Just a little more, I kept telling myself, but time got away from me, and now Riggs is here and I’m still in my towels and not ready. I also need to know who the murderer is.
I consider making a mad dash to ditch the towels and put myself in a sexy pose, but my eyes keep getting drawn to the TV where Keith Morrison is interviewing the sister of the murder victim.
It’s intense, and I can’t look away.
It’s how Riggs finds me when he enters my bedroom.
Holding out a hand, I say, “Don’t talk. There’s only about eight minutes left, and I need to see what happens.”
Abruptly, Riggs pivots on his foot and marches out of the bedroom.
I’m stunned, hit the pause button, and wonder if I’ve pissed him off. I know he was expecting something far hotter than me sitting in the middle of my bed, big towel on my head while I watched Dateline.
I start to scramble off the bed but before I move, he’s walking back in.
“Stop,” he orders, and I halt. His voice is gruff, but he’s got a slight smile on his face, as if amused. “I wanted to walk out and walk back in… experience seeing you like that all over again.”
I stare at him wide-eyed, rolling those words over in my brain.
He likes what he sees? Me nowhere near the sexy vixen I’d promised and likely at my worst looking? Plus, I didn’t apply lotion, so my skin is a little ashy.
But within his tone and the way he’s looking at me now, I see that he finds me just as appealing as if I were naked and playing with myself.
As I’d promised but didn’t deliver.
He’s looking at me as if he likes me better this way. As if sex isn’t at the center of our time together, and that knowledge squeezes something within my chest.
Not once since we started sleeping together have I felt that way. There’s been amazing sex, and some fun conversations in between, but there’s always been a disconnect. It stems not from his original aversion to me for being a rich divorcée, but from the fact that both of us went into this knowing it would be nothing more than sex.
If it was nothing more than sex—a commodity either of us could get anywhere—why did he seem delighted to find me this way?
And more importantly, why do I feel so damn pleased that I’ve affected him in a way that has nothing to do with sex?
Riggs and I are defined by the intimacy we share. We are blistering in bed, feed off each other, enjoy giving each other pleasure. In between the sheets, we are perfect together.
But the way he’s looking at me now… it goes beyond mere lust or attraction. Riggs is looking at me as if sex isn’t quite on his mind, and it’s disconcerting.
I nod toward the TV, sounding lame in my excuse. “It’s a really good Dateline episode.”
“Clearly,” he replies and moves to the edge of the bed. His eyes pin on me so intently, I feel self-conscious and tug at the towel, knowing it’s the stupidest thing about what he’s seeing right now. My hair comes down in a wave of wet locks that are cold against my skin.
Riggs puts a knee to the mattress and presses his palms down. He crawls my way, and when he’s moved right over top of me, I think he might kiss me.
Instead, he takes the remote from my hand and tosses it to the floor. “We’ll finish Dateline later.”
Riggs moves so fast, I’m not sure what’s happening. But somehow, he whips the towel from my body, has me flat on my back, and my legs spread wide. He moves backward, gliding his mouth over my skin as he kisses his way from my neck all the way down between my legs.
And that’s how I end up with my legs over his shoulders, his tongue circling my clit, and my world getting rocked.
Riggs plunges his tongue inside me, and I can’t help but cry out over how good it feels. My hips buck and gyrate, needing more. My hands go to his head, pulling him into me, demanding more.
And he gives it. Licking and sucking and plunging. My entire body trembles, my heels dig into his mid-back, and my knees clamp the sides of his head. It’s his name I’m calling out as that initial burst of ecstasy hits and then waves of pleasure rocket through me.
God, I need him inside me, and I tell him as much.
Riggs ignores me, though, keeping his mouth against my hypersensitive flesh. His tongue lazily circles my clit, and it’s almost torturous.
“Riggs,” I growl, trying to push him away, and then trying to pull him back, undecided on what I want.
He lifts his head, hair mussed, and grins at me. “I’m not done down here. Just lie back and enjoy the ride.”
“Oh, geez,” I huff as I sink down onto the pillow. I sigh as he nuzzles the inside of my thigh.
The respite is short-lived as he presses a finger inside me and starts licking at me again. He’s a determined man. I know he’s going to take his time too.
I let go and as he said, I enjoy the ride.
♦
Riggs fucks me slowly, his hands at the backs of my legs to lift me up and spread me wide open. His eyes are dark, hazy with lust. Teeth gritted, he stares down at our union, watching his thick length moving in and out of me.
He groans, pumps harder, and brings his eyes to me. I can read every nuance in his expression. He’s close, but he doesn’t want to come yet. Like me, it feels so damn good, we don’t want it to ever end.
Riggs takes my legs, lowers them slightly, and forces them around his waist. He drops down on top of me, chest to chest, and kisses me softly while his hips pump deep.
He stares down at me. “This is getting addictive.”
“Mmmm,” is all I can say, because when he’s moving inside me like this, I can’t hold a coherent thought.
The rhythm he sets drives me nuts, making me feel every inch he takes away before giving it to me again. I want more of this and more time with him, and I hate myself for pondering such things. Those things would never cross my mind if I weren’t hovering on the verge of yet another explosive orgasm.
“Look at me,” Riggs orders, and I hadn’t realized I’d closed my eyes until I consciously open them to find him still staring at me.
It’s a dare. Hold his gaze the entire time he moves within me. As I move against him.
Together.
It’s impossible when my orgasm finally hits to keep focused on Riggs as my vision goes blurry, and I have an almost out-of-body experience before I tumble back down again. Riggs trembles as he comes, burying his face in my neck. His chest heaves from the intensity of what we both experienced, and he growls, “Holy shit, that was good.”
“So good,” I agree softly, my hands going to his hair. “I really thought your performance would wane over time, but you get better.”
Riggs’s head pops up to glare down at me, but he finds me grinning. I get his fingers to my ribs as he tickles me in retribution, and we roll to our sides, facing each other.
Tickling me once again, he demands, “Admit it. I’m the best you’ve ever had.”
“You are,” I readily agree. “But then again, I’ve only had two other men to compare you to. Stacked up against all the males in the world, I’m not sure where you’d fall.”
Riggs snorts but asks, “Only two?”
I cock my eyebrow at him. “I’m assuming you’ve had way more than two.”
“No comment,” he replies. “I’m assuming one was your husband.”