God. God. Foreman's eyes closed, his finger scrabbled on the edge of the dresser, and his knees shook as he forced himself to stay on his feet. He couldn't think, couldn't even move except to arch forward, letting Amber suck and stroke him through his orgasm. Trembling with aftershocks, with the clear and present memory of pleasure in his skin and muscles, Foreman opened his eyes slowly. Every nerve ending tingled. He could feel the brush of his eyelashes against his cheeks, the slide of breath in his throat. "Yeah," he said. He smiled lazily, certain that anything he said would only build up Amber's ego, but hell, he'd done more than like it, he'd practically come undone under the tight heat of her lips. "C'mere."

Amber's skin had cooled, from standing naked with her hair still damp. Foreman could feel the warmth of his heartbeat in his skin, and he wrapped his arms around her, absorbing the chill from her, rubbing his hands down her back to heat her with friction. He'd forgotten any concern about keeping his sweat off her; he wanted to rub himself all over her, smell himself on her hours later. Wanted to touch her for the sheer, absorbing gratification of having her close, thanking her wordlessly for what she'd done. "Must be trying to kill me," he murmured, his tender smile teasing her. "So good."

When Amber kissed him, Foreman answered with just as much need. Even though he'd come, the urge to enjoy her and share his sense of luxury and satisfaction was still strong. This time he wanted to give what Amber liked, and if she'd learned him down to the last detail, then he'd done the same, and he encouraged her, with lips and tongue, to demand more. He cupped her ass and pulled her against him, wanting her close. Geoffrey could use up all the damn hot water in the house, because Foreman was right where he wanted to be.