Once is Never Enough. Mira Kelly Lyn

thought “… that when you finally fall over the edge it’ll feel like forever?”

      “Oh, God.” Her body seized, liquid heat scorching through her veins, pushing her fast toward the very edge he’d threatened to pull her back from. “I—I’m so close. Please—it’s been so long. Please.”

      His touch far inside her, he met her gaze. “How long?”

      Another deep thrust, this one slower, so she felt the curl of his fingers stroking, teasing some wicked spot that promised to make her its slave.

      “Years,” she admitted on a broken gasp, unable to bear the intensity of his stare a moment longer.

      His hand stilled. Withdrew as the bed sagged under his shifting weight.

      Her eyes shot open, panic slamming through her. He couldn’t stop. Not now. “No, wait—”

      Only then she saw he wasn’t leaving the bed at all, but rather moving between her legs. His wide hands spread them apart in a way that with any other man would have left her feeling vulnerable, exposed. Not with him. Not when his big hands slid beneath her bottom and wide shoulders braced her thighs. Not when he looked into her eyes and said, “No more waiting.”

      And then his mouth was covering her, his tongue mimicking the actions of his fingers and hands only moments ago … only it was different. So very, incredibly different. So much more … intense. Stimulating. Hard and soft and wet and strong. Everything. He was delving inside her and then licking a path to her most sensitive spot.

      Stroking.

      Nibbling.

      Circling with the wet velvet point of his tongue.

      Making her gasp and cry and beg and scream.

      And then he closed over her … drawing deep against the throbbing, needy ache. Pulling sensation from every tingling extremity … centering it all … at that one … concentrated … spot.

      She was falling.

      So hard. So good. So long.

      Finding her release had never been so incredible. Not even close.

      Maybe it was the anonymity. Or semi-anonymity anyway, since he’d made it clear he knew her name, saying it again and again in a deep, rumbling voice that stroked her every nerve like the wet tongue that spoke it.

      And then he was crawling over her, giving her a taste of his body atop hers.

      His lips grazed her neck. Tender. Lingering. He was going for the condom, but not in any rush. And she realized he was savoring her as he’d savored their sunset.

      Oh, no. That fluttery sort of ache in her chest, making her want to link her arms around his neck and pull him closer, didn’t belong there. Or maybe it did. Maybe it was just a normal side effect of endorphins being released and not her reckless heart getting ahead of her. She didn’t know. What she needed was an expert. Someone with a point of reference when it came to “casual.”

      She couldn’t even believe she was thinking it—and while she was still in bed with her blue-eyed stranger. But maybe Maeve was right and she should talk to—

      “Garrett,” came the gruff, deeply masculine voice from above her.

      Her eyes blinked wide as the flutter in her chest dropped into her belly, turning leaden and still.

      “I can feel you getting tense.”

      The decadent weight she’d been basking under eased as he shifted to his elbows and peered down into her eyes. Familiar eyes.

       Oh, God.

      “It’s fun to play and all, but I didn’t want you to wonder or worry about who you were with. My name’s Garrett.”

      “Garrett … Carter?” Her throat closed over the name, fighting what she knew deep in the pit of her stomach to be true.

      His muscles tensed. “You know me?”

      Oh, yeah. She knew him. And her face must have said as much because Garrett flinched, looking pained and then … resigned. Moving to a chair in the corner, he grabbed the light quilt from the back and tossed it to her.

      Shoving one leg into his jeans, and then the other, he pulled them over his hips before he turned back. “I don’t know what you heard, but this—tonight, Nichole—it’s not—”

      He stood immobile, his gaze searing over her skin, her hair—sweeping across her bedroom until it settled at the ladder-style bookshelf at the opposite side of the room. His body seemed to lock tight. She knew what he’d see there. The photo Maeve had given her for Christmas last year. The one where their grinning faces filled the frame.

      He took a halting step forward, his features hardening.

      His eyes slammed shut. “Nichole?”

      Pulling the quilt around her breasts, she tried to ignore the sensitivity of her nipples and the knowledge Garrett had made them that way. With his mouth. His teeth. Tongue—

       “Nikki Daniels?”

      Garrett Carter. Maeve’s brother. The Panty Whisperer.

      Yeah, she couldn’t quite believe it either.

      Stalking across the room as he raked his fingers through his hair, Garrett—because, as clumsy as it felt tumbling around her thoughts, that’s what his name was—looked as dismayed as she felt. One thing was certain. She didn’t have to worry about the night turning into anything more complicated than—well, this.

      Granted, this was messy. But the makings of some emotional train wreck it wasn’t.

      Maeve would laugh about this. Nichole knew she would. She had to.

      There wasn’t any risk to their relationship—not over one innocuous little slip she hadn’t seen coming.

      “What is that?” demanded the voice that had been growling her name in her ear mere minutes before.

      Her head snapped up and then followed Garrett’s pointed gaze back to her hand and the slim rectangle of technology she’d unconsciously reached for. “My phone.”

      Her lifeline to sorting out the mess in her head. To Maeve reassuring her their friendship was as strong as ever. There wouldn’t be any awkwardness. Not this time. Not like with—

      “No kidding. A phone, Nikki?”

      Jerked back from the brink of one of the worst memories of her life, Nichole refocused on the man glowering down at her.

      Her brow pushed up a degree. So now she was Nikki? Like Garrett thought he knew her or something? But before she could call him on his presumption he was back at her.

      “What are you doing with it?”

      Nothing yet. But the intent was obvious. Even if it had taken a moment for her head to catch up to her thumbs. “Texting Maeve.”

      He’d crossed to the bed in two strides.

      “Like hell you are.” Paling, he grabbed her hand and turned it over in his. “If you snapped a picture of me on this thing, so help me—”

      “What? Are you insane? You think I took photos of you when you were … were … doing that?”

      Arms folded over his chest, Garrett pulled back. “No. I hadn’t actually thought—” Another, deeper growl. “But you tried to take a picture of me at the party.”

      “And you said no, so I didn’t. Though in retrospect I’m fairly certain both of us would have preferred I had.”

      What Garrett had given her was beyond anything she could have imagined. But regardless of how good it had felt—how much she might have needed it—nothing was worth risking her relationship with Maeve.

      Brows