He tenderly mated his tongue with hers, stroking, tracing the swollen flesh of her lips in an action that bespoke pure humbleness. And when he opened his eyes and looked into hers, she sucked in her breath as he finally let her in, let her see it all, and gave her what she needed.
The truth.
“It’s always been you. I don’t want anybody else, I don’t dream about anybody else. It’s only you.”
She cried out as he buried himself to the hilt inside of her. Her body opened and accepted his swollen length, hugged him deep and demanded more.
[...] Some parts were totally inappropriate. The corded length of his arms. The broad shoulders and chest that stretched and molded the fabric. The deep bronze of his skin as if he had been lying in the sun for hours. The animal litheness of his movements. He had grown up, and he was no pretty boy. Nick Ryan was all hot-blooded man—and still looked at her as Maggie’s little playmate.
Jennifer ProbstShe expected a precise, controlled kiss to calmly show her mother they were lovers. Instead she got hot testosterone and raw sexual energy. She got warm lips melded over hers. His teeth nipped. His tongue burrowed inside and plunged in and out with sheer command, bending her back over his arm to take every last drop of her resolve.
Jennifer ProbstYour mother’s coming,” he said.
“I know—she probably heard us arguing. Do something!”
“What?”
“Anything!”
“Fine!” He grabbed her around the waist, dragged her body flush against his, and ducked his head. His lips crushed hers as his hands wrapped around her tightly so they were plastered against each other, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, breasts to chest.
He’d been ready to push her away, and then she’d grabbed him at her mother’s call. Wasn’t his fault he gave in to instinct to save their ruse.
Until her hot, wet mouth opened under his. Until her sweet taste swamped his senses, and the maddening scents of vanilla and spice made him want to howl at the moon. He finally knew she approached sex the same way she approached anger—no holds barred—no prisoners taken. Demanding. Punishing. Passionate.
Do you have a favorite team?”
He smirked. Literally smirked.
“There's only one New York team.”
Alexa fought past the nausea and asked the question.
“Which one?”
“The Yankees, of course. It’s the only team that wins. It’s the only team that matters.
The Mets have heart and character, and I need a man who can root for the underdog. I refuse to sleep with a Yankees fan.
Jennifer ProbstI suck at it? You’re acting like this is some stupid play you’ve put together for the neighbors. This is real life, and I’m doing the best I can.” “My plays were not stupid. We made a lot of money in admission tickets. I thought Annie was excellent.” He snorted. “You can’t even sing and you cast yourself as Annie.” “You’re still pissed because I wouldn’t let you play Daddy Warbucks.” He plowed ten fingers through his hair and made a noise deep in his throat. “How the hell do you get me on these ridiculous subjects?
Jennifer ProbstHell, at this rate she’d end up in the mental institution by the end of the year. Cause: Celibacy.
Jennifer ProbstI was afraid I had nothing to give. But I do. And I want to give it all to you.
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