Hot SEAL, Heartbreaker - Cat Johnson Page 0,34
she was beneath him, Alicia was a different person. No longer the analytical therapist. Just a woman. A woman on the verge of another orgasm if the growing crescendo of her cries was any indication.
He could help her with that. If he could just hold on a little bit longer himself.
Being inside a woman was nothing compared to his own hand—which had been his only pleasure for far too long. He was starting to reach the point of no return as he felt her body grip his.
“Yes,” he hissed as she buried her face against him and came, her cries muffled against his bare chest.
That sent him over the edge. He came hard and loud.
He was a shaky, sweaty mess when he finally collapsed on top of her.
“Damn.” Brian blew out a breath, spent, although he definitely wouldn’t mind a round two.
Her only answer to his comment was a short laugh.
“Your sister’s not having another party soon, is she?” he asked, with hope in his horny heart for another reason to see Alicia again.
“Knowing her, yes.” She let out a sigh and tried, unsuccessfully, to move with his weight on her.
Regretfully, he rolled over onto his back, freeing her.
She sat up against the pillows and asked, “You hungry?”
Now that she mentioned it . . . “Yeah. I could eat.”
“I’ll get us something.”
“Thanks.” He swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and padded to the attached bathroom to get rid of the condom.
When he came out, he saw she’d gotten out of bed and had pulled on an oversized T-shirt . . . and nothing else. He liked it.
“Beer?” she asked over her shoulder as she headed toward the doorway.
“Definitely.” He nodded on the way back across the room, where he found his underwear on the floor. Pulling them on, he searched for his shirt and said, “I’ll come help you.”
She waved away his offer. “No need. Stay here and be comfortable. I’ll bring it in. The remote control is on the nightstand if you want to turn on the TV. Put whatever you want on.”
“Okay.” He watched her disappear down the hall and glanced at the nightstand to see the remote was there, as she’d said. Right next to the empty wrapper from the used condom.
Control of the TV. Eating in bed. Beer. Sex. She hated Valentine’s Day. And she was willing to be his fake girlfriend.
This woman might just be perfect.
A quarter of an hour later, over sandwiches, Alicia said, “Why do you think you aren’t you involved with anyone?”
He froze and had to rethink his earlier assessment of Alicia’s perfection as she asked that question.
He’d just opened his mouth and was about to take another bite of the sandwich she’d made and delivered to him in bed as promised when she decided to initiate meaningful conversation.
Food was served best without a side of serious talk.
The worst part was that this might be the best sandwich he’d ever had. Salami, ham and provolone cheese with mustard and hot peppers on a roll with pickles, potato chips and a bottle of Coronado Brewing Company beer. He’d taken her for a salad kind of girl. Possibly an all-natural, Kale chips kind of person. He’d been wrong.
He'd also been mistaken in assuming she could compartmentalize the therapist inside her. That question was definitely one would a shrink would ask.
He was sexually satisfied—for now—and about to fill his belly with some good food, but her prying stopped him from taking the next bite. He lowered the sandwich.
“I have a girlfriend.” When a menacing wrinkle appeared between her brows, he added, “You. Remember, oh fake girlfriend of mine?”
With any luck, the joke would end this discussion and he could get back to eating.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m serious. Why are you still single?”
Nope. Guess not.
He could counter and ask her the same question—why didn’t she have a boyfriend? Often the best defense was a strong offense. But he wanted to end this conversation, not prolong it.
Regretfully, he put the sandwich back on the plate and put the plate on the nightstand. Like it or not, it was time to be serious.
And just when he’d been enjoying that sandwich too . . .
Turning back to her, he lifted one shoulder. “I’m not exactly a hearts and flowers kind of guy.”
“I beg to differ.” She glanced pointedly across the room.
He followed her gaze and saw the roses he’d given her sitting on her dresser inside what looked like a glass water pitcher. They were