Making Him Sweat & Taking Him Down. Meg Maguire

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СКАЧАТЬ on his haunches, slowing his thrusts, catching his breath. When it seemed the madness had left him, he put his palm to her mound, thumb on her clitoris. “Tell me how,” he said, starting to rub.

      “Lighter. And faster.”

      He followed her instructions perfectly, the rough pad of his thumb stroking her even better than she could do herself. And it went far beyond the touch—it was the sight of his body, the smell of him, the slap of his skin against hers. The least romantic, most frantic sex of her life. And it blew every slow, candlelit seduction clear out of the water.

      He felt right. So right it scared her.

      As she edged closer to release, she fantasized about how he would be when he neared the finish himself. Fast. Fast and vocal. Picturing it had her speeding toward orgasm, imagining his face, mean and needy. She swore as the first spasm struck, grasped his arm and neck and held on, riding the pleasure until it turned to pain, his thumb against her clit too much to take. She pulled his hand away, panting and dizzy.

      “Jesus, Jenna.” He surprised her then. He kept his hips still, dropping to his elbows to slide his hands beneath her back, kissing her neck and jaw as she caught her breath.

      She cleared her throat. “You were right. You’re even better at sex than you are at kissing.”

      He made a satisfied, happy noise against her throat, then rose on straight arms and looked her in the eyes.

      She stroked his arms. “Your turn. What do you need?”

      He laughed. “About eight seconds of your time, I suspect.”

      “What would you like, then?”

      “To make you do some work.”

      “You’re on.”

      He slid out and they switched positions, Mercer piling three pillows at the head of the bed so that as he lay down, he was only half-reclined. He put his hands to his hips. “C’mere.”

      She straddled him, welcoming his hard heat back inside her body. He couldn’t ever be deep enough, close enough.

      He brought his knees up, cradling her in his lap. Bracing her hands against the wall, she found her rhythm, thrilling at his grunts and groans and the way his eyes seemed to record everything she was doing. She paused as he unhooked her bra, then she slipped it off for him. As she began to move again, he put his hands to her breasts, not holding them, merely letting her nipples brush his palms with each roll of her hips. She could feel her excitement mounting all over again, from his touch, from the taunting friction of his base on her clit with each withdrawal. Raw brick beneath her palms. Raw, male breaths punctuating their sex.

      “That’s so good. I’m so close,” he muttered.

      So was Jenna. Her body craved the same motions his did, and as her second climax began to rise, his pleasure was reaching its own crescendo. He grasped her hips, issuing orders, forcing the speed and aggression he needed.

      “Yeah.” His teeth were gritted, eyes narrowed. His hips trembled beneath her, body begging. The look on his face excited her more than any physical sensation.

      She came apart just as he neared the edge. He realized what was happening, the idea of it seeming to strike him like a whip. He swore. He held her hips still, thrusting up into her as he came, holding her hard.

      When he let her go, she flopped to the mattress beside him. He left her only for a second to ditch the condom, and for minutes on end the room was filled with their heavy inhalations, occasionally accompanied by the odd voice from the street, the flare of an engine starting up, the slam of a car door.

      You can’t wake up next to him tomorrow. She had to get back to her own bed….

      She blinked, realizing she’d nodded off. Better find her clothes and…

      Again she jerked awake. Mercer’s deep breathing said he’d succumbed to postsex male narcolepsy. Sounded awfully inviting. Still, she really ought to…

      The thought abandoned her, and Jenna fell asleep, logical brain finally silent.

      “WHOA.”

      Mercer woke early, surprised for a moment to find a woman beside him. And not just any woman.

      The clock said it was five-forty and the room had gone chilly. He wanted to pull the covers over Jenna, but he couldn’t free them without waking her. And waking her would probably rouse her from her orgasm-induced judgment lapse, and that would send her lovely, pale, naked body retreating to her own room. Tricky one.

      Slow as tar, he crept from the bed, then padded to the living room and grabbed the old afghan from the back of the couch. He managed to drape it over her, but she roused as he climbed into bed beside her. Damn.

      She made a soft noise of alarm.

      He brushed the hair from her face. “Go back to sleep.”

      “What time is it?”

      “Nearly six. You sure you didn’t mean to ask, ‘What the hell am I doing here?’”

      “I know exactly what I’m doing here,” she mumbled. “Arguing with you, which is no surprise.” She yawned, then tucked herself tighter under the covers.

      Pleased she hadn’t bolted awake and out the door, Mercer relaxed, feeling warm from far more than the blanket.

      Such a bad instinct, though. There was a semiuniversal rule observed by professional fighters—no sex in the three weeks preceding a match. Just stay away from women, period. They made you nuts, screwed with your focus, cooled your fire. All that pent-up testosterone was best saved and redirected to make yourself go berserk in the ring. Mercer hadn’t had a paid fight of his own in three years, but he still thought it was a wise philosophy. He loved women in all kinds of capacities, but life was infinitely simpler when there wasn’t one in the picture. Jenna complicated his life plenty with their clothes still on, and it was probably the worst romantic decision he’d ever made, waking up here naked with her. Though it hadn’t felt like a decision. Felt like goddamn force of nature.

      Just as Mercer was settling back down for another hour’s sleep, reality intruded. Loudly. His phone buzzed on the side table, and when he saw Rich’s number on the screen, it could only mean one thing. He hit Talk before the ringer could kick in, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

      “Lemme guess—your crappy-ass car’s broke down on the Tobin Bridge.”

      “No, I’m downstairs. I just forgot my gym keys.”

      Mercer rolled his eyes. “We’ve gotta get a keypad.”

      “C’mon, man. Bobby’s down here. Don’t make this OCD bastard late for his workout.”

      Mercer heard the man in question grumble something in the background.

      “Fine. Lemme get some clothes on.” He clicked the phone off and headed back to his room. Jenna was sitting up, afghan hugged to her chest.

      “Sorry. Rich locked himself out. I have to go down and let him in.”

      She СКАЧАТЬ