Animal.
Pure sex.
“Fuck me until I can’t think straight,” she whispered against the crush of muscle and bone, the play of fingers on her hip, gripping with the intensity of someone drowning. The scratch of day-old stubble on a cut jaw awakened a deeper primal sense in her as he dragged his face down her neck, over her breast, mouth making a trail—no, bulldozing a culvert—down her belly until his tongue burrowed to find her, fingers parting her lips, mouth sucking as she arched into the water’s spray.
Her hips smashed into his face, ass encased by his palms, fingers clawing her like he was holding on for dear life.
A nudge. A not-so-gentle push against her back and suddenly, she wasn’t just leaning against the tiled wall for support.
The wall had become a man’s well-muscled chest. Dark hair, now wet and sleek, tickled her shoulder, her neck straining as she turned to see his face, but the steam in the shower obscured everything but touch.
And taste.
Firm, guiding hands bent her slightly, and down, the push of a rock-hard cock against the cleft of her ass sending delicious tingles up and down her body, all radiating out from her clit. Which was, currently, being teased and tortured by the other man’s mouth.
“You’re so beautiful,” the dark-haired man said in a voice that could have been any man’s, but that spoke only to her. His hands moved under her, holding the fullness of one pendulous breast as he used one knee to push between her legs, encouraging her to widen them.
Oh.
Now she understood, the flush of heat and forbidden desire pushing all the blood in her body to her skin.
He wanted...that.
She did, too, as the climax that she’d held at bay took over her body from the mere thought of being entered from behind—of anal play—of risqué sensuality and the promise of openness without judgment took her over the edge. One, then two fingers slid inside her clenched, hot walls as the man behind her pulled back, stroking himself once, twice, the push of his movement against her ass confusing as she exploded into her own orgasm, realizing on the edge of sanity that he was lubricating what was about to come.
At the moment, what was coming was her. The mere thought, though, of being entered by him took her—
Beep! Beep! Beep!
“ARGH!” she screamed, three cats sprinting off her bed in three different directions, her alarm clock wailing like a chaperone at a high school dance, forcing horny kids apart.
Laura’s body trembled, the sheets slightly damp where her thighs rested against them, and if her clit throbbed any harder she could be a beacon for a lighthouse, renting out the little nub of skin along the eastern shore.
Worst—her phone’s alarm clock function was particularly hard to turn off (probably designed by perfectly reasonable engineers who did that so you wouldn’t zonk back out again, but right now she wanted to kill those guys), so she spent a frustrating ninety seconds screaming at an impassive glass screen while her cats hissed and sphfffted and made a racket at the indignity of being chased off their comfortable bed by a madwoman.
A madwoman who had an 8:30 a.m. staff meeting. Who in the hell scheduled staff meetings for 8:30 a.m. on a Monday?
Laura’s boss. That’s who.
She was still holding her phone in her hand, staring stupidly at the 6:11 a.m. on the display, when her phone buzzed with a text notification.
Coming off shift and want something hot and sweet. Thought of you.
She rolled her eyes and typed back:
A coffee booty call? Seriously?
While Laura’s half-smile and eye roll made her mood lighten slightly, her heart still pounded in her chest from her dream.
This text wasn’t from a hot man, half of the duo she’d been sleeping with in her (wet) dreams. As Miss Daisy climbed back on the bed and gave Laura an aloof look, pawing her comforter to get it just right before settling into a curled lump of fur, Laura read the incoming text.
I love you a latte, but not enough to sleep with you. Only if caffeine deprivation were critical.
Ha ha. She smiled and typed back:
Get over here and I’ll make a pot right now.
One letter was the response:
K
Her best friend, Josie Mendham, was on her way, and that meant a morning of yappy-yap-yap talking, sarcasm so thick you needed a honey stirrer for it, and a series of complaints about Laura’s shyness when it came to dating. Josie worked weird nurse’s hours and often showed up as Laura was getting out of bed.
