Icing on the Cake (Close to Home) by Karla Doyle Page A

would have made an erupting volcano seem frigid. “I don’t need games to make sex exciting.”
    For many guys, that claim would be laughable. Coming from Curtis, it seemed more like a threat wrapped in a promise. Or the other way around. Either way, it was no joke.
    She had the four-inch stilettoes in place before they reached the first stop sign. “There.” She pushed the second strap through its buckle. “I did as you asked. This time. Don’t get used to it.”
    He looked her way, a cocky smile firmly in place on his handsome face. The wheels were turning behind his twinkling eyes too.
    “What?” And she’d done it. Asked a stupid, female question, the kind she prided herself on never voicing. The only way it could have been worse was if she had gone for the four-word version—what are you thinking. Ugh.
    “You’re cute.”
    Her bottom lip actually dropped. “I am not cute . Somebody in this car needs an eye exam.”
    “20/20 vision over here.”
    “If you think I’m cute, I’d love to see the women you normally take home.”
    He snorted out a chuckle. “You got jealous when I danced with somebody at the reception, but you’d like a visual of the women who’ve come before you—literally.”
    “I did not get jealous.”
    His attention shifted from the road to her face. Under the light of the streetlamps, his raised eyebrows were plenty visible. “You want to rethink that statement, Miss ‘I never lie’?”
    “Jealousy is for women who want long-term exclusivity and commitment.” She unbuckled her seat belt and moved as close as the bucket seats and gear shift allowed. She slid her hand over his thigh and squeezed. “All I want from you is a record-setting number of orgasms.”
    “What’s the number to beat?”
    “Depends. Who you want to compete with—a human, or my vibrator.”
    His deep, rich laugh wrapped around her, sent a fresh wave of tingling all the way to her toes. An addictive sound. So was its effect.
    He turned into the hotel lot, took the first available parking spot and killed the engine. Seamlessly, he unbuckled, shifted his seat back and pulled her onto his lap, straddle style. “Add them.”
    “What?”
    “The numbers. Add them. That’s what I’ll beat.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    Big, strong hands pulled her down until her bare core pressed against the hard bulge beneath his fly. Then he moved them both. Her, in a slow, back-and-forth motion. Him, in a rhythmic upward grind that hit her in exactly the right spot.
    “Add.”
    Holy shit, he was serious. And nuts if he truly thought he could go where no man and battery-operated toy combined had gone before.
    “The number, troublemaker. Now.”
    “It’s—” She curled her fingers into his tuxedo-covered shoulders. “It’s—” Her head lolled forward, their foreheads touching and breath mixing as the hum of impending release built between her legs. “Oh god, Curtis…”
    “Keep saying my name, babe. Makes me hard as fucking steel when you say it.” His breath and voice filled her ears. Her head. Became her anchor in a sea of fireworks as she hit her peak.
    She collapsed against his chest with his name on her lips, a whisper so soft he couldn’t possibly have heard it, or realized what it meant for her to say it.
    He pressed his lips to her hair. Held that position and lightly stroked her legs and back while her breathing returned to normal.
    She ought to move. Break the sweet intimacy of his lingering kiss and gentle touch. Tell him to get a condom on and fuck her, not cuddle her. Instead she closed her eyes and let the soft sweep of his hands take her to a completely different place. One she’d always avoided with men. Hell, with everybody.
    “That’s two toward the new record, and I haven’t even gotten you properly naked yet.”
    “Ego much?” She infused the question with a healthy amount of attitude, but in the secrecy of the darkness and the safety of his embrace, she allowed herself to