Taste (Take It Off #9)(34)
Author: Cambria Hebert

I reached between us, fingering the button on his jeans and opening them. His mouth left mine and trailed across my jaw and down to my neck. I spread my thighs eagerly, giving him more than enough room to settle between them.

God, the way he felt on top of me was incredible, and the way he supported most of his weight on his arms so he didn’t hurt me.

I rubbed against him like his body was the beat to my favorite song. After several tries, I managed to get his jeans down enough for his erection to spring free. The smooth round head slid through my warm juices and made him shudder.

I smiled and raked my nails across his lower back, pressing him closer, inviting him in.

It only took one try for him to find the sweet spot, the entrance to the core of my body. Spencer slid right in, spearing me from the inside, and my legs flopped languidly against the bed.

He moved inside me, rocking back and forth. The action of his hips as he slid into me again and again was almost my undoing.

I gripped at his naked ass, pulling him even deeper.

“Closer,” I urged.

I felt his arms slide up so his hands could grip the top edge of the mattress. The pressure of his added weight against me made me shiver. I buried my face into the side of his neck as he used the mattress as leverage to pull himself even deeper.

I moaned. Or maybe it was a growl. Holding himself that deeply, he began to make little rocking motions, the head of his cock throbbing against my walls.

Without thought, my teeth sank into his shoulder as an intense orgasm ripped through my body. I shuddered and trembled beneath him, little whimpers escaping the back of my throat as my teeth stayed firmly in his flesh.

In the middle of my explosion, his body stiffened and he released the mattress. Quickly, he slid both hands around my back and held me against him as I felt him pour every last drop of himself deep within my body.

When it was over, he still lay on top of me, breathing heavily. The shirt I was still wearing was stuck to me, and I felt sweat slick his broad back.

Finally, he leveraged himself up and looked down at me. Satisfaction was heavy in his stare. I gasped, noticing the teeth marks I’d left behind in his shoulder. “Did I hurt you?” I asked, brushing my fingers over the marks.

“Hell no,” he drawled. “You can bite me anytime you want.”

“Well, if you keep making love to me like that, I probably will.”

He turned smug. “Is that an open invitation?” he asked, lowering down to kiss me. Then he kissed me again.

“You always do that,” I whispered.

“Do what?”

“Kiss me twice. Never once.”

“That’s because one taste of you is never enough.”

“It’s an open invitation,” I whispered, answering his earlier question. “One I hope you’ll use very often.”

“Just try and keep me away.” He rolled to the side and we both lay there staring up at the ceiling. The normal sounds of nighttime drifted in through the window, sounding closer than usual. Then I remembered the window was busted.

“Are we safe here?” I asked, turning to look at the broken panes.

“I don’t think he’ll be back tonight,” Spencer said.

“What about the window?” I asked.

“I can put something over it.”

But the house would still be vulnerable. I would still feel watched. Would I ever feel safe in my house again?

Spencer rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. “You’re freaked out.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m a man. Men don’t get freaked out.”

I rolled my eyes.

He reached down and threaded his fingers through mine. “But I don’t like seeing those bruises on your skin. I don’t like seeing the shadows in your eyes.”

Suddenly, I felt like crying. I missed Jack. I missed feeling safe in my own bed. I missed not having to worry about dying.

“Come on,” he said, jumping up from the bed. His jeans slid down around his legs. It made me laugh. He grinned and yanked them back up, fastening the button.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Some place you’ll be able to get some sleep.”

I let him tug me to my feet. “Where is that?”

He smiled. “My place.”

19

I couldn’t help but be curious about the place Spencer called home. I already knew quite a bit about him, even though up until recently we spent most of our time flirting. You could learn a lot about a person in between flirting and cookie snatching.

He lived in an apartment not too far from the White House, on a busy street in D.C. (although almost all the streets in D.C. were busy). When he opened the door, I went in ahead of him, my eyes eagerly taking in the space. But it was dark. I couldn’t really see much. So instead, I shuffled a little farther into the room, hoping I didn’t trip and fall over something I couldn’t see.

Spencer chuckled and reached around me to hit the light on the wall. I was momentarily distracted from the room as his arm brushed over me. I tipped my head back and smiled up at him. He leaned down and gave me a loud kiss that made me laugh.

“Wait a minute,” he said when I pulled back. “I need another one.”

I was totally charmed when he wrapped his arms around me and swept me back off my feet like we were dancing. His lips touched mine, this time without the humor and with all the heat.

When he was done, he placed me back on my feet and gestured to his place. “This is it,” he said. “It’s kind of bare because I’m not here very much.”

True, it wasn’t overfull with stuff, but I liked it that way. The walls were the color of gray storm clouds and all the trim was bright white. The floors looked like old hardwood that had been re-stained a dark walnut shade.

The room was a giant square with a large tan leather sectional dominating most of the floor space. In front of it was a large square ottoman covered in the same fabric as the sofa. Off to the side was a small wooden side table littered with several remotes and a small lamp with a white shade.

Against the far wall hung a large flat-screen TV, and beneath it was a black TV cabinet. Beyond the living room was a wall with a large pass-through cut out, and I could see behind it was the eat-in kitchen.

Spencer stepped behind me and dropped his keys and gun onto a small table by the door. There was a stack of mail there that looked like it was collecting dust, and he kicked off his shoes, tossing them beneath the table.

He looked kind of silly wearing his jeans and his suit jacket with no shirt. I offered to give back his T-shirt, but he wanted me to leave it on, so I did.