Her voice sounded rushed when she rounded the corner and said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you… Whoa!”
She hurried into the bathroom so fast, her body crashed with his. His feet slipped on the floor, and he tried to grab on to something to right himself, but the impact had him faltering backward.
“Shit,” he yelled, knowing he was going down for the count and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
His boots went out from underneath him and he fell backward with an undignified oomph, Madison crashing to the floor right along with him.
His head connected with something unforgiving on the way down, but he couldn’t concentrate on the pain shooting down his arm, not when Madison’s floral hair fell over his face in a tumbled mess, and her soft body landed on top of his in the most erotic ways.
“Sorry,” she squeaked out. “I didn’t expect you to be standing there.”
His hands slipped around her waist and settled on the small of her back. He sucked in a breath. “What…uh…what was it you forgot to tell me?” he asked.
She pushed her hair off her face, her mouth only inches from his. “Oh, I just wanted to let you know I made you a sandwich in case you got hungry. It’s in the pastry fridge.”
Her lush warm body felt so good on top of his…so fucking good…his cock grew an inch. She squirmed, like she was about to slide off, but he held her tight.
He pinned her to him and groaned. “Stop squirming.”
“Why?” she asked, her voice sounding breathless.
“Because you don’t want to get wet.”
Her eyes widened and her lips inched open. “Wet?” she asked, her breathing becoming a little harsher, more erratic. “Why…why would I get wet?” Everything in the way she said wet sounded so sinful, and he couldn’t help but wonder how wet he could make her, if given the chance.
He jerked his head to the side. “The floor. It’s still wet. If you slide off, you’ll get your clothes wet. You won’t be able to go to your meeting if your clothes are all wet.”
Christ, how many times could he say wet in one sentence?
“Right. Right. I knew that was what you meant.” She frowned. “How am I supposed to get up?”
“Hold on to me.”
With her body molded to his, he wrapped one arm around her waist while he pushed himself up off the floor with the other. She snaked her arms around his shoulders and held tight as he climbed to his feet.
Once upright, his head began spinning. Feeling dizzy, the room tumbling out of control around him, he stumbled, slamming her against the wall as he tried to regain his balance. Shit, maybe he’d hit his head harder than he first thought.
Madison gasped, and when her sweet, minty breath wafted before his nostrils all coherent thought fled. Her lush body fit so perfectly next to his, and her soft breasts were so hot against his chest that all he could think about was kissing her, having his way with her right here against the wall. Christ, what could one little taste hurt? One tiny fucking nibble…
As the bathroom faded in and out of existence, her voice sounded as if it were thousand miles away. He pushed against her, caging her with his body. Knowing he wasn’t thinking straight, he dipped his head, and even though she was speaking, saying something to him, he couldn’t hear her, not when his entire focus was on that sweet mouth of hers.
Before he could get his shit together, he closed his mouth over hers, and when he heard a heated groan, he wasn’t sure whether it was his or hers. He sank into her mouth, reveling in the delicious taste of her. With little finesse, he pushed his tongue inside to play with hers. So fucking sweet. Greed urged him on and his tongue slashed against her mouth, his cock aching to sink inside her wet heat and stay there for the rest of the day. Jesus, her mouth tasted like mint, cherry and sugar all rolled into one—the best thing he’d ever tasted.
Some part of his brain registered that her hands were on his body, touching, tugging at his shirt, pulling on his shoulders. Jesus, did this mean she wanted him as much as he wanted her? But when she raked her fingers through his hair and pain zinged through him, reality crashed over him like the cold water from her broken pipe.
He inched back and stared at her. When he saw the way he’d smudged her lipstick and mussed her hair, and noted the almost frightened look in her eyes, his heart raced. Okay, so apparently her hands were all over him because she was trying to push him away, not because she was eager to touch him. What the fuck was he thinking?
“Jesus, Madison. I didn’t mean—”
“Brad.” She carefully smoothed her hand over the back of his head. “I think you have a concussion.”
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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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Thunder Running
Copyright © 2015 by Rebecca Crowley
ISBN: 978-1-61922-631-9
Edited by Jennifer Miller
Cover by Erin Dameron-Hill
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: April 2015
www.samhainpublishing.com
Thunder Running Page 13