found. “You’re so beautiful, Dani,” he murmured, his thumb rasping over her nipple, tugging a sigh of pleasure from her. Her eyes drifted shut as he brushed the sweater from her other shoulder, then, holding the spoon above her, he let the ice cream dribble down her ribs, over her quivering belly.
“Oh,” she breathed, and then again when he brought the spoon up to her breast and painted a chocolate stripe right over her skin.
Beneath the chocolate ice cream, her nipple puckered up into a hard, tight little point.
“Okay, now I’m cold,” she gasped.
“I’ve got it.” Leaning in, he put his mouth to her stomach and began his dessert, licking off the ice cream, slowly devouring both it and her.
Her hands tightened in his hair as he nipped, sucked, and teased his way up to her nipple. Hovering just above it, he let out a warm breath, and she shivered.
“Please,” she whispered.
Oh yeah, he’d please. He’d please her all damn night if she let him, and he drew her into his mouth. “Good?” he asked against her skin.
Panting for air, a slight, helpless rocking of her hips against his, she didn’t answer.
“Dani?”
“Good,” she managed. “It’s good. Lots more good, please.”
Her polite tone made him smile, and he reached for more ice cream, wanting to see her come completely undone, come all over him. Slowly he bunched up the flimsy material of her skirt, slipping it up over her knees, her thighs.
Her gaze, still on his, widened. She softened the grip she had on his hair and put a hand over his, halting his progress. “Um.” She tightened her legs, but with him between them, she couldn’t close them. “Shayne?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve . . .” She blushed. “Sort of got an alfresco situation going on here.”
“I know.” Gently nudging her fingers out of his way, he slid her skirt up—
“You’re not really going to—”
“Yeah.” He got the skirt past her upper thighs, to her belly, then groaned at the sight of her, legs sprawled open, held there by his hips, no panties, nothing but Dani, all pink and glistening.
For him. “I’m really going to.”
He was really going to. “But . . .” Dani struggled to form a sentence, and failed.
“Are you allergic to ice cream?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then trust me.”
She held her breath. An ice cream sundae. The man wanted to make her his own personal ice cream sundae. She’d never done such a thing before. To be honest, she’d never really had a lover take so much time to get her naked.
Or spend so much time just looking at her.
Not to mention the touching, and the tasting—
“Ohmigod,” she gasped as the ice cream dripped from the spoon, low on her belly, over her hip, the top of her thigh . . .
And then between.
At the contact of the cold dessert on her sizzling hot skin, she nearly imploded right then and there, but then there were his eyes, also sizzling hot, watching her reaction as he leaned over and licked her.
After all, she was his dessert. But oh. My. God. In that moment, she couldn’t remember why she wanted to resist, or even get him out of her system. Hell, she could hardly remember her own name.
“You’re the best flavor of ice cream I’ve ever had.”
Unbelievably, just his words brought her to the edge. Aided, of course, by the fact that she sat wantonly spread on the couch, nearly naked—which somehow felt more naked than totally naked—and him still fully dressed. Her hips kept moving of their own accord, in a rhythm she couldn’t seem to stop, and though she wanted to close her eyes rather than watch him watch her, she couldn’t seem to do anything but utter a soft, helplessly needy whimper.
Understanding completely, he went back to the job at hand, which apparently was to drive her slowly out of her mind. He handled the task with aplomb, using his fingers to hold her steady, his lips, his tongue, even his teeth, to
drive her wild.
And she did go wild.
She came completely out of herself. And when she could breathe again, still gasping for air, she realized she had him by the ears, holding him to her, her thighs nearly strangling him. “Ohmigod.” Still panting, she let go of him. “I’m sorry.”
Sitting back on his heels, he smiled, not appearing to have suffered any for her abuse. “My pleasure is your pleasure.”
Since that had been the case, literally, she managed not to cover her face, but she did reach for his clothes. “You are way overdressed,” she told him, yanking his shirt over his head.
The sight of his chest distracted her for a moment, and she surged up to reach for the spoon. “And now it’s my turn.”
The look on his face defied description, a mix between amusement, shock that she wanted to return the favor, and that heart-stopping heat that never failed to sear her skin. Shifting their positions was easy enough, and somehow he managed to skim her out of her clothes while he was at it, and then she was naked in his lap, his pants shoved to his thighs, all her good parts rubbing against his good parts.
“God, you feel so good.” Head back, he arched up. “So damned good—holy shit!”
She’d given him a taste of his own medicine with the cold ice cream, and smiling down at the trail she’d set for herself, from chest to his most impressive erection, she bent to her task.
He slid his hands in her hair, halting her progress a mere fraction of an inch from her target. “Dani—”
“Are you allergic to ice cream, Shayne?” she asked, mirroring his earlier words.
He let out a half groan, half laugh. “No.”
“Then trust me.” Pushing him back, she proceeded to eat her dessert; that is, until Shayne cupped her face and lifted her up.
“Tell me you have a—”
“Yes.” He held up a condom.
“Thank God.” Her fingers were shaking from need, and when he took over, she saw that his trembled too. “That’s what happens when you eat dessert first,” she whispered, and he laughed.
And then she started laughing too, at least until he lifted her up so that she could sink down over him, because as he pushed inside her, all laughter went out the window.
A low, raw sound escaped him, incredibly sexy, and his hands urged her to move on him, up and down, and though she’d thought that since this was round two for both of them, it would be slow and sweet, apparently their bodies didn’t get the memo, because it was like a freight train, hitting hard and fast, and in her entire life she’d never felt anything like it. It was as if he’d climbed inside her body, knew what she wanted before she wanted it, and knew how to give it to her. It was like being lost and coming home.
All at the same time.
Terrifying.
Yet simple . . .
And she wasn’t quite sure what it all meant, except deep down she was sure. She was exactly sure.
Which terrified her most of all.
Chapter 16
Shayne opened his eyes. He was flat on his back on the carpet of Dani’s living room.
Naked.
Dani was draped over him like a blanket, and in keeping with the evening’s festivities, also naked, a state in which she looked heart-stoppingly amazing. He loved her curves, loved her creamy skin—still sticky from the ice cream—and especially loved those curves and creamy skin all pressed up against him.
While he ran his hand down her back, she let out a soft sigh and snuggled her face into his neck.
She was asleep, he realized. Fast asleep. Her hair was in his face, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there was some ice cream in the strands as well, a fact that brought a ridiculous grin to his face.
Ice cream and sex. That had been a new one, even for him.
Her lips brushed his flesh, which brought both goose bumps and another reaction, far south of his neck.
Lifting her head, she smiled at him, her eyes sleepy and sexy, a smudge of ice cream still on her jaw.
“Hey,” she whispered.
“Hey back.” Okay, so that hadn’t been just adrenaline, and she wasn’t out of his system. That was new too. He could deal with that.
“You probably have to go,” she said.
Go?
“Since we, you know, washed each other out of our systems and all.”
He stared at her. So . . . she wanted him to go. Wow. Okay. He’d do that. He’d go. Which was good, really. Because this was just sex. Of course it’d been just sex—
From the pocket of his pants on the floor, his cell phone vibrated.
“I’ll get it for you.”
“That’s okay—”
But she’d slipped off him and reached into his pocket, handing him the phone.
The ID read: Michelle King.
“You going to get it?” she asked.
“It can wait.”
“You mean she can wait?” When he looked at her, she winced. “I saw the name. Sorry.”
“She’s just—”
“No, don’t explain.” She reached for her sweater. “I went into this with my eyes open. It’s okay.” She grabbed her skirt and wriggled into it. “I just don’t want to be the one waiting around for your phone calls, you know?”
“Aren’t you the one who didn’t pick up my calls?”
“I’m just saying, I don’t expect you to call.”
“You should. You should expect it.”
She stared at him, leveling him with those soft, expressive chocolate eyes. “This thing needs rules, or something.”
“Like . . . what? You get to wield the wooden spoon next time?”
The tension left her face and she laughed. “I already did that.”
God, he loved her laugh.
“No, like . . . like maybe . . .” She glanced at him, chewing her lower lip.
“Like maybe what?”
“Like maybe we both have to know what we’re doing here.” She straightened her clothes. “With the whole just-sex thing.”
“I can tell you that you seem to know exactly what you’re doing.”
She let out a low laugh. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean? What kind of rules?”
“Maybe . . . that even if we’re having just sex, we’re not