Strictly for Now by Carrie Elks

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

ELI

She lands in my arms, her legs curling around my hips. Her hands cup my face, her palms warm on my bearded jaw.

“You didn’t look,” she says again, as though it’s some kind of miracle and not the normal reaction of a grown man who respects the hell out of the woman he’s been pursuing.

“That’s what good guys do,” I tell her. “They don’t look.”

“Where can I find one of those?” She sounds like she’s teasing. Her poise is recovered – or as much as it can be when I’m holding her up against me.

My poise, however, is on a hair trigger. Her chest is pressed against mine. She smells of flowers and me, with that hoodie covering most of her body. Her legs are smooth as they wrap even tighter around me and I grasp them to keep her from sliding down.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” I tell her, just in case she wants to escape.

“Yes, please.”

Our eyes catch and we’re both grinning like loons. I’m not sure who laughs first, but suddenly we’re both almost doubling over. It takes all the strength I have not to drop her, and I’m glad I don’t because she looks glorious, her head tipped back, her eyes pleading.

To prevent the kind of injury that could put me out of action for months, I carry her over to the sofa and sit. Mackenzie wiggles until she’s straddling my thighs.

The laughter abates. The grins don’t. We stare at each other and somehow it feels more intimate than a kiss. I reach out and stroke that silky hair I keep fantasizing about. Then I curl my fingers around it and yank until her head is tipped back and her neck is exposed to me.

Her chest hitches. She likes it a little rough then. I do, too. Not all out pain but a little edge.

I lean forward and scrape my lips and teeth against her neck. Then I lick, feeling her pulse against my tongue.

Fuck, I’m hard as steel.

I slide my hand beneath the hoodie she’s wearing, feeling the warmth of her skin leaching through her cotton top. My palm caresses her waist as I kiss my way up her throat, along her jaw, to her parted lips.

Her eyes are already hazy. Her breath fast. “I’m really going to kiss you this time,” I warn.

She laughs again. It’s an aphrodisiac. I want to make this girl laugh as she comes. I want to make her laugh over breakfast in the morning and while she brushes her teeth at night.

I push that thought out of my mind and concentrate on her lips. My mouth claims them, my hand sliding under her pajama top, my palm pressing against her bare skin. The kiss is hot and hard, her body squirming against mine as she curls her arms around my neck. It’s like we can’t get close enough to each other. We lick and kiss and touch and grind but it’s still not enough.

The hoodie comes off, revealing a gray tank that does nothing to hide her sweet breasts and her hard nipples.

“It’s winter,” I mutter. “Most people wear flannel.”

She scrapes her nails against my neck, where my hair meets skin. It feels so damn good I want to let out a purr. “I get hot in bed.”

“You’re about to get hotter.”

“Shut up and kiss me again, Salinger.” I like the way my name sounds on her lips. Way too much.

So I do exactly what she asks. Taking my time, kissing the corner of her lips, the soft center, before sliding my tongue against hers. This time when she grinds against me it’s slow and deep. I want to take my clothes off. I want to feel her skin against mine. Somewhere, deep inside of me there’s the teenage Eli who wanted everything now.

But I also want to savor her like a fine whiskey that’s at its very best. I kiss her neck again, her shoulder, dragging my tongue over the swell of her breasts. Then I push the straps down, exposing them to me.

“You’re beautiful,” I mutter, taking them into my hands. She’s a damn work of art. Her breasts are heavy against my palms, her nipples tight as I run the pad of my thumb over them. She lets out a deep groan and I like that, too.

I like everything about this woman. Her squirms are getting desperate, hard against me. Then she reaches down, her fingers stumbling as she unfastens the button on my fly, then pushes her hand down inside my shorts.

Her fingers curl, her palm caresses. My eyes roll into the back of my head. She kisses my neck the same way I kissed hers. Hard and fast and with teeth.

It’s my turn to groan.

“Eli,” she whispers frantically, lifting her gaze to mine.

“Yes?”

“I’m too old to get off on your thighs on a sofa. Take me to bed.”

Before the last word is out of her mouth, I’m standing, holding her against me, walking over to what I think is the door to her bedroom.

It’s not. It’s the laundry room. Shit.

“The next one,” she whispers in my ear, trying not to laugh. “And you can put me down if I’m too heavy.”

“You’re not too heavy.”

“Yes I am.”

“You’re not. And even if you were I’m not putting you down. I’m too old to fall into that trap.”

“What trap?” she asks innocently, trying not to smile. I let out a victory grunt as I find the right room and stride over to the bed, throwing her onto the mattress.

“The weight trap.”

“There’s a weight trap?” Her eyes widen with interest. And I feel like I’m walking right into said trap without even thinking.

I clear my throat. “There’s a media trap that makes women think that they have to weigh a certain amount or look a certain way to be desirable. Which is fucking nuts.” I curl my hands around her thighs, pulling her toward me. I’m still standing at the end of the bed, but as soon as her knees hit my waist I drop to my own, pulling her shorts off on my way down.

She sits up, leaning back on her elbows. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think?”

“I… Oh…” Her breath catches as I bury my face between her legs. The last time I breathed her in layers separated us.

This time it’s pure, unhindered Mackenzie. And it’s amazing.

“Are you smelling me?”

“Shut up.” I slide my tongue against her and it seems to do the trick. She stops asking questions and lets out a long, soft moan.

She tastes even better than she smells. I devour her, licking her to the edge, teasing her with the bend of my fingers, coaxing out her pleasure. She’s so tight against me, her breath stuttering, her body undulating, and then she lets out a loud cry as she soars.

It’s glorious.

Her eyes meet mine as I slowly bring her back down from her high, kissing her thigh, her hip, wanting to kiss every part of her. I can still taste her on my tongue.

“Come here.” Her voice is raspy. I do as I’m told, climbing up over her, kissing her lips this time.

She slides her fingers through my hair, kissing me back like she can’t ever get enough. Her body arches off the bed to get closer. Then she pulls my shorts down and that’s when I remember.

“I don’t have anything.” Goddamn it.

She blinks. “But you’re a hockey player.”

I lift a brow. “I didn’t come here thinking something was going to happen. Please tell me you have some?” I pray to the God of contraception that she does. But she shakes her head and I think I might cry.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “This was enough.”

“I have an IUD,” she whispers. “And I’m clean.”

I say nothing, because I’ve never gone bareback. And there’s nothing I want more right now. But this is her choice. I can’t influence her. She’s taking more risks than I am.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to,” she whispers, taking my silence for rejection in a way only she can. “I’ll just touch you.”

“I want to,” I tell her. “I’m clean, too.” I fist myself, drag the head against her. Her eyes widen and she looks down.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“It’s been a while.”

“Yeah. I’ve not exactly been painting the town red either,” I tell her.

“No, you don’t understand. I mean a long while.”

I blink. “How long?”

“Three years.” She looks down again. “Be gentle.”

I nod, cupping her jaw with my palm. “I won’t hurt you,” I whisper, because it feels like this conversation is about more than just sex.

There’s a depth to her gaze that makes me want to carry her away and protect her forever. She’s never looked more vulnerable or more beautiful. I kiss her lips, her cheek, the tip of her nose. “I’ll never hurt you,” I tell her.

And I mean it. She’s a strong woman. I know she doesn’t need my protection. She doesn’t need my promises, either.

But I want to give them, anyway.

She slides her hand between us, curling her fingers over mine. With the gentlest of movements she pulls me against her until I’m nudging at her entrance.

She’s warm and she’s wet and I have to take a minute to center myself. I’m forty years old. Coming before I even enter her isn’t an option.

“Okay?” I ask her.

“More than okay.” She nods.

I slide inside of her slowly until she’s full of me. I take a breath to let her get used to me, but also for me to get used to her.

I’m going to come so fast it’s not going to be funny.

I drag my hips back, reaching between us, circling her with my finger until she groans. Her legs wrap around me, pulling me back in, and our mouths clash as my hips find the rhythm they need. She pulls my bottom lip between her teeth and bites softly.

“Harder,” she whispers. “Please.”

This woman is going to kill me. She’s the perfect mix of polite and dirty.

Still, I do as I’m told, like I’m a slave to Mackenzie Hunter, moving inside of her until our bodies clash. Her fingers dig into me, her nails sharp and delightful. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire.

“Eli,” she whispers, and my name on her lips is like an aphrodisiac. I’m not going to last long here.

“I’m so close.”

“Good,” I grunt. Because I’m on a damn hairtrigger here.

And then her head tips back and she calls out my name, her body convulsing around me. It’s as good as I thought it would be.

Better than anything I’ve ever felt.

“I’m gonna come,” I rasp, trying to pull out. But she clings to me harder.

“Do it inside me.”

And I do, inside this woman who already owns me and doesn’t know it. I collapse on top of her, bracing my weight with my arms because I don’t want to crush her.

I come and I come, my breath ragged. She drags her nails down my back and I hope she’s marked me.

And when I slowly float down from the high, my eyes catch hers. I check that she’s okay, that she’s still breathing.

Our lips brush and my chest feels so tight I’m wondering if I’m about to have a heart attack.

“So good,” I mutter against her lips. “You’re killing me.”

“I died first.”

I slowly pull out of her, aware of her stickiness, the mess I left behind. I kiss her again and roll out of bed.

“Are you going?”

I sit on the mattress and look at her. “What?”

“Are you leaving?”

Is she serious? Who hurt this woman?

“No. I’m going to find something to clean you up with.” I look at the door on the far side of her bedroom. “Is that your bathroom?”

She nods.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

On the shelves where her towels are stacked I find a washcloth and put it under the faucet, wetting it with warm water. I take it back to her, along with a towel, and slowly wipe away the pleasure I just left.

“Why would you ask me if I’m leaving?” I dry her with the towel. She has the prettiest pussy. I want to kiss it again.

“I just thought…” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What did you think?”

“That maybe you didn’t enjoy it.”

“You felt me come, didn’t you?” I ask her. “You heard me roar like a fucking lion. What part of that makes you think I didn’t enjoy it?”

Her cheeks are red. “I don’t know.”

“Has somebody left you right after sex before?”

She nods. And I’m feeling like an animal again, but in all the wrong ways. She’s so vulnerable right now. And the last thing she needs is to see how pissed I am. Because I know she’ll think it’s because of her.

And it isn’t. It’s because of all the assholes who’ve made her feel less than she is.

Who haven’t appreciated what they have.

The irony of it is, if they’d appreciated her she wouldn’t be here. They would have snapped her up and kept her with them, the same way I want to.

“I don’t want to leave,” I tell her. “Right now, I’m wondering how sore you are and how long I need to wait before I can bury my face between your legs again.”

I take her hand and put it on me. Her eyes widen when she feels how hard I am.

“I’m not twenty anymore,” I tell her. “I’m not supposed to get hard right again after sex, but that’s what you do to me.”

She runs her tongue along her bottom lip. “I’m not that sore,” she whispers, sending a tremor of anticipation right through me.

I push it away.

“I can wait.” I smile at her. But before I can roll over and pull her into my arms she’s scooting down, and I close my eyes as she takes me to heaven again.