Tate Winslow was sexy as hell.
Golden skin. Ridged abs. A smattering of hair on his chest, and then that treasure trail on his belly. Sexier than the male models she’d worked with. Sexier than the world-famous actors she’d met. Yes, he had a body and face to die for, but he had that something extra, too. Something that would still be there when they were old and gray.
Kindness. Compassion. Humor.
Damn, he could make her laugh. She was a sucker for a man who made her giggle. He didn’t take himself too seriously, and he wasn’t afraid to look silly.
Swinging her leg over his waist, she straddled him, never taking her hands off of his body. She wanted to explore every inch, but dammit, they didn’t have the time. Not this time, anyway.
“Easy, Kitty Cat. I’m all yours. We don’t have to rush. We have nowhere to be.”
“Later we can slow down,” Cat said with a shake of her head. “I need you now. Want you now.”
His rough palms glided down her spine and then slid around to cup her breasts, his thumbs strumming her already diamond-hard nipples. She threw back her head and arched her back topush more fully into those skillful hands, pleading wordlessly to continue.
He didn’t disappoint, replacing his fingers with his mouth and tongue, torturing and teasing her until she wanted to scream with pleasure. Her fingers had buried through his thick, springy hair, holding him in place in the hope he never stopped what he was doing.
Reaching between them, she wrapped her hand around his cock, glorying in the groan she elicited with her touch. They were both hot, sweaty, panting, and far past ready. She lowered herself down on him, her walls stretching to accommodate him, but any discomfort was mixed with pure pleasure.
“Fuck me,” she whispered in his ear before nipping at the earlobe. “Hard and fast.”
She didn’t want sweet and romantic tonight with rose petals and champagne. She wanted it hard, fast, and dirty enough to leave marks behind they’d both see tomorrow.
“My Kitty Cat has a dirty mouth,” Tate replied, his voice vibrating against her skin as he rolled her onto her back in one fluid motion. The cotton sheets cooled her heated skin while his weight pressed her deliciously into the mattress, leaving them both breathless and laughing at the unexpected move. “And whatever she wants, she gets.”
No build-up. No taking it easy or finding a rhythm. Screw all of that.
Tate spread her thighs wide, throwing them over his bent arms and pushing them back. The position left her completely exposed, utterly vulnerable, and that's exactly what she desperately craved. She wanted to be taken, consumed by the fire that burned even hotter than in the past. When they were done, she didn’t want any doubt as to whether they belonged to one another.
It was just as she’d requested. Hard. Fast. Scorching hot. And yes, dirty. She’d whispered filthy suggestions into his ear while he pistoned into her, urging him on until they both gave over to their orgasm.
They clung to one another as it took them over and away, spinning through the star-spangled sky until they inevitably had to come back down to earth and reality.
It was over as quickly as it had started, both of them gulping in air as they fell back onto the mattress. They snuggled together as her heart rate returned to normal, her eyelids getting heavy. The sweat on her body chilled, and Tate reached down and pulled the sheets over them.
“Woman, you almost killed me. You should wear a warning label.”
Giggling, she cuddled even closer, resting her head on his shoulder.
“I can never do that again, if you want.”
“Don’t you dare stop.”
She’d never stop loving him.
Chapter
Twenty
Tate tugged uncomfortablyat this collar, wishing he were anywhere but at Tyler’s memorial service. He didn’t like funerals in general, and ones for people he’d cared about he liked even less.
Everyone always said that the funeral was for the living, and today seemed to be no exception. Knowing Tyler as he did, this would not be the gathering that his friend would have planned for his sendoff into the hereafter. He’d once expressed to Tate that he didn’t like the formality of it all. He wanted a casual and fun spot where people could share funny stories about him over food and drinks. He’d even suggested a local band that did classic rock covers for the music.
Tyler wouldn’t have been a fan of the maudlin organ music being played over the speakers in the funeral home, the suits and ties on the men, the hushed tones among those gathered. But he’d never had a chance to make his wishes known to his parents, and whether they would have followed those directions was an open question.
While Tate liked his friend’s parents, Tyler had always described them as people who cared about how things lookedto the community. They’d been the type to keep up with the Joneses, concerned more with the outward appearance of happiness than whether they actually felt that way.
Their son’s desire for a party after his death simply might not have fit in with what they had planned. The Eckerds were good people, but Tyler had grown into someone quite different than his mother and father.
