Erin McCarthy - It’s About Time

Being nice and responsible was a bitch.

Because she was wearing shorty pajamas that clung to her body, no bra, within smelling distance from the sweetest, most interesting guy she had met in aboutever, and she was just going to fall asleep.

After having told him that she didn’t mind in the least if he took his T-shirt and jeans off.

It had taken incredible discipline not to look when he’d climbed on the bed with her.

“Trish?” he asked as he turned toward her.

She grabbed the edge of the mattress so she wouldn’t roll toward him. Every time he shifted, the bed sank on his side and she started to skid downhill, right toward him.

“Yes?”

“How long does my adoption last?”

He was using that voice again, the one that had traipsed past her ear while his hands had managed to fall up her skirt.

She clung tighter to the mattress. “Until I’ve decided you’re grown up and don’t need me anymore.”

“That’s nice of you.”

Oh, yeah. She was nice all right.

Nice and horny.

And wide awake. Inches from him.

It all came back to that.

Caleb watched Trish staring at the ceiling, covers up to her chin. He was under those covers with her, in nothing but his underwear. She was wearing tight little black shorts and a clinging red top that had revealed her nipples to him before she’d gotten into bed while he was stripping off his jeans.

If he shifted, he would be on her side and could pull her into his arms.

And she would probably knee him in the nuts.

“I’m not usually as pathetic as I was tonight, Trish. I’m not sure what that was all about.”

She finally turned and looked at him, eyes softening. “Hey, you spent a lot of years with your ex. We all have some baggage.”

“Thanks.” It made him feel less like a loser, knowing she understood.

“When I walked in there tonight, I was sure that all men are selfish bastards who wouldn’t know love if it bit them on the ass. You reminded me there really are good guys out there. I enjoyed talking to you.”

“There are probably more of us than you think.” He followed his urge to brush her bangs off her forehead.

She didn’t even seem to notice. Her expression was wistful. “Maybe someday I’ll actually find the one that’s right for me.”

I’m right here, he thought, then was shocked at himself. He was attracted to Trish, he thought she was funny and sexy, and he’d love nothing more than to see what was under that red shirt, but that was it. He wasn’t looking for anything that resembled a relationship in any way. Wait-yes, he was.

This thing with Trish, it had definite possibilities. Possiblities that could stand exploring. Now he just needed to convince her to let him do a little exploring come tomorrow when she didn’t have his blood alcohol level to use as an excuse.

“I’m sure we’ll both find the right person for us.” Maybe even sooner than she thought.

She shrugged and pulled the covers down a little. “Good night, Caleb.”

“Good night, Trish.” And he reached over and pressed his lips to her forehead, wishing it were tomorrow already.

“Want to crash the wedding?” she asked, her voice mischievous.

He laughed and lay back. “That would be really damn inappropriate.” But really friggin’ funny.

“But funny,” she said.

Man, he could not wait for tomorrow.

Trish was wet, slick, and swollen, giving little moans of encouragement as Caleb swirled his tongue over her aching nipple, and her hands roamed across his broad steel chest. His licking wasn’t enough-her clitoris was tight, desperate for his touch, and she arched against his hard thighs, trying to entice him to slip a finger inside her hot vulva.

Instead he pulled back and with a wicked grin, flipped her onto her stomach and gave her something much bigger than a finger. And Trish came, jerking on the bed, and straight out of sleep.

She blinked her eyes, shuddered, and flopped back down onto her pillow. Now that was just embarrassing. She had just had anorgasm while sleeping, and a lousy one at that. There was nothing worse than coming with nothing touching her but her own moist panties.

Sucking in air, she squirmed on the sheets, unfulfilled, her inner thighs still throbbing, and hoped like hell Caleb was still asleep. And that while fantasizing herself to a blistering O, she hadn’t squealed out his name between moans.

She chanced a look at him.

Green eyes met hers. Open. Curious.

“You okay?”

No, she wasn’t okay, she was so desperate she was getting off in her sleep while she had a half-naked man in her bed with her. There was something inherently wrong with that.

He rolled on his side toward her. “Did you have a nightmare? You whimpered a little bit.”

No kidding. And she wanted to again.

The sheet only came to his waist, and the sight of all that man skin so close to her, that solid golden chest, that sprinkling of masculine hair, undid her. There was only enough space between her chest and his for a book. A thin, paperback book. His eyes looked clear and sober, his soft brown hair sticking up a little.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. It was like prosecuting a case with circumstantial evidence. You could lose, but if you were lucky, you might just force a plea.

“It wasn’t a nightmare. I was having a sex dream.”

His eyebrows rose under his disheveled hair. “You werewhat?”

Surreptitiously, she kicked the bottom of the sheet with her feet, dragging it down so her tank top was visible. “Having a sex dream. About you.”

Caleb looked frozen in fascination. “You were?”

“Yes, and it’s your fault for looking so cute and for being too big for my couch. I told you last night I wanted you. I wasn’t lying.”

His look of shock had smoothed away-his hand reached out and touched her cheek, thumb rubbing along her bottom lip. “I wanted you, too, more than anything. So why did you tell me to stop?”

“Because I wasn’t sure how drunk you were, and I didn’t want to take advantage of you when you were feeling down.” Trish brushed his hair off his forehead in a gesture that was totally foreign to her.

She nearly laughed. Good God, next she’d be offering to do his laundry. But this wasn’t about a relationship. Caleb wasn’t ready for that, and she didn’t want one. But they could have one time together, here, while he was in her bed. She could satisfy this driving need for him. Or at least try to, really hard, while they were both naked.

“I’m not drunk now. And I’m feeling more up than down.” Caleb’s hand dropped to her bare shoulder, his eyes dark, his voice low and coaxing. “Want to tell me about your dream?”

She’d rather act it out. “Well…you were inside me. And I whimpered because I was having an orgasm in my sleep.”

“No shit?” He looked thoroughly intrigued by that.

Trish nodded, going up on one elbow, her tank top pulling taut. “And, well, it hurts, you know, to come with nothing touching me.”

Caleb cupped her breast, brushing across her nipple, and she bit her lip.

“Poor thing,” he said. “It sounds awful.”

“It was. I’m very unsatisfied.” Her breath was hitching and her thighs were throbbing and his hand was teasing and torturing, and her sleep-relaxed muscles tensed up.

“Let me fix that, Trish.”

She thought he’d never ask.

“Okay.” And she closed her eyes when his mouth covered hers and he gave her a deep whoa-baby kind of kiss that had her losing her grip and falling back against the pillow.

With one arm and very little effort, he pulled her up on him, so her body was snug along his everywhere that mattered and she clung to him like dog hair to black pants. His thick arms surrounded her, while his mouth tasted her, and Trish knew never again could she entertain sexual thoughts about a man shorter than her. Not after Caleb. Not after feeling his hard strength and being flush against so much masculinity. Paired with his very appealing compassion, he was damn near irresistible.