Home > When Morning Comes (Arrow Creek #2)

When Morning Comes (Arrow Creek #2)
Author: A. M. Wilson

1

 

 

Kiersten

 

Hand me a fun-size bag of M&M’s and there wouldn’t be enough candies to count the number of one-night stands I’ve had in my life. Hell, make it two bags, and I’ll gladly eat the leftovers.

I won’t ever apologize for the woman I am. Thirty-seven isn’t one foot in the grave, and nearing forty while single isn’t a death sentence.

However, at this exact moment, I regret some of my rambunctious actions of the past twenty-four hours. I feel the need to seek penance from Our Holy Creator in exchange for a little reprieve from the throbbing in my head and the ache in my joints.

There’s plenty of truth in saying we get less limber as we age, and I knew a backbend while I rode cowgirl was a stupid idea, but the vodka screamed yes! and my vagina backed that bitch up with a hell, yeah!

I bent and warped and cracked.

Nearly crippled myself all in the name of rough, wild sex.

Reality smacks me in the face this morning. I’m no longer a twenty-year-old spring chicken, proven by the pain rocketing through my back, and dammit, does that make me sound like an arthritic grandmother.

Groaning quietly from a pillowy cocoon of black sheets I don’t recognize, I wait for the hazy film obscuring my vision to recede. Squinting against the harsh sunlight—who doesn’t own freaking bedroom curtains?—I scan my surroundings, stop, and do a double take on the set of fantastic toned buns peeking from beneath the top sheet. And I’m not talking about bread.

Who would have thought Nathan hid all that beneath his white button-down and navy medic pants? Certainly, not I. I’ve only witnessed brief glimpses of taut skin over abs and rounded biceps from time to time.

The aroma of him, woodsy and smoke, permeates the air around me from the sheets snug beneath my chin. He smells like fantasies and tequila-fueled bad decisions.

My fingertips curl around my neck as I prop myself up on my elbow. I ogle the man who screwed my brains out last night. His lats ripple along his back as he releases a stretch and turns his head toward me with a lazy grin on his face.

“Mornin’, stranger,” I grunt. My voice belongs to a sixty-year-old chain smoker, not a sexy thirtysomething. Now that it’s out in the open, I roll with it.

Nathan’s expression morphs into a puckered mouth and downturned brows as he regards me.

Ah, to hell with this awkward morning after.

“What’s the matter, Nate? Don’t I look as pretty this morning as I did last night?” The sheet slips from my fingertips to expose half of my chest. Whoops.

His gaze immediately follows the movement and locks onto the puckered nipple he had his mouth all over last night. A full-body shiver envelops me from all this unhindered attention, and the puckered little traitor tightens even more under his stare.

“You’re beautiful,” he declares, clearing his throat and removing my nipple from his eyeline by rolling to his back. His actions reveal he finds the ceiling prettier.

I hum noncommittally and extricate the rest of my nakedness from his gazillion sheets. Crawling lithely but, in reality, looking more like Gollum than a sexy tigress, I hover my bare torso over his with an intentional brush of my nipples against his chest. The light dusting of hair across his pecs deliciously grazes my skin.

“It was fun, lover boy, but I have things to do today. Thanks for last night.” Bending down, I plant a hasty smack on his plump lips.

Nathan jackknifes, supporting his weight on an elbow. Before I can slink away, he snakes his other hand behind my neck and deepens my quick smooch goodbye. His tongue dips into my mouth slow with long strokes, much the same way it explored other places last night. He doesn’t release me until we’re both panting.

“What’s the rush?” he murmurs, gaze flitting back down to my lips. Good lord, for a guy labeled as a “nice guy,” he sure knows what he’s doing. The need to fan the flush on my cheeks intensifies with his heated stare. I scramble from his body and stand on trembling legs beside his bed. My hangover kills in this position and begs me to return to horizontal stat.

“Uh…” My mind blanks of the many, many excuses I normally have stockpiled for situations such as this and locks onto the most logical one. “Because it’s called a one-night stand for a reason.” A sexy smile at the end softens the rejection even though I’m sure my lips resemble a dried pepper. “And I need food,” I tack on lamely.

“Kiersten.” My name stated firmly sends my stomach into a tizzy unrelated to the copious number of shots still sloshing around. “Get back in bed.”

God, shit. God.

When he says it all hot and commanding, ugh, everything below my belly button tightens as if being squeezed in a fist. I’m certain I make a face, and I’m definitely breathing deep. Contemplating his request is laughable. When have I really ever said no to sex with a hot, naked dude who isn’t a creep?

I don’t exactly have anything I need to do today. The fib slipped out readily to save us both from the awkward song and dance. We share a best friend, and we kind of work together. Those two reasons should be enough to step back and think twice about our next moves.

But if he’s willing to push all that aside for another round (or two) of mind-blowing fornication, then who am I to become a modest Puritan and say no?

“If you keep standing there naked, I’m coming over to you.” Nathan whips the covers from his waist and sits on the edge of the bed, revealing he also hasn’t regained one iota of modesty. This could be detrimental for our working relationship because I have a feeling it’ll be impossible not to picture him naked going forward.

However, that worry can wait. Patience running thin, he stands and stalks me like his prey.

Challenge accepted.

Cocking my right hip, I cup one hand over my slender waist and invite him closer by crooking my finger with the other one.

The skin around his eyes tightens, and his nostrils flare as he mutters, “Fuck.”

His powerful lunge closes the space between us, but I’m ready for him. As he grabs my waist, I lower my center of gravity, swipe my leg around one of his, and take him out at the ankle. A shriek erupts from my lips as elation takes over. He falls to his other side on the carpet, dragging me down with him, and I scramble to straddle his waist to maintain the upper hand.

Grinning down at him, I cup my unclothed crotch hovering over his hips. “If you want it, you have to get it.”

We’re a tangle of limbs, tickling fingers, and grabbing hands. The playful nature of my game rapidly declines into one of arousal and touching and tastes. Giggles yield to moans of pleasure as Nathan tries to maneuver and buck me into a different position. His wandering fingers are abrasive across my nipples, and his palms are unyielding on my hips.

He bucks beneath me, the thickness of his dick rubs through my arousal enough to awaken the nerves but not enough to enter me. I shiver and shake with his motions, holding onto my grit. I refuse to give in so easily. This little game of foreplay started with me, and I’m determined to finish it. Whichever way that happens, we’ll both come out on top.

My resolve holds until his nimble fingers dig into my hipbone and send me into a raucous fit of giggles. I can’t maintain my position through the uproarious laughter, and Nathan uses his moment of distraction to simultaneously buck and lift, sending me flying into the air.

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