Before he could think to move, apologize, groan his way through the last jerks of his pleased body, Reese’s thighs clenched. He dipped his tongue inside her just in time to feel her muscles spasm, her hips lifting off the bed.
Her hands were still on him, his on her, mouths and wet tongues pressed intimately against each other as they shattered and came back down, one shudder at a time. Reese’s fingers relaxed first, then her thighs settled back down on the bed, her heavy breathing the only sound she was making.
Derek held on still, tense, shocked, pleased, wishing he had the right words to say, something to express his total enjoyment of her, his gratitude that she made him feel alive and in control again. But there were no words in his testosterone-flooded brain and he sank back onto the bed, releasing his death grip on her thighs.
Bright red marks marred her pale skin where he had been squeezing her, and he caressed her, wanting to rub the bruises away, struggling to catch his breath.
“I like the way you play,” she said, arms slung over her head as she rolled onto her back.
And still he just lay there, unable to think of a single thing to say, a boneless, brainless mass of male idiocy.
A soft touch feathered across his knee.
“Does it hurt?”
Rousing himself, he looked down and watched her gently tracing the scar from his surgery, her lips placing a light kiss on his kneecap. Things shifted in his chest, as if he had indigestion. A strange pain settled in behind his ribs.
“Not all the time. It’s kind of like arthritis, some days are worse than others.” He was surprised it didn’t hurt now, after his sprint down the hall. But all he felt was deep, abiding satisfaction in every inch of his body.
TWENTY-SIX
Reese listenedto Knight’s husky low voice, felt his fingers still stroking on her thighs, and feared for her heart. This guy was kicking down the walls she had erected around herself one by one. She never wanted to lose herself in a guy—risk her heart, her money, or her self-respect.
She wanted to be in total control, call all the shots and be in charge of her own destiny, even if that destiny currently sucked rocks. At least she could blame it on herself, she could take chances, she wasn’t tied to another person and their capricious desires, needs, and whims.
A war was waging in her. She wanted to be with Knight and she didn’t. She had fun with him, but he wasn’t a good candidate for continual mindless commitment-free sex. He was a good guy, not terribly selfish and a little bit of a loner.
If she had wanted a casual affair, she had picked the wrong guy. She should have gone after one of those egocentric types, who waxed his car every Saturday and lost interest in women after three dates and penetration. But she hadn’t wanted one of those guys.
She had wanted Knight.
And now she was stuck. If she left tomorrow on her flight like she was supposed to, she was going to lose the story and the chance for some more naked fun. If she stayed, she was going to have to go hard and fast for this story, possibly alienating Knight and eliminating the chances of satisfying sex anyway.
Or he would let her in on the story, and in the off hours drive her to new heights of pleasure. And possibly make her fall for him, leaving her with a news scoop, a broken heart, and a high standard for dick size by which to judge all subsequent men.
And she hadn’t even had actual sex with him yet. That would probably destroy her.
“Do you like your job?” She withdrew from his knee and brought her legs around, so she was lying in the same direction as him. Her face was now next to his abdomen and chest and she couldn’t resist giving him a little nip, wanting to taste his salty skin.
“I love my job. I love helping people, doing my small part to right a wrong.”
Reese had noticed he liked her hair. Whenever they were together, he found reasons to dig into it, to smooth his rough hands along her long satin strands, and he was doing it now. She liked the feeling and felt for the first time ever that she could soothe someone, be a little tiny bit nurturing in her own way.
Nurturing had never come easy to her. She had grown up with no guide on how to do that. And then when she might have figured it out herself, she had rebelled against it, not wanting to be entangled with anyone any longer after the twenty years of her father and brothers’ well-meant dictatorship.
“That’s what I want to do, Knight. I want to write stories that matter, not pass on gossip and meaningless trash.”
“So do it.”
Stroke, stroke, he kept moving over the back of her head, and she nestled into the crook of his arm, indulging herself since she knew this opportunity would probably never arise again.
“I’m trying to. That’s why I want this story.”
His hand stilled. “Are you leaving tomorrow, Reese?”
She already knew she wasn’t. She couldn’t. Ralph would have a fit, but screw him. Well, not literally, since the thought of that made her want to have her stomach pumped. But she couldn’t worry about Ralph.
It would only be a few days, long enough to do a little more fact gathering.