Jill Shalvis - Bared

And then he slipped off her onto his side. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised when she murmured a protest, continuing his exploration of her body with his fingers.

She arched up, ran her hands up his arms, over his chest. “Rafe. Hurry.”

“Getting there.” Unbuttoning her blouse, he spread the material wide and then did the same to her front-clasp bra, baring her to the dark night and his equally dark gaze. Cupping a breast, he teased the tip with his thumb, coaxing a thready moan from her throat just before he bent to suck her into his mouth.

Sliding her fingers through his hair, she held his head close to her body, tossing back her own. Above her the stars glowed, while Rafe made her body do the same. His fingers danced down her quivering belly, then slowly bunched up her skirt, baring first her lower legs and then her thighs, all while his mouth continued to suck and nibble at her breasts. His tongue laved over the very tip, over and around, and then he used his teeth, lightly scraping her sensitized flesh until she could hardly stand it.

His fingers skimmed up past her panties now, so that she felt the cool night on her belly. He ran his fingers over the silk of her panties.

Her legs fell open for him.

His fingers took advantage of that, tracing her right down the center and then slowly back up, this time slipping beneath the silk. His knuckles grazed her bare flesh, ripping a shockingly needy sound from her throat.

At that, he set his big hand on her inner thigh and urged her legs open even farther, then gripped the crotch of her panties in his hand, dragging them aside enough to fully expose her to the night air.

He tore his mouth away from her breast to look down at what he’d done, letting out a rough groan. “This I’ve got to have.” And he leaned over her, kissing first one inner thigh and then the other, and then right in between. She gasped his name and arched up.

“Perfect,” he murmured, and he lowered his head again, gently outlining her with his tongue.

Beyond rational thought now, she fisted her hands in his shirt at her sides and let him take her.

And take her he did. He used his tongue, he used his teeth, he used his fingers as well, and she thrashed beneath him, finally reaching for the zipper on his pants, needing him inside her.

“Come first,” he whispered, holding her off. “Stop holding back and come for me, Emma.”

“I’m not.”

But actually, she was, if only because a small part of her was so afraid this wasn’t going to be enough, that she could have sex with him every night of the week and it wouldn’t ever be enough…

Surging up, he lay at her side and pressed his mouth just beneath her ear. “I’m not going anywhere.” As he said this, he slid a long finger into her.

She stifled a cry. “Rafe.”

“That’s right, just me.” He added another finger as he used his teeth lightly on her throat, bathing the little love bites with his tongue. “The man who wants to drive you out of your mind tonight beneath these stars. Go crazy for me, show me everything. Let it all go.” His fingers eased in, then pulled out, while his thumb worked magic on the spot designed for his touch. In and out. More thumb. In and out.

The anticipation came from so deep down that she didn’t know how to turn away from it. Desperation had her gripping his wrist, holding him in place, even though he crooned softly in her ear, wordless little murmurs that promised he was staying where he was.

“Emma.” His thumb circled again, and she whimpered an inarticulate answer. “Come for me…”

It started in her toes, the shudder that ripped through her, the cry that tore through her lungs and burst out of her as she did just that.

She lost some time then, maybe a moment, maybe more, as she drifted slowly back to her senses. She heard him tear open a condom and forced her eyes open, just in time to watch him roll it down the length of him. There was something incredibly sensual about seeing his hands on himself, and then even more when he sank into her.

“Oh,” she breathed in wonder as her body began to tighten again. “Rafe…”

“Yeah. Again,” he demanded, eyes narrowed, face fierce with concentration as he began to move.

She left her eyes open, though it was a struggle, watched his emotions chase one another across his face as he pistoned his hips against hers, taking her to a place she’d never been before, to a place she’d never known existed.

EMMA DRIFTED AWAKE to find herself cradled against Rafe’s warm body, the cool night air drifting over them, his fingers lightly stroking her arm.

“Hmm,” she sighed. Then her eyes flew wide open and she sat all the way up. “I can’t believe I fell asleep.”

“Only for a moment.” He sat up and swept a strand of hair out of her face. “You’re tired.”

Extremely. She’d been working too hard, and thinking even harder, so sleep had been difficult, but-

“Come back to my house with me,” he said. “We can just go to sleep or watch a late movie, whatever you want to do.”

Go back to his place…That would be lovely. If she hadn’t promised to have her pages done. “I’m sorry, but-”

“But you have work.”

“Only a bit.”

For a few moments he lay there looking up at her. Then in one fluid motion he got to his feet. He was still shirtless, and his temper was all the more magnificent for it.

“That’s all right, Emma. You go back to your work.”

“I will,” she said quietly. “But I’ll be done by-”

He lifted a hand. “No explanation required. I don’t need an excuse.”

“I’m not trying to excuse anything,” she said tightly. “I’m just trying to tell you I can come back.”

“Don’t worry about it. I get that you live for your work. I get it loud and clear. So go on, go back to it, go back to your boring, workaholic life.”

She could only stare at him, at a complete loss in the face of his anger.

“Go on,” he said, and he waggled his fingers for her to go.

Well, damn him, anyway. Maybe she was a workaholic, but she sure as hell didn’t need him to throw it in her face. To make it sound like it was awful and horrible and…boring.

“Goodbye, Rafe.”

He turned away, shoved his hands in his pockets.

And without another word, she walked away.

AFTER THAT NIGHT, Emma worked like a demon. The studio didn’t protest, they loved it. Two weeks into her mad-woman writing schedule, they gave her a bonus and offered to renegotiate her contract, saying the pages she’d been giving them were her best ever. Emmy-award winning, they all vowed.

She read between the lines with the best of them. They wanted to guarantee that she kept up the pace yet didn’t get lured away by another show.

But after another week of the grueling schedule, with her eyes perpetually red and strained, her body falling apart, her nails chewed down to the nubs, she wondered what it was about her that she found it so impossible to change.

She’d wanted something different, something more. Even Amber had managed to get that something more. In addition to her new TV pilot, she had a man in her life, a real man.

Emma sighed. What made that all so hard for her?

She had one meeting left for the day. The studio was going to hire another junior writer and, as part of the interview process, wannabe scribes would come in one at a time and pitch their ideas.

After that, she could go home to bed.

Grabbing a large coffee for the meeting, which promised to be long and excruciating, she glanced at her reflection in the glass. Her hair was piled on top of her head and held there precariously with two pencils. She wore leggings and a large T-shirt. Amber wouldn’t have been caught dead looking like this.