Free Dirty Little Lies by Julie Leto

drag the sleep shirt over her head. Screw the shower. She was going to bed. Without him.
    Unfortunately, standing nearly naked in front of Frankie again, watching his eyes blaze with pure lust, caused an instantaneous stirring that rushed straight to her nipples.
    When she yanked at the hem of her shirt, her breasts poked at the material, hard and tight. His gaze dropped, lingering first on the indisputable twin signs of her arousal, then sliding lower. Just a sweep of his stare and a throb bloomed to pure torture.
    “You so sure you don’t want something to soothe that ache?” he asked.
    She slinked, closer to him, feeding off the warmth she could feel sluicing off his body. Yeah, she wanted him. But he wanted her right back.
    “I was just at the hospital. Remember? With Ian? Maybe I already had my aches taken care of.”
    He captured her arm and swung her back to him, as if they’d taken the dance floor again. Pressed close against him, her body ignited. Her breath came in shallow rasps.
    “You don’t give a shit about Ian Blake,” Frankie whispered, dipping his mouth close to her ear. “Not when you can practically feel my lips on you.”
    The heat from his flesh burned into hers, taunting her with the possibilities of pleasures to come if she could just let go. Surrender. Take what he offered, what she wanted with every fiber of her soul.
    “Let me go,” she said softly.
    “No,” he replied.
    “I can make you.”
    “You won’t.”
    She tried to relax, but her body thrummed to the familiar tango she and Frankie danced, kicking out for power, swaying for control.
    “Only because I’m exhausted,” she conceded.
    “The shooter gave you a workout,” he said, slipping his hand up her arm until he could curve his fingers around her shoulder. “I know you could use a rubdown.”
    “I’ll call a masseuse!”
    “No one knows your body like I do, vidita .”
    She allowed him to prove his point, unable to resist the pleasure kneading into her body from his. He drew both hands against her shoulders, rubbing, caressing, coaxing out the stress that had tightened her to such tautness, she feared she might snap.
    She spun around, locked her arms around Frankie’s neck, and pushed him back. Not away from her. Oh, no. She kept him tight in her possession, her mouth locked with his, her body pressed fully against him so that every curve of her body, every aching muscle, every nerve ending flamed with want. His hands were instantly under her loose shirt, roaming and touching and pleasuring. When they fell back against the door, she whipped the nightshirt over her head and yanked the elastic tie from her hair.
    Frankie tore out of his clothes in record time, and without another word they clashed together. Lips roamed. Hands dipped and parted flesh. He used the door to balance their bodies, the leverage crucial as the delirium of passion overtook them. Marisela grabbed at the slick surface of the door, desperate to find something to clutch onto, finally settling on Frankie’s hair. She climbed and clawed, hot to have him inside her. When he finally pushed inside, deep and hard, her sex melted around his and her breath released in a steamy hiss.
    Marisela didn’t think, didn’t speak, didn’t try to manage more than moans of pleasure as she soaked up the sensations of his body linked to hers. They came in rapid succession, each spilling the others name into the thick, humid air.
    In a clumsy stagger, Frankie pushed away from the door. Marisela crossed her legs around his waist, hanging on as the delirium ebbed. By the time they splayed onto the bed, naked and sweaty and spent, she could barely breathe, much less keep her eyes open.
    “I don’t know why you thought this was a bad idea.”
    She stirred up enough energy to smile. “For you, sex is never a bad idea.”
    Frankie drew lazy loop-de-loops across her backside with his fingertip. “And it is for you?”
    She took a deep breath, inhaling as much of his