Used-To-Be Lovers. Linda Lael Miller
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the man hadn’t been holding a steaming hot cup of coffee, Sharon would have slapped him. As it was, she glared at him and stretched out a hand for her own cup.
After a while Tony got up and wandered into the adjoining bathroom, and Sharon didn’t look to see whether or not he was dressed. When he returned, he crawled back into bed with her, rolling over so that one of his legs rested across both of hers.
His mouth descended toward hers, smelling of toothpaste, and he was definitely not dressed.
“Tony, don’t—”
The kiss was warm, gentle and insistent. Sharon trembled as all the familiar sensations were awakened, but she also braced both hands against Tony’s chest and pushed.
The motion didn’t eliminate all intimate contact—Tony had shifted his weight so that he was resting lightly on top of her—but it did make it possible to speak.
“No,” Sharon said clearly.
Tony slid downward, kissing her jawline, the length of her neck, her collarbone.
“No,” she repeated with less spirit.
His lips trailed across her collarbone and then downward. He nibbled at her breast through the thin fabric of her nightgown.
Her voice was a whimper. “No,” she said for the third time.
Tony’s mouth came to hers; his tongue traced the outline of her lips. “You don’t mean that,” he told her.
Sharon was about to admit he was right when there was a knock at the door and Bri called out in sunny tones, “Breakfast is served!”
Tony was sitting up, both hands buried in his hair, when Briana and Matt entered the room carrying trays.
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