Hard and Fast (Fast Track #2)(49)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“What is the difference and how do you know?” That bothered Imogen, the great unknown, the wondering if there would ever be a life partner for her. She could live happily alone, she knew that, but everyone craved on some fundamental level that kind of passion and devotion. The safety that came from knowing you were truly and completely loved. But how would she know when she did have it, if she did?

“Beats the hell out of me. I don’t think I’ve ever actually been in love the way I imagine you need to be to sustain a thirty-year marriage.”

He set his sandwich down on the uncovered picnic table, which momentarily distracted her. Wasn’t that table dirty? But it didn’t seem to bother him, so Imogen forced herself to refocus. His wheat bread wasn’t the issue here; they were talking about love.

“I’ve never felt that either,” she told him.

They stared at each for a heartbeat, something in his brown eyes darkening and starting to smolder. There was something between them, something new and wondrous and passionate, and Imogen wondered how far it could go.

Maybe, just maybe, all the way to that sacred place they were both curious about that had thus far eluded them.

The moment stretched and she didn’t know what to say, if she should rein it in, keep it light and casual, or hint, take a risk, suggest there be more than a few romps in bed together.

But then Ty’s mouth split into a grin. “So we’re a couple of loveless Joes, huh? At least we know how to have bang-up sex.”

A little deflated, then irritated with herself for feeling that way, Imogen forced a smile. “True.” What she didn’t say was that they both knew at some point sex could no longer sustain a relationship, that you either had to cross over into emotional intimacy to mirror your physical intimacy, or go your separate ways. Almost no one could have a long-term sexual relationship without developing feelings for the person or developing the desire to feel more than they did. At least Imogen knew she couldn’t.

She already felt more than she should.

Stuffing another grape in her mouth, she struggled to find something witty to say in return, but she was never witty. So she was chewing, wishing she could swallow her confusing emotions like fruit, when Ty reached over and ran his finger across the back of her hand.

“Do you know that when you have an orgasm, you stop breathing?” he said, his own food abandoned on the table as he stared at her with a look that she recognized.

The change of subject caught her off guard and she swallowed hard. “I’m aware of that,” she said, her heart rate stepping up at the memory of his fingers inside her barely an hour earlier. “When it grabs me like that, I can’t breathe.”

“That silence, the way your eyes go wide and your mouth drops open, and you stop breathing for a second or two, is the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you,” she said, not sure what else to say. While she was surprising herself by how sexually comfortable and almost coy she was with Ty, she was still no seductress. She didn’t know how to play the game, only how to be honest.

“I want to see that look right now.”

“Fruit and turkey don’t get me that excited,” she said, which was the truth. But he got her excited, and just staring at her across the table was enough to have her feeling the beginnings of a blaze stoking to life between her thighs.

The corner of his mouth went up. “I would wonder about you if they did.” Ty stood up. “Come on.”

“To the tent?”

“Yes, unless you want to do this on the table.”

The thrill of it warred with the image of splinters in her backside. “I thought you wanted to eat first.”

“Changed my mind.” Ty was coming around the table, and he took the sandwich out of her hand and slapped it down on the table. “Up. Come on.” He tugged her hand to get her to rise. “I’m going to make you stop breathing again.”

“We talked about this, remember?” Imogen said in protest, even as she went with him. “I don’t have multiple orgasms.”

“That was an hour ago.”

“I still think it counts . . . It’s sort of like I can’t have more than two in twenty-four hours, usually only one.”

“We’ll see.”

A shiver went up her spine at that promise. “Am I going to be uncomfortable?” she asked, thinking about the hard ground and her head grinding into it.

Ty threw open the flap to the tent. “Only if having a dick buried in you makes you uncomfortable.”

Alrighty, then. It was safe to say she didn’t really have a problem with that, even though his words startled her. “You shock me sometimes,” she told him.

Looking back at her, he paused, his eyes searching. “Am I too much for you, babe? Do I need to rein it in? Because I can do that.”

She took a second, really listening to her gut. Did she want him to stop being outrageous and demanding in their sexual encounters? Uh, no. Not at all. She loved that he took charge, that he guided her and told her what he wanted. That he forced her to say what she wanted. There was something very sexy and primal about being taken by Ty.

“No,” she told him, shaking her head. “Nothing is too much.” She knew precisely how that would sound to him, and it had the effect she wanted. His eyes narrowed, and a low groan slipped out of his mouth.

“Oh, yeah? Then in you go. Down on the sleeping bags.” He gestured for her to enter the tent.

Imogen ducked and entered, getting her bearings. It didn’t look glamorous or comfortable but it didn’t look dirty either. And there was something cozy about the peak of the tent and the nylon walls. She dropped to her knees carefully and crawled forward on the sleeping bag. It was thicker than it looked and not as dreadful as she had anticipated. But concerns about damage to her knees disappeared when Ty moved in behind her and pulled her hips back until her backside collided with a very impressive erection.

“Hello,” she said, turning to look at him over her shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting that.” Even though they were fully clothed, the motion of him bumping gently into her, over and over, had her thighs going damp.

“If you’re on all fours in front of me, I consider that an invitation,” he said, his grip on her hips tightening. “It’s presenting.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that.” So she could do it frequently. Imogen bit her lip when his hand slid across her thigh and moved down to cup her mound. Then she struggled not to moan when he undid her jeans and started tugging them off.