Walk of Shame
Page 39

Andrew’s fingers grip my hips as he pulls out, slowly, tauntingly, only to thrust forward hard, pressing me to the counter. I meet him thrust for thrust, bracing myself on the counter as I arch my back, angling my hips to take all of him.
His fingers tangle in my hair, his other hand palming my breast, pinching my nipple as he pulls my back to his chest, his hips moving ever faster.
I tilt my head back and to the side, begging for a kiss. He gives it to me, his tongue sliding into my mouth as a hand slides down over my belly, two fingers pressing against my clit.
Once more my body is utterly his, and his mouth swallows every cry, his body absorbs every shudder. And while Andrew Mulroney might not be stodgy, he is a gentleman. He waits until I’ve had my pleasure for a second time before he takes his own, his arm wrapping low on my waist as he thrusts into me a final time, his release coming with a helpless, savage growl.
I enjoy his pleasure almost as much as my own, knowing from his gasps for air, from the way his hands seem to grab at me involuntarily, that whatever’s between us eclipses anything that’s come before it.
At last he rests his damp forehead on my shoulder, and somehow I find the energy to lift my hand to his head, my fingers tangling gently in his hair.
I hear him swallow, then speak. “Believe it or not, I had intended to take you on a date.”
I laugh. “I think I liked this better. We needed to get it out of our system.”
I feel his smile. “Don’t be ridiculous, Georgiana. I am far from done with you.”
Andrew

SATURDAY NIGHT (OR MAYBE SUNDAY MORNING—NOBODY’S LOOKING AT THE CLOCK) The soft, feminine sigh woke him up. It took his brain a few seconds to register that Georgiana Watkins was curled against him. It took his body far less than that.
He didn’t know what time it was, only that at some point, after trying every sexual position they could think of, they’d fallen asleep, sweaty and sated.
And now . . .
He still wasn’t fully awake, but the lower half of him definitely was. Unable to resist, he opened his mouth against Georgiana’s warm neck, his thumb and forefinger closing around her nipple.
He smiled wickedly at her moan.
Now they were both awake.
His other hand slid over her ass, dipping between her legs. It was his turn to moan when he found her already wet and ready for him.
Andrew nudged her knees up toward her chest, so that she opened for him. He fully intended to slide into her from behind, ride her with her back pressed to his chest, but something stopped him. A need, not just for her body, but for her.
Instead, he dipped his head, brushing his lips against her shoulder before rolling her onto her back, easing her soft, warm body beneath his.
Andrew’s fingers brushed her hair from her face as he lowered his body atop hers, watching her face as he slid inside. Georgie sighed again, this time the sound sexy instead of sleepy.
They were as close as two people could be.
Neither said a word as he thrust in and out in slow, deliberate strokes, her arching to meet his body in perfect rhythm.
It shouldn’t be this good this soon. She shouldn’t feel both so familiar and so new. They shouldn’t know each other as well as they did.
It was too much. Too much, and yet not enough, and . . .
Her orgasm was fierce but silent, and he came seconds later, also silent, as though they were both terrified at what might be revealed by even the slightest noise.
Finally their bodies stilled, and he eased out of her before rolling them to their sides, pulling her against him, his arm heavy on her waist once more.
He fell back asleep, but he didn’t dream. No need. He was already living the dream.
Georgie

SUNDAY MORNING, PRE-BRUNCH “I’ve got to say, Georgiana, I didn’t picture you as an early riser on weekends.”
I pause in the process of rifling through my panty drawer and turn to face him, hand holding the towel firmly around my chest so he doesn’t derail me from the getting-ready process again.
“That reminds me,” I say. “What do you do on weekends?”
He squints his eyes. “Could you be a bit more specific with the question? That’s sixty hours to cover.”
“Don’t be such a lawyer. You know what I mean. Monday through Friday, you’re always downstairs at five A.M. Always. But weekends you’re not. Do you sleep in?”
His eyebrows lift. “Have you been missing me on Saturdays and Sundays, Georgiana?”
I purse my lips. “Answering the question with a question. More lawyer tricks.”
He’s lounging naked in my bed, looking far more put together than he has any right to, considering how many times we ahemed. Andrew pulls himself up against the headboard, but unfortunately one hand keeps the sheet at a decent level and prevents any interesting views.
“I relax my schedule a bit on weekends. I don’t go to the gym until at least six-thirty. Sometimes even seven.”
I stare at him, looking for the increasingly familiar signs that he’s joking. Then I crack up when I see none.
The man’s dead serious.
“Not until six-thirty, huh?” I say. “Appalling. The day’s practically wasted by then.”
“For a party girl, you’re quick to mock. I thought you’d be asleep till noon.”
I lift a shoulder. “On Saturdays, yes. Sundays, though . . . Sundays are brunch.”
“With Marley?” he asks.
I turn back, matching pink bra and panties in hand. “You remember my best friend’s name?”
He shrugs, looping both arms around upraised knees, the wrist of one hand held casually by the grip of the other. He looks so damn at home in my bed, it makes my knees a little weak with yearning. “I pay attention.”
“Speaking of my friends,” I say with a wince, remembering the circumstances of last night, “how upset was Hailey when you canceled the date?”
“Not. Didn’t seem that surprised either. Said to tell you hi.”
I smile. Sounds like Hailey. Although I should probably call her, make sure we’re okay.
I step into my underwear and do the awkward dance of trying to pull the panties up while still keeping the towel under my armpits. Sure, the guy’s seen it all, but not in the daylight, and a girl’s got to save some mystery.