Hot and Bothered (Hot in the Kitchen) (22 page)

High five, universe.

Her thighs fell apart and her sensitive folds swelled in anticipation, ready to accept that incredibly arousing example of masculine glory.

“Hurry, I need you,” she whispered, not caring that she sounded a hundred miles past desperate.

Two seconds later, he had a condom on, covering a hard-on as big as a jeroboam. He seated his powerful hips between her thighs and rubbed against her sensitive, blood-flushed sex. This was the best moment right here, soaking with possibility.

“Baby, I’m usually able to hold out longer than this, I swear—”

“Cock. In. Now.”
Inner slut, come on down!

“So damn bossy,” he murmured as he slid into her in one fluid stroke. It felt so bloody brilliant she cried out at its perfection. She had missed this so much. The bloom of heat. The spark of connection. A strong man inside her.

“Your muscles are so…” Whatever they were got swallowed in his deep groan, but she could finish that sentence. They were greedy like her hands and her eyes and her heart.

He never stopped staring at her with all that heart-wrenching intensity. Did he produce it at the same level as his testosterone? Did he not realize how dangerous that was and how close she was to falling for him?

Switching to shallow, teasing thrusts, he tested the limits of her patience. She grasped his gorgeous arse to encourage him deeper.

“More. Please, more.”

“Think you can handle it?”

She dug her nails into his tightly loomed butt muscles. “I’m going to murder you if you don’t fuck me properly. Stop holding back and give it to me hard.”

Thunderstorms swirled in his dark, blue eyes, heralding the relentless strokes he now impaled her with. Each thrust became more punishing than the last. Each one broke her apart and put her back together again.

“You feel… Jules… You feel so much better than I imagined.” An invisible line ran from his voice to her sex and it stroked her along with each one of his long, hard thrusts. His hand moved to where their bodies met and pressed against her clit.

She screamed as the pleasure raked over her and his fingers rubbed another orgasm from her throbbing core. In a glorious crash of noise and sensation, she came. With one final thrust, he met her at the peak and it was beautiful to behold. Those DeLuca blue eyes held her captive while every muscle in his body bunched tight through the final pump of release.

Still hard as granite inside her, he buried his chin in the crook of her neck while his shallow breaths returned to an even, steady draw. Moments of peace passed before he moved up on his elbows and gifted her a long, slow kiss that melted whatever was left of her internal organs.

“If you think that’s the only time we’re doing that,” he murmured against her lips, “you can think again.”

Chapter Twelve

He who is loved by a woman is fortunate and rich.
—Italian proverb
Tad DeLuca is in my bed.

She mouthed it again in the dark like a demented mime.

Tad DeLuca is in my bed.

Sleeping soundly, after she had worn the poor guy out ordering him about. So it had been a while for her—a long, lonely while—and she had a guy revered by women throughout the Chicagoland metro area for his beautiful jaw and his well-shaped glutes. She had the guy in her bed for one night only and she planned to get her value.

Boy, did she.

Jules’s gaze took in the finest streak of male she had ever seen, illuminated by soft light from the street. The sheet, wrinkled and mussed from their exertions, did a poor job of covering him. The smooth curve of his tight arse peeked above the hem, his strong arms embraced the pillow, and the muscles of his back stretched taut, revealing long striations shading the ladder of his spine. He looked peaceful and pliable, though she knew neither was true.

An hour ago, she had watched as his body twitched through a turbulent dream. After a minute of tossing, she had tried to wake him with no luck. Finally, he rolled over to his front with a murmur of “I’m sorry” and went back to the Land of Nod.

Now she wanted him again. It was four a.m. and her one-night stand was snoring softly, and she wanted to feel him inside her. She wanted to grip his cock with her now-sore muscles and imprint him on her body. She wanted his thick hair rubbing against her skin, inducing a delicious state of shiverhood.

How was she ever going to get past this? All those years she had given herself to any guy who smiled at her, who showed her the slightest interest. The brief attention had been reward enough. Even with Simon, her pleasure had been an afterthought. Not so with Tad. He had worshipped her with his body. Every brush of his mouth against her skin felt like an offering. Every thrust of his hips against hers felt like a gift.

And now she was supposed to go back to the murky-as-crap dating pool after that?

“You’re thinking,” she heard from the pillow beside her.

She was glad the dark masked her smile. “Of course I’m thinking. Sentient being and all that.”

“You’re thinking really loudly. Loud enough to wake me up.” His sleep-softened voice sent another wave of lust crashing over her. Mr. Intuitive must have felt that because he turned over and pulled her into the long, lean heat of his body.

“You okay,
bella
?”

No, she was not. She was teetering on the edge of something, maybe on the edge of
telling
him something. About Simon. About her lies. About what she needed more than anything. Dangerous thoughts that would acquire a raw power if she spoke them aloud.

Keeping her composure here seemed like the best play. She nuzzled his jaw, that rough swatch of stubble.

Because that helps.

“Tell me we’ll be fine,” she whispered against the beat at the base of his throat.

The words sat between them, solid as heavy objects.

“Do you want us to be?”

She thought about what he meant. Of course she did, didn’t she? But maybe she wanted to blow them up. Take what was happening here and throw all her chips on red seven.

“Yes,” she whispered because she was a coward.

“Then we will be,” he said with all the confidence of a man who had just taken a woman to places previously unknown and knew it. “I need you again. I feel like I’ve run a marathon but I can’t stop myself.” His mouth found hers and worked her lips slowly, torturously.

“I know,” she said. “My muscles are screaming at me but I’m shutting the little buggers down.”

“Stupid muscles.”

He leaned his body over hers and slipped his hand between her legs to dispense paradise from his fingers. His face was a canvas of smooth planes and astonishing angles, his dark beauty focused on her for this one moment. On this one perfect night, she was the center of his world and tomorrow could go to hell.

“Any chance you might have some condoms lying around, you hussy? I used up the three I brought.”

“Sorry. Despite what my brother thinks, I wasn’t planning to open a brothel as soon as I got the new drapes up.” She arched into his hand, ensuring more friction. “We’ll have to improvise.”

“Shower caps? Sandwich bags? Ziplocs? They’d have to be the gallon size.”

“I’m sure snack size would fit just fine.” She took him in her hand, palming the impressive measurements that didn’t need her verbal approval. Both heads—big and little—were already far too large.

“You sure know how to wound a guy.” He pulled her astride him as if she were a rag doll. “I’m going to have to punish you.”

His thumbs parted her like he was breaking apart orange segments. Soft strokes pulled on every sensitive nerve, holding off on touching her core.

“What does this punishment involve?”

“Taking you slow. Doing you right. Pushing you to the edge and pulling you back until you’re begging me to finish you. I’m going to ruin you for your vibrator, Jules Kilroy.”

“I’d like to see you try,” she moaned, already gone.

The shadows couldn’t hide the light in his eyes. Challenge taken.

“Take a swivel, honey. Let’s be efficient and take care of each other.”

And they did. For the next hour, he continued in his mission to furrow soul-deep ruts in her body and mind. Every motion, murmur, suck, and kiss spiraled her desire higher until she broke open over and over again.

Ruined, just as he promised.

* * *

The buzz created its own world. Men in uniforms, hands resting casually on the guns at their hips, caressing them like lovers. The buzz up ahead in the corridor, like a fly in a trap. Buzz to let him pass from the bowels of the dank, institutional building into the gray hallway with peeling paint. Buzz again as he climbed higher to the interview rooms of the CPD Seventh District. The door opened and—

He jerked awake.

Full consciousness crept up on him slowly. The dream was always more vivid at this time of year, as if his Circadian rhythms could tell cherry blossoms were on the branches and the girls would start wearing short skirts any day now. More likely, his conscience was on a timer and the ticking to zero hour was running the show. He had thought that after what happened last night, the dream might stay hidden in a dark corner of his mind. A mind-blowing lay can do a lot of things but apparently it can’t perform miracles.

He flicked a glance to his left at the clock that read 6:15 a.m. Flicked another glance to the right and frowned. He added a testing hand to find warm, sex-ruffled bed sheets, but no warm, sex-ruffled woman.

Damn.

Off in the direction of the kitchen, the soft clinks of crockery meshed with a bass line beat from the radio, announcing the start of the day in Chicago. Before he’d moved to Hyde Park during his freshman year, those domestic sounds had eased him into the morning. Vivi liked to make her presence known downstairs, creating as much noise as possible because she knew it annoyed the fuck out of him.

Oh, did I wake you, Taddeo? Well, you’re up now. Come make the coffee.

For the first time in forever, that memory didn’t split his heart into icy shards. He stretched and crossed his arms behind his neck, thinking about the new memories he had created a few hours ago. God, he felt good. His body was sore, understandable given how long it had been since he’d had sex, or sex that strenuous. Hot, dirty, no-holds-barred sex. The complete opposite to how a casual friends-with-benefits scenario was supposed to play out. No, this wasn’t how he had imagined sex with his sweet, girl-next-door friend.

It was a million times better.

With Jules.

He whispered the secret words, barely loud enough to take up a puff of air in the room. “With Jules.” Sounded good. Sounded better than good.

They had fit so well together, not that he’d had any real doubts, but sometimes you build something up in your head and the reality cheats the fantasy. Not here, though. The reality was infinity times better.

She wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted, either, and he liked to think she had built up a few ideas in her head as well. A highlight reel of what they had done last night re-played in his head. When she came back in here, he was going to get her to do that thing with her—

Later.
He needed to take a leak and not be such a horn dog first thing in the morning. From the sounds of it, Jules was making breakfast, though he doubted any food or beverage could possibly match the burst of energy he’d get just by seeing her sunshine grin. After taking care of business, he sauntered toward the kitchen, ready to start a little somethin’-somethin’. His dick was wide awake and zeroing like a homing pigeon in on its destination.

“Mornin’,
bella,
you ready for me?”

“Taddeo Gianni DeLuca, where did you spring from?”

Aw, shit.

His aunt Sylvia filled a seat at the kitchen table, her eyes bugging out over her coffee cup. Thank Christ he had put on his briefs but still, this was his aunt they were talking about.

Buon giorno,
de-rection.

Jules had frozen with a spoonful of what looked like mashed-up banana and Nutella halfway to Evan’s mouth. Her mouth dropped open, but it didn’t stop her perusal of his barely clad body. Some things just can’t be ignored. However, she beat him silly in the hot-morning-after stakes with a scrap of fabric that barely passed for shorts and gorgeous braless breasts that strained at a gossamer-thin tank.

“Sylvia dropped Evan over on her way to Mass,” she said with a deep breath that moved those breasts in a way that had to be illegal.
And you’re standing there half-naked,
she accused with those iridescent green eyes.

“You never said you had company,” Sylvia cut in, her gossipy glee impossible to disguise. “This is great news. I’ve had my eye on you two for a while.”

“No news, Syl.” Jules handed Tad a dishtowel, then changed her mind and switched it out for an apron. He gave her a look of,
what the fuck am I supposed to do with this?
She gave him a look of infinite patience.

“Tad overindulged at the opening so he stayed over after he walked me home.”

Sylvia curved her gaze past him to the living room, her towering bouffant swaying precipitously. The kids liked to joke that it housed boozy Smurfs.