she said weakly as she blushed. She'd designed that
black one with him in mind.
"I know, but I'm happy I did. It gives me something to look forward to for the next
time."
His praise caused a rush of delight followed immediately by uneasiness. She hid her
feelings behind a sassy smile and ran her hands along his chest. "Bold, making promises
for the next time when you haven't delivered this time."
"Are you worried I won't deliver?"
Arching up, she said, "Well, you have been all talk so far."
"And I'm not meeting your needs. I'll have to rectify that." He lowered his head and
kissed her.
Blazing hot, it stole her breath. She arched up into it, giving him space to reach
around her to unhook her bra. He swept it away and, kissing his way down the center
of her body, to take the tips of her breasts in his mouth, one at a time, before working
his way down.
Before she could catch her breath, he pressed his next kiss right between her legs.
She gasped in surprise, and then he licked into her and she gasped in pleasure. She
gripped his hair as he did it again—and again. Her head swam, and she gripped the
bed covers to anchor herself.
He loved her with his mouth, like he couldn't get enough of her. Like she was the
most delicious chocolate dessert and he wanted to lap up every last bite.
Out of nowhere, her climax hit her, making her shout out, her thighs tensing around
his head. She was about to tell him to stop when he slid back up and pushed into her.
He gazed into her eyes, brushing her hair out of her eyes. Then he smiled, kissed
her, and she felt so right.
He rolled his hips into her, and sharp jabs of electric shock zipped through her.
She gasped, grabbing his arms, about to tell him it was too intense, that she was
going to die, when she suddenly came again.
He slowed down, long, hard strokes deep inside her, the column of his neck taut. He
thrust into her one more time, tensing, crying out her name as he came, too.
Instead of crushing her with his weight, he rolled onto his back, pulling her over
him.
She began to sit up, to get off, but he held her in place. Feeling him stir inside
her, she looked at him, a flare of desire miraculously lighting her up all over again.
"Again?"
"Yes." He pulled her on top, urging her to ride him.
"I need your cowboy hat," she said, propping herself up.
His fingers tightened on her and he pulsed inside her, obviously liking the thought.
"That can be arranged."
"Is there anything you can't arrange?"
"For you?" He shook his head, his smile sweet. "Even the moon, Nicole."
Her heart flopped, but she shook it off. Tonight was only about pleasure — about Happily Right Now. Happily Ever After didn't happen with a man like Griffin
Chase, no matter how much you wanted it.
Chapter Fourteen
In the Regencies Nicole loved, the heroines were always limp with satisfaction at
the end of lovemaking, but she herself had never experienced that sort of ultimate
pleasure. Not that she didn't like sex—she loved it. It was always good—or at least
passable enough.
Sex with Grif was beyond anything she'd ever imagined. She'd screamed.
It'd been magical.
Except for the one part where he'd confessed about looking at her sketchpad. There
wasn't anything she could do about it now, but it didn't mean she felt any less exposed.
Except it was Grif, and he knew her better than almost anyone.
And he knew her much better now, having explored her body all night long.
Apparently she'd slept tangled in him, his legs scissored between hers, his arm draped
around her, her head nestled into his shoulder. She liked it, probably more than she
should. It felt good, weighty as opposed to light and insubstantial, and that worried
her. It was supposed to be easy.
Actually it was incredibly easy.
She cuddled into him, and he stirred, nuzzling her shoulder. "What time do you have
to be at work?" he asked, his voice husky with sleep.
She'd
black one with him in mind.
"I know, but I'm happy I did. It gives me something to look forward to for the next
time."
His praise caused a rush of delight followed immediately by uneasiness. She hid her
feelings behind a sassy smile and ran her hands along his chest. "Bold, making promises
for the next time when you haven't delivered this time."
"Are you worried I won't deliver?"
Arching up, she said, "Well, you have been all talk so far."
"And I'm not meeting your needs. I'll have to rectify that." He lowered his head and
kissed her.
Blazing hot, it stole her breath. She arched up into it, giving him space to reach
around her to unhook her bra. He swept it away and, kissing his way down the center
of her body, to take the tips of her breasts in his mouth, one at a time, before working
his way down.
Before she could catch her breath, he pressed his next kiss right between her legs.
She gasped in surprise, and then he licked into her and she gasped in pleasure. She
gripped his hair as he did it again—and again. Her head swam, and she gripped the
bed covers to anchor herself.
He loved her with his mouth, like he couldn't get enough of her. Like she was the
most delicious chocolate dessert and he wanted to lap up every last bite.
Out of nowhere, her climax hit her, making her shout out, her thighs tensing around
his head. She was about to tell him to stop when he slid back up and pushed into her.
He gazed into her eyes, brushing her hair out of her eyes. Then he smiled, kissed
her, and she felt so right.
He rolled his hips into her, and sharp jabs of electric shock zipped through her.
She gasped, grabbing his arms, about to tell him it was too intense, that she was
going to die, when she suddenly came again.
He slowed down, long, hard strokes deep inside her, the column of his neck taut. He
thrust into her one more time, tensing, crying out her name as he came, too.
Instead of crushing her with his weight, he rolled onto his back, pulling her over
him.
She began to sit up, to get off, but he held her in place. Feeling him stir inside
her, she looked at him, a flare of desire miraculously lighting her up all over again.
"Again?"
"Yes." He pulled her on top, urging her to ride him.
"I need your cowboy hat," she said, propping herself up.
His fingers tightened on her and he pulsed inside her, obviously liking the thought.
"That can be arranged."
"Is there anything you can't arrange?"
"For you?" He shook his head, his smile sweet. "Even the moon, Nicole."
Her heart flopped, but she shook it off. Tonight was only about pleasure — about Happily Right Now. Happily Ever After didn't happen with a man like Griffin
Chase, no matter how much you wanted it.
Chapter Fourteen
In the Regencies Nicole loved, the heroines were always limp with satisfaction at
the end of lovemaking, but she herself had never experienced that sort of ultimate
pleasure. Not that she didn't like sex—she loved it. It was always good—or at least
passable enough.
Sex with Grif was beyond anything she'd ever imagined. She'd screamed.
It'd been magical.
Except for the one part where he'd confessed about looking at her sketchpad. There
wasn't anything she could do about it now, but it didn't mean she felt any less exposed.
Except it was Grif, and he knew her better than almost anyone.
And he knew her much better now, having explored her body all night long.
Apparently she'd slept tangled in him, his legs scissored between hers, his arm draped
around her, her head nestled into his shoulder. She liked it, probably more than she
should. It felt good, weighty as opposed to light and insubstantial, and that worried
her. It was supposed to be easy.
Actually it was incredibly easy.
She cuddled into him, and he stirred, nuzzling her shoulder. "What time do you have
to be at work?" he asked, his voice husky with sleep.
She'd
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