He didn’t even turn around. Never missing a beat, he unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants, leaving his gorgeous, perfect ass on display, cupped in black briefs. Her mouth fell open. Some weird sound came out, but she had no idea what it was—a protest or sigh of pleasure. Why, oh why, did he have to own a legendary ass?
“She will notice. Trust me, I’m too tired to ravish you tonight. The bed is a California king so as long as you don’t roll over, you won’t know I’m there. Though you’ve always been known to be a cuddler.”
“I’m not sleeping with you!”
He shrugged. Mostly naked, he turned to face her, his drool-worthy body on display for her greedy gaze. Reminding her of how good it was between them. How her thighs had ached deliciously in the morning. How her breasts were so sensitized just the brush of her cotton shirt made her tremble. How his fingers had coaxed her to orgasm so quickly and fully she’d begged him for more and more and more . . .
“Your choice. But you will be staying in this room. Take the floor or the chair, if you’re scared you can’t keep your hands off me. I’m taking a shower.”
Her mouth dropped open. He pivoted on his bare foot and disappeared into the bathroom.
A low moan escaped her lips. No. This couldn’t be happening. He dared threaten her? He couldn’t force her to sleep in the same bed with him, could he? Her mind was fuzzy and her intentions unclear. Her body raged to sneak into the bathroom, join him in the shower, and to hell with the consequences. But she refused.
Was she really going to allow him to bully her like this?
Hell no.
Setting her jaw, she changed in record time, ripping off her wedding dress and putting on stretchy yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt in dull gray. The most unappealing wedding night outfit ever created, she thought with satisfaction. She craved a shower, but she’d have to sacrifice for freedom. Tomorrow, when her head was clearer, she’d go over the rules of this relationship and set the boundaries. The water was still running, so she darted out of the bedroom and headed down the hall to the opposite end, grabbing an extra toothbrush and paste from Becca’s adjacent bathroom. She quickly brushed her teeth, washed her face, and ripped the pins out of her hair, tugging her fingers through the tangles. Each knot made a moan of pain rumble from her chest, but she was done in record time. Tiptoeing, she picked the second door on the left.
It was a more masculine-type bedroom decorated in rich burgundy and gold, outfitted with heavy teak furniture. She locked the door, stripped back the covers, and lay down in the crisp white cotton sheets.
Heaven. Safety.
Take that, Tristan Pierce.
She fell into sleep with a satisfied smile on her lips.
The dream unfolded like the mist shrouding a sunrise: slowly, completely, overtaking all the light and softening all the sharp edges to wrap her in comfort, urging her to let go and surrender to sensation.
The hot, hard length of his body pressed against hers. Her tight nipples dragged across his chest, causing her to arch upward for more. She sighed and softened. No need to fight in a dream. She was safe here. A sense of dizziness overtook her, and she clung harder to him, digging her fingernails into his muscled arms. Her name echoed in her ears, but she frowned, not wanting to wake up yet. She was so tired, and he felt so good. No one would know how badly she craved him.
She floated briefly in the air, then fell back into softness, cloaked in the delicious scent of ocean waves and clean soap. So good. She buried her face in his neck and breathed deep, scraping her teeth down the ridge of his throat, wrapping her legs around his so they were pressed hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and his erection pushed against the material of her pants. Her name echoed again, more urgently, trying to break the spell. No, she didn’t want to wake up yet. Just a few more minutes and she’d get Becca to school. Just a few more minutes . . .
A masculine groan rumbled in her ear. She spread her thighs wider in invitation, running her tongue along the length of his jaw, relishing his slight shudder. “Kiss me,” she demanded.
His lips crushed hers. His tongue dove deep and gathered her taste. She kissed him back, nipping his lower lip, soaking in the dirty curse words that emitted from his carved lips, wanting him to do everything bad to her, every delicious, sexy fantasy he’d ever had . . .
“Baby, if you don’t want me to rip off those pants and slide inside you right now, you better wake up and tell me no.”
Her hands slipped down and squeezed his pulsing length, so hard and thick, so ready. God, she loved dreams. He thrust into her palms, and then his mouth was taking hers again, pressing her hard into the mattress. Loose strands of her hair tickled her face, and she felt reality bite into the fantasy, a warning in her brain springing to life, telling her to wake up, wake up, wake up . . .
Her eyes flew open. Whiskey-colored eyes blazed into hers, fogged with lust and a fierce hunger that drove the breath from her lungs. Lips an inch away, face tight with tension, as if he was just holding himself back from the edge. Sexual arousal beat from him in waves. She stiffened, suddenly fearful. Blinking furiously, she tried to catch up, tried to remember why this was a bad idea, and then—
“No!” Panic hit. He’d carried her back to the master bedroom and laid her on the bed. She frantically tried to push him off her, and that hungry gaze narrowed in warning. “Don’t touch me.”
He raised himself up on his elbow, staring at her with a hard ruthlessness that stripped away her barriers. “That’s not what you were just telling me a second ago,” he reminded her. His gaze swept over her needy, aching body. Her nipples poked from the thin material of her shirt, begging for his mouth.
“I was sleeping and you took advantage of me.” She pushed again, trying to scramble out from underneath his body. Oh, God, she ached everywhere. Her panties were soaked, and her heart beat so hard she swore he saw. His nostrils flared as if he caught the scent of her arousal, and a hard smile touched his lips.
“Liar.”
“I mean it, Tristan. I’m not sleeping with you.” Her body raged in protest at her words, wanting him so badly she had to grit her teeth and hang on.
“You have to. I will not have my daughter questioning why her newly married, happy parents don’t sleep in the same room together. Do you really want to confuse her like that?”
She bristled with frustration. “No. But I’m not about to let you use me to slake a physical itch you have.”