Christmas in His Bed, Page 5

  He knocked, pushing her door open to find it empty. That was when he heard the telltale sound of water running. She was in the shower? He went back out into the hall and paused. The bathroom door was cracked. He’d take that as an invitation.

  He opened the door, greeted by a cloud of steam, and pushed it closed behind him. Her red tunic lay on the floor. Her leggings, boots, a lacy black bra and a scrap of fabric he assumed was her underwear led the way to the glass-enclosed shower.

  “You hoping I’d wash your back?” he asked, his throat tight.

  She glanced over her shoulder, smiling sweetly. “To start, maybe.”

  “To start?” he asked.

  “You said we had all night.” He heard the waver of her voice and knew she wasn’t as brave as she was acting.

  He nodded and stripped quickly, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor before stepping into the shower behind her. He stepped forward, shuddering as he pressed against her. There was no way she could miss just how much he wanted her. The length of him was throbbing, pulsing against the soft curve of her ass. He leaned in, his chest flush with the wet skin of her back. He groaned as he pressed an openmouthed kiss against the base of her neck.

  She shivered.

  He reached around her, pouring body wash into his palm and lathering his hands. His palms slid up her arms and over her shoulders. He took his time, kneading her skin with strong fingers. She sighed, her head falling against his shoulder as he massaged the length of her back. He washed her, his hands slipping and sliding over every inch of her. He didn’t linger in one place, but used his touch to heighten her awareness...and his. His hand slid between her legs, barely cupping the soft skin before sliding up her stomach to cradle her breasts. Her nipples were tight peaks, begging for his touch. He almost caved, pushed her against the wall and slid home. But he didn’t. Not yet. She felt so damn good, the lather of the body wash making her slippery in his hold. When his hands clasped her hips, he ground against her.

  Her hand came around, gripping his lower back as she arched into him. She turned her head, looking at him with unfiltered hunger.

  She turned in his hold, pressing herself against him and twining her arms around his neck. Her teeth nipped his lower lip, her fingers curling in his hair to pull his head toward hers. He didn’t hold back. His tongue slid between her lips while his mouth sealed hers.

  She broke away, gasping. “My turn.” She poured body wash onto her hands.

  He stood still, watching as she explored his body with her hands and eyes. She turned him, kneading his back and shoulders, thighs and hips. Her teeth grazed his hips, her tongue traced his spine, and her hands came around him, clasping the length of him with slippery hands. He shuddered, giving in to the onslaught of sensations her hands and mouth unleashed. She turned him once more.

  He hadn’t expected her to be on her knees, to have her soft hands clasp the rigid length of him and bring it to her mouth. But the silk of her lips slipping over his tip, the wet heat of her mouth encasing him, made him groan out loud. With one hand she braced herself on his thighs, and the other gripped him firmly in place, letting her set a rhythm both sweet and torturous. Every stroke of her tongue and caress of her lips had him teetering closer to the edge. Did she know how close he was? He pressed his hands against the side of the shower, steadying himself.

  “Stop, Tatum,” he ground out. He had to stop her. Had to get control. But, when it came to Tatum, he had no control.

  “Stop?” she asked, breathless. “You’re not enjoying it?”

  He heard the vulnerability in her voice and ached from it. He groaned. “I am. Too much.”

  “I don’t want to stop,” she answered, drawing him deep into her mouth. Her hands slid up the backs of his thighs to grip his hips and he was done for. His climax hit hard. Wave after wave of pure, raw pleasure rocked through him. His moan tore from his throat and echoed in the steam-filled shower.

  When he opened his eyes, she was standing before him—a huge smile on her face. He was gasping, his heart hammering and his lungs scrambling for air. She seemed pretty proud of her handiwork.

  His hands slid down the side of the shower stall to cup her face. He wiped the water from her forehead and tilted her face back to kiss her. “You’re gorgeous,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

  “I probably look like a drowned rat,” she argued, kissing him back.

  “A gorgeous drowned rat,” he continued, pulling her against him. He groaned at the slip and slide of her skin against him.

  “Spencer.” Her whisper was low, pleading.

  He held her back, staring down at her. “Bed?” he asked, turning off the water without waiting for her answer.

  He helped her out of the shower, wrapping a thick white towel around his waist before rubbing her down. She laughed at the thorough job he made of it, but she was dry and rosy when he was done.

  Her fingers traced his side. “What kind of feather is this?” she asked, tracing the tattoo.

  “An eagle feather,” he answered, twisting the water from her hair.

  “Why an eagle feather?”

  He glanced at her. “An eagle is a protector. He’s powerful in battle. Alert and watchful. I needed to feel that way after Russ was killed.” Instead of feeling like a failure.

  He and Patton had worked side by side with their little brother but neither of them had ever suspected Russell of being corrupt. Even after the night Russ was mowed down, Spencer had a hard time coming to terms with the truth. His little brother had been the bad guy.

  Tatum was staring up at him, her fingers stroking the intricately detailed design and easing the crushing weight of his memories.

  “I’m sorry about Russ.” There was no doubting her sincerity. “He was a character, always the jokester.”

  She was right. Russ had always been the class clown—the one everybody loved. Being charming was a very useful way to divert suspicion.

  “To lose your brother and father in the same year...” She paused, sliding her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry you had so much grief all at once, Spencer.”

  He stared down at her, loving the feel of her in his arms. Missing her. How many times had he picked up the phone to call her, only to hang up? “Things were tough for a while,” he admitted. “But you get up every day, you find a way to keep going.”

  She nodded. “You have to.” Her voice was thick.

  There was a sheen to her eyes. She knew all about grief. She’d lost everyone she’d ever loved. If he could chase away her suffering he would. So he kissed her, a long, slow kiss that instantly stirred his desire. “I’m glad you’re back, Tatum.”

  “I’m thinking my stunt in the shower might have something to do with that,” she teased.

  “I’m not complaining,” he murmured.

  Her green eyes searched his before she said, “My body feels awake when you’re around. I feel awake.” Her fingers stroked across his chest and down his stomach.

  “It’s a damn good thing because I’m not planning on getting much sleep tonight.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her out the door and down the hall to her bedroom.

  4

  TATUM WATCHED THE lone drop of water run down Spence’s neck. Even his neck was muscular. He was one hard, rippling mass of sheer power. And yet, wrapped in his arms, she felt only safe and secure—almost treasured. And there was no denying the hunger he had for her. She wanted him crazy for her, the way she was crazy for him. She bent forward, licking the drop of water from his skin.

  She landed in the middle of her bed, the cool air hitting her exposed skin—right before his hands clasped her hips and tugged her to the edge of the bed. She was still reeling when his tongue stroked over the tight bundle of nerves between her legs.

  “Spencer,” she hissed, her hands
fisting in the blankets beneath her.

  “Turnabout is fair play,” he murmured, his warm breath brushing along the inside of her thigh.

  His tongue was magic, teasing her until she was out of her mind. His fingers joined in then, stroking deep inside of her. He moved with a purpose, setting a rhythm that was both blissful and maddeningly taunting. It built, her need, until she couldn’t hold on.

  “Please, Spencer,” she gasped, so close. “Oh, please.” She reached for him, her hands holding on to his wet hair. His rhythm stayed the same, but the pressure... His mouth, his fingers pushed her over the edge. Her body spiraled, her lungs emptying of all air as she gave way to sensation. Her grip tightened on his hair as her climax found her. She lay, shuddering and stunned, as he kissed his way back up her body.

  She was still reeling when his lips pressed against hers. She felt him, hard and ready, against her thigh. Her gaze met his, the heat of his hunger making her quiver once more. He was big...bigger than Brent. And she wanted him, all of him. Now. “I’m ready,” she whispered, her fingers gripping his arms.

  “Protection... In my pants, in the bathroom.”

  “I’m protected.” Her hands tightened on his arms.

  “I’ve waited so long, I can wait a while longer,” he murmured against her lips.

  “Why?” she asked, wrapping a leg around his hip.

  He smiled down at her, his hands cradling the side of her face. “Maybe I want to drive you crazy for me.”

  “You have,” she answered, her heart in her throat. She could feel him, so close. “I want you, Spencer.”

  His eyes fluttered closed before he gripped her hips and lifted her, opening her for him. When his eyes met hers, he moved into her, slowly filling her. She gasped, her hands resting on his chest as she concentrated on relaxing. Her body strained to accommodate him, the pressure building and emptying her lungs. She closed her eyes, sucking in a deep breath.

  “Tatum,” he growled, stilling. “Look at me.” His hands tightened on her hips.

  She did. The look on his face was almost pained. He thrust deep, so deep, never breaking their gaze. She cried out, unable to stop herself. It was too much. Too good. Too intimate. She wanted more. He thrust again, his raw groan forcing a soft cry from her lips.

  He kissed her, his tongue caressing her own. She moved beneath him, losing herself to the feeling of him deep inside of her. The weight of him, the power... All she could do was hold on.

  Her hands slid along his back, gripping his hips. The quiver and contraction of his muscles beneath her fingers, the pause at each thrust, his ragged breathing—he was barely holding on, for her. When all she wanted was all of him. She didn’t want restrained or controlled. She wanted to let go, for him to let go. To give in to the passion that would undoubtedly drown them both.

  “You feel so good, Tatum...so damn good,” he growled. He moved deep, almost leaving her, and slid home again. Over and over, he had her so close. His mouth latched on to her neck, her shoulder, her nipple. He drew her breast into his mouth, his tongue flicking, his teeth nipping. She arched into him, everything but him fading away.

  He moved faster then, lifting her and holding her in place as he powered into her. She was out of her mind, overwhelmed, balancing on the precipice of pleasure and pain. Her hands slid down his back, feeling the flex and shift of his muscles. His body was incredible. He was incredible.

  One look at his face was all it took. Her pleasure slammed into her. Her body bowed off the bed, the sharp edge of pleasure giving way to a powerful climax. She was drowning in sensation. But he wasn’t done.

  He kept moving, harder and faster, driven. She watched him, gasping for breath, instantly aroused by the sweet friction. “Spencer...” His name slipped from her lips, thick and husky.

  His arms were columns of steel, bracing him over her as his eyes bored into hers. His face crumpled and he stiffened, shouting out his own release. She wasn’t prepared for the hard climax that gripped her, making her yell out as she held on to him. Still he gripped her tightly to him, pinning her.

  They collapsed in a tangled heap, panting on her quilts. He was heavy, sprawled across her. But she ached when he moved to her side. She didn’t want this to end. She wanted to stay here, lost in pure passion and sensation. His arm drew her tight against his side before pulling the quilts over them and bundling them closely together.

  “Warm enough?” he asked against her hair.

  She nodded, loving the waver in his voice. Even now, savoring the delightful aftershocks of their lovemaking, she wanted him. It didn’t matter that her body was humming, satisfied.

  He chuckled.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You still have pom-poms on your shelf,” he said, pointing at the shelf across the room.

  “You live here,” she said, breathing a little easier now. “You could have boxed them up.”

  He shook his head. “It’s your room. The last tenants hadn’t touched this side of the house. I didn’t, either.”

  “Can I ask why this house?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “My apartment building burned and it was empty so... I didn’t like seeing the place sit empty.” He shrugged.

  “Sorry about your apartment.” How horrible. And now she was going to make him move again.

  “Thanks. It sucked.” He paused. “I’m not home a lot. I didn’t lose anything important. Like pom-poms or trophies.”

  She laughed, slightly embarrassed that her room hadn’t been touched. She’d just assumed the house had been packed up for tenants—Brent had assured her that was the case. “I haven’t had a chance to weed things out or decorate yet.” She looked up at him. “I’ve spent more time naked with you.”

  “Again, not complaining,” he said, smiling down at her. “Just a little déjà vu. Being here, in your bed, when the room looks the same.”

  “We never did this, never slept together,” she argued. “Before.”

  “I know. But we spent a hell of a lot of time right here doing plenty of other things.” His arms tightened around her.

  His words poked at the hurt he’d caused so long ago. She’d left the middle of her senior year of high school and had only the haziest memories of her time in California high school. What she did remember was pain. Losing him had felt like losing an arm. She’d felt confused and broken.

  It was only when she met Brent that she put every thought and memory of Spencer in a box, tightly latched, in the far recesses of her mind. That box needed to stay locked up. “So what have you been up to?” she asked, desperate to turn their conversation into neutral waters. “Besides busting bad guys and taking care of your mom, have you taken up any hobbies? Like woodworking or...beer making?” she asked. “You know all about me.”

  “I know the bare minimum,” he said, tucking an arm under his head and looking down at her.

  “Nothing more to tell, I guess.” It was true—and pathetic. The last few years had made her a Stepford wife. Whatever thoughts she’d had or plans she’d made had been replaced by things Brent needed to get ahead in his career. She didn’t want to admit that to Spencer. Especially when they were wrapped up, naked, in bed together.

  His fingers slid through her hair as he spoke. “Mostly school, then the academy. I’ve worked my way up to detective, alongside Patton. Been in the narcotics unit for a few years now. Greyson’s still pretty small, but shit happens now and then. The real action is when I’m working with the joint task force. Being so close to the Oklahoma border, with as much wide-open land as there is, we do have a lot of drug on the move.”

  “You’re happy?” she asked, curious. She understood loving your work, but was that really enough? Spencer had always wanted a big family, like the one he’d grown up in. She’d wanted that with him... But that was a long time ago.

&nbs
p; He nodded, reaching out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Mostly.”

  “No women?” she asked.

  He grinned. “Oh, there have been women.”

  She smacked him on the arm and sat up, tucking the sheet around her. “Relationships?”

  He shrugged. “None that stuck. My job comes first. Hours aren’t exactly family friendly.” He broke off, staring at her. “I figure I’ll know when it’s the right time. Or the right girl.”

  “So you’re not attached?” she asked.

  “If I was, I wouldn’t be here, Tatum.” He paused. “You know me.”

  She thought she had. And then he’d proved her wrong. “Not really,” she said, suddenly nervous.

  “You do. You know me better than anyone.” He frowned.

  Maybe once. But now it didn’t matter. She didn’t want to get serious when she was about to suggest what she was about to suggest. “I have a proposition for you.” What she wanted was crazy and selfish and indecent, no denying that. And without Spencer it wasn’t going to happen. But she really hoped he was agreeable to her proposal. “I want to...borrow you,” she said, her voice lowered.

  “Borrow me?” he asked.

  She swallowed. “Your body. It was just Brent, and he was...well... I just wanted... I was wondering if you’d be willing to help me... Learn to be sexy. Appealing...in bed.”

  His blue eyes continued to stare at her, intense and searching.

  “No strings. I’m not ready and you sound like you’re not interested in getting tied down, which is great. But I feel like I’ve missed out... On sex—good sex. I want to be sexy...seductive.” She stopped, clasping her hands in her lap. Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut. Saying it out loud, she sounded ridiculous.

  He lay there, still staring at her. His breathing had accelerated, but she didn’t know what that meant.

  “You can stay here. Roommates with benefits.” She swallowed again, her nerves forcing her to continue. “You and me, two consenting adults, spending as much time naked as possible. With an expiration date of midnight Christmas Eve.”