Tailored for Trouble (Happy Pants #1) - Mimi Jean Pamfiloff Page 0,90

her, her chest damp from the physical exertion.

His heart beat against her shoulder blade as he made one more pump and groaned again. Then he froze. “Dammit.” His entire body tensed. “The fucking condom broke.”

Taylor’s eyes flew wide open, and Bennett dropped his forehead to her back, his lungs working hard. But he didn’t pull out.

He just held her to him, like he was afraid to let go.

CHAPTER 16

It had taken exactly four days—or was it five with the time zone changes?—for Taylor to fall head over heels in love with Bennett Wade. And she could pinpoint the exact moment her heart gave in to him, falling hopelessly, helplessly, and madly.

Too bad that if this works out, you’ll never be able to tell anyone. Because it wasn’t the moment he gave her the most amazing orgasm of her life or the way he’d kissed the breath out of her. It was the moment he realized they’d had a birth control failure.

Crazy, right?

But he didn’t run away or panic or say something stupid or act like it was the end of the world if the accident resulted in…well, that she wasn’t ready to think about. Instead, he held her tight for a long moment, pressing his forehead to her back. Then, with the utmost tenderness, he withdrew, went into the bathroom to discard the remnants of the condom, started the shower, and came back for her.

Though his eyes were filled with emotion, Bennett didn’t say a word, not one, as he led her by the hand into the large bathroom. Perhaps he sensed she needed a moment after having her body worked over so deliciously. And after having her body filled with copious amounts of what were likely some very determined and feisty sperm, given who they came from.

She watched the hard, round muscles of his smooth ass flex while he closed the clear glass door behind them in the shower. He then turned to face her, giving her a glimpse of the front of his body—lean pecs, the ripples of abs that cascaded down into those lickable ridges just below his hips, guiding her eyes to his long, thick, semi-aroused penis. He was beautiful. Every goddamned inch, right down to the patch of coarse black hair surrounding the base of his cock to the dark hair on his muscled thighs. Even his toes were perfect.

“What’s the meaning of the tattoo?” she asked. The pattern had two small tribal-looking dragons, intertwined in several swirls.

“It’s to remember someone I lost.”

Bennett didn’t appear to want to say more. Instead he grabbed the citrusy smelling soap and a washcloth, and then kissed her gently before going to work, washing her body slowly, as if savoring the intimacy of the act. He floated the washcloth over her breasts and stomach, under her arms, and then turned her around and washed every inch of her back, spending a little extra time between her thighs with gentle strokes.

When she faced him again, he kissed her once more with a sensual tenderness, and then proceeded to wash himself, allowing her to watch, without any sign of shyness. All those times she’d imagined him pleasuring himself, taking his hard shaft in his hand, did not compare to actually watching him hold his still semi-aroused penis in the palm of his large hand. Oh yes, that image would be recycled for years to come.

Once all clean, he placed his hand on the side of her face, kissed her slowly, working his tongue over her lips, and then left the shower. “I’ll see you downstairs for that talk.”

Wow. A whoosh of air left her body.

Being bathed by Bennett Wade after hard hot sex was the sexiest thing she’d ever experienced apart from the actual sex.

“Wow. Just…wow,” she sighed under her breath.

So that was her first glimpse of the real Bennett Wade, and she knew she’d never get enough.

—

After drying off, Taylor slipped on a sleeveless plum-colored dress made from a soft, airy fabric, perfect for the hot weather. She went downstairs to find Bennett and saw he’d opened up all of the doors facing the beach, allowing the night ocean air to pour inside. He sat on the porch, wearing only his linen pants, his legs propped up on a small wooden table, a glass of white wine in his hand. He stared pensively at the ribbons of rainwater trickling from the roof into the sand.

“Aren’t you afraid of mosquitos?” she asked.

He smiled dimly, still staring out toward the dark ocean.