Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,11

tiles behind her, she basked in the skilled hands of a man who knew what he was doing. Instinctively, one knee cocked. His hand slipped under that knee, and with one smooth tug, she was off her feet, her body angled into the tiled corner, and both her legs around his waist.

Like before, he was ready for action, the tip of him positioned at her starting line, the pulse in his neck beating “yes, yes, yes.” But there he stopped. The poor guy’s knees were bent and his feet were spread to support her weight. He’d hunched down to her level, yet he tipped back enough to peer at her. “I see you, princess,” he murmured, his voice a husky mix of whiskey and smoke. “You think you’ve got it in you for one more time?”

That shouldn’t have made her smile, but a giggle bubbled up from her heart at his inadvertent insinuation. Persia reached between their bodies and took him in hand. “Not yet, Hotrod, but I’m ready to get it back in me if you are.”

And he was big. Hard and dripping wet and perfect.

One thrust. One whispered, “Yesssss….” And he was right where she needed him. Sheathed deep inside her clenching body. To the hilt. The dance started then, a steady rhythm that seduced and inspired. And it was happening again. With each push of his hips into her, her needy body responded in kind, until they were slamming together. Gasping for more. Clawing each other.

Sparks flew. His fingernails dug into the cheeks of her ass. She intertwined her fingers around his neck. Holding him while he held her. He angled his head, licking her lips as he took her mouth. Drops of water drizzled between them, creating tiny streams that pooled in her eyes.

“Look down, princess. See what we’re doing,” he murmured into her mouth.

Persia bowed her head next to his to see. Him, all male, driving into her, all female. They were Adam and Eve, and this was paradise. With just that one hurried glimpse of their joined bodies, white-hot lightning speared her.

“Gah! Yesssss!” she hissed. Damn. He’d done that on purpose. He’d known precisely what she’d needed to hit her mark.

Persia lost track of Hotrod’s hands on her backside for a split second. She couldn’t breathe. Didn’t need to. Her world had exploded into slippery wet fireworks and smoking, falling stars. Drifting sparks that fell over her and into her. She was hanging on for the ride of her life. This! This man! Him! Only him and now and…

Tears ran out the corners of her eyes, mimicking the tears raining down from the shower. Suddenly, the whole world was crying, and she didn’t know why. All she could do was breathe and hold onto the only man standing brave and wild in her brand-new world, while she tried not to fall apart.

Lovemaking this perfect had to be the real thing, didn’t it? Persia hoped so. Because, like it or not, she felt something for this guy. Her heart had cracked wide open, and a tender wellspring of emotions were crowding out of her like a spring held too long in a Jack-in-the-box. Like a tulip bulb planted under a stone, starved for the sun. The fiercest emotions burst out of her, searching for light and love and quite possibly—for Hotrod.

Yet he still hadn’t found his release, and his legs were shaking.

“Honey,” she breathed into his neck, her arms still hooked around his shoulders in case he didn’t want to look her in the eye. “Are you okay?” Probably not the best thing to ask a man when he was having performance issues. But she cared. He needed three days of solid sleep, not a night of rowdy sex in a shower, where he could slip and fall just because she’d been selfish.

His chin sank to the top of her wet head. “I’m good,” he growled into her streaming wet hair.

But Persia heard weary frustration edging his words. She changed the subject. “You, my man, need sustenance, not wild, crazy sex. I prescribe bacon and eggs for breakfast, along with a tall stack of blueberry pancakes, topped off with homemade orange marmalade. I picked the oranges and made it myself.”

He huffed. “But I like wild, crazy sex. With you.”

He had a way of bringing her back to square one all over again.

When the taut, hard muscles bunched beneath her fingertips relaxed, she slipped down the incredible slide of his muscular body, turned on again by