Wild for Him Read online

  His gaze flicked over her. “You took a shower?”

  She nodded. “You’re welcome to it. Do you have any clean clothes?”

  “Gym clothes, in my car.”

  “Go for it.”

  He studied her breasts for a moment, taking another drink. She’d caught him looking at her several times over the past few days, which was unusual for him. He’d never shown an interest before. Or he’d been more discreet about it.

  Shrugging, he set the bottle on the table and retrieved a duffel bag from his car. After he ducked into the bathroom, she examined the tequila bottle. It held 350 ml, and it was still half-full. Mitch was a teetotaler who got drunk off a couple of beers. If he downed the rest, he’d be hurting tomorrow. She lifted the rim to her lips and took a healthy swig, getting rid of as much as she could.

  Coughing, she set the bottle on the table. She was already beginning to feel the effects. Her chest was warm and her head light. Alcohol buzzed in her veins, offering its pleasant blur. She could be a good friend to Mitch, a shoulder to cry on.

  Nothing more.

  She wasn’t interested in his well-muscled torso, or his big hands, or that excitingly large piece of equipment between his legs.

  Nope. Friends.

  When he came out of the bathroom, she gave him an extra-friendly examination. He was wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off. It hung open on the sides, revealing his lean rib cage. The fact that he had a great body was no surprise. She’d seen him shirtless more times that she could count. She’d admired him in front of Helena before, even joking that it was the reason Helena kept him around.

  She should feel bad about that, but she didn’t. She couldn’t drum up any shame whatsoever.

  “Damn,” Mitch said, picking up the bottle. “You didn’t wait.”

  His clean, masculine scent permeated the room. She inhaled deeply, scanning his bloodshot blue eyes and scruffy jaw. His hair was so short it didn’t look any different wet. “Sorry.”

  He sat down in the chair and stretched out his long legs. His feet were bare. “It’s okay.”

  She forced her gaze to his. “What did Helena say?”

  “About what?”

  She just stared at him.

  His mouth formed a bitter twist as he knocked back another shot. “She said she’s not in love with me anymore.”

  Gwen nodded. She’d suspected as much.

  “Did you know?” Mitch asked.

  “I knew she wasn’t happy.”

  He set the tequila aside and smoothed a hand over his head, pensive. “I can’t believe she chose him over me. I told her I still loved her. I even said I could forgive her for sleeping with him.”

  “She slept with him?”

  “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I think so. He wouldn’t tell me.”

  “That didn’t bother you?”

  “Fuck yeah it bothered me,” he said, snarling. “I just thought it was my fault, in a way. For leaving her.”

  “Did you tell her you might come back?”

  “Yeah. It didn’t matter.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, reading the pain on his face.

  “I should have reached out, like you said.”

  “I said it takes two,” she reminded him. “Helena’s not really in touch with her emotions, either.”

  “I liked that about her.”

  Gwen laughed, despite the seriousness of the conversation. “You liked it because she didn’t require you to open up.”

  He mulled this over, his brow furrowed.

  Gwen had contemplated the issue of compatibility before. She and Helena had a yin and yang thing going. Their different personalities balanced each other. Helena had the tendency to be closed off and anti-social. Gwen drew her out of shell.

  Mitch sort of hermited alongside her.

  Gwen wasn’t sure how to tell him that. She didn’t want to imply that his relationship with Helena been doomed from the start. “You guys were fine when everything was going well,” she said, choosing her words with caution. “But the true test of a relationship is how you weather the storms. If you don’t talk about your feelings or share new experiences, the bond between you can’t stay strong.”

  It was a direct hit, judging by his expression. And he didn’t like hearing it. “Sage advice,” he said, drowning his sorrows with more tequila. “I should get that tattooed somewhere so I never forget it.” He touched the straits of muscle along his ribcage. “Maybe here, in cursive. Isn’t that the place for life mottos?”

  She snatched the bottle from the table and downed the rest. He was being a sarcastic ass. It was kind of sexy. His body was sexy, too. She’d love to work on him. The rib cage was one of the more painful locations for the needle, but he was a big boy. He could handle it. She’d tattoo him anywhere he liked.

  “Do you have a rib tattoo?”

  She sucked in a surprised breath. “You don’t remember?”

  “Show it to me.”

  “You’ve seen it before.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t look hard enough.”

  A red warning light flashed before her eyes, like a beating heart. The room seemed to pulse with heat. She rose to her feet and tossed the empty bottle in the trash, trying not to stumble. “If you want to see my work, you can make an appointment at the shop.” Hopefully it hadn’t burned to the ground.

  “Tell me about the ones on your arms.”

  When she sat down on the bed again, he moved from the chair and took a seat beside her. Something very inappropriate was happening between them. She should put a stop to it. She shouldn’t be alone with him. It was always a risk for a woman to entertain a man in a hotel room. He might try to get lucky.

  She might let him.

  “Are these Samoan tattoos?”

  “Just this one,” she said, indicating the dotted band on her left arm. “Traditional tatau is done with all-natural tools and ink. You can see the difference in color.”

  He nodded. “You do that in your shop?”

  “Oh, no. I mimic the style, not the method. Tatau is super painful. It’s more about the spiritual process than the end result.”

  “What about the others?”

  She had an eclectic mix of body art. Some words and images, some designs and geometric shapes. There was a bold, Japanese-style koi fish on her right arm and a red hibiscus flower on her left.

  “This is pretty,” he said, brushing his fingertips over the deep red petals.

  She shivered at his touch. “Thanks.”

  “You did the design?”

  “Yes.”

  “It looks sexual.”

  She’d always liked the strong femininity of the image. He was looking at her arm like he wanted to fuck it, which should have alarmed her. Instead, she was excited. His gaze moved to her breasts, now punctuated with stiff nipples, and rose lazily, settling on her mouth. She held her breath as he leaned in, brushing his lips over hers.

  He didn’t retreat to gauge her reaction, like she’d expected. He went in for the kill, gripping her waist with big hands and covering her mouth with his. She didn’t push him away, either. Her palms flattened against his chest, and she delighted in the hard muscles there. She parted her lips on instinct, inviting him in. His tongue delved inside. They shared a thrilling, tequila-laced kiss.

  It felt so right. So wrong. So good.

  She blamed the alcohol for the way she responded, with a hungry mouth and eager hands. It was the tequila that had her moaning and begging for more. She twined her tongue around his and laced her fingers through his short hair, drunk on him.

  He was just as wild as she was, if not more. With a low growl, he pushed her back on the mattress and climbed on top of her. She welcomed the action, breathless. His erection was a hot band against her belly, his tongue thrusting deep inside her mouth.

  Oh yes.

  She didn’t want to stop him, but…they were moving so fast, into a place they probably shouldn’t go. She
just needed a second to think this through. Breaking the kiss, she turned her head away so he couldn’t recapture her lips. There was something she had to ask him first. “Did you come here for this?”

  His answer was to roll away from her, cursing.

  “You wanted to get back at Helena by fucking her best friend, is that it?”

  “No,” he said. “That’s not it.”

  “Don’t lie.”

  “I don’t want to get back at her. I just want to fuck you.”

  “Since when?”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. “It’s a recent development.”

  “Hours?”

  “Days.”

  She didn’t know if she believed him. Or if the time frame made any difference.

  “I knew it was you this morning,” he admitted.

  “What?”

  “I was awake. Half-awake, but I wasn’t dreaming. I knew it was you.”

  A shameful pleasure washed over her at the memory of his fingers between her legs, stroking her sensitive flesh. “Is that why you told Helena you could forgive her for cheating? Because you felt guilty?”

  “Yes,” he ground out.

  She drew in a ragged breath, considering. “I won’t let you use me to hurt her.”

  “Then don’t tell her.”

  Gwen wouldn’t normally hook up with a friend’s ex. It just wasn’t done. She didn’t want to jeopardize a 20-year friendship, and she’d already crossed the line by kissing Mitch. On the other hand, Helena had stepped out on him first, so maybe all bets were off. And, like he said—she didn’t have to know.

  Gwen moistened her lips, weakening. Two wrongs didn’t make a right. But four shots of tequila and an extra-strong dose of sexual chemistry made an irresistible combination. She’d survived a devastating earthquake and endured its harrowing aftermath. Now she wanted to feel pleasure again. Pure pleasure.

  He slid his arm around her, as if sensing her capitulation.

  “We can only do this once,” she said.

  “Once?”

  “One night,” she amended.

  Murmuring an agreement, he touched his lips to her arched neck. “I’ll try to make it worth your while.”

  She threaded her fingers through his hair and brought his mouth to hers. They shared another heated kiss, tongues tangling. For a rigid, uptight sort of guy, he was a good kisser. Maybe the tequila had loosened him up.

  It had definitely worked some magic on her.

  His fingers flexed at her waist, plying her further. She moaned and pressed her breasts to his chest. He took the hint and slid his hand under her tank top, filling his palm with her soft flesh. His sudden exhale against her mouth told her he liked the feel of her. Tearing his mouth from hers, he pushed up her tank top, exposing both breasts.

  “Christ,” he said, reverent. “You have beautiful tits.”

  She shut him up with another kiss, though she appreciated the compliment. They wrangled with his t-shirt and her top, kissing hotly as they discarded both. She took off her pants next. Then she was naked except for her pale yellow panties. He stared at her body, his erection tenting the fabric of his basketball shorts.

  She was ready to just do it, like wild animals, but he didn’t rush. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples and sucked each one thoroughly. Then he kissed a path along her rib cage, studying the tattooed script there.

  “What does this say?”

  ‘Avetu ni lo, aumai ni lo.’ One good turn deserves another.”

  He looked up at her. “I have to admit, that’s an excellent life motto.”

  She gasped as he moved his lips along her quivering stomach. When he lowered the waistband of her panties, she held her breath. She wasn’t completely bare, the way some men preferred. She liked the dark triangle of hair above the smooth lips of her sex. It made her feel womanly.

  He liked it too, judging by his heated gaze. Stripping her panties all the way off, he shucked his basketball shorts. His cock was ruddy and thick, flushed dark with desire for her. Heat pooled between her legs at the sight of him.

  “Do you have a condom?” she asked.

  He nodded, looking around as if he’d forgotten where his stash was. Rising from the bed, he ducked into the bathroom. She admired his well-muscled butt as he went. He returned with a new box of condoms and tossed them on the bed.

  “Where did you buy these?”

  “At the liquor store.”

  She was too eager to be offended by his presumptuousness. He was a boy-scout type. Nothing wrong with being prepared.

  Instead of suiting up, he stretched out beside her and kissed her again. She slipped her arms around his neck, touching her breasts to his chest. That glorious cock brushed her belly, making her moan. He pushed her legs apart with his hand and cupped her sex. She was hot and swollen, slick with moisture. Watching her face, he traced her slit with his fingertips. When she whimpered, he slid inside, thrusting in and out. She groaned as he withdrew his slippery fingers from her snug sheath.

  “I want to taste you,” he said, circling her clit.

  She let her head fall back against the pillows, lost in pleasure.

  He moved down her body and replaced his fingers with his tongue. She smother a cry with one hand, making a fist in the sheets with the other. Oh my. He was a hard worker. He worked her hard, suckling her clit and burying his fingers deep inside her, stroking her fleshy walls until she exploded.

  “Oh God,” she said, shuddering. She came with her legs spread wide and her stomach clenched, hips bucking against his avid mouth.

  After she was done, her orgasm wrenched from her like water from a dishrag, she reached for him languidly. His cock was jutting upright, leaking at the tip. She squeezed his thick shaft in approval.

  “One good turn deserves another,” she said, lowering her mouth to him.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I’ll come.”

  “Don’t you want to?”

  He watched her pump him up and down, mesmerized.

  She flicked her tongue over him, licking the pearly drop at the slit. It dissolved in her mouth, salty and hot. His expression was a cross between pleasure and pain. Enjoying herself, she stretched her lips around him and swallowed as much as she could, almost gagging on his considerable length.

  He made a fist in her hair to hold her still. “I might only be good for one time,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Let me fill up that sweet pussy.”

  Jesus. The man had a nice cock, a silver tongue, and a rock-hard body. What more did a woman need? He let go of her hair and she released him. Lying on her back, she parted her legs. “Do it.”

  He tore open a condom and rolled it down his shaft. “How do you want it?” he asked, positioning the tip against her.

  She didn’t care. “However you like.”

  He entered her slowly, inch by inch. “Like this?”

  “Yes,” she panted, reveling in his possession. She wrapped her arms around his neck and locked her thighs around his waist. “More.”

  He withdrew and drove in again, burying himself to the hilt. “Like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  He covered her mouth with his for a sex-laced kiss. It was as if he had to be inside her everywhere at once, to connect with her in as many ways as possible.

  When she broke the kiss, he started to move, setting a punishing rhythm. Her breasts brushed his chest and his flesh slapped against hers as he pounded into her. The bed frame slammed into the wall with every thrust.

  She loved his intensity. He worked hard for her, his shoulders bunching and the cords in his neck pulled taut. She clung to him, watching his thick length plunge in and out of her, making mindless sounds of pleasure. It was so good. She was so full of him, so enamored with the strum and drag. Her clit pulsed with new life.

  “Come again,” he said, gripping her hips. “Come for me.”

  She reached between their bodies to stroke herself. She stroked him, too, spreading two
fingers to feel him piston inside her. Then she pressed those fingers to her clit, jiggling fast and hard to match his pace.

  He couldn’t wait for her. Letting out a strangled sound, he jerked against her, his body quaking from the power of his release.

  “Sorry,” he said when he’d recovered his breath. “That was way too quick.”

  She laughed, kissing his relaxed mouth.

  “Don’t stop on my account.”

  “What?”

  “Keep going. It looks so hot.”

  It was more embarrassing to touch herself after he’d finished, but she was so close. She resumed stroking, swirling her fingers over her sensitive clit. He felt full and fat inside her, not soft yet. She came with a startled cry, lights flashing behind her eyes and her inner muscles squeezing around him.

  “Jesus,” he groaned.

  She murmured something unintelligible in response. Her mind was blank, her heart pounding.

  He wrapped his hand around his shaft and withdrew from her body, heading to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. Then he collapsed behind her on the bed, drawing her into his arms. She would protest his sweaty embrace, but she was too satiated to move. And his body felt nice against hers.

  He felt…right.

  “Give me a minute, and we can try again,” he mumbled.

  Seconds later, they were both asleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE NEXT THREE weeks went by in a blur.

  Mitch had woken up in the hotel room with a sour stomach, aching muscles and a pounding head. Not to mention another raging hard-on. He’d wrestled into his clothes, trying not to disturb Gwen, and slipped out into the brutal light of dawn.

  He was still sick about it.

  Sick and guilty and desperate to do it again.

  He’d driven straight through to Denver, torn between giddy excitement and self-loathing. He’d enjoyed her thoroughly, and not just because she was fantastic in bed. He liked her. She was sweet and sexy and smart.

  She was also Helena’s best friend.

  Full stop.

  They had no future together. Even if he didn’t live thousands of miles away, he could never date her. He shouldn’t have fucked her.

  It was easier to come to terms with the end of his relationship with Helena. They’d been drifting apart for over a year. Now that the shock had worn off, he realized that their breakup had been inevitable. The circumstances sucked, but his heartache had faded. Maybe Gwen was right, and their bond hadn’t been strong enough to last.