she was hottest.
The sound of her moans spurred him on. He took her clit in his mouth and sucked gently until she was squirming and gasping, then he slipped two fingers inside her, three fingers, in and out, stretching her walls and giving her eager muscles something to contract against.
She was so close to coming, he could almost taste it—couldn’t wait to taste it. With his middle finger, he found her G-spot and caressed her there, sending her crying out over the edge.
As she swayed her hips, dripping wet against him, in the final waves of her orgasm, he felt the trembling return. Urging him forward. He couldn’t wait any longer to be inside her again.
Clasping her waist, he urged her down his torso until she was straddling his hips again. He positioned himself under her and held her still as he thrust inside. In that one thrust, all his pent-up desire, all the years of wanting her, started to find its release, and he could only hold on, savoring every sensation.
He loved the way her long hair created a peek-a-boo show with her breasts. The glimpse of her nipples, dark and erect, spurred him closer to orgasm, and the flat smooth expanse of her belly, ending in the small triangle of hair where their bodies met, sent him over the edge.
Pleasure coursed through him in waves, until he could only pull her close and catch his breath with his face nuzzled in her neck. They lay tangled together until their combined heat became uncomfortable and they broke apart to cool off.
Alex watched Yasmine, fascinated by the way pleasure softened her features. His own emotions on the heels of their lovemaking were…confused. He didn’t want to think about the possible complications.
“You know, we’ve still got dinner to eat,” he said after they’d lain in silence for a short while, finally hungry now that he’d had his temporary fill of Yasmine.
“Oh, right,” she rolled over and stretched. “I am hungry now that you mention it.”
They climbed out of bed, and Alex pulled an old William and Mary College shirt out of his dresser drawer, then tossed it to Yasmine. He watched as she tugged it on, admiring the curves of her body one more time before they were hidden by the baggy shirt. She found her panties on the floor and put those on, too, as he dressed himself in a pair of reindeer-print boxers and a black tee.
She smiled at his boxers. “Cute.”
“Me or the reindeer?”
“Both. I like a man who can wear goofy underwear.”
“All in the spirit of the season.”
She followed him out of the bedroom and into the wide area that Alex used as his living area and office combined. He switched on a lamp. A wide, low cocktail table in front of the couch served as his dining room, and as he looked around the space, seeing it through Yasmine’s eyes—the bachelor-pad sparseness, the unsightly stacks of bills and magazines, the cheesy San Francisco posters that served as wall art—he had a horrible realization.
He should never have brought her to his apartment. Somehow, in the frenzy of getting her alone and naked, he’d overlooked the fact that she could stumble on any number of items here that would make it glaringly, obviously clear he was not who he pretended to be. His mail, his magazines, his drug prescriptions, all announced his name was Alex DiCarlo, and photos in his albums showed him mostly as the short-haired, clean-cut FBI agent he used to be, not the long-haired surfer he’d become.
Damn it, he was a freaking idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot.
Before she’d come to pick him up, he’d taken a quick glance around to make sure there was no incriminating evidence lying about, so he knew the living room was at least superficially safe. But he needed to make a closer inspection, and fast.
“Sorry this place is kind of a mess,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it.” She started removing the cartons of food from the carryout bags and placing them on the cocktail table.
Making as though he was cleaning up, he grabbed the stacks of magazines and bills sitting on the end table and carried them to a closet, where he shoved them on the top shelf.
“I’ll get some silverware,” she said, heading for the kitchen.
“No, wait, I’ll get it,” he said a little too quickly. “I think I left dirty dishes on the counter.”
She gave him an odd look. “Really, it’s okay,” she said, but lowered herself to the