A bolt of pleasure shot down his g
ut. He loved her like this, all smart mouthed and strong. “As in, you never shut up,” he said, grinning.
“You’re cruising for a bruising, Hartson,” she murmured, biting down a grin at her own pun.
He mock-winced. “Maybe I am.”
She put down her can and rose to her knees, then launched herself at him, pushing his back to the wool blanket. She landed on him, her thighs on either side of his, her hands grabbing his wrists and putting them over his head.
He was hard almost immediately. She scooted forward, her body brushing against him as he let out a sigh. Then she was kissing him, her hands still tethering his wrists to the ground, her body wriggling all over his.
He could have pulled his hands away easily. Could have flipped her over and ground his body into hers until she was gasping with pleasure. But he was curious as to what she’d do next.
“Hmm,” she breathed, his nose brushing against his. “I kind of like being in control.”
“When it comes to us, you’re always in control,” he said, swallowing a groan as she laid herself over him, her groin pressing into his.
“If I’m in control then I can do this, right?” She tugged at his Henley, pulling it up until his skin was exposed to the cool evening air. Then she slithered down, pressing her lips against his stomach, her mouth warm against his skin.
He was achingly hard. So aware of her lips as they slid down his abdomen, reaching the thick leather of his belt. Her fingers pulled it loose, then deftly unfastened his jeans, her hand sliding under the waistband of his shorts, until she closed her fingers around him.
Slowly, she slid her palm up, the friction oh-so-good yet not nearly enough. He thrust his hips against her and she looked up at him with a smile. “Am I torturing you enough yet?” she asked.
“Oh yeah.”
Without saying another word, she slid her hands beneath his waistband and released him, sliding her lips around his plush head. He closed his eyes, Jerry Maguire and his money long forgotten, as he submitted himself to the pleasure only she knew how to give.
The movie was coming to an end. Van was laying back against Tanner, his arms circled around her as he leaned back against the grill of the car. His fingers were tracing circles along her abdomen, his lips pressed against the top of her head as they watched Jerry walk into his house. It was full of women. They all stared at him as he declared his love for his wife.
Jerry’s voice cracked as he told Dorothy that his life wasn’t complete without her, and it made Van’s breath catch.
Tanner shifted her slightly on his lap, leaning forward until his chin was against her shoulder. “Are you crying?”
“Not yet.” She bit her lip. “Give me a minute.” Jerry told his wife that he missed her, and Van felt her throat tighten as tears pooled in her eyes.
“Don’t cry, baby,” Tanner said, kissing her cheek.
“I can’t help it. It’s just so beautiful.”
“You think Tom Cruise crying is beautiful?”
She shook her head. “I think a man admitting he’s lost without his woman is just…” Van sighed. “It’s just everything.”
“I was lost without you.”
She sniffed. “Stop it.”
He brushed his lips against her ear. “I was. I fucking missed you. Every day. I’d meet new people – friends – and wonder if they could ever fill the space you left.” He scooped her hair over her shoulder, then kissed her neck. “And they didn’t. Not one of them.”
He splayed his fingers across her stomach, pressing her closer into him. “It was always you, Van. Always. And I’m so damn glad you came home.”
She was crying now. Hot tears trailed down her cheeks to her chin, dropping onto her chest. He turned her around until she was straddling him, his hands cupping her face.
“Don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it. You’re beautiful, too.”
He shook his head. “I’m a cartoon next to an old master.”