I grip her thighs, and the muscles tense and flex under my hands. Her core muscles ripple. Her breasts are full, the nipples taut. Her long hair spills forward over one shoulder in a dark curtain. She couldn’t be any more beautiful, and her confidence is an unexpected turn-on.
Within minutes, she brings me to the edge of climax. The pleasure coils every muscle in my body, and I grip her hips and watch myself lift into her. KT is a fantasy, pure and simple. Everything a man could ever want—strong, sweet, funny, smart, independent, gorgeous, and fiery hot in bed. Both intimidating and disarming.
She’s working me like a master, watching me intently. “That’s it.”
A hot little smile turns her mouth. She presses both hands to my chest and quickens her thrusts in short, powerful direct hits.
“Fuck.” I drop my head back and grit my teeth around the need to express my pleasure verbally. The door is locked, but the last thing I need is the girls waking. KT rocks me right into an explosive orgasm. Fiery pleasure sears my spine and floods my pelvis. I come hard, my vision a white-hot burst of light.
When the pleasure melts into pure satisfaction, I find my hands digging into KT’s hips, and I force my fingers to release. Her movements have slowed to that languid, sexy rock. My mind is fogged, my body both exhausted and utterly satisfied. I haven’t even caught my breath before KT’s movements stoke heat inside me again. “Jesus.”
“Good, right?”
“Un-fucking-fathomable.”
“Even better now. Hotter. Slicker.” She uses both hands to pull her hair up and clasps her hands on her head without missing a beat. Damn, but she does put on a mesmerizing show. I absently wonder if she’s ever been a stripper. She moves like I imagine one would.
My thoughts are derailed as another orgasm comes on fast and hot. Before I break, I sit up and wrap her in my arms, roll her to her back. Resting on my forearms, I thread my fingers into her hair. I kiss her, slowing everything down. I want to remember this forever. But KT isn’t having it. She wraps her thighs at my hips, crosses her feet at my back and strokes her tongue into my mouth as she lifts into me. The grind makes us both groan. I barely hold myself together until she meets me on the edge of orgasm. Until I watch the climax cloud her eyes and wash across her face. Then I let go, savoring the pure ecstasy surging through my entire body.
It takes forever to catch my breath. Takes all the strength I have left to ease out of KT until I rest my head on her belly. Her fingers sift through my hair, and I float on the euphoria. God, it’s been so long. And not just for the amazing sex, but the connection to another soul.
“What’s your real name?” It’s something that’s been nagging at me.
She heaves a sigh. I expect her to avoid the question, but she says, “Katrina Tiffany.”
There is so much irony in her tone, I lift my head and look at her. “That’s beautiful. Why do you go by KT?”
“Because Katrina Tiffany is frilly and fluffy, and I’m a tomboy. Always have been. The name has never suited me.”
“Did your dad think up the nickname?”
“No, I did. I think I was maybe eight.”
With my chin on her stomach, I smile. “I guess Jazz was right on the money when she named you Kat. It fits you perfectly. Do you mind if I call you Kat? It’s so much easier to say than KT, especially in bed.”
She laughs and strokes a finger across my lower lip. “If it will make this happen again, then absolutely.” I’m still stunned by the idea she’s open to an encore when she says, “If I don’t leave now, I’ll fall asleep. I’d be a little hard to explain to your girls.”
When she doesn’t move, I ask, “Do you want to leave?”
Her gaze returns to mine. “No.”
I lift my arm and tap the face of my watch.
“What are you doing?”
“Setting an alarm.” I lower my arm and pull her tight against me. “If we fall asleep, I’ll still get you out of here before the girls wake up.”
She laughs, soft and sweet. Then she kisses me. And that kiss turns into a sexy make-out session, before Kat—yeah, I really like that name—rolls her stunningly naked body on top of me and smiles. “Maybe sleep is overrated.”
13
KT
I lift the damp towel from the tubing I just soldered and grab the metal to replace the fitting. But it’s still hot, and pain burns up my fingers.
“Fuck.” The sting hooks into the annoyance that’s been building since my night with Ben a week ago, and anger spikes. I shake out my hand. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
The music is playing too loud for anyone to hear me. It’s raining like crazy today, so I’m working in the market, overhauling the cooling systems for the refrigerated drink-display cases. I’m not familiar with these, so I’ve had to research the manufacturer, beg for manuals, and scrounge for parts. An annoying and tedious process, only made worse by the fact that half of Levi’s construction crew is also working in the space.
I can’t hear myself think, but maybe that’s a good thing, because if I started to think, I’d immediately get bent out of shape by the fact that Ben and I haven’t spoken since that night in his bed a fucking week ago. And Violet’s schoolwork has been keeping her at home more, so I don’t have my entertaining little sidekick either.
I’m fully aware that our lack of communication is at least half my fault. I’m just as capable of texting or calling as he is, but it goes against all the rules I’ve put in place over the last ten years. Rules I’m starting to think might not fit me anymore. I feel like I’ve got an inner battle raging twenty-four seven.
To make it all worse, I’m annoyed that I’m annoyed. I shouldn’t give a shit about not talking to Ben. I’ve rarely given a hookup a second thought, let alone wanted to see them again. And when the hell did I start wanting to have a kid around me all the time?
It’s all pissing me off. Instead of making things better, our hookup only messed with my head. I have no idea what’s happening with Ben or the kids. I don’t know when he’s working or when he’s home. I don’t know if he’s found a nanny or another babysitter. I don’t know how he’s managing to get the girls back and forth to school or how they’re settling in or when he finds the time to help them with their homework.
“And I shouldn’t fucking care,” I tell myself as I blow on my fingers and reach for the tubing again, testing the heat before I grab hold.
But my mind strays to the way Ben woke me from our night so I could leave before the girls got up. The way his big body was curled around me from behind, erection against my ass, chest against my back, legs tangled. He was kissing my shoulder when I floated to consciousness after hours of sex just the way I like it—sweaty, intense, and raw.
Maybe that was where I went wrong—falling asleep with him. Waking up with him. The only time I’ve ever slept with a hookup was when I was so drunk, I passed out. Even then, I managed to get out of their rooms before they woke.
I’m too fucking old to be sneaking out of men’s rooms.
The thought hits me out of nowhere, and it’s loud enough to distract me from my work. I don’t consider myself old, but I’m not twenty-three anymore either. I imagine myself sailing into some lively port where I don’t know anyone and heading to the bar for companionship. Sleeping with a stranger, just to bail and retreat back to my boat where I’m alone.