“Good enough for another go?” he asked, his thumb pressing in, pulling at her unbelievably full lower lip, and he felt her shift under him.

He knew what that shift meant even before her voice came at him, breathy, “Another go?”

He replaced his thumb with his lips. “Yeah, another go.”

“So soon?” She sounded disbelieving.

“You’re gonna have to work me up, lady, but… yeah. Soon as you’re ready, my mouth wants more of that pussy.”

She wanted that, too. He knew it because her body trembled under his.

“Yeah, I’m, um… good for another go,” she told him, her sweet voice still breathy.

“Then don’t move.” He pressed his lips to hers before he lifted his head. “Gotta hit the can and I’ll be back.”

“I won’t move,” she whispered.

She better not. If she did, he’d find her and haul her back. He didn’t care if she beamed her ass to Mars.

Fuck.

Complicated.

He knew it and didn’t give a fuck as he slid out of her, kissed her throat, feeling her skin, smelling her scent, and rolled off her and the bed so he could make his way to the bathroom to get rid of his condom.

When he got back, she hadn’t moved, but seconds later, she did because he moved her.

He parted her legs, swung them over his shoulders and didn’t hesitate a second before he dipped his face into pure honey.

* * *

Hop exited the bathroom and saw Lanie sitting on the side of his bed, her back to him, putting on her bra.

“What the fuck you doin’?” he growled and, shit, that was it. He couldn’t deny it. Even he heard it.

He growled.

She twisted and he felt her eyes on him in the dark.

“Ty-Ty and Tack are down the hall. They won’t come up for air until the morning but it’s almost morning so I should be gone by then.”

“You’re not goin’,” he informed her, putting a knee to the bed and moving her way.

“I’m… oof,” she puffed as he hooked her at the belly, yanked her back onto the bed, and rolled on top of her. She blinked up at him through the dark and finished, “not?”

“Not done with you,” he informed her.

“You’re…” again with the breathy voice, something he felt in his gut, chest, and dick, “not?” and again with the disbelieving.

Totally disbelieving.

“I’m not,” Hop confirmed.

“Is that even,” a pause then, “possible?”

“Is what possible?” he asked.

“Three times in an, erm… night?”

Obviously, Belova wasn’t only messed up, fucked up and stupid, he'd clearly had no stamina, which was fucking insane. A ninety-year-old man had a shot at that beauty, he’d find a way to get it up and do it repeatedly even if it killed him.

“Yeah it’s possible.”

Hop watched her head tilt on the pillow. “I… No offense, Hop, but I don’t believe you.”

Fucking excellent.

He slid his hands up her sides as he dropped his mouth to hers. “Right. Good, then, babe. I get to prove it to you.”

Close up, he watched her eyes get wide.

“Wow,” she whispered against his lips.

“Don’t say that now,” he ordered. “You can say that later, like you did after I did that thing with my fingers the second time.”

Her body shifted under his, her chest pressing up; she remembered something he knew she wouldn’t soon forget and she repeated a whispered, “Wow.”

He grinned against her mouth and promised, “I’ll give you wow.”

“You’ve already given me three wows,” she reminded him.

“Four,” he corrected.

“Oh yeah,” she murmured, her hands moving light down the skin of his back. “I forgot that one because it came so close on the heels of that other one.”

Her hands made it to his ass so he decided their conversation was over, and to communicate that to Lanie, he asked, “Are we gonna keep talkin’ or do you want wow?”

She moved her head, sliding her lips from his, down his cheek to his jaw and finally his ear.

Once they were there, she murmured, “Give me wow.”

With his mouth at her neck, he trailed it down to her collarbone then engaged his tongue and, after, taking his time and a lot of it, he gave her wow five and six.

* * *

Hop came out of the bathroom to see Lanie on her feet on the other side of the bed, panties on, hands twisted behind her back putting her bra on. Again.

He didn’t say a word. He prowled to her, reached out an arm the second he was close, yanked her to him and fell to his back in the bed, taking her down with him.

“Hop—” she started, pushing her weight against his arms, but he slid her off him then wasted no time rolling over her and pinning her to his bed.

“Sleep,” he ordered when he caught her eyes in the weak dawn. “After rest, I’ll get coffee, we’ll juice up, then round four.”

She blinked and breathed, “Four?”

“Got lots more I want to do to you,” he informed her and watched her eyes go soft, sexier, then her teeth came out to graze her lush lower lip, also fucking sexy, and her arms slid around him.

But she asked, “What about Tack and Ty-Ty?”

“I’ll make sure the coast is clear,” he told her.

“But they’ll see my car,” she told him.

“I’ll move it,” he offered.

Her hand slid up his back, around his shoulder and then to his neck where her thumb moved to stroke him. Her touch was light but fuck, it felt good. He’d never had a woman touch him in an unconscious way like that, just a touch, a stroke, giving something that meant nothing at the same time doing it without thinking about it meant everything.

Shit.

Complicated.

“This is just supposed to be one night,” she reminded him quietly but he saw it in her eyes. She didn’t even try to hide it. She’d bitten off more than she could chew.

He had too and he was nowhere near done eating.

She was cute. She was sweet. She was hot. She was better than he expected and he’d expected her to be pretty fucking good. All that wrapped in a package that gorgeous?

Yeah.

He was nowhere near done eating.

“Change of plans. A night and a morning and, maybe, an afternoon and, possibly, another night,” he amended and her eyes got softer as her hand slid up to cup his jaw.

“I have to work,” she told him.

“Call off,” he told her.

“I can’t. I own the joint.” She explained something he knew, that she ran her own advertising agency. “And things are a bit crazy.”

Things were always crazy for Lanie. The woman lived crazy. She thrived on it. If there wasn’t crazy, she stirred it up because she couldn’t breathe without it.

“Babe,” he pressed his body into hers, “told you, got more I want to do to you.”

He felt her shiver but her lips whispered, “Hop, I don’t—”

He cut her off with a quick kiss then lifted his head and asked, “Where are your keys?”

“We shouldn’t sleep together. Sleeping is bad. Sex is good, sleeping together is something else,” she stated and she was right.

He just didn’t care.

“Where are your keys?” he asked.

“Hop—”

“Lady, we’re not sleeping, we’re resting then we’re fucking some more. Last time I’ll say it. Not done with you, got things I want to do to you and I’m doin’ them. Now, where… are… your… keys?”

She stared up at him, her gaze hot, her body bothered, shifting under his, and she whispered, “Jeans pocket.”

Stretching out to reach a hand to the floor, he grabbed her jeans, got in the pocket and yanked out her keys. Once he had them in hand, he went back to her and kissed her. He took his time, and it was wet, deep, and fucking brilliant.

When she was holding on tight and kissing him back like she never wanted it to end, he ended it. Lifting his lips to her forehead, he touched them there then dipped his chin and looked into her eyes.

“Rest, honey. I’ll move your car and be back.”

“Okay,” she agreed quietly.

He touched his mouth to hers, rolled off, grabbed his jeans, a tee, pulled on socks and his boots and made his way to the door. He turned back before he slid through the still mostly closed door.

She was curled in an “S” in his bed, pillow to her chest, cheek resting on it, arms around it, hair everywhere. Her bare back was exposed and he could see one leg and her ass in red lace panties. Eyes on him.

Fucking gorgeous, every inch, and she tasted and felt as good as she looked.

She grinned.

Gorgeous.

He returned her grin, slid through the door and went after her car.

When he got back, she was dead to the world.

He took off his clothes, dropped them to the floor and slid into bed beside her. Carefully, he turned her into his arms.

She didn’t wake. She just cuddled closer, her arm snaking across his stomach then holding tight, her torso pressing into his, her knee cocked and resting on his thigh.

This felt good, too.

She was right. They shouldn’t sleep together. Sleeping suggested something more. A kind of togetherness neither of them wanted. Sleeping like this with her, it feeling so good; it was, with everything else, enough to make you want a fuckuva lot more.

So it was good, Hop thought, that they weren’t sleeping, they were just resting.

On that thought, he fell asleep, Lanie curved close and held tight in his arm, her perfume all over his sheets.

* * *

Three hours later, Hop woke.

Lanie’s perfume was still all over his sheets.

Lanie just wasn’t in them.

* * *

That night Hop was stretched out on the fluffy cushion on the lounge chair in her courtyard, feet crossed at the ankles, eyes trained to the back door of the garage.