Lucy King - Just Once More... - Once is Never Enough / One More Sleepless Night / The One She Was Warned About

Garrett froze, his own shirt caught over one shoulder as he stared down at her, naked but for white cotton bikini panties.

Her thumbs pushed into the delicate waistband, pushing them down.

Fabric ripped and buttons bounced across the floor, followed by the tattered remnants of Garrett’s shirt. The denim of his jeans put up a better defense, but soon it too was piled in a heap and her back was hitting the mattress as Garrett followed her down, kissing her hard all the way, his body covering hers in a tease of flesh against flesh before he broke away to sheath himself.

And then his thick head was nudging at her opening as his blue eyes held with hers. All the urgency and frantic need slipped away as, slowly, he pushed inside. Easing in and out by incremental degrees as her body stretched to accommodate the greater size of his. The cost of his restraint and his care was etched in all the lines of his face until, at last, he sank deep, filling the snug hold of her body.

Her lips parted on a fragile gasp that was decadent torture and supreme satisfaction all in one. So totally, incomparably worth the wait.

She wanted to stay like that forever, with him buried so thick and deep within her that she felt his every breath and heartbeat in the most intimate, erotic way—something Garrett seemed to be in agreement with as he held himself on straightened arms, staring down into her eyes with a look that made her feel like the sunset he’d waited years to see.

Without thought her hands went to his face, the light stubble a tender scrape beneath her fingers. “You’re every fantasy I never dared to dream.”

Garrett’s smile was satisfied and wanting all at once. “I don’t think you have enough fantasies, sweetheart.”

“Then maybe you’ll give me some more.”

His hips began to move and his eyes took on an intensity she never could have fathomed. “Starting now, Nichole.”

Nichole collapsed on the bed. Her limbs weak and useless. Her mind spinning over the events of the last few hours.

Even now her belly curled in and on to itself at the memory. So. Unbelievably. Good.

The kind of good a girl could get used to. Spoiled by. Caught up in.

Summoning all her strength, she turned her head on her pillow to look at Garrett, who’d collapsed beside her. He was staring at the ceiling, his breath working in and out of his chest in ragged draws.

He really had done most of the work.

She thought back to the chair. Maybe seventy-five percent.

The hallway. Okay, eighty-five. God, that had been so good.

And she must have purred her approval too, because Garrett’s brows edged up as he looked over at her, that arrogantly satisfied smile stamped across his mouth. “Something on your mind?”

No sense in denying it. “The hall.”

His lids went to half-mast. His voice even lower. “The hall.”

And then he was reaching for her, pulling her in with arms so big and strong she felt as though she were thin as a wisp and lighter than air rather than the flesh-and-blood real woman she was. Another decadent sensation.

Leaning in to taste her lips once, then once more, but this time slow and lingering with a low, rumbling groan finish, Garrett looked deeply into her eyes.

“So there’s something I’d like to try, if you’re up for it. You know—feeling … experimental and all.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “It’s something I’ve never done before.”

Nichole blinked, thoughts of the last handful of hours running through her mind like a PowerPoint presentation for Experimental 101.

Something even Garrett hadn’t tried?

Her heart skipped and a flutter of genuine nerves pulled her too-loose limbs back into working order. “Um … I’m not saying no … yet. But … um … Garrett, what exactly are you talking about … exactly? ”

He pulled her closer still, so she ended up lying on top of him, and let out a long breath. “Seriously, only if you’re into it, Nichole. Only if you really think you can handle it.”

She swallowed. “Just tell me.”

Garrett drew her head toward his and whispered in her ear, “I’d like to spend the night. Stay. Sleep here with you.”

Nichole reared back, planting her hands over his wide chest and tucking her knees at either side of his ribs.

“You!” She laughed on a rush of breath. “I can’t believe you—you know what—” But then all she could do was laugh, looking down into Mr. All-Innocence’s smirking face. “You’re bad.”

Hands coasting up her bare legs, over her hips and back down again, he answered, “Like there was ever any question … But maybe not quite as bad as you assumed.”

“No. Not at all.” The teasing fell away and reality settled around her. He was asking her for something serious, disguising it behind laughter and games.

“You’ve really never slept over at a woman’s place before?”

“No.”

This time it wasn’t nerves running through her but something else. Something warmer. Something she was certain was still just this side of okay in terms of the whole caring-while-keeping-it-casual deal they’d struck.

Leaning forward, so this time she was the one whispering in his ear, she said, “Don’t worry. Since this is your first time I promise to be gentle.”

GARRETT LEANED BACK against Nichole’s kitchen counter, the sound and smell of brewing coffee filling the air around him. He’d woken at five, like he normally did, only to discover there was nothing normal about this morning.

He wasn’t in his apartment. And not crashed out on one of his sisters’ couches or spare beds either. But still in the delectable Nichole’s bed and completely wrapped around her.

And, damn, if that hadn’t felt good.

A little too good, based on the way he’d been pressed hard against her back.

He’d entertained a handful of fun-and-games kind of wake-up scenarios, most of which involved getting his tongue all over her before she quite knew what was doing. But they’d only actually gone to sleep about three hours before. And, while his internal alarm wouldn’t cut him any slack, if Nichole could catch the extra Zs she should.

He didn’t want her nodding off at the wheel or letting her body wear down.

Figuring he’d pass on worrying about all the what-ifs of Nichole not getting enough rest, he’d climbed out of bed—mindful of the woman still sleeping there.

Now he was milling around her kitchen, waiting for the coffee to brew … making a mental list of repairs the place needed. The hinge on the cabinet door. The track on the silverware drawer.

He’d be willing to bet she’d like a new counter. One of those granite slabs to replace the tile she had.

And then there was the fact that he didn’t need to be taking over the maintenance of Nichole’s place. What was he doing?

She didn’t need this from him. And he didn’t need—

“Hey.”

Garrett turned around and all thoughts about replacing a segment of the baseboard or not were temporarily shelved as he looked to where Nichole stood on the threshold of the kitchen, wrapped up in one of those stretchy thin robes that didn’t actually look all that warm … and, so far as he could tell, nothing else.

“Hey, yourself. Hope you don’t mind I started a pot?”

Her mouth pulled to one side as she finger-combed a few wild curls from her face. “You’re asking me if I mind that you made coffee, but not that you’ve pried up a piece of my floor?”

He looked down at where his Swiss Army knife was wedged between the wall and—and hell. Looking back at Nichole, he offered the only defense he had. “I’m good at fixing things. And it’s just the baseboard. The floor beneath looks fine.”