Which was why she heard herself saying, “So don’t leave.”
Her heart was pounding, but it was from excitement, not nerves, as he stepped up into the coach and shut the door behind him. Tamara had moved back only far enough to let him in, and he erased that space in half a step. There was a lot of man in front of her, and she was aware of just how long it had been since she’d touched one.
A real man, that is. Geoffrey pretty much didn’t count, and frankly, she hadn’t done that much touching. Not that she wanted to think about Geoffrey. Because she really, really didn’t. She just wanted to think about, to appreciate, that it was Elec standing in front of her and what a truly lovely twist of fate spilling her wine on him had been.
She had expected that he would start kissing her again, but he surprised her by gliding his thumb down her cheek, across her lips, over her neck. “You are very beautiful,” he said in a husky whisper.
It had been such a very long time since she’d heard anything like that. She sighed out loud in pleasure, and she thought she could almost be satisfied with just that. Almost.
Her cheeks started to burn under his scrutiny and from embarrassment that she needed to hear that kind of compliment, but she managed to murmur, “Thank you.” She’d had no idea until that very moment how much she had missed being just a woman. More than a mother.
More than a sociology professor. Being a woman, who could make a man look at her like he wanted to eat her all up with a spoon.
But she had that standing in front of her now, and she wanted Elec, wanted those words, his touch, and he gave it to her.
Elec bent his head to kiss her and she met him halfway, hungry for more, desperate to run her hands across his chest, to feel his body hard against hers. His tongue plunged inside her mouth and she closed her eyes as desire tugged at her inner thighs, leaving her hot and wet and ready faster than she could have ever imagined possible. There wasn’t a single rational thought left in her head as she dug her hands into his hair and kissed him for all she was worth. He felt hot and hard and good, his hands in her hair, on her back, squeezing her backside.
She hadn’t realized how long two years could be until she was tasting what she’d been missing, and now she knew it was damn near an eternity. Way too long to go without feeling this freedom, this intensity, this giving in to what her body ached for.
It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t smooth and she didn’t care. It was frantic and fumbling as they both tried to touch everything they could all at once.
They were grinding their hips together, stumbling around a few feet as they tried to get closer still, Elec’s tongue doing crazy sexy things to her mouth, her jaw, her ear, her neck, trailing down to her br**sts and back up again when he found her ni**les were inaccessible through her dress. Tamara moaned, both in delight from all the fizzy feelings stirring in her, and from the need for more. Now that she was getting it, she wondered how she could have ever lived without it, and she needed him to take her all the way to the finish line before she literally lay down on the coach floor and died from want.
“Thank you for spilling wine on my shirt,” Elec said, stepping back and unbuttoning his shirt. He yanked it off with little care or concern for the fabric and tossed it on the floor with hard movements. His T-shirt, which also sported a smaller wine stain, was peeled off and sent after the dress shirt.
Tamara almost choked on her drool. Oh. My. God. “My pleasure,” she said and gawked mercilessly at his ripped chest and abs. He clearly wasn’t scarfing potato chips and playing video games on his days off because that was one fine-looking male form, and she reached out and did what she’d been dying to do since she’d first set eyes on him. She squeezed a bicep, just to feel how firm it was. It was as hard as rock. Hard as steel. She glanced down at his pants. Hard as his erection.
“Impressive,” she said, not sure if she was really talking about his arm muscles or another equally promising muscle. Not that it mattered. It was all impressive, and it was all hers for the taking.
He pulled her into his arms and Tamara ran her hands all over his chest and back, surprised at how bold and greedy she was being, but unable to work up any shame or regret. He was just altogether too much temptation, and after the disaster with Geoffrey, she was in need of some serious comfort. She needed to know she could have good sex again at some point in her life. Starting now. Elec had her more aroused than she could have ever actually thought possible, and while part of her brain was hinting that just maybe she should think about slowing down, most of her brain and all of her body were screaming for her to take it. To enjoy it.
His hand snaked around her back as he kissed her, and he found her dress zipper. Elec paused. “Is this okay?”
For a woman who had never had a one-night stand in her life, she was amazed at how easily she announced, with zero hesitation, “Yes.”
She should probably think about the fact that she didn’t know squat about Elec, including his last name, but Ryder knew Elec and so did Jeff, the coach driver. Ryder had vouched for him, and had mentioned that Elec worked on his pit crew, and under the circumstances that was good enough for her. Drivers didn’t let just anyone onto their crew. They had to trust them implicitly because they could make or break a race for a car. So while Elec was a new acquaintance, he wasn’t a complete stranger, and given the heady combination of wine and rampant sexual longing, she was inclined to talk herself into believing just about anything.
He wasn’t leaving the damn coach without giving her an orgasm. Plain and simple.
Fortunately, he seemed to have the same goal in mind. Elec undid her dress slowly, teasing her, his fingers tickling down her spine, his tongue sliding across her bottom lip.
“Let me know if I’m going too fast,” he murmured into her ear, before his tongue dipped inside.
Tamara almost jumped out of her dress, which probably would have been a good thing since then they could get straight to the good stuff. She was dying from want, and she couldn’t prevent a moan from leaving her mouth as she gripped his arms for support.
“You’re not going too fast . . . you’re going too slow. I haven’t had sex in two years, three months, and three weeks.” Not that she’d been keeping track or anything.
Geoffrey didn’t count. It had been two years, three months, and three weeks since she’d had satisfying sex. With a man.
Though maybe that was a mood kill to tell a guy something like that. She stiffened a little in his arms. Maybe she’d just put pressure on him, and had created performance anxiety.