Only in My Dreams Page 18

  “Ouch. Now I sort of want to kick his ass.”

  Sara suppressed a smile. “I don’t know that anyone would stop you. In fact, we’d all probably help.”

  “You Archers are dangerous. I thought Hayden was going to punch me the other day, then you hit him in the arm. I might have to start wearing body armor.”

  She cringed. “I’m not really violent. Sometimes I react physically—without thinking.” That was one of the things she hated most about her SPD.

  He looked at her with understanding. “Let me guess, it’s a sensory thing.”

  Wow, he really got it. “Yeah.” She was so dumbfounded, she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  He threw the meatballs into a pan and cooked them up, changing the subject to whether she followed the Blazers (she loved basketball), the Timbers (she liked soccer), and the Hops (baseball was not her favorite thing). The conversation was easy and fast and definitely good for her.

  When they were nearly finished eating Dylan asked, “How was your meeting with your assistant?”

  Yet another topic that had wound her up. She finished her glass of wine—her second—and looked at the water sluicing down the outside of the sliding glass door.

  “I shouldn’t have asked.” He must’ve read her expression. “Forget I brought it up.”

  Surprisingly, she didn’t mind. Maybe it was the wine or maybe it was the comfort she felt being with and talking to him. “It’s okay. He totally blindsided me—the douchebag is trying to steal my business.”

  He coughed, then reached for his beer to wash his food down. “Sorry, your use of ‘douchebag’ surprised me. What do you mean he’s trying to steal your business?”

  “He’s been managing things while I’ve been here in Ribbon Ridge—helping Mom, working on The Alex.”

  “Right.” He nodded before throwing back the rest of his beer.

  “Because he’s doing so much and has established such a close relationship with my clients,” she didn’t bother to hide her bitterness, “he apparently thinks he should own the entire thing. In fact, he’s been signing new clients to his new business—Craig Warner Events—on the advice of his lawyer, aka his boyfriend.”

  Dylan’s eyes narrowed as he set his empty bottle on the table. “Douchebag might not be a strong enough word.”

  “No, it’s not. He’s a total asshat.”

  “Better word, but I might go even dirtier.” He gave her a somewhat diabolical grin. “That’s how we ex-military types roll.”

  Again, she felt a smile coming on. How did he do that? She’d been wound up in knots when she’d arrived and now she was more relaxed than she’d been in ages. Well, since their last one-night stand anyway.

  “Feel free to call him whatever you think he deserves.” She pinched the stem of her wineglass and turned it on the table. “I don’t know what I’ll be able to do. I tried calling my best clients, but no one picked up. I suppose I should check my voicemail. Where’s my purse?”

  “In the hallway, but forget it. You’re not worrying about that tonight.” He stood up and bussed their dishes. “I need to take care of the laundry.”

  “No, tell me where it is and I’ll do it.”

  He arched a brow at her. “I told you I was good at laundry.”

  She laughed. “And I believe you. But you’ve got your hands full with the dishes.”

  “Oh, I see how it is. You’d rather do laundry than clean the kitchen.”

  “Totally.”

  He pointed toward a doorway halfway down the wall of the great room. “There’s a mud room through there.

  Sara got up but paused to look at him. “Why’d you start doing your laundry as a nine-year-old? My brothers could barely pick out their own clothes at that age.”

  “Necessity because of the whole back and forth thing. I never seemed to be on anyone’s laundry cycle.” He shrugged. “It seemed more efficient to just learn to do it myself. It only takes a few too-small shirts and pink socks to figure out what not to do.”

  Though he spoke with humor, Sara felt a pang of sadness for the boy who’d had to fend for himself. He busied himself with the dishes, and she let the moment go.

  The mudroom clearly hadn’t been remodeled, though his washer and dryer were top-notch front-loaders with steam cleaning and drying. She could actually dry her sweater in his dryer. Cool.

  She pulled her clothes from the washer and blushed when she found her underwear. It was one thing to jump all over a guy in his shower and another altogether to realize he’d washed your unmentionables. No sign of her bra, but then he’d bragged about his laundry prowess. She turned a full circle and sure enough, it was hanging on a peg on the wall near the corner. It was still pretty wet, but she didn’t want to throw it in the dryer with her jeans so she left it where it was. It looked so odd, so intimate hanging in his outdated, somewhat Spartan mudroom.

  When she returned to the kitchen, he was just finishing loading the dishwasher. “Your laundry room needs an overhaul,” she said, eyeing her empty wineglass, which he’d left on the counter.

  His brow arched playfully. “Hey, I don’t know if you noticed, but I’ve been working pretty hard on the rest of the place.” He shut the dishwasher and leaned back against the counter. “Can I get you more wine?”

  She glanced at her glass. She’d already had two, but she still wasn’t ready to go home. Her eyes met his. “Sure.”

  His gaze seemed to sizzle as he comprehended what that meant—which he had to know when he’d offered her a third glass of wine. He grabbed the open bottle, a great pinot from just up the road, and refilled her glass. “I think I’ll join you.” He got his own glass and poured out the rest of the bottle. He held up his glass. “To rainy nights.”

  Sara toasted him silently, her blood heating at the sultry look in his eyes.

  He came around the bar and took her glass from her fingers. He set both on the counter behind him. Turning back toward her, he reached for her waist and pulled her forward. Then he situated her so that she was sandwiched between him and the island, which hit her lower back. Without a word and with an incredibly intense stare, he lifted his hands to the front of the robe. He slid his hands inside, parting the fluffy terrycloth, and cupped her breasts.

  Sara planted her feet on the smooth, scraped hardwood as sensation rocked through her. His warm hands massaged her, his fingers finding her sensitive nipples and coaxing them into stiff, aching peaks. He pushed the robe back farther to expose her flesh. He bent his head and drew one breast into his mouth with a long, hard suck. She gasped, letting her head fall back. He gently bit her nipple, then licked and soothed it.

  He lifted her and set her on the edge of the island. She locked her gaze with his, feeling his lustful stare like a searing caress. He parted her legs, the robe separating with the movement. He clasped her knees then slid his hands up her thighs, his thumbs stroking her as he went.

  She had to taste him. She clasped his neck and drew him closer as her mouth crashed down over his. Their tongues met in a hot battle of need and passion. Desire arced out from her core. Then his thumbs were there, parting her most intimate flesh. He ripped his mouth from hers and gently pushed her back down on the island until her spine met the granite. His mouth came down on her hard, his tongue flicking her clit. Her orgasm was already right there, threatening to bear her away to some dark and distant place. And she was ready to go—desperate for release.

  His fingers thrust inside of her, filling her. Her muscles clenched down as rapture broke over her. She cried out, her head cast back against the cool granite as he fucked her with his mouth and fingers.

  Her orgasm was still flooding her senses when he pulled her up to a sitting position. “I want you upstairs,” he said.

  She nodded. At least she thought she did. She wasn’t terribly certain what she was doing or if she was even capable of moving. Her entire body felt like it was made of wet noodles.

  He leaned down to her ear and whispered, �
�Do I need to carry you?” He nipped her earlobe then suckled the flesh. His hand kneaded her hip through the plush robe.

  She scooted from the edge of the counter and landed softly on the floor. Then she threw him a seductive stare, crooked her finger, and turned toward the stairs. She slipped the robe from her shoulders, giving him a view of her bare back.

  He came up behind her and trailed his hand down her spine. At the base of the stairs, he gave her behind a playful swat. She turned and dropped the robe at her feet.

  With a growl, he rushed forward. Sara laughed, a throaty, sexy sound that sounded as though it belonged to someone else, and tore up the stairs. He followed her, his feet slapping against the wood. She reached the threshold of his bedroom before his hands clasped her waist and he pressed up flush to her back. His cock nudged her backside—he must’ve tossed his clothes off on the way up.

  He moved her forward into the room, his hands splaying up over her ribcage to cup the undersides of her breasts. His thumbs and forefingers drew on her nipples, pulling and pinching them hard enough to make her moan, but not to hurt. He steered her toward the bed and kissed her neck. “Can I do this from behind? Your back . . . it’s so sexy.”

  It was hard to believe, but Sara had never had sex in that position. She felt suddenly shy and a bit embarrassed by her lack of experience.

  “And your ass,” he brought his hand down and traced a finger over one cheek then palmed the soft flesh, “also very sexy.”

  He pushed her hair to the side and kissed a path from the back of her neck to the base of her spine, pushing her over toward the bed as he traveled downward.

  She fell forward, catching herself on her palms. “You’ll have to tell me what to do.” She sounded breathless. Lust pounded through her as if she hadn’t just orgasmed downstairs.

  He pushed her backside. “Kneel.”

  She scooted up on the bed, bringing her knees up.

  “Keep going. Until you can grab the headboard.”

  She did as he instructed, moving completely up the bed until she could grasp the top of the carved wood.

  “Yes, just like that.” His voice was dark and rich. It slid over her like a delicious caress. “Part your legs.” His hand grazed down the back of her thigh and then up the inside until his finger found her moist heat. He slipped his finger into her sheath and she closed her eyes in ecstasy. He spoke low next to her ear. “My cock will go in just like that.” He nipped her neck and then tongued her flesh with hot, lush strokes. He thrust his finger in and out. “Just like that.”

  She moaned and clutched the headboard. Her hips moved in rhythm with his finger.

  “Yes, Sara. Fuck my finger, just like you’ll fuck my cock.”

  She could hardly believe the things he was saying to her, or the way it was driving her completely wild. She wanted more. “Put your cock in me.”

  He chuckled and bit her neck again. “Hold on.” He left her for a moment and she saw him reaching for the bedside table drawer. He pulled out a condom and she heard the sounds of him tearing open the wrapper.

  He moved quickly because his cock nudged her opening and then he eased inside of her. He went slowly—agonizingly so, but she appreciated his care. He held her hips until he was seated completely and she felt his thighs flush with the backs of hers. He ground against her, his groin pivoting, but he didn’t thrust.

  “Aren’t you going to move?” she asked, desperate to feel his friction.

  He cupped one of her breasts, pulling the nipple downward and giving it a little pinch. “Needy, aren’t we?”

  “Now you’re just being mean.”

  “If you think for a second that this isn’t as torturous for me as it is for you, you aren’t paying attention.”

  “If it’s torture, why do it?” She pushed back against him, mimicking his grinding movements.

  “God, Sara, you’re so . . . because it’s wonderful, exquisite torture.” He withdrew almost completely and slammed into her again.

  She grabbed the headboard tightly and gasped. “Again.”

  He complied, pulling out until only the tip of his cock grazed her entrance and then he thrust forward, filling her until she cried out. “Again,” she demanded.

  Over and over he stroked, with rough, deliberate precision until she finally yelled, “Faster. Please.”

  “You’re killing me.” He tugged on her earlobe with his teeth and then kissed her jaw and neck, his mouth hot and open, his tongue fierce and possessive. All the while, he fucked her, his cock moving in and out with an ever-faster rhythm. The orgasm building inside of her made the others tonight pale in comparison. She felt like she was made of a million pieces that were barely held together and at any moment they were going to fly apart.

  His hand skimmed down from her breast and found her clit. He pressed and she came hard, a kaleidoscope of light and color exploding behind her closed eyelids. Ecstasy claimed her and she succumbed completely. He continued to move, which only prolonged her orgasm. A moment later he cried out and pulsed into her one last time. His hand gripped her shoulder as his muscles clenched and she felt him go rigid behind her.

  “Be right back,” he murmured, leaving her.

  Sara crumpled onto the bed and snuggled beneath the comforter and sheets. They were so soft. So inviting. She closed her eyes.

  She heard him come back to the bed because a floorboard creaked nearby. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m staying the night.”

  “I never would’ve given you that third glass of wine if I hadn’t expected it.”

  She opened one eye and looked up at him. “I know.”

  “I’ll be back in a minute after I turn everything off.” He leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips.

  Sara sighed as he left and burrowed deeper into his bed. It had been ages since she’d felt so content, so . . . happy.

  By the time he got back, she was trying not to doze off. He climbed in next to her and she snuggled back against his chest. His arm came around her waist and held her close.

  “You look like you’re almost asleep,” he said. “I’ve never seen anyone nod off as fast as you.”

  She smiled but kept her eyes closed. “It’s funny. I have a terrible time falling asleep usually. I almost always take melatonin—it’s another part of sensory regulation. It’s hard to go to sleep and hard to wake up.” She yawned. “But with you, it’s no trouble. Like you’re magic.”

  He kissed her hair. “Glad I can help.”

  She started to drift off, but not before she heard him say, “Thank you.” She wanted to ask why, but sleep claimed her before she could.

  Chapter Fourteen

  DYLAN WAS DOWNSTAIRS brewing coffee when Sara peeked her head in. Seeing him, she stepped into the eating nook and pivoted toward the kitchen. Her smile was tentative with a hint of sensuality. She wore his robe again, looking sexier than anyone had a right to be.

  “Morning,” she said. “I don’t suppose you have any tea?”

  Shit, no he didn’t. His regret must’ve shown because she rushed to say, “It’s okay.”

  “Not a coffee drinker?” He asked. She shook her head. “How about orange juice? And breakfast?”

  “Sure, that would be great.” She perched on one of the bar stools while he filled a glass.

  Damn, the last time he’d had sex more than once with a woman—let alone three times in a twelve-hour period—had been his ex. It went completely against his post-divorce coda: keep everyone at arm’s length because it’s simple and neat. Why then had he been unable to resist Sara?

  She looked at him over the edge of her glass after sipping her juice. “Do you regret last night?”

  Why not confront the elephant staring them down? He admired—and appreciated—her for it.

  If she was going to be direct, he owed her the same courtesy. “Not particularly. Or this morning, either.” Sexytime the third had been a slow, seductive, wake-up call that still had his blood humming.

  She set
her glass down on the counter. “Good. So here’s the thing. I know we said we shouldn’t do . . . this. But I have to be honest. My life is pretty full of crap right now and hooking up with you—sorry, for lack of a better description—makes me happy. Is it wrong that I want to hold on to that?”

  He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but his guard was firmly in place. Two-night stands were not his thing, but three-night stands had to be verboten. Especially with the dangerously alluring Sara Archer. But he understood that she wanted this, enjoyed this. He couldn’t deny that he did too. “No, it’ s not wrong,” he said slowly, judiciously.

  She relaxed, her mouth inching up at the corner. “Then I’d like to propose we do this again. Just this—the physical thing. Well, and the friendship because you have to agree we’re friends at least.”

  Yes, he did. Which was odd in itself. He didn’t have woman friends. He did, however, have guy friends who enjoyed a “friends with benefits” scenario with some of their women friends. And one of them had recently parted ways with his “friend” quite badly. As expected, one of them—her—had developed deeper feelings and when they hadn’t been reciprocated, it had all gone to hell. Dylan couldn’t risk that, not with his job on the line.

  “As much as I enjoy our trysts, I wouldn’t want future hook-ups, to use your word, to affect my employment.” She had intimated that an entanglement could affect his consideration for the future phases.

  A spot of red bloomed in each of her cheeks. “It won’t. I never should have said that the other day—about you not getting the other phases. I was upset. You get that, right?”

  He did. He’d been worked up, too. But trust in a relationship was pretty hard for a guy who typically went it alone. On the other hand, he couldn’t deny his crazy, seemingly insatiable attraction to her. Last night, all rational thought had completely vacated his mind, and he’d liked the sensation of losing himself in her.

  She interrupted his thoughts. “What are you thinking about?”