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he pulled one of my knees up, sinking deeper. “Feels so fucking good,” I whimpered, “do it again. Just like that.”
    He withdrew until just the tip remained within me, then slammed back in to the base, his pelvis bumping against mine.
    My hands glided over the muscles of his back; my other leg lifted to lock around his waist as he increased his pace.
    “Harder,” I begged, digging my nails deeper into his flesh as his hips pistoned, a low growl in his throat, “Oh God, oh yes, that’s it. Fuck me harder, Evan.”
    He moved one of his hands to cup the back of my head, and he threaded his fingers through my hair, grabbing it from underneath the way I like it. He pulled just enough to make me move my head, and I keened with excitement and pleasure. He leaned down and took one of my nipples in his mouth, scraping his teeth over it.
    I bucked against him in response, my breath coming in shallow pants and moans. He moved to my other nipple and I let out a low groan. So close.
    As I was getting ready to come and undoubtedly have the best orgasm of my life, he stopped moving.
    “Please.”
    He thrust into me with slow, almost leisurely strokes. My eyes rolled into the back of my head when he pulled all the way out and slowly—painfully slowly—pushed back in.
    I started murmuring in Spanish. Endearments. Pleading. Promises. His wicked grin at my last suggestion told me he knew enough gutter Spanish that he understood. When he increased the pace and strength of his thrusts, I thanked every deity I could think of as my entire body vibrated in pleasure.
    My cries were more desperate, my nails nearly drawing blood as I scraped them over his already raw back. He leaned down and bit my collarbone, hard, as he thrust harder, deeper. My orgasm slammed crashed over me and I sobbed his name as I tightened around him. My climax triggered his, and I heard him moan as he buried his face in my hair, his entire body shuddering.
    He collapsed on top of me. We both lay there for a minute, panting and unable to move.
    “Holy shit,” I finally managed.
    A self-satisfied grin was on his face. “Definitely.” He pressed a kiss to my lips, “Are you okay?”
    “More than.” I felt like purring.
    “Good. I’m glad…me too.”
    I felt him start to harden inside me. My eyes widened. “Again? Already?”
    He smiled down at me as he reached to remove the condom and grabbed another from his pocket, “That was round one, beautiful. Where’s your bedroom?”
    Later that night, we lay in a tangle of sweaty limbs, staring at the ceiling. At least, I was pretty sure it was the ceiling. I might’ve gone blind after the last orgasm for a minute or two.
    This should’ve been the part where I climbed out of bed and tossed a witty remark over my shoulder, thanking Evan for all the orgasms and I’d be sure to call him the next time I made it out to his neck of the woods. Realistically, this couldn’t go anywhere. He lived in Tampa, I lived in Houston. World famous wrestler, local newspaper reporter. We were from two entirely different worlds.
    Instead, I rolled over and snuggled into his arms when he pulled me toward him. “Stay the night?”
    He sleepily kissed the top of my head. “I thought you’d never ask.”

 
     
    Chapter Two
     
     
    I was dreaming of tall, tattooed men with dark hair, kind eyes, and muscles for days when the stupid, stupid sun filtered through my window. I attempted to roll away from the offending light and drift back into dreamland, but strong arms wrapped around me and tightened around my waist, bringing me against a very large, very hard body. My eyes flew open and I caught a glimpse of distinctive tribal markings on a muscular bicep.
    I lay there, trying to remain still so I wouldn’t wake him. But when he stirred against me, I knew it was already too late. He pressed a kiss to the back of my shoulder. “Good morning.”
    “Good morning.” I stared at the Escher print that inspired my favorite scene in