The Next Day (Foothills Book 2) by Carrie Thorne (mind reading books .txt) 📗

hardly said a word, his poker face out in full force. Her parents made small talk, her mother saying how bummed she was they’d missed the bridal shower, her father wondering out loud if Uncle Joe still had the boat so they could go fishing.

While offering the occasional nod or polite conversation-furthering question for her parents to keep things light, Freya linked hands with Zane. He stared out the window, expressionless as they passed casino after casino. She remembered Tahoe as beautiful, but Reno was not her type of place.

When he finally glanced her way, she raised her eyebrows, silently asking if he was okay. He nodded, then looked back out the window again. The moment they reached the hotel, he grabbed their garment bag and his backpack, linking his hand with hers as they walked inside.

While she checked them in, he walked to the wall of windows overlooking the lake and stared out at the mountains in the distance. Nodding to her dad while her mother asked the concierge about what sort of view they had and what time the restaurant was open for breakfast and was there room service, Freya accepted the pair of room keys from the attendant and joined Zane.

“All good?” she asked.

He nodded again, his jaw still flexing instead of opening to talk.

She slipped her hand back into his and led the way to the elevator. Up to the fourth floor, she held the key in front of the second to last door at the end of the hall, the light blinking green as the lock clicked open. Travel days were the worst, but this was so much better than crossing the Atlantic and the continental US. No jetlag was brilliant.

Zane breathed deeply as he followed her inside, his shoulders relaxing as he hung the garment bag in the closet and stashed his backpack under it. Freya dashed in the bathroom to refresh, unsure what to expect when she returned.

When she came out, he was standing on the deck, looking out at the lake, the mountains, a breeze rustling through his hair, across his travel-wrinkled shirt.

She joined him on the private deck and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face against his back. His hands rested over hers, and they stood unmoving together. Laughter and squeals of delight radiated up from the beach. Boats zipped across the choppy water. The breeze was a cool relief from the summer day.

His fingers laced with hers, shifting his shirt and moving her hand to his skin. Combusting on contact, she traced along the ridges under her fingertips, goosebumps prickling over his skin in her wake.

Tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt, she eased up the cotton fabric.

As he helped her pull it over his head, he turned and pitched the shirt in the room, immediately wrapping his arms around her. Mouth on her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder, he didn’t say a word.

His hands slid down her waist and gripped her hips, lifting her off the ground and carrying her into the room, lips still trailing over her skin.

He lowered her to the bed, following close and finally kissing her. Tenderly, decadently, he tasted. Melting, zinging as he caressed her tongue with his, his leisurely exploration, each savoring kiss sending chills over her skin as every nerve in her body heated in response.

When he paused, she opened her eyes. Whatever had haunted him dissipated; nothing but the moment in his gaze, locked on with hers with a hungry curiosity that stopped her pulse, setting off a new rhythm as the intensity in his look jumpstarted it back into beating.

Reaching down, he slid his hand under her shirt, tracing up and moving under her bra, encircling her breasts with his hands. Her breath caught in her throat, words unable to describe the sensation that coursed through her veins.

Needing more, she tugged her top over her head, snapped off her bra and flung it out of the way.

Groaning, he lowered and pressed his open mouth between her breasts. Moving, tantalizing, his tongue grazed across her curves, finally taking a tight bud between his teeth, deep in his mouth until she cried out and begged for more.

Pheromones blazing, Freya was lost in him. Later, she’d remind herself this was going to be a problem. For now? She felt nothing but him, and his devastating effect on her.

He rose to his knees, still straddling her legs. She sat up and looked up at him, unbuttoning his jeans and lowering the zipper, eliciting a rich, rumbling moan. She grasped his cock in her hands. Grinning, loving seeing him nearly naked and flawlessly built and completely under her spell, she shifted and ran her tongue along the length of his shaft.

He groaned again, moving back out of her reach in regretful torture. “Two years,” he muttered. “Almost three.” He rose from the bed and tugged off his jeans the rest of the way, snagging a condom from the pocket. Finally, the corners of his mouth turned up as he stood at the edge of the bed, “This isn’t going to last long as it is.”

Taking the condom from his hand, she tore open the wrapper and slid it over him. As his eyes rolled back in his head, she murmured, “I guess I’d better make it worth your while.” She nodded toward the bed.

Moving onto his back, he grinned up at her, as relaxed and happy as she’d ever seen. Imprinting the image in her mind, she hoped she could hold onto every detail to paint him when she got home; from the stubble on his jaw to the upturned corners of his mouth, the fascination in his eyes, each precise muscle of his torso.

Lowering herself onto his rock-hard cock, blazing energy coursed through her as they joined. Adjusting to the thick thrill, she let out a gasp.