A sexy and emotional standalone novel in the More Than Words series is available now from author Shayla Black, and I have an little sneak peek for you.
Inside, I take the stairs two at a time. I’m impatient; I admit it. I can’t wait to lay her across my bed, turn on every light in the room so I can have a good look at her, then watch her face as I sink inside and see the sensations overwhelm her. I can do that to her. I was damn good on the field, but I’ve also been told I’m a legend in the bedroom. Lots of practice through stupid years of partying. I might be a little rusty now. I haven’t trusted myself around a woman not to have a lapse in speech at the most inopportune moment in months. But riding a woman is like riding a bicycle, right?
When we reach the master suite, I kick the door open and make for the bed. Before I can set her down, she wiggles out of my arms and heads for the door.
I frown as she leaves. “Where are you going?”
“Um, I’ll just be a minute. I need a shower.”
Why the hell would she think that’s necessary now? “You don’t.”
“Ten minutes. I promise.”
She darts away before I can stop her, and I’m left scratching my head. This woman gives off more mixed signals than a malfunctioning traffic light.
Since I’m not standing here with my dick in my hand while she rinses off, I open the first of my two giant suitcases. Moving from the mainland was an undertaking and the rest of my things should arrive in a few weeks. For now, I pluck out some toiletries and rinse off in my own shower. I should march down the hall and hop into Harlow’s with her. If we’re going to have sex, why not get naked together now?
But I give her privacy. The downside is, I shower in less than five minutes and emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around my waist. The overhead spray revived me a bit and cleared my head, sure. But now I’m alone and waiting impatiently.
I turn down the bed, put a few things in my suitcase away, and open the balcony doors to the full-frontal ocean breeze. Still no Harlow. I haven’t stared at my empty doorway much longer than ten minutes, but as far as my cock is concerned, that’s nine and a half minutes too long. She doesn’t need to groom for me. She just needs to be naked and willing and in my bed.
Scowling, I prowl down the hall and across the open loft space that separates the master wing from the rest of the upstairs bedrooms. The first thing that assaults me is the whirring sound of her hair dryer. The door to her bedroom is cracked, and I can see straight through to her attached bath.
The sight of her bent over, dark hair dangling as she wields the handheld device, her gorgeous ass waiting for my hands, nearly stops my heart. God, her derrière is pale and pert and round. I want to run my lips across those globes, sink my teeth into them.
My stirring cock stands up straight, ready to perform—or beg. Whatever gets her attention.
On silent footfalls, I sneak up behind her and grip her hips, fitting that pretty ass against my raging erection with a groan.
Harlow shuts the hairdryer off and tosses it on the counter, standing upright with a flip of her head. A rush of breath slips from her lips. “Noah…”
“I couldn’t wait anymore for you, baby.” That’s doubly true now that I can see every one of Harlow’s valleys and curves under the bright bathroom lights.
Mercy… The woman is a work of art, full of symmetrical dips and swells. Slender shoulders, round breasts, a tapered waist, and a smooth, bare pad between her legs.
Our eyes meet in the mirror. Hers are a moss green, verdant and bright. As I raise one hand to her breast and cradle it in my hand, I exhale roughly. In response, her pupils enlarge. Her nipples tighten. Her cheeks flush. And her body melts against mine.
“Your touch feels good.”
A woman who communicates. I like it. “I can make you feel so much better. Come to bed with me, baby.”
“That’s my plan.” As I pinch the taut tip of her breast between my thumb and finger, her eyes slide shut. “My hair is almost dry.”
I skim my other palm up her waist, over her ribs, then plunge my fingers into the thick, silky mass. It’s barely damp. “Close enough.”
“I’m trying not to leave wet spots on your sheets.”
No way I can resist a sly grin. “Oh, I’m hoping you do. C’mon, Harlow. I need to be inside you.”
I met this woman a few hours ago and slept through most of them. I haven’t even kissed her yet. But I already feel as if I’ve waited far too long for her. It’s insane. And I don’t give a shit. Something about her just feels right at the moment.
Harlow reaches behind her head to grip the back of my neck at the same time she sways her hips, grinding against my cock. Only a towel separates us. It would be easy to set her on the bathroom basin, spread her legs, lose the terry cloth, and thrust inside her. But it would be too quick, like skipping over a scrumptious feast and eating only a bite of dessert. Nothing wrong with it when that’s all you want. But I’m hungry for more. I want this woman under me, where I can take her in every way I’m craving.