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passion of the night, had forgotten to turn on
the small ceramic heater that would have fought the elements
valiantly and still lost. Fortunately, the down comforter—she
looked carefully—the two down comforters that Sandy had left
for them sufficed through the night. That and body heat, and, of
course, her dream.
    With
a start, she began to sit up, then froze. A man’s arms, sprinkled
liberally with dark brown hair, encased her. The air was freezing,
but her body was warm, nether regions throbbing with need.
    At
least I’m not sleepsturbating , she thought, the faintest hint
of a chuckle rumbling in her chest and throat. Jeremy’s steady
breath faltered briefly when she made the silent, self-deprecating
sound. She stilled. He settled back into sleep.
    In
future months Lydia would wonder if that dream were a premonition of
sorts, as if her subconscious had been screaming, waving runway
lights and flashing red signals in a desperate effort to get her to
realize what was coming.
    Or,
maybe, she just desperately wanted Mike.
    The
truth would be found somewhere in between. Kind of like Lydia
herself.
    Between
two men.
    One
of those men, though, was here. Blissfully here and all male, hot
skin wrapped around her, strong legs pressed against her softer
thighs, chest against her back, her ass sliding against a very stiff
symbol of how he affected her.
    Both
subconsciously and very, very consciously.
    Lydia
rolled over to face Jeremy, who always looked so rumpled and sweet
every morning. His eyes were closed, long lashes residing against his
cheeks, face serious and contemplative. Careful to keep every spare
inch of skin under the thick down comforter, she slid one arm under
his neck, slinging one leg over his hips.
    “ Well,
good morning,” he murmured against her cheek as she peppered his
jawline with kisses. “That’s one hell of a wake-up call. I rather
like this hotel.”
    “ Wait
until I pull out the maid uniform,” she whispered, reaching down to
stroke him.
    His
groan was a victory she didn’t realize she needed. The force of his
kiss shocked her. How could he go from asleep to on top of her, mouth
bruising hers, tongue exploring without mercy, so quickly?
    Don’t
question it , she told herself.
    Enjoy
it.
    As
his palm trailed its way to find her wet and wanting, his mouth moved
into a grin of delight, her eyes closed, her lips noting the change
in him.
    “ You’re
wet.”
    “ You’re
perceptive.”
    “ You’re
ready?”
    “ You’re
slow.” With that, she altered her leg’s position and centered
herself on his tip, curling her hips out to let him enter her—just
an inch. Not enough.
    Never
enough.
    Without
breaking their connection, Jeremy hovered over her, the fluidity of
their acting in concert a lover’s dance she knew innately. It
worked, and soon she was filled with him, his arms on either side of
her, biceps bulging with effort that made her swell and moan, knowing
it was all for her.
    Her.
    The
orgasm was right there, waiting impatiently, tapping its feet and
eager to begin the festivities. Last night their lovemaking had been
slow and generous, sleeping and explorative, with as much time as
they liked and a reconnection from being torn apart by obligations
and her dad’s need to steal Jeremy away and put him through various
litmus tests.
    Now?
Now she just wanted to get fucked, and fucked well, and for Jeremy to
drive the dream out of her via cockhammer.
    “ You
feel so good,” he rasped; Lydia’s ears perked for the telltale
sign all men release before they come. Their couplings had been so
few since getting together (though copious for such a short time
period), yet this eluded her. She needed more time, more lovemaking,
more—
    More.
    Unable
to catch his tell, her own climax slammed into her by surprise,
transporting her to ecstasy via first-class upgrade, the sweetness of
this orgasm in this moment so pure and eternal she could love in this
state forever, Jeremy whispering her name