Flirting with Fire (Hot in Chicago Series) by Kate Meader

Author:Kate Meader [Meader, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2015-03-24T04:00:00+00:00

Resting her shoulder against the door to her bedroom, Kinsey drank in the sight of the long, lean, muscled male lying facedown across her bed. The sheet she had placed so lovingly over Luke’s tired, sexed-out body over four hours ago had fallen to reveal the spectacular curvature of his ass.

So, maybe she had pulled it down a few inches about thirty minutes before. She was only human, and the man was the most delicious specimen of masculine perfection she had ever seen.

Touched.

Smelled.

Kinsey slipped a strand of her hair under her nose. The scent of smoke made her mouth water, conjuring up memories of Luke’s hard body moving inside her. The next time she burned toast she was going to have a freaking orgasm.

As if sensing her dirty thoughts, Luke turned over, twisting his body in the sheet. Oh my. The circus had come to town, the big-top tent at full mast.

She really should wake him up. No doubt he had things to do on the holiday. Family stuff. Important errands. She really should not be standing here, reveling in the pornographic view.

His hand slipped under the sheet and—holy wow—stroked his afternoon wood.

“Damn,” she purred.

His eyes flicked open and sleepy confusion gave way to sharp-eyed awareness. Didn’t move his hand, though. Just kept it there, at the ready.

“What time is it?” he asked, sleep-hoarse.

“About one. I was coming in to wake you.” After she’d ogled him for another hour or five.

“You should have woken me sooner so I could get out of your hair.”

“I figured you could sleep here just as comfortably as you would at home.” In the bedroom he used to share with his wife. Annoyed that her mind had even gone there, she added, “And the sleep after sex tends to be the best.”

“Especially when the sex is that incredible.”

Assurance she hadn’t thought she needed calmed her racing pulse. It had been incredible. Not just that, but fun and bawdy and filled with unexpected generosity. Luke Almeida was a giver, in so many ways.

Undeniable intimacy stretched between them while they both considered the incredible sex. And just in case there were any doubts about how fantastic it had been, his hand began to move under the sheet. A slow, rhythmic stroke that put a hitch in her breathing.

“If you want to take a shower and . . .” Eat, talk, keep pumping that gorgeous piece of equipment she needed inside her now.

“Come here,” he said, his voice sexy-serious.

She moved toward him, noting with satisfaction that certain previously underused muscles ached pleasantly. Soreness had never felt so sensuous. She sat at the edge of the bed.

“Closer,” he said, his eyes dark and hooded. He sat up to meet her halfway.

The sheet dropped. Her jaw dropped with it. The man was simply magnificent—and magnificently erect. She squeezed her thighs together.

He noticed. Smirked. “This is all for you if you’re good, baby.”

“And if I’m bad?”

“Bad girls get it harder. Now, don’t make me come over there.”

“Maybe I want to be bad.

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