He wanted to dedicate as much time as he could to every freckle that bedecked her sweet body. But if he didn’t get inside her in under a minute, he was going to lose his mind.

“Freckles,” he panted, his hand racing down her body to unbutton the top of her jeans. “You’ve either got to leave right this second or this is happening.”

“What, and walk out there without a top on?” She grinned when he narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m not going anywhere, Killian.”

Thank you, sweet Lord.

With about as much finesse as he could physically manage—which was next to none by that point—he unzipped the stiff metal zipper and tugged until her jeans were at her knees. Realizing she was still wearing socks and her Converse, which were tightly laced, he sat back on his haunches. “Yeah, I can’t do this alone.”

She laughed and sat up, kicking at the heel of one foot with the toe of the other until the shoe popped off. She reversed the process with the other, and soon both shoes were on the floor by the foot of the bed. He grabbed her jeans and yanked hard, pulling her socks with them in one hard pull. The motion hauled Aileen with it and she crashed into his thigh with a gasp. “Jesus, I’m sorry. Sorry, are you okay?”

Her shoulders were shaking and her face turned into the comforter. He grabbed her arms and pulled her up gently. “Please tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m . . . fine,” she managed between laughs.

She was laughing at him. The little . . .

He growled and pushed her back down, managing to get his jeans off with minimal fuss. They were naked now, skin to skin, and it was heaven. Her front was so cool against him, like cream, easing the heated ache he’d been living with for weeks. He pressed against her hip with his erection and she flexed up to meet him, arching her back.

“More,” she groaned. “Everything. Killian, everything.”

“Nothing less,” he promised, then kissed her and all but sprinted to grab a condom from his toiletries case in the bathroom. Probably looked like a jackwagon, jogging around the hotel room with his dick wagging, but if she thought so, she kept quiet. When he returned to the bed, she had one leg drawn up, both arms over her head, and a sleepy, dreamy look in her eyes.

Nudging her drawn leg down and over, he settled between her thighs. “Aileen, I—”

“If that’s another get-out-now speech, I’m going to roll you over and put your penis in me myself,” she warned, determination glinting in her smoky eyes.

It was enough. It was more than enough. He pulled back, positioned himself, and pushed home. The feel of her surrounding him made his chest tighten. His arms flexed with the effort to control himself. He would last more than thirty seconds. He would.

Thirty-five, minimum.

“Oh, God. Killian.” Head thrown back, she laced her fingers around his neck and pulled him down. He let his mouth explore her neck, her shoulders, the pulse just under her jaw. With every thrust, that pulse jumped. When he twisted his pelvis around, it all but stopped. And when he sucked lightly, leaving a red patch behind, it nearly leapt through her skin.

“Like that, don’t you?” he murmured into the crook of her neck.

“Like you,” she whispered.

His heart jumped, pressed against her breast, and his hips sped up in time. Reaching down, he used one finger to find the little bundle of nerves he knew would hold the keys to her climax and rubbed until he found the pattern that affected her breathing.

“Oh . . . okay yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Just like that, just like . . . oh!” She half-spiked up, but pinned by his body weight she didn’t get far. “Oh, I’m . . . yeah, I’m definitely coming.”

Thank God, he thought, since he was about seven seconds behind her. He kissed her to cover her cries and moans as she reached her orgasm.

And to cover his own.

* * *

If she smoked, now would have been a fabulous time to light up. Aileen tensed all her muscles, then slowly relaxed them in one of the few yoga moves she remembered from that one time she’d been tricked into going. Her body responded with almost as much mindless pleasure as it had minutes earlier when Killian had given her that third orgasm.

Orgasm. Killian. Her eyes flew open.

Oh, holy hell. What have I done?

He was lying mostly on his stomach next to her, one knee drawn up to leverage his hips off the bed. His face, however, was turned away from her. And she heard a small rumbling sound. She placed her hand flat on his back, smiling when it vibrated. He was purring in his sleep, like a cat who’d been petted and stroked into an afternoon nap.

Her phone rang, and she snatched her hand away from his back. She went diving for her jeans, but came up with her shirt instead. She found her jeans half-buried under the comforter, which had been thrown to the floor somewhere between their second and third round of heart-stopping sex.

The instant she located her pants, she knew it wasn’t her phone. Hers vibrated along with the ring. Which meant it was his. Damn it, one of them really needed to change their ringtone.

She started to grope around in the dark to find his pants to dig the phone out, then stopped. Would she be tempted to check the read-out to see who the call was from?

Probably.

And unless she got lucky and pulled it out of his pocket upside down, there was no way she could miss the display. It would be a line she didn’t like skirting around. He’d probably call her out for snooping. Which was really rude, considering she was mostly concerned about him getting to the phone in time.

Irritated with him—though he hadn’t actually done anything, technically—she pushed at him with both her feet. His legs went sideways over the slick hotel sheets, but he didn’t wake up. She sighed, then shook his shoulders. He grumbled, wriggled, then nuzzled back into the pillow.

The ringing stopped. Oh, well, his loss. She was ready to follow his lead and burrow back under the covers when the phone started up again.

Okay, either he was going to answer it, or turn it on silent. She was not listening to that for another hour. It was ruining the post-coital high.

“Killian.”

He held up a finger . . . the impolite one.

“Your phone is ringing.”

He flapped his arm off the side of the bed, as if that could magically make it go away.

“Do you want me to answer it?”

That, as it turned out, was the magic bean that got his ass out of bed. If she’d yelled “Fire!” he might not have moved so fast. He bolted out, stumbled as his feet tangled in the heap of sheets at the end of the bed, and fell to the floor with a muffled expletive. The whole thing would have been pretty darn amusing, if it weren’t for the fact it was happening because he didn’t trust her to just pick up a damn cell phone and hand it to him without snooping.

That hurt. Just a little.

He pulled the phone out of his jeans pocket just as it stopped ringing. Another curse, then his fingers flew as he texted someone—presumably the caller. Then he flicked the phone to silent and shoved it back in his pocket.

Aileen raised a brow.

Killian scowled at her.

“What?”

He ran a hand over his face and hair. “Aren’t you going to ask who it was?”

She lifted a shoulder, as if the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. “None of my business. We’re not on the clock. But one of us really needs to change our ringtone.” With as much dignity as she could muster when something deep down was throbbing, she stood and found her pants. Her panties, unfortunately, were not with them. How the hell had that happened? He’d pulled them off together. Whatever. She shoved one leg, then another in and hopped to pull them up.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

She looked over her shoulder as she located her bra draped over the arm of the desk chair. “Back to my room. This is yours, if you don’t remember.”