This Year's Black by Avery Flynn

Devin had already proven himself different from most of the men she ’ d dated, and really, did she even care what he thought of her? It wasn ’ t like there was relationship potential here. Extending her arm, she swiped her wallet off the bedside table and took out the condom. The foil package glimmered in the honeymoon suite’s dim light.
    “If you weren ’ t on this whole no-commitments-for-a-year thing, I’d be down on one knee right now.” He nuzzled her neck.
    “Watch out, soon enough you might be, anyway.”
    He laughed and rolled on the condom.
    Taking back control, she pushed him onto his back and raised herself, centering her opening over his straining cock. Bracing herself with her palms flat on his hard chest, she lowered herself, inch by inch, until she enveloped him fully. After that, instinct and need took over. They moved together in a primal rhythm, both lost in the absolute pleasure of the moment. The tingling started low in her belly, growing and morphing within her as she arched her back to allow him deeper.
    “Devin!” she called out just as her climax hit.
    A few breaths later, he gripped her thighs, pulling her down hard against him, and exploded with his own orgasm.
    She collapsed on top of him before rolling onto her side, sated and satisfied. Beside her, Devin rolled onto his stomach. Even destroying an opponent in the ring never felt this good.
    The full moon’s light filtered through the sliding glass door, illuminating his muscular back. The tree tattoo looked even more impressive up close. She traced her finger across the detailed limbs and down the thick trunk that traveled the length of his spine.
    She outlined the J.H. with her short nail. “Who’s J.H.?”
    The muscles in his back hardened, and he rolled onto his back, shutting off her view of the tattoo. “That’s not a story for tonight.” He pulled her close, so her head fit in the curve of his shoulder, and brushed his lips across the top of her head.
    Her eyes fluttered, post-coital exhaustion zapping her curiosity. Closing her eyes, she promised herself that she’d rest for a minute, then figure out what to do next. But her plan lost its luster when he intertwined his fingers in hers, snuggled up into the spoon position, and fell into a half-snoring sleep. Basking in the warmth of his embrace, she gave up on her former strategy and let her breath deepen.
    There’d be time enough to freak out tomorrow.

Chapter Eight
    “I don’t design clothes, I design dreams.”
    — Ralph Lauren
    A death metal drummer was going to town in Devin’s head, crashing the cymbals loud enough that the sound vibrated down his spine and exploded in his kidneys. Peeling his eyes open, he slapped his palm against the alarm-blaring phone on the night stand. The blessed silence was broken only by the sound of a nearby shower running. Confusion muddled his foggy brain. Waking up in a strange room wasn’t completely foreign, but it had been years since it had happened.
    He brought the room into focus and scanned the area. Pale blue walls dotted with landscape paintings featuring beaches and palm trees. An overhead fan pulling in the salty air and ocean breeze from the open French doors leading to a small, private patio. Soft yellow material crumpled up in a corner. His gaze froze, an image of Ryder arching her back in ecstasy burned itself into his brain, and he became painfully aware of his morning wood tenting the sheet.
    The shower turned off.
    He had about sixty seconds to melt his boner or walk bow-legged past Ryder to the bathroom. He did not want to do that.
    Gathering the little bit of mental focus he had at the moment, he zeroed in on all the crap going on in his life right now.
    The merger of the year that would rock the fashion world rested on quietly catching Sarah Molina and recovering the money she ’ d embezzled.
    He went to half-mast.
    If he couldn’t make that happen, he’d be tossed out on his ass and labeled a