Just Once Read Online Free PDF Page B

chest.
    “Need anything else?” he asks. A muscle in his jaw ticks.
    I can think of a few things, and while my former self might have given voice to her dirty thoughts, this Kate steadfastly refuses. “No,” I say. “Thank you.”
    He shrugs, smiling faintly. “Suit yourself.”

Chapter Three
    “O H G OD ,” I W HISPER , not sure this is happening, not sure I should let it. I’m definitely going to let it.
    I’m lying on my back on top of the blanket, T-shirt and panties discarded, and Shane’s kneeling at the foot of the bed. He hooks his big hands around my ankles and tugs me down, down, until my legs are spread wide and my knees dangle over his shoulders.
    My body is a live wire. Every part of me is on fire. I press the backs of my hands against my cheeks—I’m burning up. A trickle of sweat makes its way along my hairline and down my neck.
    Shane’s calloused palms stroke up and down my thighs, stopping occasionally to press his thumbs into the soft skin behind my knees, making me arch my back and thrust my throbbing sex close to his face. His laugh is low and warm, and on one such thrust he catches my ass and holds me there, suspended in space for an eternity. When my muscles are shivering from exertion and I’m sure I’ll collapse, I feel his teeth on my inner thigh, biting lightly.
    I cry out. And I’m not really a crier when it comes to sex. I don’t moan or scream names, and I don’t care for guys who do either. It feels forced and pornographic, and I prefer finesse and choreography.
    Shane’s moves are not choreographed. I don’t know what comes next. I know what I’m hoping for, but still, when it happens, I’m not prepared for it. He fastens his open mouth over my drenched folds, and pulls me into his mouth, hard. My body gives out and I fall back onto the bed, his hands anchoring my knees to his shoulders, keeping my thighs firmly spread.
    I writhe in a mixture of agony and ecstasy—wanting to escape his searching tongue but also desperately wanting it to find…that…spot. And just like that, my weakened muscles spark to life again, tensing dangerously around his neck. He chuckles, deep and hot against my flaming, swollen lips, and everything tightens low in my belly and prepares to—
    The shrieking alarm clock jolts me upright. I look around frantically in the dark room, expecting—hoping—to see Shane kneeling on the floor, mouth damp, ready to finish what my subconscious has started. But he’s not there. It’s five twenty-five in the morning, and I’m alone, my T-shirt and panties sadly in place. The only carryover from the dream is my heated skin and the unbearable ache between my legs.
    I reach over to turn off the alarm and groan in frustration. I can barely remember my last orgasm. In Bali, I believe. Last fall. With Stefan, a Swedish scuba instructor. He was hot. Sleek and sexy. I remember the first time I saw him, leading a group of tourists in a dry run with their scuba equipment. I was on the beach, reading a book, not absorbing a word.
    But now, thinking about Stefan, seeing his blond hair and clear blue eyes, I can’t remember what it was about him that drew me. Dark hair, brooding eyes, and a mass of muscles—that’s the cause of this twinge between my thighs. And the reason for my imminent cold shower.

    I’m on the first shift on Mondays, so at six o’clock I flip on the lights in the dark dining room, yawning and blinking as I set up the buffet. I’ve had the same dream twice in a row now, and I’m not sure how much longer I can take it. Yesterday was Sunday, aka changeover day, which means the kitchen/cabin staff was swamped with work. I haven’t seen Shane since he hung the fan, so my reasoning that he’d been in my dream because he was the last person I saw before bed on Saturday went right out the window when I woke up hot and bothered again this morning. He was in my dream because something about him and his awfulness has gotten under my skin. What