Rocky is pretty damn familiar with just how far Lita will go for a “scoop.” Hell, their unbelievably hot hook-up in Mexico years ago was the story of a lifetime. Rocky’s learned his lessons. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep her from the story—even if he has to seduce her to the point of distraction! But Lita has always had a way of getting under his skin. Only this time, he won’t be able to just walk away…
They were still touching, from shoulders down to their thighs, bodies trading warmth in the slight chill of the night next to the lake. She was close enough to kiss, close enough for him to caress, and he bit back a groan when he recalled her curves. She was smooth muscle, silky skin, lush breasts that filled his palms with their delicious heavy weight. Rocky broke eye contact, taking the chicken-shit way out for a moment.
He should move, get up and walk around, but he wasn’t going to do it. The big, horny bastard who made poor decisions was super-powered by tequila shots. That guy was like the Hulk, except that poor schmo in the movie couldn’t fuck without losing control, and when you were green with anger-management issues— that was a big problem. But Lita loved it when he lost control, and he enjoyed it when she took everything he had and begged for more.
The silence between them wasn’t awkward, and it wasn’t empty. The drumbeat of what they were both contemplating was in time with the pounding of their hearts. His cock ached, strained against the fly of his jeans; his mouth salivated with the desire to taste her. Lita’s nipples were tight under the flimsy fabric of her tank top; they rose and fell like she’d been running. He was waiting for some sign that she was on board for them to both make a poor drunken decision.
“I’m really sorry about Mexico…after Mexico,” Lita whispered as she looked up at him again, her breath warm against his mouth. He licked his lips, disappointed that he couldn’t taste her there.
“Let’s not talk about it anymore.”
“Do you believe me?”
Rocky sighed slightly, cataloging the hope in her eyes that maybe they could put this behind them. He reached out a hand, allowing his fingers to trace the arc of her cheek, the side of her neck, dipping into the hollow of her throat and coming to rest on the curve of her breast.
The tension was strung taut between them, but through it all, he realized that he owed her an answer before this went any further.
“I’m just tired of fighting about it.”
She closed her eyes briefly, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of his words or the effect of his gentle stroke against her flesh.
“That’s not a great answer,” Lita said, opening her eyes again.
She studied his face, her eyes processing each assessment she made, every calculation of pros, cons, and the absolutely insane. Rocky expected her to pull away, to end this detour and frolic into madness. He needed her to do what he could not do. He wanted her under him, around him. Wanted her in every way he’d had her those three days in Mexico, wanted to refresh those living memories with warm flesh, wet kisses, and pleasure. But he wouldn’t lie to get it.
“It’s the best I can do,” he whispered.
“I know for a fact that isn’t true.”
“You’re right,” he said as he slid his other arm between them and around her waist. He tugged her upward, and the movement put her eye-to-eye, mouth-to-mouth with him. This was without a doubt the dumbest thing he’d ever done, drunk or sober, but it felt incredible. He’d dreamed about this, woken achy and hard from his subconscious fantasies that involved Lita, a hammock on the beach, and not a stitch of clothing in sight. “You are so goddam beautiful.”
She inhaled quickly, her breath catching before stuttering out. “You’re drunk.”
“Yep. Enough to tell you what I want.”
“And what do you want?” Her eyes told him she knew what his answer would be. Her expression dared him to say it out loud.
He ran a thumb over her lips, dipping in when she opened, a shiver racking him when her tongue swirled around the digit. “I want you.”
Lita shifted, swinging a leg over him until she straddled his waist. On instinct, he moved his hands, cupping her ass and touching the sweet heaven of bare skin where her tiny skirt had shifted up. She leaned over him, mouth within kissing distance, one hand wrapped around his neck and the other around a long hank of his hair.
“You don’t even like me.”
“I’m good at pretending.”
She smiled, her eyes dark, smoky, tinged with mischief and softened by the tequila buzz. “For how long?”
Rocky leaned closer, a gentle brush against her lips catching her laughter and then stopping it altogether with a deep, hot kiss. He sank into her mouth, using his tongue and his lips to coax her first moan of pleasure. He pulled back, making sure she saw how very serious he was.
“For as long as it takes to make you come.”