Page 36 of The Merger

Fighting my own smile, I raised one shoulder, as if we both didn’t know we’d be doing a redo of tonight soon. “Guess we’ll have to see.”

* * *

The smell of coffee pulled me from bed the next morning. One of my two favorite hobbies was sleeping, so for me to be up at the obscene hour of seven in the morning on a Saturday was due to the fact that I also smelled pancakes. Eating was my second favorite hobby, only, because of the way I ate, I also had to exercise.

Grumbling on my way out to the sitting room I wasn’t surprised to find Stryker sitting at the table with two covered plates set out, and a carafe of coffee just waiting for me to be lured from the luxurious cloud this hotel called a bed. Somehow he knew not to speak to me, and wordlessly poured me a cup of coffee. Adding cream and sugar to my cup I took a long sip before the ability to speak re-engaged.

“Why do you have a two bedroom suite?” I was surprised last night when he showed me where I was going to sleep, and argued I wouldn’t let him sleep on the tiny loveseat in the sitting room. I’d thought the other door in the suite was to an adjoining room.

He showed me the second bedroom, kissed me on the forehead, and shooed me off to bed. I only thought about why he had such a big suite after I stopped fuming about the fact that he kissed me on the head.

Don’t get me wrong. I love a sweet forehead kiss. There was something so reassuring and affectionate about it. However, not endearing considering a couple hours earlier I’d thrown myself at him like the twenty-six-year-old born-again virgin I apparently turned into since our elopement years ago. If I’d remembered I was a married woman there might have been some excuse for the cobwebs that had no doubt taken up residence in my vagina. But no, I’d blacked out most of that day thanks to the drugs my friend and I unknowingly consumed from her spiked drink.

This morning was a different story. I’d shoved that kiss in a box. I wasn’t going to allow any more inner debate over whether or not he was actually attracted to me. Today I was thinking more clearly, with my brain and not my ovaries. Stryker rose from the table, and my mouth went dry. Gray sweatpants.

Just like that my brain short-circuited, and my hormones were back in control of my body. His plain white t-shirt hugged what I imagined was a sculpted torso, and even worse for my self control was the fact that his veiny forearms were on display causing my nipples to pebble tight enough to rip through my borrowed shirt.

He grabbed the paper off the coffee table. That was all. He wasn’t strutting around the place trying to whip me into a mess of horniness, he just wanted to check the headlines. When he turned back to face me his brow furrowed. No doubt my cheeks were flushed, and I already mentioned the state of my breasts which were announcing themselves proudly in my braless state.

In a couple of steps he was back in front of me, he yanked me out of my chair and slammed his lips to mine. One of his hands fisted in my hair while the other flattened against my back. Food be damned, the only thing I wanted to consume was Stryker Lawson. Sex counted as exercise right? Maybe exercise would become my second favorite hobby. Hell, the way his tongue demanded entry, the feel of his plump lips against mine, if he was as good at working the rest of my body the way he was my mouth, it might even become my first favorite.

He pulled back from my lips and buried his face in my neck. A growl ripped from his throat, and I felt the unsteady rise and fall of his breathing. “What are you doing to me?” he whispered.

My hands threaded through his hair, holding him against me. “The same thing you’re doing to me.”

I wouldn’t push him, but I didn’t want to say anything to stop him either. Maybe it was backward, but I was trying to date my husband so perhaps backward suited us.

“I can’t stop. God help me. I meant everything I said to you last night, but I can’t—”

Tugging on the strands of his hair, I forced him to look at me. “I don’t want you to. This isn’t about last night. This has nothing to do with your brother or my sister. I want you, and I haven’t felt that for years.”

“I can’t be gentle,” he warned.

“Please.” I wasn’t sure what I was begging for. Please touch me. Please don’t stop. Please don’t be gentle.

I wanted to feel his passion, to let it consume me. My life had been too cautious, too planned, and it was boring. I wasn’t the same wallflower I’d been at twenty-one. Sure, I went out now and then instead of spending all of my time with my nose buried in a book. Even then, I had gotten really good at appearing to be carefree. I never got drunk, and I always went home alone.

I was tired of going home alone.

Something that looked like resolve passed over his dark eyes. “I won’t let you go if we do this. Once I take you, you’re mine.”

I wasn’t sure I could agree with his statement, but I didn’t want to deny it either. The truth was, I didn’t know what would happen. But, I knew I couldn’t see beyond the fog of lust that seemed to envelop me every time he was near. He must have taken my silence as acceptance because the next moment he tossed me over his shoulder and strolled toward the bedroom I was in last night.

He set me down on the bed and stared down at me. “Clothes off, now.” His jaw clenched as he watched me comply with his demand.

My fingers shook as I pulled the soft cotton over my head. The urge to cover my breasts was strong, but his molten chocolate gaze emboldened me, and I let my hands slip slowly across my stomach instead. Hooking my fingers under the waistband of my shorts, I worked them down over my hips until I was in nothing more than a pair of lace and satin underwear.

Stryker finally pulled his shirt over his head, and my eyes feasted on him. His body was a solid slab of muscle. While his stomach rippled with defined ridges, I got the sense his physique wasn’t carved at the gym. His seemed carved from years of fighting and hard work, something his pampered brother had no concept of.

The bed dipped down as he put one knee on the mattress. He crawled over me and I shivered in anticipation. When his mouth claimed mine again, I moaned.

“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you my sweet?” he spoke against my lips.

I nodded, having lost the ability to form words.

He pulled away, and I could sense tension in the way his muscles stayed tight above me. “Outside of the bedroom I want you to be sweet, but what I want to do to you will be anything but.”

“Show me,” I rasped, finding my voice.