Complete Bliss (a Her Billionaires novella #3) by Julia Kent

feral touch. By the time his hands cradled her face for a kiss that tasted like her, like rain, like everything, she was ready to have him inside her.
    More than ready.
    Always thinking ahead, she thought as Alex turned away and gave her a spectacular view of an ass that was either forged in a Bessemer furnace or hand-carved by a sculptor. The condom he put on made her smile. No babies.
    Not yet.
    His touch was more insistent this time, her last view of him fleeting but unfurling a rosebud of need inside, his wet hair and determined, dark look making him dangerous. A force of nature. Her dangerous force of nature, of course, but as he centered her and lifted one leg into place for her, his shaft sliding in from behind and making her core grab hold of him like a velvet glove, she wanted danger.
    Wanted him .
    Her fingers curled in on the tile, eyes unfocused and body one cloud of wet, hot skin, pumping blood and tingling with the kinetic frenzy of having Alex behind her, all muscle and flow. He did all the work, and that was just fine, a tacit agreement that was forged through time. You do the work this time; I’ll ride you tonight…
    Their climax hit within three breaths, smashing them against the tile wall, their ability to calibrate it swept away by the mind-blowing, involuntary nature of impulse, biology, and release. She screamed, the sound guttural and base, low in her throat but raw, as Alex murmured her name over and over in her ear, the rasp muted by the shower spray and steam that applauded and shouted “Bravo!” at their performance.
    Gasping, she slumped against the shower wall, Alex behind her, the wet hair on his thighs prickling her ass, the feel alien and intriguing.
    “Too bad we can’t have porch sex again,” he said as she turned off the shower and slid back the curtain, reaching for two towels. Handing one to him, she paused for a moment to marvel at the casual domesticity of it all. Shower sex. A towel offered as if it were so natural. Part of the flow of time and building a life with another human being, to share for decades and beyond, all the way until the fire of mortality was gone, and the soul moved on.
    Deep in her pensive moment, she missed Alex’s comment. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Penny for your thoughts?”
    “They’re worth way more than that,” she said with a funny laugh, a sound choked with emotion. He had a radar when it came to her, which only made the moment more infused with emotion. Two days. He’d lived here for two days and already she was thinking about forever.
    Abstract forever and real-life forever were two very different concepts.
    So far she thoroughly enjoyed both.
    “You have that look in your eyes,” he said in that warm, whiskey-laden voice that was so smooth it made her wet. The man could recite the Physician’s Desk Reference manual and she’d be writhing in sexual ecstasy in minutes. 
    “What look? The crazy cat-lady look?” As if on command, her skittish cat, Crackhead, darted out from underneath the couch and fled into the sanctuary of her—um, their —bedroom, ensconced under the bed, two shining orbs staring at them.
    “Crackhead will never get used to me,” Alex sighed. 
    “Don’t make me choose between the two of you,” she joked. Alex gave her a sour face and disappeared into the kitchen, and from the sounds of it, he was brewing coffee.
    A woman could love this man deeply. And she did.
    Josie finished toweling off and walked naked into the bedroom, rummaging through her dresser for clothes. A second dresser, one that didn’t match ( and yet belonged there ), rested under the window across from hers. Alex’s meager furniture had fit in so well with her eclectic possessions that it was creepy. Creeptastic, in an overly perfect kind of way. As if he were made for her. Even his coffee mug set with the little wooden stand matched the one she had found at a yard sale a few months ago.
    Creepy.
    “You look like you want to bolt