His 24-Hour Wife (The Hawke Brothers 2) by Rachel Bailey

this.
    Her gaze steady on his, she leaned against him and cupped the sides of his face in her palms. Then she stood on tiptoes and kissed him. Everything inside him burst to life, as if he was hyperaware of each cell in his body. And each cell wanted one thing—to be closer to Callie.
    With her mouth moving over his, he gripped her hips, digging his fingers into the flesh there, anchoring him to the world. To have her pressed along the length of him, kissing him, was almost too much sensation at once, but he wanted more.
    He tore his mouth away and tugged her toward his bed. Still fully clothed, he half laid, half fell onto the mattress, bringing her with him, and then resumed the kiss. Her mouth was hot and sensuous, and part of him felt as if this was the same kiss from three months ago, that it had been merely interrupted.
    He pulled his sweatshirt over his head and then also stripped off the sweatshirt he’d given her. The feel of her skin against his chest was heavenly and a groan of satisfaction rumbled deep inside him.
    “I’ve missed touching you,” he said, his voice barely a rasp.
    She found his hands and brought them to her breasts, holding them over the cups of her bra for a long moment. “Then by all means, touch me some more.”
    The note of teasing while her eyes were practically glazed with need was pure Callie. He rolled onto his back, taking her with him so that she was above him, straddling his hips, her torso bare except for the white lace bra, and he took her up on the invitation to touch her some more.
    His fingertips stroked down her sides, across her slightly rounded abdomen, back up to her collarbone. Her skin was smooth and silken and he might never get enough. Then he found her breasts once more and brushed across their peaks with his thumbs. Callie’s thighs tightened around his hips and her breath picked up speed. He repeated the motion, this time paying more attention to her reactions. A slow smile spread across his face—she liked it when he did this.
    He should already know her likes and dislikes, but the alcohol had distorted his memories. Reaching behind her, he unhooked her bra and tossed it to the side of the bed. He was going to need more freedom to discover everything he wanted to know.
    He lifted himself to a seated position on the covers with Callie still straddling his lap, his hands on a journey of investigation. And everything he learned was like a secret as old as time, a secret he was privileged to be granted.
    She tried to wriggle back and make room for her own hands.
    “Oh, no,” he said, staying her hands. “I’ve been dreaming of this moment. I need a chance to explore.”
    She smiled and rested her hands on her thighs, allowing him this.
    “Thank you,” he said, punctuating it with a kiss on her collarbone, then another. When he reached her shoulder, he scraped his teeth across the skin, tasting as he went. She was faintly salty, with a trace of soap...and something extra—something that was hers alone.
    He laid her down on the cover and pulled the track pants from her legs, taking her underwear with them. The sight of her naked was one thing he had retained complete memory of from their twenty-four-hour marriage and the times they’d come together before that, and yet...she still amazed him.
    “Callie.”
    Her gaze softened. “Nobody’s ever looked at me the way you do.”
    He prowled over her on all fours, leaning in to whisper, “Then they were blind,” before taking her earlobe into his mouth, glorying in her gasp.
    He kissed a path down her body, until he reached the juncture of her thighs. She deserved to be worshipped, and he set about doing just that. Every whimper that escaped her lips urged him on, every time she writhed under his mouth made him want to push her further. When she reached her peak and shouted his name to the ceiling, a surge of satisfaction filled his chest.
    He pulled himself up the bed, holding her as she floated back to earth,