But there were women (and men) who would say I could stand to take off a few pounds.

And it had been a while, what with Diane being killed and me going undercover in the porn industry.

Then there was me going undercover in the porn industry.

But most of all . . .

This was different.

I knew it.

This wasn’t just sex.

This wasn’t taking on a new lover.

This was Rush.

And I knew from what I’d already had of him this meant something.

And if this didn’t go well, if I did something to make it not go well, that would be very, very bad.

He was still walking me backwards to the bed, his hands smoothing over my dress at my hips, his eyes aimed there.

Okay, that was hot.

“Rush,” I whispered.

It was hotter that, at my call, his head snapped right up and his eyes, already starting to haze over with the promise of sex, snapped to attention.

On me.

“Okay?” he asked.

I could stop what we were doing, what I’d promised when I led him there, and tell him I changed my mind. I wanted to watch TV.

I could have another meltdown.

Another dead body could turn up.

Whatever.

He’d be with me, however it went down.

I hesitated a step, he didn’t, and I did this so our bodies could collide.

When they did, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

“Okay,” I answered.

Those gemstone eyes flared right before he bent his head and kissed me.

This was right before my calves hit the bed and we went down.

I rolled him, still kissing him, and straddled him.

The pads of his fingers dug into my waist.

I dove my fingers into his thick hair.

I’d been right that first night when he’d hijacked me.

That hair begged for my fingers to be buried in it.

I broke our kiss and went after his throat.

He had a beautiful throat and I’d wanted my mouth on it since I’d first noticed it.

So I took that, gliding my lips down, and up, then my tongue along it, to the dent in his collarbone.

I did this unbuttoning his shirt.

He’d worn a nice, dark-blue button-down that highlighted his eyes.

Biker date gear.

I liked it. I liked the effort he took to look nice for our date in a way he was still Rush.

But that shirt had to go.

Two buttons in, I let my mouth trail down.

Another button, and down.

His skin was warm and sleek and firm.

Another button, I spread him open and took him in with my eyes.

Swelling pecs. Fabulous quarter-size brown nipples adorning the bottoms.

I wanted my mouth on those nipples.

But I had more to uncover first.

I yanked the tails of the shirt out of his jeans.

More buttons.

Down.

I spread the shirt wide.

He didn’t have an eight-pack.

But he had a four-pack and a flat belly and nice dents at his V.

Delicious.

I kissed his navel and looked up.

Okay.

Um.

That.

The hungry look on his handsome face that still managed to seem satisfied.

Now that was delicious.

“My biker takes care of himself,” I whispered.

I got that out, the hunger sank deeper in his expression, and then I had his hands under my arms and I was up, rolled, and he was on me. His mouth on mine, his tongue in my mouth, his hands pushing up my skirt.

Right, now this was delicious.

I was disappointed when one of his hands went to my back so he could put his weight into his arm in the bed, and not to my nipple, the trajectory he was taking when we were on his couch.

I was not disappointed when the other went down, into my panties, and he cupped my ass, lifted me, and ground his hardness into my hips.

I moaned into his mouth.

Rush kissed me, and he kissed me, and he kept kissing me as he ground into me and I squirmed into him, already wet and getting wetter.

Finally, he broke the kiss.

And he was such an amazing kisser, I chased it.

He slid his hand out of my panties to tug the hem of my dress.

“I want this gone,” he growled.

Okay, we could stop kissing to do that.

“Get rid of it,” I breathed, lifting my arms to help with that effort.

Using both hands, he pulled up, then tossed it aside.

He planted a hand in the bed, arm straight, and dropped his head to look down at me.

I was wearing a bandeau-style, black, strapless lace bralette that didn’t do much but give a little lift and support, but it was better than nothing.

Rush stared at it like he wanted to rip it off with his teeth.

And that made me even wetter.

I lifted a hand high and slid it over his hair, tucking a thick shank of it that had fallen into his eye behind his ear, murmuring, “Baby.”

He dipped down in a one-armed push up that didn’t go back up and sucked my nipple in over the lace.

I arched up and whimpered, “Baby.”

I should have known with the way he kissed, his mouth would be magic.

It was.

I held his head to me until I was done with that and put the fingers of both hands to the bralette, tearing it up.

He lifted his head just long enough to let me do that and catch my eyes. The blue fire raging in his had me catching my breath before he bent back to my nipple and pulled it deep.

I squirmed.

His hand came up to palm my other breast then roll and squeeze that nipple.

I writhed.

Then I caught his shirt at the shoulders and he kept at me with his mouth even as I shoved it down his arms and he tore it off.

He switched nipples with his mouth but not his hands because his other hand trailed over my belly, in, down, and . . . oh yeah . . .

In.

He hit my clit with a finger and rolled.

Oh man.

My back arced off the bed.

His head came up and he took at my face.

“Rush,” I panted, my hips undulating with his finger.

He took one look at me, slithered low, spread my legs, then his mouth closed over me through my black lace panties.

I cried out, my nails scraping his scalp as I reached down to cup his head with one hand and that was as much as I got before he rolled to the side flipping my leg over his head.

I did not protest like I intended to protest when I lost the magic of his mouth between my legs when he dragged my panties down those limbs. He tugged off my boots, yanked off my little socks, flipped my leg back over his head as he rolled back in and then he lowered his mouth to me and went at me.

Oh God, did he go after me.

I held his head with both hands as he sucked and nibbled and tongue-fucked me.

“Rush,” his name rushed out on a breath as I pushed his face hard into my pussy, my head digging back, everything arching so the crown of it was in his comforter, my heels finding his shoulder blades and plowing in . . .

I cried out sharply before my orgasm became just a very long, very lush, very amazing, open-mouthed, silent moan.

I was floating down very slowly, my fingers no longer curled into his hair but into his back and his mouth was at my ear.

“I want inside,” he growled.

“Then come inside,” I panted.

He kissed the skin beneath my ear.

My collarbone.

The space between my breasts.

Then he was gone.

I was still catching my breath when he came back, positioning between my legs. I barely focused on the burning, determined look in his eyes before he took my mouth again, kissing me deep, wet . . . hot.

I felt him glide the tip of his cock over my clit. My hips jerked and I gasped against his tongue, rounding his hips with my calves.

Rush kept kissing me.

Somewhere in the depths of my brain that wasn’t about my body, his cock, the staggering orgasm he just gave me, or the fact we were about to connect, I realized I liked that.

Loved it.

I loved that Rush kissed, so intimate, so generous, so beautiful, while he fucked.

To me, it said everything.

To me, that just was Rush.

As deep as these thoughts were, they flew away when the tip of his cock caught at me and he slid in an inch.

I clutched at the back of his neck with one hand and dragged my nails down his spine with the other.

He slid in another inch.

I was being stretched, widened.