Page 54 of The Perfect Secret

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she murmured and reached once again for his waistband.

Reality returned as he realized his leg needed more support than the middle of the room could provide him. He cupped her jaw and gave her a searing kiss before he moved to the sofa. She followed. Standing in front of him, she unbuckled his belt.She pulled it out of his belt loops with agonizing slowness. He closed his eyes when her hands pulled at his zipper. The waiting was torture. The speed with which she’d met his demands disappeared. As if in slow motion, she pulled his jeans over his hips, inch by torturous inch. Finally, she lowered them over his hips. The physical evidence of his arousal was obvious. He ached for her to touch him. Instead, she spent what felt like hours staring at him. His pulse pounded in his ears. Goosebumps rose on his exposed flesh. She reached forward and touched him. Sheer bliss washed over him. It was all he could do not to come right there. She followed him as he sank into the sofa. This time, he wasn’t letting her go. He reached for her to draw her into his lap, but she shook her head. Instead, she knelt in front of him. His eyes widened. She pulled off his pant legs, and traced his scar along his leg with her tongue. He shivered with desire so great, his hips bucked. Her tongue traveled up his leg. He’d never been so turned on. His breath came out as harsh gasp as he panted with need. When he could bear it no longer, he pulled her against him, letting her body slide against his, friction setting off sparks of desire with increasing potency. They leaned sideways, and stretched out with her on top of him.

He clasped her bottom with shaking hands. Their mouths joined, his tongue plunging inside her. Their bodies rocked together. He bucked beneath her, unable to wait a moment longer.

“Hold on,” he ground out. He fumbled for his jeans and pulled out a condom.

“You’re such a boy scout,” she whispered. “Always prepared.” Eyes filled with longing, she shimmied out of her panties. He fumbled with the condom wrapper. Who the hell made them so small and well-sealed?

She took it from him with a gleam in her eye, her hands sliding over his.

“Mine,” she said.

He almost lost it right there. She ripped open the package and slid it on him, the ache of her touch exquisite torture. He wanted her. He needed her right now.

He pulled her toward him, but she arched away. She was a tease, touching him only with her lips on his mouth. His body shook with desire. Her tongue plunged deeper, imitating what he longed to do to her.

“Hannah, I can’t bear this,” he groaned against her. More than just the physical coupling, he needed her to become one with him. He needed the connection.

He jerked as her fingers circled him. His head pounded with every massage and squeeze she gave. No longer able to let her take complete control, he inserted his fingers into her wetness. Now it was she who shuddered. She wriggled and gasped beneath his hand. When he couldn’t hold out a minute longer, she rose on her knees and came down upon him.

She was tight and warm and perfect. This is what he had been waiting for. He fit inside her as if their bodies were meant for each other. They rocked together, finding their rhythm. He climbed higher and higher, eking out every last bit of pure pleasure. He could see the peak, feel it. His muscles contracted, his focus narrowed. But he needed her to come first. She deserved that much consideration at least. He listened to her moans of desire, and they increased his own pleasure. He caressed her breasts, rubbing his thumbs across their peaks. She flung her head back and screamed. It was all he needed. Pressure built deep within him. Blood pounded in his ears. Oh God, the wait was over. He closed his eyes. Lights flashed behind his lids. His body exploded, and he shouted his release.

Collapsing on top of him, Hannah buried her head into his neck and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. His breathing was ragged and matched hers. Against his chest,her heart pounded. Her back was slick with sweat as he trailed his fingers up and down her spine. He inhaled her scent as peace descended around him. More than just joining their bodies, they’d joined their souls. He hadn’t felt this close to another woman in years. He loved her.

He drifted on the edge of sleep, enjoying the weight of her body on top of him, uniting them. After a while, she kissed his jaw. He turned his head toward her, blue eyes meeting green. She caressed his forehead. He kissed the palm of her hand and stared at her pink flushed cheeks.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and pulled her into the crook of his arm. He thought about saying “I love you,” but the words stuck in his throat. He needed to tell her the truth first.

“So are you,” she said.

He drew her close and they rested against each other. They dozed and when he finally woke up, she lay next to him, staring at him.

“That was amazing. And unexpected.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but he wasn’t sure he wanted her to.

“Well,” he said, “spontaneity is a good thing, right?”

She stroked his cheek and he studied her face, trying to see what she was thinking. Flashes of emotion danced across her eyes—happiness, confusion, and something he couldn’t define. They’d just had sex. Their bodies had become one. He should know what she was thinking, what the unidentified emotion was. But he was afraid to ask. He didn’t want to spoil the moment. His stomach growled and he chuckled with relief. He reached for his clothes. “Can I make you something to eat—omelet?”

“Perfect.”

And it would have to be. For now.

Hannah was supposed to think about tough interview questions, like, “What are your worst qualities?” or “Why are you leaving your current job?” Instead, as she stuck gold loops in her ears and redid her hair for the fourth time, she thought about sex. Sex with Dan, to be specific. And what it meant, or didn’t.

The first time they’d fooled around, he hadn’t wanted to have sex because it needed to mean something.

Well, they had sex last night, and he didn’t say anything about what it meant. Or what she meant to him. She climbed in the cab and gave the driver the address. Was she too emotional, thinking he needed to declare his feelings for her, or define their relationship, after having sex?

She didn’t tell him she thought she was falling in love with him, so why did she expect him to say something to her?

Because she’d been about to say something, and he’d changed the subject with food. And she let him. She was no better than he was, but her pride still stung.

Hannah traveled alone in the elevator, watching the floor numbers tick upwards and feeling her palms dampen as she approached twenty-one. When the bell dinged and the door opened, she squared her shoulders and stepped into the reception area of the boutique PR firm.

She hadn’t interviewed since she’d left college five years ago and her heart beat fast in her chest. With a quick glance around the cream and taupe reception area, she walked to the desk and smiled. “Hi, I’m Hannah Cohen. I’m here for an interview with Barbara James.”

The receptionist directed Hannah to a plush dark taupe sofa to wait. To keep occupied, she studied the magazine covers framed on the walls—case studies and publicity for clients and maybe the firm, if she had to guess.