Over the years, they’d embraced a hundred times. Hell, a thousand. There’d never been anything sexual between them, so he’d been comfortable holding her close, stroking her back, soothing her worries. That’s what he’d always done.

Until his body had betrayed him.

The moment had turned so quickly that he couldn’t slow it down. Suddenly, his dick was hard, and her soft, warm body was melting against his. Her nipples tightened and pressed into his chest. Their bodies tangled together. He’d struggled with the sudden urge to kiss her, blaming the weakness on alcohol, and for a few seconds, Pierce believed that his mind had won. He’d been ready to pull back and save them both.

Until she’d kissed him.

And he kissed her back.

God, he had no choice. Once her mouth covered his, he was lost. Her lips were soft and sweet, clinging and responsive to every movement, every bite and lick, driving his hunger higher and harder.

His fingers twisted in her hair when she parted her lips with invitation.

Pierce wasn’t a saint. With a groan, he dove in deep and explored the slick interior of her mouth. He tasted the sting of tequila, the tartness of lime, and the unique flavor of a woman he’d loved since he was in high school. His senses swam as they kissed each other with a ferocity that overtook rational thought and drove him to press her back into the pillows, his teeth tugging on her lip, swallowing her throaty moan in satisfaction.

Her hands were everywhere—tugging down his pants to cup his ass, scraping her nails against his chest, slipping downward to squeeze his erection with hot hands that pushed him straight to the edge.

He cursed, chanted her name, and stripped off her clothes with rough, clumsy motions. She lifted her hips, helping him divest her of the black lace thong, then parted her legs to his questing hand.

“You’re so wet,” he growled, his fingers plunging into her pussy, loving the way she tightened and pulsed around him. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

“More,” she demanded, arching and rotating her hips against his hand. “I want you all over me. Inside me.”

“Yes, me, too.” He curled his fingers and thrust harder, his thumb teasing her hard clit.

Her body jerked in response, and a rush of wetness leaked down her thighs. Her teeth sank into her lower lip and she moaned.

“You like that?”

She nodded, slowly opening her eyes. He fell into those golden-brown depths, filled with lust and heat and a want that drove the breath from his lungs.

He feasted on the long length of her body—her small breasts tipped with rosy red nipples, the slope of her belly, the curve of her hip—all so familiar yet now all his to appreciate and worship. His palm covered one breast, tweaking her tight peak, caressing every bare inch of skin his gaze fell upon, craving every cry from her lips.

But Taylor would never be a passive partner. Her ankles hooked around his leg, and she stroked his calf with her foot. Her hands were restless, touching him everywhere—his hair, back, stomach, ass—her nails an occasional sting that drove him half-mad. They fell into each other and took their fill until he was throbbing, on the edge.

“Condom,” he commanded. “Top drawer.”

She fumbled with the knob, yanked it open, and threw a few packets at him. He laughed as he ripped one open and began to sheath himself, but she took over, teasing him with every inch she rolled up, her wicked chuckle telling him it was on purpose.

He lifted her knees and parted her thighs. Her gaze was locked on his. He searched briefly for any hesitation or regret.

“For God’s sake, take me now, Pierce.”

Her sexy, drawling demand drove away any thought to stopping.

He drove into her sweet, wild body with one hard thrust.

She not only took his whole length, but she gripped him like a tight, wet fist, dragging him deeper. He leaned down and sucked on one hard nipple while he eased back and forth, inch by inch, making sure she was completely ready. Then, guiding her hands to the headboard, he wrapped her fingers around the spindles and began to fuck her with everything he had.

Each stroke made him want to weep with pleasure. She was crazed underneath him, her hips arching to meet him thrust for thrust, broken cries spilling from her throat as she urged him faster and faster.

He gritted his teeth and gave it all to her, reaching his thumb down to stroke and tease the hard bud of her clit, then watching her face as she orgasmed.

So fucking perfect.

He had little time to savor the gorgeous, open expression of her pleasure, because his balls drew up, and with a shout, he came. His body jerked in violent response, the raw mixture of carnality and bliss washing over him.

He fell on top of her, pressing a kiss into the damp skin of her neck and sinking his teeth into the sensitive curve of her collarbone. She shuddered, linked her arms around his shoulders, and then rolled on top of him.

Spread over his chest, her pink hair falling wildly around her, she fell asleep immediately.

So did he.

Taylor rubbed her dry, itchy eyes and lifted her head.

Light pricked at her vision like tiny stabbing knives. She groaned and carefully dropped back onto the pillow. What had happened last night? She gingerly searched her memory, allowing wakefulness to come gently so she could take stock.

First, she was in Pierce’s bed. His scent surrounded her, along with another muskier fragrance she couldn’t place.

Second, she’d finished the bachelorette party. As far as she remembered, it had been successful. There was a scavenger hunt and a stripper. Cassie was happy. Nothing to worry about there.

Third, she’d drunk tequila afterward. A lot of it. Shots.

Half-formed pictures floated in her head of Pierce and her facing off at the Boiler Room. Stumbling home. Then collapsing into bed.

She uttered a sigh of relief and relaxed back into a light slumber. She had nowhere urgent to be this morning, and other than having a hangover, she felt pretty good. Her body was a bit sore, but that was normal after a long night of working a party.

A snore erupted beside her. When Pierce drank, he tended to be a noisy sleeper. She nudged him with her knee and made contact with a hard, naked thigh. Hmm, odd he wasn’t wearing pants. Then it slowly hit her.

Neither was she.

The blissful state of semiconsciousness snapped. With a gasp, she sat up in bed and looked down at her naked breasts.

Oh no. Oh . . . no.

Memories surfaced. Pierce’s tongue in her mouth. His hands on her body. His gaze holding hers as he pushed inside her. The sense of completion and rightness with each delicious, hard thrust. The tumble into orgasm. Her nails digging into his shoulders. His name on her lips.