A Home Like Ours by Fiona Lowe (feel good books .txt) 📕

He laughed. ‘That’s a big ask, but it’s already doing a great job. You look hot.’

A tiny part of her cringed at the juvenile compliment. The rest of her soaked it up greedily like a shrivelled sponge. ‘Thanks.’

‘Great that you could make it in after all.’ He leaned over and pressed a button on the treadmill, lowering it to the starting position. ‘How about you warm up and then we’ll do some weights, squats and lunges.’

‘Sounds good.’ She stepped up onto the flat black surface, pressed some buttons to set the speed and inclination, and grabbed the pulse bar.

‘Looks like you missed a tag.’ Zac’s fingers brushed her skin as he snapped off the offending article. ‘Don’t want you setting off the new security system in the supermarket.’

She laughed, but her pulse was jumping, the numbers leaping up fast on the screen. Horrified, she dropped her hands and gave full rein to the delicious tingles shimmering between her legs and melting her mind. As the treadmill increased its speed, she indulged in her fantasy of Zac’s fingers trailing further down her spine until they slid underneath the waistband of her tights, skimming her buttocks and—

She stumbled. Her hands shot towards the stop button and missed.

You’re falling.

She grabbed air. Her shoulder hit the belt, then her hips. A second later she was airborne and then her legs slammed into the rowing machine. Shock sucked the air from her lungs.

‘Bloody hell.’ Zac kneeled beside her. ‘Are you okay? Have you broken anything?’

She lay dazed. ‘Give me a second.’

He grabbed her water bottle. ‘Here. Drink this.’

She took a sip. As she swallowed she became aware of a dull pain on the tip of her shoulder. Hoping it was only a bruise from landing on it, she raised both arms and legs. ‘All good so far.’

‘I’ll help you sit up.’

He slid his arm around her, easing her up and positioning her against the wall. The gym swam in front of her and she dropped her head forward.

‘Should I call an ambulance?’

She shook her head. ‘I think I’m just a bit woozy from adrenaline overload. One minute I was running and the next I was flying, but not in a good way.’

Zac grimaced. ‘Can you rotate your ankles?’

She rolled them left then right and raised each leg. ‘All good. Just a few bruises.’

‘Come on then.’ He put one arm under her legs and the other around her waist and hoisted her up against his chest.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Taking you upstairs to lie down.’

She didn’t protest. This scenario, minus the bruising, was one of her favourite fantasies.

Upstairs screamed bachelor pad. Apart from one closed door, which Tara assumed was the bathroom, it was a big open living space. The empty base of a NutriBullet sat on the kitchen bench next to enough black and red canisters of muscle and fitness supplements to stock a store. A large television hung on one wall and Tara recognised the gaming device Flynn was pestering her to buy. There was no artwork on the walls, only a large planner surrounded by motivational quotes and a photoshopped photo of Zac crossing the finish line of the New York marathon with a time of 3:00.

He lowered her onto a large rumpled bed that appeared to double as a couch. The sheets smelled of Zac—musky with a tang of sweat. She breathed in deeply.

‘Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess,’ he said sheepishly. ‘Sheets were clean on yesterday.’

‘It’s fine.’ Tara found his embarrassment endearing. ‘I’m not here to rate your housekeeping skills.’

He pushed some pillows in behind her, then his face appeared in front of hers, his dark brows pulled down in concern. He gently brushed some strands of hair out of her eyes. ‘What do you need?’

Despite the niggling sense this apartment reinforced the fact that at twenty-six Zac was barely an adult, Tara didn’t hesitate. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she reached out, wrapped her hands behind his neck and pulled his face towards her. ‘You. I need you.’

His mouth curved up into a smile. It was exactly what she needed to see.

It was over a decade since she’d had sex with anyone but Jon. Back then, she’d been younger than Zac was now and she hadn’t known how to ask for what she wanted in bed. Today she knew exactly.

Closing her eyes, she blocked out the apartment and the quiet but insistent voice in her head saying, if you cross this line, there’s no going back.

Zac’s lips tasted of coffee and opened generously under hers. She tumbled headlong into wondrous, sensual heat, raiding what he offered and demanding more. She craved to consume him from tip to toe.

Her hands fluttered over his skin, glorying in the touch of muscle rippling and tensing under her palms. She whipped his singlet over his head and pressed her lips to his shoulders, his chest, then flicked his nipples with her tongue. He gasped. His heart raced, each beat slamming against her hands and matching her own.

The kiss deepened, running along her veins as fast as a flame burning a detonation cord. She was heat. She was lust. She was power. Nothing existed except the vibrating need spinning unsatiated inside her for weeks. Every muscle tightened as her body edged closer to release.

Not yet. She didn’t want to come on her own—she’d been doing that for months. She needed Zac inside her.

Panting, she pushed him down on the bed and straddled him. She pulled off her top, then turned her attention to his shorts, desperate to release the gratifying bulge in his pants. She wanted to ride him until she was flung out of herself, out of this room and out of her life.

‘Tara.’

Her hands gripped the elastic of his shorts, ready to pull.

His hands captured hers. ‘Tara.’

The combination of his tone and the weight of his hands on hers slowly penetrated her fog of arousal. She looked down into his dark eyes. They sparkled, lit