“Isn’t that what a guy does when he has a crush on a girl?”

“A crush?”

My confusion seems to sap his bravado, and he shifts. “I like you, Liz. I know we’ve done this backward, but I want . . .” He drops his gaze to his beer, then back up to my face. He looks different. Younger, somehow. Maybe because the cocky man is gone, replaced by the unsure boy. “I want to do this right. I want to cook for you and take you to fancy dinners and hold your hand.” He cups my jaw and his gaze drops to my lips. “And then I want to get you naked. I really like you naked.”

I smile, and for a second, I’m just a girl looking at a boy she’s kind of always loved. For a second, it’s not complicated by secretly broken hearts and online affairs.

He leans forward and his lips brush my ear as he speaks. “Let me try this the right way, and if you hate it, we can go back to our annual wedding hookup. Though, to be honest, I think we’re going to need to go to more weddings, because once a year isn’t gonna cut it anymore.” He pulls back so he can study me, then he grins, kryptonite to the lady parts. “What do you say, Rowdy? You, me, some alone time?”

“I shouldn’t,” I whisper. “I know that your dad really wants you with Sabrina, and it’s obvious she likes you too.”

“Fuck Sabrina. I’m not interested in her. Not at all. This weekend. Say yes.”

“Where are we going?”

“Two nights,” he answers, surprising me. “In Chicago.”

“But your dad said—”

“This isn’t about my dad. It isn’t about his campaign. This is about us. One weekend, two nights, just you and me.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Liz

“I could get used to this.”

Sam kneads a knot under my shoulders, and I moan. I could get used to all of it. The sex, the long baths, the breakfast in bed, walks along Lake Michigan, the wind stinging my cheeks, and lots and lots of naked Sam.

Tonight, we didn’t even go out for dinner. We ordered room service and watched a movie on the big-screen TV at the foot of our bed. And as if my heart wasn’t already in his hands, he told me to roll over so he could rub my back.

“You’re so good at this,” I murmur. “Where did you learn—” My question is cut off with a gasp, because it’s not his hands on my back and shoulders anymore. It’s his mouth. He kisses a path down my spine and back up, and his hands find my hips and squeeze. His thumbs dig into the flesh of my ass cheeks and it’s—Jesus, it’s good. My hips arch off the bed, pushing into his touch even as my head tilts to the side to allow him better access to my neck. He withdraws for a minute, and I look lazily over my shoulder to see him gripping his thick shaft in his hand.

The sight makes my mouth water, and I start to roll over, ready for him.

“Don’t move,” he whispers. “Let me fuck you like this. I want to watch myself slide into you. I want to squeeze that ass as you let me take you.” Then his hands are on me again, drawing me to my knees as he positions himself behind me.

His cock is nestled against me, and I arch my back, urging him inside. I don’t care how—I just need him inside me as quickly as possible.

He grips my hips and slowly slides inside. God. It’s so good, but he’s moving so slowly it’s killing me. I drop my head to the pillow and rock my hips back, and a groan rips from his chest.

“You should see yourself right now,” he murmurs. “Your ass in my hands, your hair splayed over the pillow. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Finally, he thrusts again, and I cry out with the intense pleasure of his cock pushing against my cervix.

His hands tighten around my hips almost cruelly, but then he smooths over the spot with the gentle, careful stroke of his thumbs. Hard and soft. Hard and soft. I bite my pillow, and he growls. “Let me hear you. Don’t you dare muffle those moans. Let me hear you.”

“It’s so good,” I whisper helplessly. Arching my back, I rock my hips to take him deeper.

“You’re so beautiful like this. I want to watch your pussy squeeze around my dick as you come. Touch yourself for me.”

“I don’t need to. This is good.” I look over my shoulder and his eyes are on me, hot and intense and demanding.

“Touch yourself.”

Licking my lips, I slide my hand between my legs and find my clit. I try to keep my eyes on his, but I can’t. The second my fingers close around my clit, the sensation is so much I have to close my eyes to be able to process it all. Behind me, he murmurs his approval as he pumps in and out of me and I rub my clit between my two fingers.

The orgasm hits me hard and fast, claiming me before I even realize it’s coming, and I pulse around him, squeezing him as my entire body contracts and releases with exquisite pleasure.

I’ve hardly come back down before he increases the pace of his strokes and pulls me back into that helpless, desperate peak of pleasure. I don’t want to come again—not without him. I shift the hand between my legs back a little further and cup his balls.

Groaning, he slams into me, our skin smacking with the force of his thrust, and I cry out. I can’t separate the ache in my chest from the pleasure between my legs. There’s no line dividing one from the other, only this blurring of pleasure and emotion where everything feels better than I’ve ever known.

I move my hand, stroking him, encouraging him. His thrusts become irregular—deep and then shallow, hard and then soft, frantic and then controlled.