Blame It on the Bikini - By Natalie Anderson Page 0,45

back so her mouth met his. A hungry, uncontrollable kiss. His tongue pummelling as fast and relentlessly as that other part of him was. Something broke free within her, that desire to hold onto him. To hold onto him so tight because he’d given her something so precious. She sucked on his tongue the way her sex was—tightly squeezing. Not letting him go. Stroking him back. A slick friction that set fire to her senses again.

He tore his mouth from hers, arching and shouting as his release ripped out of him. Her body quaked as she received it, intensifying her own pleasure to the point where she could bear no more.

It took a few moments for Brad to realise he’d blanked out and was slumped over her. Their bodies were stuck together—hot skin, locked limbs. Hell, could she breathe? He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at her.

‘Wow.’ She nodded slowly. ‘Okay. I can see why.’

It wasn’t quite the comment he’d wanted. That hadn’t been his usual wham and bam and ‘let’s do it three times again, ma’am’. Physical and fast and fun. He didn’t know what had got into him with this so-slow-you-think-you’re-going-to-die-from-bliss intensity.

‘You sure proved your point.’ She swallowed.

He might have managed to laugh that off if he weren’t so winded. Slowly, reluctantly, painfully, he withdrew from her warmth and rolled to lie beside her. He kept his eyes closed, holding back the exposed feeling. Because that had been so far from his usual behaviour that he couldn’t comprehend it.

That hadn’t just been sex. He didn’t really know what it had been, but he knew it was not just sex. Part of him wanted to flee the scene immediately. Another part of him was stirring back to life, hungry for a repeat. How could the gnawing ache be worse now than it had been before?

‘I’m sorry for being so useless,’ she murmured.

He flashed his eyes open and lifted his head. ‘What?’

To his amazement she’d gone bright red, more flushed than when she’d been in the throes of passion and about to come. ‘I just lay there.’

He really did laugh then—and it was all genuine. ‘No, you didn’t.’

She’d sighed and moved in subtle, uncontrollable ways that had nearly driven him out of his mind. And she’d held him. He’d had the most incredible feeling when she’d held him.

He pulled her close. But sleep didn’t claim him as quickly as it did her. Instead he lay still fully attuned to the signals of her body, his embrace tightening as her body relaxed into sleep. He’d never struggled to get to sleep after sex before. But he’d never had sex like that before either. He tried to process it, his body humming, his mind replaying fragments, sending flashes of memory to senses already overloaded and struggling with oversensitivity. Almost an hour later, still nowhere near sleep, he slipped away from her. In the moonlit kitchen he poured a glass of water. He drank, trying to wash away the fever and regain his laid-back, carefree attitude. But the cool water didn’t dispel the growing sense of discomfort and confusion.

The best moment of his life might also have been the biggest mistake.

CHAPTER NINE

MYA woke early, panic clanging louder than an electronic alarm plugged into subwoofer speakers. Warm, sweat-dampened skin where they touched. Time to get out of here. She slipped out from his hot embrace, ultra-careful not to wake him because there was something she had to do first.

Quietly she found her phone and got it ready. Just as he stirred, she threw the sheet back and captured him in all his morning glory before he could blink.

‘Now we’re even.’ She laughed and teasingly waved the phone at him, determined to hide the ache pulling down her heart—from herself most of all.

He blinked and a slow, naughty smile spread over his face—the return of the charmer. ‘Damn, you should have told me.’ He stretched. ‘I could have posed better for you.’

He could never have been posed better. He looked like the Greek god he’d joked about.

‘I’ll delete this when you delete the picture of me,’ she offered. But it was a lie. Even if she trashed it from her phone, she couldn’t ever wipe this image from her brain.

‘I’m never deleting that.’ His laughter rumbled, rippling muscles over his taut, bronzed chest. ‘I’ve sent it to my computer. It looks brilliant on a big screen.’

Oh, she should have known. ‘You’re a perv.’

‘And you’re an amateur. You think I mind you having