Desire Collection: November Books 1 - 4. Charlene Sands
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hands—but seeing was believing and she wasn’t sure she believed that he was all hers.
“Did I ever tell you I like your tan lines?” she asked as he kneeled back on the bed and climbed between her legs.
“No, you didn’t.” He rolled the condom on and then came against her.
“You should wear sunscreen,” she told him, running her hands up and down his biceps. “But you’re a redhead with a tan, Eric. Someone rare and special. There’s no one else like you in the world and I can’t believe I have you all to myself right now.”
She could feel him at the entrance of her body. She desperately wanted to flex her hips up and take him inside of her. But he was staring down at her with such tenderness that it was almost alarming.
“Sofia...” he said, and something in his tone made her breath catch in her throat.
Then he began to thrust into her and she knew that no matter how much he made her laugh or how good he made her feel, this was about so much more than just a little bit of fun.
He went slow, filling her inch by inch. Her body spasmed around his. Oh, it had been so long. And he felt so good that she wanted to cry with the relief.
He was breathing hard, his face buried against her neck and she thought he was shaking. For a long moment, they lay like that, joined but quiet in the intimacy of it all.
He said her name again softly. “Sofia.”
“Yes,” she whispered. It didn’t really matter what the question was, after all. He was here with her and they were together and the answer was yes. Maybe it always would be.
He flexed his hips and she rose to meet him and together, they found a rhythm. Sofia wondered dimly if she should be doing more, trying harder. But there was something so freeing about laying back and letting him take care of everything. She didn’t have to give and give and give, dammit, until there was nothing left for her. She could be selfish and greedy and take everything he had because right now, he was all hers.
“Tell me what you need, babe,” Eric grunted, his breathing harsh. “Let me give it to you.”
She needed so much—more than a night or even a weekend. She needed to make up for all the time she’d lost just getting by. She was tired of survival. She wanted to live.
She was finally going to. “Let’s... Here. Lean back.”
Eric did as she asked, sitting on his heels without pulling free of her body. “You feel so good,” she told him, shifting her legs so that they were tucked up against him instead of locked behind his back.
Eric didn’t immediately fall into a rhythm again. Instead, he sat back and looked at how she had arranged herself. “How about this?” Then, instead of tucking her knee under his arm—a position that worked well for her before—he instead tucked his arm behind her knee, lifting her leg over his shoulder. But just the one.
She felt her body tighten around him with this new angle and sucked in a quick breath. “Yeah,” she said, adjusting to the different sensations. He felt larger, harder—and she felt closer to someone else than she’d been in so long. “Yeah, let’s try that.”
This time, his pace wasn’t slow or measured. He wasn’t taking his time, not anymore. This time, he buried himself inside of her over and over again and it couldn’t have been more than a minute before her body tightened and the orgasm blazed through her. She cried out, “Eric!” And then she lost the ability to speak at all.
He didn’t give her the chance to catch her breath. He didn’t give her the time to come back down to earth from that beautiful orgasm. Instead, he drove her relentlessly, pushing her from that high peak to one even higher. This time, when she came, she thrashed against the bed, grabbed onto his shoulders and held tight. The cords of his neck stood out as he roared and then collapsed on her.
They were breathing heavily. She could still feel him inside of her, although he was already retreating. She shifted, trying to hold on to him even though she knew he couldn’t stay.
She didn’t want to let him go. Not now. Maybe not ever.
But she did, of course. She had to. There were practical considerations and cold hard facts that could not be ignored. So when Eric rolled off her, withdrawing completely, she had no choice but to let him go.
Not that he went far. He pulled her into his arms, shaping himself around her and whispering “My beautiful, beautiful Sofia” into her hair, and that was it.
She loved him.
What a shame she could never have him.
It was hard to think with his pulse pounding in his ears and his body vibrating at a pitch Eric wasn’t sure he’d ever heard before. But one thought pushed its way through the collection of purely physical reactions to making love with Sofia.
He was in so much trouble.
Because he’d promised Sofia they could have some fun this weekend. He could make her feel good. She could have a break from being a mother and a widow and be... Well, not his significant other, but a woman with wants and needs that he could meet. And above all else, he’d promised her that no matter what happened, they would always be friends. Friends with benefits, yes. But friends first.
He wasn’t sure he could be anything as trite as “just friends” with her ever again. Not after that. Jesus.
He hadn’t had sex in over six months. Closer to ten, now that he thought about it. It was possible this wave of possessive emotion was nothing more than a long-standing itch finally being scratched. He’d gotten lucky again and it was a relief.
Sofia kissed the hollow of his neck. “I’ll be right back,” she said softly, pulling away from him.
He fought the urge to pull her right back into his arms. Stupid urges. Instead, all he could say was “Okay,” as if that were some brilliant pillow talk. He watched her cross in front of the bed and disappear into his bathroom and then he dropped his head back against the pillows.
His blood was still pounding in his veins like a call to arms. He should be good now. Tired. Ready to sleep. An evening of sexual anticipation had paid off for both of them. Now he could stop thinking about Sofia.
Yeah, right. Because one thing was clear—bedding Sofia was not an itch that had been scratched. This was something else. What he’d felt with her wasn’t just satisfaction at a job well done.
Oh, he was in so much trouble.
He wasn’t an impulsive person. He wasn’t. But ever since she’d shown up in his office and his life again, he’d been making impulsive decisions. He’d hired her without running background checks or calling her references. He’d taken her shopping because she’d been worried about what she would wear this weekend.
He’d bedded her. Twice. She was his office manager and he’d been inside of her. And, God help him, if she gave him so much as a half smile and a long look, he’d be inside of her again. He wasn’t sure he could control himself.
When he’d pulled himself together in those months after discovering Prudence’s son wasn’t his, he’d been forced to make the adult, mature decision not to engage in any more casual sex. It scratched an itch but it never made him feel better, not in the long run. He’d needed something more in bed—and out of it.
This weekend was supposed to be casual. Just two friends helping each other out. Getting her back on her feet.
He dropped his head into his hands. God help him, nothing about this was casual. This was Sofia. He cared about her. And her children? Those two innocent little babies who didn’t have a father and yet were so full of joy and laughter?
What was wrong with him? He was a thirty-one-year-old bachelor billionaire.