she’d just discovered a candy cane, and stroked him with her fingernails before lowering her mouth over the tip. As her tongue swirled around the head and poked teasingly at the tip, he bucked, and he knew he was going to lose it soon.
What’s more, though never in his life would he have turned down some head, the need to be inside her was so overwhelming he sat up. “Mindy . . .” he breathed.
“Let me,” she said, and when he pulled the condom from the nightstand, she did that thing with her teeth again, and slowly, teasingly unrolled it—
“Oh God,” he gritted, his teeth clamped shut as he held himself simmering at the edge.
Still with that mischievous, triumphant grin she rose up on her knees, rolled her hips in one of those smoking hot undulations, and lowered herself onto him.
Two inches in and he began to buck.
Mate , the tiger stirred.
Mindy laughed low in her throat and began to ride him, each stroke taking him deeper, those amazing muscles of hers clenching and releasing, which shot him to a higher brink than he’d ever been in his life.
Mate! The tiger roared deep in his core.
The entire bed was shaking as they worked together in a primal rhythm. She tightened, tightened, he reached down to grip her hips, and she threw her head back as he expelled his breath with the force of his orgasm, and wave after wave took them both down into boneless, mindless bliss.
* * *
For one sweet minute Mindy reveled in the afterglow, aware of Dennis’s arm curled around her, his fingers slowly and gently caressing her ribs.
Then came the what have you done, you idiot? mental yelling. She’d had sex twice with a guy she didn’t even know. Well, yes, she did know some things.
His name was Dennis O’Keefe. She’d never thought the name Dennis sexy before, but just thinking it gave her echo-pulses in deep places.
She knew he came from a small town.
She knew his dad was a Marine.
She knew he loved travel, and had made a lot of trips, and when he didn’t, he’d had a couple of friends with whom he’d watched Mork and Mindy .
She knew he was still friends with at least one of them, because they were in this guy’s house now. So the guy had to be pretty successful because she could turn her head toward the huge windows, and see glimpses of L.A. below, half-obscured by California black oak. She was in the Hollywood Hills, not all that far from her own apartment just off Wilshire.
She treasured up each of these nuggets until the horrible thought occurred: at some point he was going to want to know stuff about her .
His fingers had stopped. She hoped he was asleep, and carefully wriggled free. She rolled off the bed, and was halfway to the bathroom when his low, rough voice stopped her. “You’re not going to vanish, are you?”
She turned. He lay naked on the bed, his gorgeous body warmed by the golden shafts of late afternoon sunlight slanting in between gently moving leaves. Her heart squeezed and she resisted the impulse to dive right back into that wildly rumpled bed.
“I don’t even know where I am. Except somewhere in the Hills.” She couldn’t help a smile. He was just so luscious, with his thick, tawny hair hanging tousled on his forehead and spilled against the pillow, the light catching gold glints in his chest hair. The long play of muscles down his body. “I just want to . . .” And she jerked her thumb at the bathroom door.
For answer, he grinned back, reached down to the side of the bed, and picked up her sandals. “I’m holding these hostage. Just in case.”
His grin was so bad-boy she laughed as she walked into the bathroom. Then stopped in total dismay when she saw herself in the mirror.
Hell’s bells, her hair had totally poodled.
She clawed at it, trying to flatten it down, but it sprang up wilder than ever. How could he look at her and not immediately suspect she was secretly a poodle? She yanked the spigots in the shower, and as soon as it was warm enough she
What’s more, though never in his life would he have turned down some head, the need to be inside her was so overwhelming he sat up. “Mindy . . .” he breathed.
“Let me,” she said, and when he pulled the condom from the nightstand, she did that thing with her teeth again, and slowly, teasingly unrolled it—
“Oh God,” he gritted, his teeth clamped shut as he held himself simmering at the edge.
Still with that mischievous, triumphant grin she rose up on her knees, rolled her hips in one of those smoking hot undulations, and lowered herself onto him.
Two inches in and he began to buck.
Mate , the tiger stirred.
Mindy laughed low in her throat and began to ride him, each stroke taking him deeper, those amazing muscles of hers clenching and releasing, which shot him to a higher brink than he’d ever been in his life.
Mate! The tiger roared deep in his core.
The entire bed was shaking as they worked together in a primal rhythm. She tightened, tightened, he reached down to grip her hips, and she threw her head back as he expelled his breath with the force of his orgasm, and wave after wave took them both down into boneless, mindless bliss.
* * *
For one sweet minute Mindy reveled in the afterglow, aware of Dennis’s arm curled around her, his fingers slowly and gently caressing her ribs.
Then came the what have you done, you idiot? mental yelling. She’d had sex twice with a guy she didn’t even know. Well, yes, she did know some things.
His name was Dennis O’Keefe. She’d never thought the name Dennis sexy before, but just thinking it gave her echo-pulses in deep places.
She knew he came from a small town.
She knew his dad was a Marine.
She knew he loved travel, and had made a lot of trips, and when he didn’t, he’d had a couple of friends with whom he’d watched Mork and Mindy .
She knew he was still friends with at least one of them, because they were in this guy’s house now. So the guy had to be pretty successful because she could turn her head toward the huge windows, and see glimpses of L.A. below, half-obscured by California black oak. She was in the Hollywood Hills, not all that far from her own apartment just off Wilshire.
She treasured up each of these nuggets until the horrible thought occurred: at some point he was going to want to know stuff about her .
His fingers had stopped. She hoped he was asleep, and carefully wriggled free. She rolled off the bed, and was halfway to the bathroom when his low, rough voice stopped her. “You’re not going to vanish, are you?”
She turned. He lay naked on the bed, his gorgeous body warmed by the golden shafts of late afternoon sunlight slanting in between gently moving leaves. Her heart squeezed and she resisted the impulse to dive right back into that wildly rumpled bed.
“I don’t even know where I am. Except somewhere in the Hills.” She couldn’t help a smile. He was just so luscious, with his thick, tawny hair hanging tousled on his forehead and spilled against the pillow, the light catching gold glints in his chest hair. The long play of muscles down his body. “I just want to . . .” And she jerked her thumb at the bathroom door.
For answer, he grinned back, reached down to the side of the bed, and picked up her sandals. “I’m holding these hostage. Just in case.”
His grin was so bad-boy she laughed as she walked into the bathroom. Then stopped in total dismay when she saw herself in the mirror.
Hell’s bells, her hair had totally poodled.
She clawed at it, trying to flatten it down, but it sprang up wilder than ever. How could he look at her and not immediately suspect she was secretly a poodle? She yanked the spigots in the shower, and as soon as it was warm enough she
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