grumbled, “Mine.” Before reaching down to cup her through her jeans. The heat of his hand—a strong, big hand—brought a shudder of pleasure and a thrust of her hips seeking more.
* * *
HE’D GIVE IT to her, but on his own schedule. He wanted to be sure she remembered this any time she thought of him. Wanted to burn himself into her skin, into her memory.
Cora never ceased to surprise him though. She reared up enough to get rid of her sweater and yanked at his until he got her meaning and tossed his off and to the side with hers.
Skin to skin, though she wore a pretty purple bra, still, the sensation was nearly overwhelming, bringing a hiss from his lips before he shifted down to kiss along her breastbone. He inhaled the soft, sensitive skin between her breasts, and then she dug her nails into his shoulders.
Urging him on.
“More,” she said, underlining it.
The wave overtook them both once more, sucking him back to that place where there was only sensation and the relentless need to touch her, taste her, make her moan.
When she dragged those nails down the front of his pants, over his cock, he was the one who moaned, was the one who let go and gave over to whatever she wanted. In whatever way she wanted it.
He snarled a curse when she unzipped his jeans and slid her hand inside. First cupping him through his shorts and then—sweet Christ—she slipped inside, down the front and grabbed his cock at the root, sliding her grip upward before swirling her thumb over the slick of precome on the slit.
It was her snarl he wanted, and got when he slid the cup of her bra down and bent to lick and then graze the edge of his teeth over her nipple, delighting in the way it stood up.
She rewarded him with that desired snarl, and then adjusted to fist him from balls to the head a few more times.
Beau gripped his control as best he could, drowning in the feel of her against him, of the scent of sex in the air, the raw desire arcing between them.
Cora’s rhythm dug roots into his balls, dragging him toward climax. No matter that it was her living room floor and they were both still clothed. Perhaps it was even hotter that it was so urgent and raw and necessary to do right then.
He moved so that he could slide a hand down her belly and then into her panties, the heat and then the wet of her against his fingers and palm.
He’d been so cocksure when he’d started this, sure he’d finish her first, but it wasn’t so certain as he tumbled even closer to coming when she reared up and dug her teeth into his biceps. Not enough to truly harm, but more than enough to turn him on past bearing.
He wanted her climax. Needed it. She wasn’t holding back with his either. So it was a tangle of arms and legs, of mouths on skin and arching backs.
She made a sound then, a sucked-in surprise and then a moan so carnal he couldn’t have stopped his orgasm no matter what. She came in a rush against his skin, a clasp of her inner muscles around his fingers that seemed to fit around his cock as he hit his own climax in a blinding rush.
* * *
SHE BURST OUT with a satisfied sigh, and then started to giggle. “I’m sorry,” she told him, indicating the mess on her hand and his belly before rolling to her knees. “Let me get a towel.”
He snorted, reaching out quickly to catch the dish towel she tossed his way.
She washed up before joining him again. “I can’t remember the last time I did that on a date. I hope you liked it as much as I did. Because, wow.”
It was his turn to clean up and hers to watch as he prowled to her kitchen to wash his hands and toss the towel in the laundry basket.
He’d just fed her a gourmet dinner, made her come and cleaned up after. As first dates went, it was pretty much the all-time winner.
The grin he flashed as he flopped down on the couch next to her eased the knot of anxiety in her gut. “I totally enjoyed it. Though I do hope you understand I have more than just handjobs in my tool kit.”
“Your tool kit is pretty impressive so far.” She raised a shoulder and grabbed her wineglass, clinking it to his.
Once they both got everything zipped up and tucked back in, Cora brought out the dessert. They settled back on the cushions, tucked under a blanket, a fire going to keep the room warm.
“So tell me about your cookbook idea. If it’s not a secret, I mean,” she said.
He started to give her details about audience numbers and she waved a hand. “No. I mean, congratulations for those great numbers and it’s very awesome you’re using them to guide your next choices. But my real question is what drives this idea? Your face sells pots and pans and some very good pot holders and aprons. Naturally you’re a brand. But I’ve eaten your food twice now and both times it’s read and tasted like art to me. You’re not just cooking, which takes skill obviously. You’re creating. You approach the plate like a canvas.”
Which was totally hot.
“Thank you. That’s a very nice compliment. I’ve been fortunate in my career. I’ve had three shows on cable that have all been successful. My cookbooks do well. I have more than enough fame and money and success. So I’m grateful. But I was at a creative crossroads and I have the option to try something new. I’ve spent more and more time up here visiting Seattle and my friends. More time getting to know the ingredients, the seasons, what was available where. It ended up dovetailing with the fact that I needed to get out of Southern California.”
“So what’s the process? With a cookbook do you have the recipes already or do you develop them? How do they get tested?”
His surprised yet undeniably pleased smile warmed Cora’s belly.
“Right now I’m in the development stage. I have a general idea of the theme and now it’s organization. I’m thinking of doing whole meals with swap-out side dishes. I coordinate with my recipes so it has some direction. And then I cook a lot. Make people eat my food and give me their opinions.”
Cora raised her hand. “I volunteer as taster. I mean, if you need anyone else in your focus group.”
It was only at that moment that she realized she might be pushing him into a place he wasn’t ready to go. Or a level of relationship he didn’t care for.
She genuinely liked him, aside from the sexual and romantic attraction, and she hoped they could hang out more while he was in Seattle.
But he nodded, smile genuine. “We’ll see how you feel when you get sick of my cooking.”
She just looked at him, scoffing. “Yeah, it’s such a bore to have a gorgeous man cook a gourmet meal for me. You must run up against that all the time.”
He shrugged. “You know as well as I do, sometimes people aren’t around you for you. They want your money or your fame or what you can do for them.”
“I see it with my mom. But I’m the chick in the background. Which is good. The people I need to know who I am, know who I am.”
“It
