Free The Hierarchy of Needs (The Portland Rebels #2) by Rebecca Grace Allen Page B

started to work herself over him, hips grinding, her hands clenched even more tightly at his shoulders. He tongued and stroked until her breathing changed, pants turning into abrupt little shudders.
    He remembered that sound.
    Scooting down slightly but never stopping the pumping motion of his hand, Dean brought his other thumb to meet it, coating the pad and running it over her clit. He knew right away when he found the right combination—it was like a gunshot, the way one touch made her go rigid and then start to thrash—and rubbed her soft flesh with quick circles, murmuring, “That’s it, honey, there you go,” until she finally cried out, shattering above him.
    It was the most goddamn beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
    Her face contorted in a mask of pleasure, she chanted his name like she couldn’t believe it was happening, too good to be real. He felt the same way, dizzy with the sight of her coming again, knowing he was the one who got her there.
    Dean watched her absorb every shiver until she slumped down, her face against his neck, her breathing fast. He slid his fingers free and brought his hand to his mouth.
    Light. Sweet. The tiniest bit salty. Just like he remembered.
    “God, Jamie. Come home with me.” He had to grit his teeth he was so hard. He needed more. More of this. More of her.
    She hadn’t heard him, though. She pawed at his chest, clumsy hands slinking lower to unbutton his fly. He was nearly deranged for her touch, but he didn’t want to keep going like this. Not hidden in the back of a bar, worrying someone could walk in at any second. He wanted to take her to his bed, spread her out and drink in every glorious inch.
    She managed to lower his zipper. He caught her hands in his.
    Jamie lifted her head, her eyebrows hunched down low. “What’s wrong?”
    “Come home with me,” he repeated, not wanting to have to figure out the why or the how or what was going to happen tomorrow. “We don’t have to…it doesn’t have to be a big thing. We can…just for tonight. Fuck .” He hooked his arms over her shoulders and pulled her down onto him, so she could feel how crazy she’d made him. “Come. Home. With me.”
    She stared at him, teeth digging into a plump lower lip.
    “Is that a good idea?” she asked. “I don’t know. I’m not thinking clearly right now.” She swayed a little, then giggled. “But I guess neither of us is, right? I mean, we’ve been drinking. This is what we do when we’re drunk.”
    All the blood that had drained from his brain rushed back into it again. He thought she’d been sober enough to make this decision, but he’d read her all wrong, too eager to take what she was offering. She had no idea he hadn’t had anywhere near as much to drink as she had, or the fact that unlike at the beach, he’d had no desire to stop.
    And now they’d gone and made a mess of things. Again.
    “I’m not drunk, Jamie.”
    “What?” A deep line dug itself between her eyes. “But I saw you. At the bar.”
    “That was my first beer. And I’d just started it.”
    She gaped at him, obviously confused. Dean sighed, his hard-on quickly subsiding. Damn it, why couldn’t he stop fucking up when it came to her?
    One of them had to start thinking clearly.
    “You’re right,” he said softly. “It’s not a good idea. I got carried away.”
    He re-buttoned his pants and shirt, then patted her hip. She shifted off his lap, wobbly like a fawn, and he helped her up as he stood. He took a minute to comb her hair through with his fingers, straightening out a few tangles he’d caused, then swept his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away any traces of what had happened. Making sure she was presentable.
    “Sean’s probably calmed down by now. You should go back inside before anyone wonders where you’ve gone.”
    “Okay.” Her eyes were two big pools of chocolate brown. She looked so flustered, so lost. It made him want to hold her and comfort her, to kiss the crown of those