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Molly stirred, moving her sleep-softened limbs against his.
Saul smiled at her, contentment settling deeper within him and his already relaxed muscles and limbs. He’d woken minutes ago, Molly wrapped around his back. Enjoying the sensation of her against him, her naked skin warm on his, he hadn’t wanted to shift in case it woke her and forced him to leave the dream of just being next to her like this. But a desperate need to look at her, watch her as she slept, had made him turn—carefully, and without disturbing the sheet flung across them—and prop himself on an elbow so he could study every beautiful facet of her.
Her hair, strewn across the white pillows, was dry now. Long and tangled from having had his hands in it so much. Her face was calm in slumber but her mouth had the slightest hint of a curve and he found himself believing it was a smile.
Neither had spoken about the incident on the roof. The fact that Molly had this gift was in one way awe-inspiring, and in another way, totally unreasonable. He couldn’t get his head around it, but she was so accepting of it. Not in the least frightened.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, and her eyelids fluttered. Then she inhaled, and Saul looked down at the rise of her breasts, just visible above the sheet that covered all the soft-skinned goodness.
“Mmm.” She hummed, stretching her arms above her head, and doing the neck arch thing that drove him a lot wild. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her.
“Nice,” she said in a satisfied, sleepy drawl that tightened his muscles and slammed him in the chest. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He shifted beneath the sheet and closed the slight gap between them. “So tell me,” he said, running his hand down her hips and onto her thigh, then slipping his hand...
“Oh, that is so good,” she said on a croon.
“Did Stirling Birling do this?”
She spluttered a soft laugh, then closed her eyes and Saul felt the pleasure whirling throughout her. “He was the type to get on, get it done, get off, and say, oh, darling, could you get me a beer?”
“I thought as much,” he murmured, and kept on stroking.
He’d had his share of women, probably more than a fair share if he was honest, but doing things for Molly, like making her sigh and seeing her eyes go cloudy with desire, gave him more of a masculine hit of satisfaction than offering him his own harem could. Put him in a room with a dozen amazing women, all eager for him, and he would have laughed them out of the room, one by one.
Molly was so easy to give to. She responded so well, without him even trying—although believe it, he’d put a lot of effort into their lovemaking, wanting to make it perfect for her. Wanting her to feel that perfection. But it was her passion that had pretty much undone him. So engaging in her softness, like a free-born spirit, natural and carefree as she wound her arms and her legs around him, clutching his back or his shoulders or pressing the pads of her fingers into his biceps. Arching when he touched her—he especially liked it when she arched, her lower back coming off the mattress so he could slip his hand beneath her and hold her or lift her. And when her head tipped back, all her chestnut hair spread out around her nakedness—it was enough to kill a man.
“This is so good,” she said as his hand reached her most tender, warmest body part. “Your hands, honest to God, Solomon, they can do a lot more than build roofs. And your fingers...”
He smiled, then put his mouth on hers and did all sorts of really good things for her with his tongue and his fingers.
Forty minutes later—maybe thirty, maybe an hour, who was counting—he had her wrapped in his arms, her cheek on his chest and his chin on the top of her head. They’d stayed like this for ages, not talking. Not verbally anyway, but the strokes and sighs were like a complete conversation. Her fingers were now doing some walking game down his chest. Then they wandered to his abs and played there awhile, then she sighed and her fingers took a hike south.
“I’m spent,” he told her, hoping she’d say she hoped not because if she wanted it again, he could give it again. Not an issue.
“I hope not.”
He smiled, and kissed the top of her head. “Want to stay here, in bed?” he asked.
“Yes. But can’t.”
“We need to clear up outside.”
She nodded, then pulled from him and lay on her back. “You hit the shower first, and I’ll lie here for four more minutes, thinking about how lovely last night was.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” he said, throwing a leg over hers and inching to her side. “How about we merge my four minute shower with your six minutes and make it a joint ten?”
Even after all they’d shared with each other, he loved the spot on her cheeks that glowed pink.
“You have shower skills, too?” she asked. “You are amazing.”
“And you are beautiful.”
“And nuts,” she said, with a grin. “Don’t forget that part. You’ve just slept with a nutty woman. We’re all bonkers. All us Mackillops,” she said with a cheeky challenge in her tone, blinking up at him through her long, long eyelashes.
“Yeah,” he said softly, moving to cover her body with his. “Totally, wonderfully, and unnaturally nuts.”
He hoped by the way his mouth caressed hers and his hands slid over her, she understood he didn’t give a damn. “You’re beautiful, Molly. Inside and out.”
“I am, aren’t I?” It looked like she couldn’t help her smile turning to a grin. “But I’m only beautiful when I’m with you.”
“Not true.”
“True. Although now, a little part of me will be forever beautiful because I’ve had a touch from Saul Solomon.”
“Now I do believe you’re crazy.”
She laughed. “So slow to catch on,” she said with a shake of her head, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“Tease,” he said, running his hand up her thigh. “I need payback.”
“Yes, please,” she said, her green eyes hooded but steady on his. “How are you going to do that?”
“I’ve got some ideas.”
“You’re all talk. I need action.”
“Yeah?” he asked. “Want to see my tool again? It’s pretty sharp right now.”
He pressed his mouth on hers, suffocating her laughter with a deep, penetrating kiss he knew would be one of the last.
