“And I don’t want to wait anymore,” she said to his mouth.
“Me, neither.” He took her small pile of clothes as she shoved it against him. “But for our first time? We can do better. Longer. After this briefing, we’ll go back to my room and I’ll show you exactly what I mean.”
If there was anything she deserved, it was time and tenderness. After the life she’d lived, the years they’d spent building up to this moment. Not rushed and panting and pressed against her work desk with their clothes bunched, her elbow knocking a coffee mug to the floor as he grasped her hips tightly, filling her again and again and—
He almost groaned as his cock strained.
No, God. Not that.
Why was it so damn hot in here?
“I really like the sound of your room,” she said, a throaty admission.
Hauling his desire into line, he made himself nod.
“For our second time,” she added.
Blood roared in his ears.
“Twenty-two minutes and counting,” she whispered with a wicked little smile. “You might want to hurry.”
He was hardly aware of throwing her clothes over his shoulder as he pressed her back against the nearest wall. She moved with him, making a soft noise he’d never heard from her before—a kind of hungry whimper—and it left him awed and gratified and sensually ravenous all at once. Her face was close, chin angled up, her breath a scent he was desperate to swallow. “Frankie, can I—”
“Yes,” she said, and met his open mouth with hers.
Her kiss was like falling into his own heart and landing in her arms. She was there; she’d always been there. It almost knocked his knees out from under him. She was a wave crashing over him, a slide-tackle hauling him down. He slammed his palm against the wall and pushed harder into the slick sweetness of her tongue, her mouth, her need for him.
This was—she was—everything.
Her taste spread through him like he’d always known it would—like wildflowers and flame and an open sky—and the world levelled out around him.
With Frankie by his side, he wouldn’t slip off the edge of duty and into disaster. He could lead without losing himself. He could be a cowboy royal, for she’d always known him as both and would bind those parts of him together. With her, he could handle his future.
Their future.
They kissed desperately. Wide and wet and fierce like a storm rolling in.
Her hands were tight in his hair, her body hard against his. He ran his knuckles down her side and she broke the kiss as he grazed the edge of her breast, her back arching. He nudged her thighs apart with his knee and pressed his quad firmly between her legs.
“Oh, God.” Her breath hitched as she slid over him.
His bones ached with the urge to please her. “Tell me what you want.”
“I told you, with the way I need you, this won’t take—” Her eyes fell closed as she rolled her hips, rubbing against his thigh again. She shuddered. Hard. Heavy. Way closer than he’d expected. “Kris, please.”
Frankie. His best friend. Begging for him.
Edgy with need, he ran his hands over her hips. Then he was peeling her dress up and over her head, discarding it as he flicked her bra open and drew the straps down, collecting her underpants on the way and letting both drop to the floor.
Skin. Curves. Breasts. Beauty.
It knocked the wind right out of him. He’d never pretended to be a saint—he’d imagined her like this over the years with varying degrees of physical accuracy. But no matter how his mind had played with her, shaped and embellished, nothing could compare to the reality of her before him now—lean and sculpted and every inch the most intense fantasy of his life.
So this was Frankie.
She was blinking at him.
He stilled, hesitating. “This okay?”
“No one’s ever got me naked that fast.”
Lust clawed low inside him as he looked her over. “Four years isn’t exactly a record.”
Her smile bordered on shy. “Your turn.”
She helped him. Their hands tangled at his shirt buttons, fumbled at his trousers because their mouths met again and split focus was beyond him. He stopped caring when his hands found her waist and slid up to cup her breasts. Christ. He dragged her nipple into his mouth, sucking and reveling in her ready moan. She was perfect. That was his only clear thought.
Utterly perfect.
His breath was quick, his cock rigid. Vaguely, he was aware of her hand dipping into his front pocket for the condom before she freed him and kicked his clothes aside. Sparks flared beneath his skin at the slide of her hands on his chest.
“Goddamn,” she muttered, shifting closer and brushing her lips over his pecs. “No wonder you’re arrogant.”
He smiled distractedly, struggling not to gather her naked body to him and show her the more pertinent reason for his arrogance. “You’ve seen me without a shirt before.”
Her fingers drifted lower. “I’ve never touched you.”
“I wish you—”
His mind emptied as she grasped the length of him. All that was left was the tight stroking of her hand. The slam of his palm returning to the wall. The blaze of his pleasure growing ever-hotter. The strained sound of her name on his lips. And cursing, he was almost definitely mouthing profanities in mindless reverence at her rhythm. Frankie was touching him. Frankie was pressed naked against his side, her mouth roaming the muscles of his arm. It was too much. Urgency surged through him and he dragged her hand away.
Then he was returning his thigh between her legs, angling it against her clit—and rubbing firmly. She moaned, shuddering, and moved with him. If her gratification lay in outer orgasms, he’d have no regrets for it to end just like this.
“Kris.” Her indignance sparked through her pleasure. “I don’t need a bed for our first time, but I draw the line at coming on your fucking leg.”
That answered that. He laughed, darkly delighted by her crudity, and raised his head to kiss her slow and deep. Feasting from her gutter-mouth was literal bliss.
“Lift me?” she asked, fastening her arms around his neck.
He passed a hand down her stomach. “I want to touch you first.”
“Next time.”
“Once.” His fingers found her soft curls and he went mad imagining how she must feel beneath them. “Please, just once?”
“Okay.” Her green eyes were burning. “But we’re on a timeline.”
Jesus. Okay. Just once.
With his mouth behind her ear and eyes closed, he slid his fingers between her legs—and almost lost control at the silky, swollen feel of her. She weakened in his arms, pulling on his neck with a tremble, and he stroked her, a single two-fingered slide that went deep and wet and drew a sound of strangled pleasure from low inside her. Lost in the sensation, he dragged back the other way, harder this time, teasing, closer to where he most desperately wanted to delve.
God. He had to feel the inside of her.
“Just once,” he murmured, seeking permission through his mindless haze. He grazed against her, preparing, poised to start shallow but not making any promises to stay there.
“Cheater.” She nipped his earlobe and he opened his eyes with a swift breath. “You can’t start again from zero.” Her voice was hoarse with wanting. “I don’t want it to happen like that—not this time.”