Jill Shalvis - Messing With Mac

They collapsed into each other, still quivering, still gasping, exhausted in their utter satisfaction.

Mac knew he needed to shift his weight, that he was heavy, but he was wrung out, panting for air, and still so entwined with Taylor he had no idea where her body began and his ended.

Several minutes passed like that, while he caught his breath and waited for his world to stop spinning.

“I can’t see,” Taylor finally said, voice hoarse.

With great effort he lifted his face from where it was plastered to the side of her neck. He had her hair in his mouth. Spitting it out, he said, “Your eyes are closed.”

“Oh.” She gave that some thought. Without opening them, she said, “And I can’t feel my toes.”

Craning his neck, he looked at her bare, very sexy toes. “I think it’s because I’m heavy.”

But when he would have moved off her, she tightened her fingers, which were still embedded in his butt. “Don’t,” she whispered, hugging him tight. “Not yet.”

“You’ll suffocate.” With a huge effort, he heaved himself up to his elbows and stared, a little stunned, into her face.

Her cheeks were rosy. Her lips were wet and slightly swollen from his kisses. Her eyes were soft, void of that usual cool haze, and smiling at him.

She was so beautiful it took his breath. “Taylor…”

She slapped his butt. “Anyone ever tell you you’re pretty good at that wild, screaming, sweaty sex stuff?”

“ Pretty good?”

The female smile turned quite smug. “Okay. Pretty, pretty good.” Her hips rocked, just a very little, tiny motion, but he felt it all the way to his toes.

Still hard within her, he thrust back.

Smugness vanished as she gasped.

He thrust again.

Her mouth fell open now, her eyes glazing over. “Mac? Again?”

“I have to upgrade ‘pretty, pretty good’ to ‘mind-blowingly amazing,’ don’t I?”

Her breath caught when he dipped down and kissed a breast. “O-okay.”

Another slow, rocking thrust.

And then again.

Taylor arched up, tighter than a drawn bow, her nipples beaded in two hard buds, her skin glowing and damp as he watched her fight to take what he held just out of her reach. “Oh, Mac. Faster. Harder.”

He gave her harder but held back on the faster. Kept it slow until she was clutching at him, mindless again, on the very edge. “Mac!”

Just as it always had been, resisting her took every bit of control he had. “Is it pretty, pretty good?” he whispered.

“It’s… Oh, Mac…”

“Easy,” he whispered, running hot, openmouthed kisses down her throat. “We’re going to take it nice and easy this time.”

“No, I… please …it’s…” She opened her eyes on his, and he could tell by the desperation and need warring on her face she couldn’t remember what he wanted to hear.

“Mind-blowingly amazing,” he said, helping her. Then stroked a thumb right above where they were joined.

She bucked beneath him. “Mind-blowingly…oh, yeah, it is,” she managed as he slowly, slowly thrust into her. “Mind-blowingly amazing.” And when he stroked his thumb again, her thighs and belly went taut. She held him in a death vise, suspended for a long heartbeat…staring up at him with wide, passion-dazed eyes as she let go, letting him watch her fall.

The honesty nearly killed him, and took him over, too. He let go, giving himself so completely he had no idea how he was going to ever get over it. Over her.

No idea at all.

T AYLOR AWOKEas dawn broke and discovered two things. One, Mac was a serious pillow hog, and two, he slept like the living dead.

That worked in her favor, as she needed a moment to digest things, and she couldn’t do that with him wrapped around her like a cocoon.

Gently as she could, she slid out from the two strong, warm arms holding her captive against his chest. They must have been sleeping like that for awhile, as her face was stuck to his chest, her chest to his belly.

Lifting her head, she stared down into his face.

Eyes closed, breathing deeply, he didn’t budge.

But there was the matter of his thigh, which he’d thrown over her body and was acting as a weight to keep her in place. Wriggling, she managed to turn from her side to her back, but his leg still pinned her. From her back, she rolled again.

And fell off the bed with a thump loud enough to wake the people of China.

But not one Thomas Mackenzie.

Popping back up, she stared at him, but other than a little moan of protest at the loss of her body heat, he didn’t so much as flicker an eye.

She didn’t know whether to be insulted or grateful, but settled on grateful. Padding naked to the bathroom, she gazed critically into the mirror and tried not to wince. What was it about wild, screaming, sweaty sex that so ruined a good hairdo? She fixed that quickly enough, and did the best she could with water and soap-so rough on her skin!-to get rid of the mascara beneath her eyes.

Mac was still asleep when she came back out. Slipping into his shirt, she went to the window and watched the sun rise over South Village. It came in slow waves of brilliant orange, yellow and red, probably from the smog, but it still took her breath.

“Hey.” Accompanying this gruff, sexy voice came two nice and toasty arms, encircling her from behind.

“Hey yourself,” she said, trying not to sigh with pleasure.

“Maybe you somehow missed how early it is.”

She let herself go, closing her eyes, leaning back into the hard strength holding her. There was just something about a man’s voice in the morning that made her want to melt. “No.”

His mouth brushed her temple in a gesture so tender, so sweet, it made her want to cry. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said quietly.

What was wrong? Only everything. And because of it, she couldn’t speak, she’d gone mute around the football-size lump in her throat.

His lips cruised to her ear while his hands criss-crossed in front of her to smooth up and down her arms. “Regrets already?”

God, she loved his touch. It was…comforting. He didn’t touch her breasts or between her legs, he didn’t thrust his pelvis against her butt. None of the things she’d have expected of a normal, hot-blooded male first thing in the morning, looking to get lucky.

And emotion swamped her, drowning her. She was deathly afraid it was deep emotion, and maybe even an emotion that began with the letter L.

“Talk to me, Princess.”

She drew a deep breath and watched the sun bursting a myriad of colors on the blooming day. After the night they’d had, she should be sleepy, but she was wide awake.

And it had been quite a night. They’d had only that one condom, but it hadn’t mattered. They’d explored other options, pleasuring each other by touch, by mouth, leaving her little more than a sensory creature, fed on passion and hunger until they’d exhausted themselves.

Mac didn’t say anything, but he kept on touching her, lightly, sweetly, sharing his heat.

“I haven’t had a night like that since…well.” She sighed. “It’s been a long time.” She closed her eyes and admitted the truth. “I haven’t allowed myself to.” Then, knowing she needed to say it face-to-face, she turned, tipped back her head. “That wasn’t just comfort sex,” she whispered. “That wasn’t even just wild, screaming, sweaty sex.”

Emotion flickered in his gaze, too, but leading the pack of all of it was a sudden regret. “Taylor-”

“No.” She couldn’t handle hearing him say it, that for him it hadn’t been anything but those things. She already knew. “Last night I opened up to you, in a way that…” She let out a slow breath and tried to smile. “In a way that, quite frankly, terrifies me. I’m not ready for it, Mac. I’m not ready and I’m fairly certain you’re not either.”