He smiles wickedly. “Excellent. I have that same situation going on upstairs too.”

  “I think about it a ton. I like the idea of oral. In my fantasies, I come that way,” I say, enjoying telling him that. I want him to know I’m…curious.

  He reaches for my left ankle, absently stroking it with his thumb. The light touch sends small zings of pleasure up my leg. “Then you’re not opposed to a guy going down on you?”

  “God, no. I have zero opposition.”

  “And you are, in fact, in support of it,” he offers.

  “Yes. I love the idea,” I admit.

  When he brushes his palms over my knees, then traces the space behind them, I shiver.

  Have I ever shivered from that before? I’m not sure.

  “But you don’t love the reality of it,” he says, his hand traveling farther up my thighs, drawing maddeningly light strokes on my skin.

  My eyes close for a few seconds as I sink into the fizzy sensations. “I haven’t loved it. I want to, but I haven’t.”

  I’m not sure why I’m comfortable telling Drew when he’s a stranger. But perhaps that’s why. Because our connection is sexual. Drew mentioned a next time, but there are no guarantees. There is only this time.

  And if that’s all there is, then I want it to be amazing.

  With a soft murmur, Drew nods, his hands dancing closer to my bikini bottoms. Then, he shifts directions and inches down my body, watching me as he goes. “Let’s make a deal.”

  I laugh with anticipation. “What kind of deal?”

  He slinks lower, reaching the end of the bed, and then runs those big, warm hands over my skin. He dips his face to my ankle, kissing me there.

  I wriggle from the shot of bliss.

  He doesn’t answer my question as he moves to my other ankle, dusts a gentle kiss there, then travels upward, kissing my calf, my shin, my knee.

  I tremble.

  He lavishes the same attention on my left leg, moving up my thighs.

  “Ohhh,” I murmur as he caresses me with tender, open-mouthed kisses until he reaches my center.

  Then, he looks up, looking pleased but not cocky. “So, here are my terms.”

  “Right. Sure. What are they?”

  “You let me keep trying this till you’re shouting my name,” he says.

  Oh, fuck me.

  I heat up all over. My core aches exquisitely.

  “That sounds like a terrific offer,” I murmur.

  “Good,” he says, then whip-fast, he tugs my bikini bottoms down, pushes up my dress, and settles between my thighs.

  “Mmm,” he says gazing at me. “You have such a pretty pussy.”

  His dirty mouth is such a rush. I love how that word sounds on his lips. How carnal.

  Drew gazes at me like he’s trying to decide how he wants to go down on me, then he sinks between my thighs, slides his hands under my ass, and brings me to his mouth.

  And wow.

  I groan from the first contact. He’s moaning and he’s only just started. He’s French kissing me slowly and squeezing my ass tenderly, and I feel like dessert.

  I thought I’d feel like a project. A problem to solve.

  But Drew goes down on me like he wants to learn every detail of my body and catalog all of my wants, my needs.

  My dirty desires.

  They aren’t complicated. But they are rarely fulfilled.

  I’ve grown accustomed to spectacular sex in my head, mediocre sex in my life.

  But right now, with this man’s face between my legs, his mouth murmuring against my flesh?

  Nothing is mediocre.

  I melt into the bed as he kisses and licks. Then he stops for a second, looks up at me. His mouth glistens. His eyes sparkle. “Bet you’d like it more if you grabbed my hair,” he suggests, his eyes drifting to my hands by my sides.

  Oh. Sheesh. I’m a piece of work. “Sometimes I don’t know what to do with my hands,” I say, feeling a little foolish.

  “I’ll show you what I like then. That work for you?” he asks.

  Oh, God. Yes. No one has said that before. “Please,” I rush out.

  He reaches for my hands, returns his mouth to my center, then curls my fingers around his head.

  With a long, slow, tantalizing lick, he makes a show-don’t-tell case for spending the day between my thighs. Then, he says, “Grab my head hard. Run your fingers through my hair. Pull me close. Push me away. Do whatever the fuck you want.” With his eyes locked on mine, he lowers his voice more. “Use my face to get off.”

  Holy fuck.

  I sizzle from head to toe. No one has ever spoken to me like that. So direct, so dirty.

  I tighten my grip around his head, then close my eyes. “Do that thing again. What you just did,” I whisper.

  “Like this?” he asks seductively, then takes all the luxurious time in the world licking me.

  Up, down, over and again.

  I grip tighter, tug him closer. Only once does he break his pace to say, “That’s right, Brooke. Do whatever you want. Fuck my face like this,” he urges.

  Tingles shoot up my legs and coil in my belly where a tight, hot pulse races faster, faster. And it feels so good, like I’m so close. I want to shout and cry. I want to give in to this moment.

  But what if?

  What if it doesn’t happen?

  I stay quiet, too afraid to let go.

  Even though I’m on the cusp, there’s no way I’ll reach the end.

  I wrap my hands tighter around him, but I don’t pull him closer. I push him off.

  He looks both concerned and drunk on me. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, but I’ll have a better shot if you flip me over and fuck me so hard I can’t think.”

  He stares at me with his jaw hanging open as if he can’t believe his luck. “This is the best day ever.”

  Let’s hope so.

  Quickly, I find a condom in the nightstand then set it on the bed so I can tug off his shirt. I roam my hands all over him, a quick exploration. “Your chest…wow. Just wow,” I say, then I want to get to know his arms too.

  But he grabs my wrists and stops me. “When my face was between your thighs, you were afraid you wouldn’t come, right?”

  I close my eyes, then nod. “Yes.”

  Drew kisses my cheek. “Next time, honey. Next time you’ll let me finish,” he says in a gorgeous seduction that makes me want to sign up for that next time even though there’s no guarantee I’ll get over the cliff this time. What if I don’t?

  But I stop thinking when Drew stands at the edge of my bed, unties his shorts, and lets them fall to the floor.

  My mouth waters.

  His cock is gorgeous. Screw thinking. I want to feel.

  5

  Terms of Engagement

  Drew

  * * *

  I strip off her tank dress, undo her bikini top, then cup her breasts.

  I could play with these beauties for a long time. But she needs to get lost in the feelings now. “Turn around, hands on the bed. And lift your ass,” I order.

  She obeys, spinning around, lifting her ass, and waiting.

  “Mmm,” I say, gliding my hand over her cheeks. “This is my favorite view. But I’d like it a little better if I were balls deep in you.”

  She shudders. My sweet afternoon delight loves dirty talk. I take a few seconds to open the condom, roll it on, then rub the head of my cock against her heat, my own temperature spiking.

  She may worry about coming. She may have a hard time reaching the end. And I may never give her an orgasm.

  But I’m going to try like hell. “Were you this wet back at the bar?” I ask.

  “Yes. I was turned on just being near you,” she whispers.

  “You made me so fucking hard just by flirting with me,” I say, then I grab her hips. “Let me do all the work, honey. I’ve been thinking for the last two hours about how to fuck you.”

  “Show me,” she murmurs.

  “I will.” I ease out, swivel my hips, and sink in, filling her and indulging in this moment deep inside her. “You want it hard? Slow? You want me to smack your ass? Name it, honey.”

  “Deep. Just deep. I love it when…”

  “When I fill you up,” I say, finishing for her as her speech spins into a dirty moan.

  Then, another.

  A loud groan.

  A blissed-out sigh.

  Soon, she’s hitting a fast pace of cries. She’s close, and I don’t want her to lose it again. As I fill her and fuck her, I find her swollen clit, and I rub. Just the right pressure. Just the right touch.

  My mission? Overwhelm her with pleasure so she can’t think.

  And I don’t relent. I keep the rhythm of hard, deep thrusts. Focused swirls of my finger.

  Most of all…words.

  So hot, so tight, so good.

  I’m close to the edge too.

  Soon, I’ll lose control.

  But I hold on till she tips over, her sounds turning into a gorgeous cry of oh God, oh God, oh God.

  Once, twice, then countless times as she comes.

  I follow her there, rocking into her, my own release blurring out the world.

  When at last we both come back to earth, I lean over her and kiss her shoulder. “Don’t think for a moment that I forgot the terms of our deal. I have yet to make you scream my name while my face is between your thighs.”

  She laughs. “So I get another chance.”

  “We both do.”

  Some things women do amaze me. Like that bra trick where they take it off from under their clothes. A bit of wiggling then voila—free-range boobs.

  I’m equally floored that Brooke can throw together a meal after such epic sex. My brain is still coming back online, and she’s whipping up a risotto dish in a frying pan, sautéing mushrooms and asparagus too.

  “How did you do that?” I gesture in awe to the goodness on the stove, crackling and sizzling in her cute little kitchen. Yellow walls make the place warm and inviting, and the evening sun streams through the windows.

  “Do what? Cook?”

  “More like put together a recipe that quickly. You chopped the asparagus and mushrooms in no time,” I say, scratching my jaw, trying to put two and two together in my post-orgasm haze. “Honestly, I’m not sure I’m speaking in complete sentences after that. I’m still feeling a little sex drunk.”

  She pats my shoulder. “You’re managing. I’m following.”

  “Must do sex again,” I grunt, caveman style.

  “Okay, you’re de-evolving,” she says with a laugh.

  “Sex and tacos. Must have sex and tacos next time,” I continue.

  “Well, that’s clear.”

  I go back to normal. “Forgive my appetite. Great sex makes me extra hungry,” I say, coming in closer to drop a tender kiss on the back of her neck. She smells like us.

  She leans against me, seeming to savor the soft kiss too. “You’re forgiven,” she whispers.

  But then she returns her focus to the food. As she pushes the veggies around with a spatula, she says, “Want to know my secret? To tossing the veggies in the pan so quickly?”

  “I really do.”

  She drops her voice to a stage whisper. “The veggies were pre-chopped.”

  I whistle. “Damn, woman. And that’s a good trick but it doesn’t detract from the brainpower required to remember you had them. You are a surf angel rock star attorney goddess,” I say as she takes the frying pan off the heat, setting it on a trivet.

  I steal another kiss. Her post-sex scent is like a hit of sunshine on a rainy day. Then I steal another. And now, one more on her ear.

  “Drew, you have to behave. I want to season the veggies,” she says as I kiss her collarbone.

  “That means I have to stop kissing you?” I ask, appalled at such blasphemy.

  “Yes. For twenty seconds.”

  “Fine, fine. Focus on the food instead,” I say, faux dismissively.

  She turns around and gently swats my arm. “Your stomach was growling. You’re the one who was hungry.”

  “You made me hungry! And I have no regrets.”

  Laughing, she shakes some salt and pepper and rosemary on the risotto, then tells me to grab a beer or a LaCroix from the fridge. Don’t want to overstay my welcome, so I pick the LaCroix, snagging one for her as well, then we sit at the counter and dig in.

  Holy shit. Brooke can cook. I groan in appreciation.

  “Oh please,” she says. “It’s just from a bag from Trader Joe’s.”

  I scoff. “Doesn’t make me like it less. This is tasty.”

  I appreciate the grub—food and I are good friends—but I like the company even more. So much, I don’t want to go. But I should. Soon.

  Very soon.

  I just want to lock in another date first.

  I clear my throat. We agreed to talk about work later, and now is later. “I feel like I played hooky today. Sunday always feels like a workday to me. I’m used to working pretty much every Sunday during the fall. I play football,” I say, then take another bite, relieved to finally be forthcoming about who I am.

  She smiles softly. A hint of a secret lingers in her grin. “You’re the quarterback.”

  I pause, my fork midair. “Um, yeah.” I feel like I hit my head again. I wasn’t expecting her to know, so I add stupidly, “For the Los Angeles Devil Sharks.”

  She squeezes my arm, smiling again. “And you had a hell of a season. One of those where-did-he-come-from years. Your passer rating was in the top eight last year, and your touchdowns thrown were in the top six.”

  I set the fork down so I don’t drop it from shock. “You know all that?”

  “Drew, I love sports. I work in the sports business too. And to be clear, I didn’t help you because of that.” She fidgets with her napkin. “I didn’t even realize who you were until we’d been sitting on the sand and talking for a while.”

  Oh, shit. I didn’t mean she has to justify herself. “It never entered my mind that you only saved me because I’m a player,” I say, grabbing her hand from my arm, threading my fingers through hers. “I was surprised you knew, not annoyed. Also, kind of amazed at the depth of your knowledge.”

  She lets out a long breath. “Good. It felt weird knowing who you were and not saying anything, but it seemed like you didn’t want anyone to recognize you. So, I went along with it.”

  I grimace, worried I might have come across as foolish as I feel now. “Did I sound like I assumed you were a football groupie?” God, I hope not. “I never want to sound like that kind of sexist jackass. Like I think I’m a star or that I assume all women want…” I can’t even finish the sexist thought. “I swear I don’t think that.”

  She shakes her head, reassuring me. “I’ve worked in this field for five years now. I understand players value their privacy. I wanted to make sure you had yours. I figured you had your reasons.”

  This woman. She’s some kind of luck, falling into my lap. And the next time I see her, I am going to feed her tacos and go for a walk on the beach and then fuck her to six, maybe seven orgasms. “Have I mentioned you’re a rock star? Because you are.”

  But enough about me. There’s still so much I want to know about her. “Do you do sports law? My agent is a lawyer, and he’s pretty badass. I could see you wearing a cape and flying in to save clients from scuffles, like you did with a dude in distress in the water.”

  “My job is not nearly as exciting as being an agent or a quarterback. I’m an attorney for the Los Angeles Bandits,” she says, naming the city’s baseball team. “I work on vendor contracts.”

  “I love baseball. It’s the second-best sport, and those guys are having a great season,” I say, digging into the dish for another bite.

  “They are. We’re hosting the All-Star Game next season, so that’s keeping me busy, working on deals in advance of that.”

  We chat a bit more about baseball as we finish the meal. I help her clean up, and when we’re done, I reach for her hand to pull her close. “That was amazing. Let’s do this again—the beach, the drinks, the sex, the meal...”

  “But no angry oars next time,” she says.

  “I’ll do my best to avoid them,” I say.

  She purses her lips like she’s holding back a smile. “I had the worst week. This has been…such an unexpectedly nice end to it.”

  “Good. Then I’m thinking tacos and ice cream and you holding me to my deal. How’s Thursday night?”

  “I’m in. For all of it,” she says.

  It’s a promise—another time. Another night.

  “There’s a great place about a mile from here. Tacos Are Life.” I grab my phone from my back pocket. Takes my text app longer than usual to open, but when it does, I say, “Give me your number.”

  “Yes, sir.” She snags her own phone from the kitchen counter and opens her texts. “Hmm. I’ll enter you as My O Dealer.”

  Ooh. She’s a fun one to keep up with. “I’ll have to enter you as…IOU.”

  She laughs. “Yes. You do, Drew.”

  I send her a message on the spot. Thursday night. Tacos Are Life. Seven-thirty. It’s a deal.

  She writes back with I can’t wait…for the tacos.

  With a kiss goodbye, I take off, counting the hours until the end of the week.

  At sunrise the next morning, I’m peeling off miles of the beach on fleet feet, powered by the morning-after mojo of a sexy night and the promise of another one soon.

  Carter keeps pace with me. At this hour, we pretty much have the beach to ourselves, the lapping of the waves the soundtrack to our workout.

  “This is the best run I’ve had in ages,” I say.

  “You got laid last night,” my college friend observes.

  I crack up then meet his gaze. “That obvious?”

  He gives an I-know-you-so-well nod. “The only thing that makes a man this chipper about running is sex. Plus, you were a surly mofo yesterday when you picked up my truck. I don’t think the waves could namaste you like a hot date would. Was she a swipe right?”

  “No!” I say, punching his arm. I’m still kind of amazed I met a fantastic woman randomly. “Can you believe I met her IRL?”