Kristin Hardy - Hot Moves

“She is. ‘ Mi Noche Triste .’ My sad night,” she translated. “It’s a very famous song in tango.”

“Do you know the story?” He leaned in to press his hands on the rails, trapping her between them, his gaze holding her transfixed.

“She weeps for a lover who has abandoned her. She sits in the dark. At night, she falls asleep with the door ajar because it lets her imagine that he is coming home. That’s tango, the dance of longing.”

“What do you long for?”

“What makes you think I long for anything?” He was close to her now, so close.

“Everybody wants something.” His lips were a fraction away from hers.

“And you? What do you want?”

“That’s easy.” He could tell she felt his breath as he said the words. “I want you.”

And then he leaned in and took.

3

IT WAS A BIG, WIDE WORLD, but somehow the entire thing reduced down to just one sensation—the press of Brady’s lips to hers. Thea stood absolutely still, not even breathing, every fiber of her attuned to it. Mesmerizing warmth, a surprising softness, a beguiling friction that tempted her lips to part.

Her breath shuddered out.

And then, oh, then, the taste of him, the slick dance of tongues that sent butterflies flitting about her stomach and a slow roll of tension forming within her.

She felt herself trembling. Everything in her clamored to dive into the kiss hard and deep, to crush him against her, but here he’d barely touched her and she was quivering. And it rocked her in some fundamental way. She wasn’t a virgin, but there was some part of her that wasn’t really touched, some part of her that would be his alone.

And so Thea kissed him.

She’d wondered as the years rolled by what it might be like. She’d wondered if she’d forgotten how, if she’d be able to relax and enjoy it any more. But with his mouth on hers, she let all that go and immersed herself in the kiss. Her hands framed his face, fingers threaded through his hair. Changing the angle of the kiss, she nipped at his lips, her tongue dancing against his. Her soft exhale was a barely audible moan.

And suddenly everything changed. She’d kissed men during her life, even once or twice in the years since New York, but it had never been like this, this overwhelming surge of sensation. She’d kissed men but it had never raked her with wanton need. She didn’t want easy exploration any more. She wanted it relentless and direct. In a flash, she turned the kiss hard, lacing it with demand.

Brady’s hands clenched the railings until his knuckles whitened.

Thea trailed kisses along his jaw, making an impatient noise down in her throat. She traced her fingers down his chest, nuzzled against him.

She could feel him getting hard.

“Don’t you want to touch me?” she breathed, her hands lingering around his belt, slipping under his untucked T-shirt to trace the lines of his abs.

He gave in and crushed her to him.

She hoped her low laugh told him she didn’t want gentle any more—she wanted it as hard and fast and urgent as he did.

He ran his fingers up the length of her thigh and into the high, high slit of her dress. And when she raised her leg up farther and wrapped it around his waist, it about snatched her breath away. So close, yet not close enough. All she wanted was to feel him naked against her.

“I think we need to get somewhere private,” Brady said raggedly.

“Now,” was all she said, urgency throbbed in her voice.

“My truck’s close. We can go to my place,” he added. “It’ll be quick.”

“I hope so,” she said.

The trip to the truck took too long, or maybe it only seemed that way because he kept stopping and pressing her body up against a lamppost or a building so that he could fuse his mouth to hers, kissing her like he was storing up oxygen enough for the next part of the journey.

She didn’t want to wait, Thea thought as Brady helped her into the Jeep. She needed him now. Needed more now. She shifted when he got in, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss on him. “How far is your house?”

“A couple of miles.”

Far enough.

She ran her hand up the inside of his thigh as he pulled away from the curb, feeling the tough denim fabric against her fingers. And then tracing the hard outline of his cock as she got higher. She reached for his belt buckle.

He gave her a quick, startled glance. “What are you doing?”

“Eyes on the road.” She pulled his zipper down. His cock, when she pulled it out, was heavy in her hand, already half hard and getting more so by the second. She let out a long, uneven breath. “Drive carefully,” she told him, and unfastened her seatbelt so that she could lean across and put her mouth on him.

She’d always loved giving blowjobs, that hard immediacy, that complete and utter connection to a man’s arousal. It had been so long, though. Nerves warred with anticipation. And then the fascination took over. Brady’s cock was long and stiff, thickest just below the head. She nuzzled it and it bobbled against her with urgency. Experimentally, she gave him a lick and was rewarded with the sound of his breath hissing in.

And she abandoned subtlety and slid it into her mouth, taking him deep and fast so that she wrenched a groan out of him.

HE WAS GOING TO LOSE IT right there, Brady thought. Thea slid his cock in and out of the liquid warmth and it was all he could do to keep from nudging his hips toward her. And he was glad it was late at night with only a handful of cars on the road because suddenly he didn’t give a damn about his lane or his signals or anything but the slick wet heat of her mouth and the way her tongue wrapped around his shaft with every bob of her head, stroking along the underside of his cock, inching him closer and closer to orgasm with every motion.

She wrapped her hand around his shaft and squeezed and he groaned again. And then she started to suck, keeping her head still, running her hand up and down.

And god, it was all he could do to hold on. He concentrated on the road and he recited batting averages in his head and the peaks of the Cascades and named every type of hop and malt he knew because there was no way, no way he was going to let himself come before he’d gotten her home, before he’d watched her face as she’d orgasmed, before she was underneath him, naked, abandoned and wrapped around him. Before he’d buried himself deep inside her.

There would be time, he thought, grinding his teeth as he drove up to his house. There would be time for everything.

Provided his molars held out.

Then he was turning off the engine and gingerly easing his aching cock back into his jeans.

The house was dark but he didn’t care. All he was looking for was to get inside as quickly as possible. It needed to happen fast.

More . The demand drummed in his temples as they went through the side door. Moonlight streaming through the windows formed silver trapezoids on the linoleum of a kitchen floor.

“Roommates?” she asked as he led her into the living room with its broad bay window.

“Not unless you count my kayak.”

“Good.” And she flowed up against him, sliding her hands up under his shirt, ravenous for the feel of his body.

“You were so hot tonight. I saw you out there dancing and I thought I was going to die,” Brady whispered against the side of her throat. “All I could do was watch you move and think about what you’d look like if you were out of this dress.”

He trailed his fingertips around her shoulders to the nape of her neck where the red silk came together. His lips licked her collarbones. “And what you would say if I just started undoing it.” He heard the growl of the zipper and felt her shiver as his fingertips traced the sliver of exposed skin. He purposely slowed his touch, made it excruciatingly slow and deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world.