“On it.”

Two seconds later and he had a condom out of its packaging, but his hands were . . . shit, his hands were shaking like he was a randy teen his first time out, and it took him three tries to get everything secured.

“Been awhile, huh?” she asked with that smart-assed grin, a nice call back to that first time he’d made her come in the hallway of her home. After sixty seconds, he was about to shoot back at her, but then all coherent thought fled as he gripped her sweet ass and drove in balls-deep.

She arched into him, screaming her pleasure at taking all of him.

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” he gritted out as he withdrew, “and you’re going to benefit, honey. I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll see stars.” He plunged again, loving how her lusty moans set off vibrations throughout his body.

“Hockey stars, perhaps?”

Jesus, this woman’s mouth. “I will fuck the ever-loving smart-assery out of you, Alexandra.” He got started on that, pumping in and out, in and out. Deeper, harder. “I’m going to fuck you so good the only word on your lips will be my name. The only answer to every question will be my name. Now say it.”

He claimed her mouth, kissing her fiercely to let her think on it awhile. The coil in his gut tightened with every thrust into her slick channel. Her hands were everywhere—his shoulders, raking his back, squeezing his ass to seal their connection.

When he released her mouth, she murmured on a blissful sigh, “Asshole.”

“My other name, honey.”

She squeezed him like a satin fist, dug her heel into his ass. “Prick.”

He stalled. Dawdled. Started again. More languorous this time because he suspected that might piss her off.

“Don’t slow down!”

Bingo. “My name.”

He kissed her again, loving the tangle of their tongues, pouring every ounce of feeling he could into it. Emotion he hadn’t realized he had, or had to spare.

“Eli,” she screamed as she crested toward that peak of pleasure.

He started up that driving rhythm again, long, possessive strokes designed to pleasure her for making him feel and punish her for making him fall. And when her pussy fluttered, gripped, and locked him through the onslaught of her orgasm, she said his name again.

Softly now, and that word had never sounded sweeter or more freely given. He didn’t want to think about why he needed that or why being buried inside her was his personal heaven. He didn’t want to think.

So he let the sensations claim him and trigger a climax that knocked out the power grid that used to be his brain. And his last thought as he emptied all he had inside her was that he knew what he was doing here.

Mostly.

 CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Alex unhinged one uncooperative eyelid, then the other, and her hand moved instinctively to find him. Gone, the sheets cool. He’d been up for a while.

The clock said 6:08 and her fuzzy head agreed. The Cheshire cat grin that stole across her face was inevitable. She was in Eli Cooper’s bed.

Last night, Eli’s dominance of her body had been like something shifting into place. It was as though he knew something about her that she didn’t—a disturbing thought indeed. She had always assumed she should be the aggressor, and given her sassy mouth and Amazonian frame, men expected it of her. Tough, strong women like Firefighter Alex Dempsey were supposed to be getting it done between the sheets, yet it had never seemed as satisfying as it should have.

With Eli, she loved obeying his filthy, inventive demands. Did that make her submissive? She didn’t know and she didn’t care. She just knew that this dynamic worked for her and she wanted to explore it.

If only he was here so she could explore it without leaving these warm, sex-rumpled sheets. She’d read somewhere that he was an early riser because he had so much to do and didn’t want to waste a single minute. She guessed it was time to go waste some of those mayoral minutes. But first, a little poking around was in order.

The bathroom was big, bemarbled, and filled with—yep—beauty products. He probably got crates of L’Oréal hair gel sent to him with Amazon Subscribe & Save. She squinted in the bathroom mirror to minimize the horror. Makeup smudged, hair as big as Wisconsin, body feeling appropriately used after multiple orgasms.

In the bedroom, she shuddered at the idea of redressing in her evening wear, so she rooted around for something more comfortable. Ransacking a dresser, she found and threw on a U of C T-shirt, inhaling it to tide her over until she encountered coffee or man (either would suffice). Last night, she hadn’t had time to absorb her surroundings because she was too busy being walk-ravished into the bedroom. Now she took a moment. Assorted artwork and photos dotted the walls on this floor, but there were conspicuous blanks, perfectly spaced-out squares that were slightly discolored, as though they’d once housed frames that had since been removed. She counted five of them on the landing.

What remained were pictures of Eli as a kid with family members: his mom, grandparents, what looked like cousins.

But, Alex couldn’t help but notice, none of his father, the revered Weston Cooper.

Were those the photos that were missing? He hadn’t spoken much of his dad, though in interviews, whenever his name came up—and inevitably the manner of his death—Eli was always respectful. Distantly respectful, if she thought about it. His face only seemed to light up when he talked about his mother. At that Women in Business luncheon last week, he had told a voter-baiting story about how his mom put his dad through law school. That personalized insight into the sacrifice of a modern marriage had gone down a treat with the crowd, but she suspected there was more to it.

She thought back to his odd reaction on getting that award and his ambivalence about Weston Cooper’s heroism. His hand gripping that steak knife.

Slowly, she moved downstairs, noting that the first-floor walls still had all the pictures intact, including several with his father. The public area of the house. Finished with her nose-dawdle, she padded into the living room and just about doubled over with lust.

Eli sat on a paperwork-strewn sofa, laptop open, Shadow at his bare feet, the epitome of “Ralph Lauren invades the Hamptons.” A faded blue Henley did a terrible job of hiding his stunning musculature. Soft, touchable jeans had clearly been washed far too many times if the rips revealing peeks of his tree-trunk thighs were any indication. And the coup de grâce—he was wearing glasses.

She didn’t think it was possible the man could get any sexier, but here he was, yet again making a mockery of her ridiculous preconceptions. He looked up, and his glass-rimmed eyes traveled over her body, foretelling a wicked plan to take her before she’d had her coffee. Yes, please!

“Morning, Alexandra.” All raspy and sexy. God, she couldn’t stand it.

She held up a finger. “Just a sec.”

Three steps back the way she came took her out of his sight. In the hallway, she did a little dance, thanking the sex gods for blessing Alex Dempsey, a mere mortal, with a night in the bed of one of their own. Oh, great ones, I will use him well.

Done with her homage, she looked down to find Shadow gazing up at her with eyes aglow and tail a-wagging. Bending to doggy level, she whispered in his ear, “Not a word to your master about what you just witnessed here, buddy. His ego is already as big as his dick.”

She swore the dog winked at her.

Back in the living room, she was on him faster than double-struck lightning. Between blistering lip locks, she said, “Your morning-after care sucks, Cooper. I wake up and there’s no hard peen nudging my butt demanding attention.”