Hump Day: Helena Hunting’s I Flipping Love You

A sexy contemporary romance, set in the Hamptons, with a house-flipping subplot? Sounds like open-kitchen heaven to us! Helena Hunting‘s latest, the RT Top Pick! I Flipping Love You (um, the greatest title), stars competing house flippers Pierce and Rian. Although in the steamy scene we’ve got for you today, you’ll see they do get along in some areas … Happy Hump Day, all!

PIERCE

Dusk has settled, sending a gray cast over the beach and darkening the water. Rian stumbles and then shrieks. She flails, her vigor creating a wide splash radius that manages to reach me. “Something’s touching me!”

It’s too dark to see what it is, so I drop the bags on the beach and rush to remove my shoes.

“Ow! Oh my God! I don’t know what that is! What if it’s a shark? I stepped on something slimy and it’s moving!”

I laugh. She’s standing in less than a foot of water. There’s no way it’s a shark, at least not one that could actually do any damage. It’s more likely something harmless, or a jellyfish at the very worst.

She launches herself at me as soon as I’m close enough. She’s not all that graceful about it, and her aim is off, so I have to rush to catch her before she falls face-first into the shallow water. She scales me, wrapping her legs around my waist while slapping at her ankle. Her chosen position isn’t a great one, my right arm is pinned to my side—by her crotch.

She’s a lot stronger than she looks, considering the way she’s hanging off me. The side of her face is pressed against my chest as she reaches around to pull at whatever has her so tangled up. She sets me off balance as she continues to kick and flail, causing us to both go down.

I spin so I’m the one who lands on my back in about six inches of water. She drops onto my chest with a grunt. “I got it!” she yells, victorious, thrusting her arm in the air.

I check out the offending attacker. “Some lethal seaweed you got there, huh?”

She glances at the green slippery leaves in her hand and frowns, then looks down at me, still half lying in the water. My pants and shirt are soaked through the back. Her jeans are wet, and her shirt is splotchy with water.

She cringes and bites her lip, one hand planted on my chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“You know, if you wanted to get your hands on me, all you had to do was ask. You didn’t need to pretend you were being eaten by the plankton.”

“That wasn’t . . . I didn’t mean to . . .” She doesn’t make a move to get up, despite the way the tide rushes in rhythmic sweeps every few seconds, covering her calves and licking at my elbows.

Now that I have her this close and unguarded, I’m fully prepared to take advantage of the situation. I sit up in a rush, upsetting her balance once again. She grabs my shoulders as I bring a knee up to prevent her from toppling backward, and wind an arm around her waist.

We’re face-to-face. Her eyes lock on mine, full lips parted. I want to know what they feel like. I want to find out if she kisses like she’s fighting or submitting. Or maybe both.

I brush her cheek with mine, breathing her in, mouths close but not touching She stills. I wonder what’s going through her head in that suspended moment. Whatever the conflict, she must resign herself because the hand on my chest slides into the wet hair at the nape of my neck and she turns in instead of away, nipping at my bottom lip.

First kisses are powerful. This imperfect situation has all the right components. Romantic with a setting sun backdrop and a beach—not ideal that I’m mostly soaking wet, but definitely memorable.

Her lips part in expectation, but I don’t claim her mouth. Not yet. Instead, I sweep my lips along the edge of her jaw. She shivers, fingers flexing against the back of my neck, nails biting in as she tips her head back, exposing the long, gentle line of her throat. I run my nose down the expanse and press my lips against the sensitive space where her neck meets her shoulder.

Threading my fingers through the long silky strands, I cup the back of her head so I can adjust the angle. I nibble along her throat until my lips are almost at her ear and suck on the sensitive skin there, smiling at her soft gasp.

“Rian.”

She makes a sound, more of a moan than anything, really.

“I’d like to kiss that pretty mouth of yours.”

I get another moan, this one lower, and she attempts to turn toward me.

I duck my head, lips moving along her collarbone and up the other side of her throat. Then I follow the edge of her jaw, slow, soft brushes interspersed with light nibbles the closer I get to her chin.

She must realize I’m not rushing this, because she stops trying to twist her head toward my mouth. Instead, she readjusts her position, settling her weight on my thighs, edging closer until her chest meets mine. One hand stays against the nape of my neck, while the other begins to wander, sliding down my bicep. I feel a slight squeeze before it drifts along my forearm to where my hand rests on the dip in her waist.

Her pinkie slips under mine, possibly in a subtle attempt to encourage me to touch more of her. While that’s definitely something I want to do—eventually—I also don’t want her attention divided.

I want her wanting.

Drawing out the anticipation heightens the experience, it’s a sensual torment, a sensory override. I need her focus on my mouth, on where it is and where she wants it to be.

When I finally get to her chin, I bite, not hard, but enough that she sucks in a breath. I tip her head down and flick my tongue out, skimming her top lip. Her hand tightens on the back of my neck again and I loosen my fingers in her hair. As soon as I do, our mouths connect like two meteors colliding.

Any thought I had of finessing my way through this disappears when Rian sucks my bottom lip between hers, dragging her teeth across the skin. She presses her body against me, legs spreading wider in the sand as she shifts forward.

I’m achingly hard. I’ve been halfway there since dinner. And suddenly I have friction to complement the hardness. She runs an aggressive palm up my arm and over my shoulder, fingers back in my hair. She angles her head to the side, opening wider, tongue searching for mine.

I wonder what sex with this woman would be like. Definitely not soft, she’s too much of a battle in the middle of a storm. When I finally stroke inside the warm softness of her mouth, she groans and tries to bite my tongue.

She clambers up when I retract, both hands on my shoulders in an attempt to push me back. So I grip her waist and flip her over. She sucks in a shocked gasp when she finds herself on her back in the sand and the surf.

“What the heck!” She pushes on my chest with one hand, the other arm hooks around my neck, as if she’s fighting to force me back up but keep me close at the same time. “I’m soaked!”

“Oh yeah?” I settle between her thighs, and she stops pushing away as soon as she feels me there.

“That wasn’t very nice.” A tremor runs through her.

“The part where I saved you from the dangerous seaweed, or the part where you dragged me into the water? Or are you referring to me kissing you? Because I thought that was very, very nice, actually.” I glance up when I hear voices in the distance. I didn’t realize we’d already made it back to beach house sixty-nine. It’s only a hundred feet away, to the right. …

“We should get you out of those wet clothes.”

“What about your wet clothes?” Her grin turns saucy.

“We should get me out of them too, I suppose.” I hadn’t planned on taking this much further than a kiss, but my hard-on seems to have other plans.

“Come on.” I grab her hand, dropping the takeout and my messenger bag on the kitchen counter before I lead her down the hall to the laundry room. My logic: While our clothes dry, Rian and I can get to know each other better— with our hands and mouths.

Typically I enjoy working my way up to sex with a woman. I don’t get a thrill out of one-night stands. I like prolonged anticipation, drawing it out over several dates. A long kiss good night, a message that I enjoyed myself, a call to set up another date, maybe rounding second and third base after a nice romantic dinner, and then eventually, they’re the ones begging me to get naked. This isn’t ego talking, and it isn’t a game—it’s human reaction to delayed gratification and attraction. Rian is proving to be a challenge, because all I can think about is getting my mouth on hers again and my hands on her skin. Forget prolonging anticipation.

As soon as we pass through the door, she closes it without turning on a light.

Rian slips a hand under my shirt. “My God, there are so many ridges under here. Where’s the light?”

I slap the wall a couple of times until we’re both blinded.

Rian glances around and frowns. “This isn’t my bedroom.”

“You thought I was going to take you straight to your bedroom?”

Her cheeks flush. “Uh . . . I guess?”

“What did you think I meant when I said we should get you out of those wet clothes?”

“That you want to have sex with me.”

That is a definite want. Maybe even broaching need at this point. “I couldn’t just be worried about the way your teeth are chattering?” I pinch her chin between my thumb and finger to stop it from trembling. “And your lips are turning blue.”

“Possible. But considering you’re rocking a killer hard-on, I’m going to say this isn’t just about being chivalrous.”

I glance down at the front of my pants. She has a point. I’m definitely hard and it’s very obvious. “It’s partly about chivalry.”

“Right. So dry clothes. I’ll help you out of your wet ones, then.” She resumes her mission to pull my shirt over my head. She’s quite a bit shorter than I am, despite being a tall girl, so I drop to my knees on the mat in front of the washing machine so she can get it over my head.

“So helpful,” she murmurs.

“Just making it easier for you, being chivalrous, as it were.”

She drops my shirt on the floor, her lip caught between her teeth as she runs her fingers through my hair. When she reaches the nape of my neck, she drags her nails gently over my shoulders. “Even your muscles have muscles. It’s like the big ones are having sex with each other and making new little ones under there.”

I chuckle. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

“Definitely. Your body is a masterpiece.”

“So is yours, and I’m looking forward to getting my hands on every single inch of it if you’re interested.” I grab the shirt from the floor, lean to the right and flick the dryer door open so I can toss it inside.

I settle my palms on her hips. “You help me and I help you?”

“Sounds very equitable.”

I slip my hands under her shirt, fingertips dragging along her sides as the fabric rises over her stomach and I stand. Rian’s eyes are on mine as she lifts her arms for me, and I draw her shirt over her head.

Her bra is exactly what I’d expect from her, bright green with white polka dots. I trace the edge that dips into the valley. “I like this a lot.”

“My cleavage or the bra?”

“Both.”

She steps up and flicks the button on my pants. Then motions to her waist. “Your turn.”

I slip one finger into the waistband of her jeans, and I flick the button open. She whimpers, then I drop my hand. “Your turn.”

She lowers my zipper with the same slow deliberation. “Oh.” She bites her lip.

I’m wearing pale boxers. My pants are soaked. The fabric underneath is transparent and conforms to the contours of my erection. I reach between her hands, still gripping my pants, and pull her zipper down, then fold back one side of the fabric. Her panties are black satin.

“I wasn’t planning to show this stuff off tonight.” She motions to her bra and her panties.

“Would they match if that was part of your plan?”

She shrugs. “Maybe? I guess it depends on how much effort I feel like putting in.”

“Did they match when you went out with Terry?”

“No. And don’t bring him up again, especially not when I’m about to take your pants off.” Her tongue peeks out as she pushes my pants over my hips.

Rian dips a single finger into the waistband of my boxers. I grab her wrist before she can get in there and fold her arm behind her—gently, of course. I walk her backward until her butt hits the washing machine and I’m pressed against her. I plant a palm on either side of her and drop my head until my mouth is at her ear. “It’s not your turn.”

Like mine, her wet jeans stick to her panties, almost taking them along for the ride.

I’m not ready for her to be naked, yet. This slow foreplay is far too much fun. I adjust the panties so they’re no longer at risk of coming down with her jeans.

Inch by slow inch, I shimmy her jeans over her hips until they finally fall to the floor. My palm glides down the outside of her leg, and I sweep along the crease at the back of her knee, down her calf to her ankle, encouraging her to lift one foot, then the other so I can rid her of the denim.

While I’m crouched in front of her again, I grab my own jeans, retrieve my phone and wallet from the pocket, toss our pants into the dryer and shut the door.

Rian bites her lip. “Shouldn’t we dry everything?”

Rising again, I pause to kiss her stomach, just below her naval. “If I take off your panties and you take off my boxers, I’m going to have an awfully hard time not getting inside you.”

“And here I thought that was the point of getting naked.”

Grabbing her by the waist, I move over and set her on top of the dryer. Rian parts her legs, making room for me. I reach around to pick a setting and the dryer rumbles to life under her. Twisting her long hair around my hand, I kiss a path up her neck.

I pause at the corner of her mouth. “Rian?”

“Mmm?” Her fingertips glide over my chest, nails circling my nipples.

I lean back, taking in her parted lips, and hooded, glazed eyes. “What do you want to do while we wait for our clothes to dry?”

“Uhhh . . .” Her brow furrows.

“There are board games in the living room.” I’m playing with her, although I’d like to give her an out if she feels like she needs one.

“You think I want to hang out in my underwear and play board games with you?”

“It could be fun.”

“No, thanks.” She claps a palm against the back of my neck and pulls my mouth to hers, biting my lip.

“What do you have against board games?”

“Nothing.” She tries to slip her tongue inside my mouth, but I have her hair wrapped around my hand, which means I can prevent her from going after my mouth.

“What do you want right now?” She makes a noise in the back of her throat. The kind I associate with annoyance. “Your lips on mine. Your tongue in my mouth. Your hands on my body. The big old hard-on you’re sporting rubbing up against me.”

“That’s quite a list.”

“I thought I’d lay it all out for you. Give you the details you say you’re so fond of.”

I brush my lips over hers, unhurried despite the way her legs tighten around my waist. I keep my hands in mostly PG areas. Rian juts her chest out, trying to press it against mine. I mash my erection against the warm steel of the dryer. It prevents Rian from getting her hands on it, and Lord knows she keeps trying.

“Will you stop torturing me and touch me already!” She groans as I kiss her neck.

“I am touching you.” I run my hands up her calves and slip my fingers behind her knees, kneading there while I kiss a path along her collarbone.

“Nowhere good,” she mutters.

“You don’t think so?” I twist her palm up and press my lips to her wrist. “You don’t like this?” I brush softly along the path of veins in her forearm until I reach the crook of her arm, then I bite gently. “Or this?”

“Seriously, what the heck did you do? Take a course in erogenous zone stimulation? I have some pretty big ones that need attention, namely the two you couldn’t stop staring at the first time I met you and one between my legs.” The hand on my shoulder moves down my chest again. I catch it before she can get to my boxers.

I nab her other wrist and pin them behind her back with one hand—not hard, just firmly, so I can cup her chin in my other hand.

“What’re you doing?” She’s snappy, eyes glazed with confusion.

“Will you stop fighting me for one goddamn second and enjoy the fact that my main priority isn’t to stick my dick in you so I can get off?”

Some of the fight dies. “You don’t want to stick your dick in me?”

“Of course I do. It’s not my number one priority . . . yet.”

“Yet? So it is a priority, you’re just getting off on torturing me first?”

“I’m getting off on how worked up you are. That’s not the same thing.” I drag a single finger from her chin down her throat, between her breasts, and over her stomach, stopping when I reach black satin. I’m pretty sure she growls.

I still have her arms pinned behind her back. I drop my head at the same time as I move my other hand to her upper thigh, pressing my thumb into the junction, where the seam of her panties meets her skin. Running my nose along the edge of her bra, I ease my thumb inside her panties.

Rian sucks in a needy breath and her toes curl against my thighs.

I skim close to her clit, not making contact.

“Just touch me!”

I meet her vicious, angry gaze. “How long do you think it’ll take for me to make you come with you this worked up?”

She arches an angry, horny eyebrow. “Who says you’ll even be able to?”

RIAN

Ever say something to someone and realize you’ve set yourself up to be bested?

I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what I’ve done based on the downright evil glint in Pierce’s gloriously sultry eyes. Also, his smile is both the sexiest and scariest thing I think I’ve ever seen.

I have no idea how I managed to get myself into this situation. My hands are currently pinned behind my back while a dryer rumbles under my butt. My mostly bare butt, thanks to my thong. I mean, what in the ever-loving frack am I doing? I don’t have sex with someone I’ve only been out to dinner with once, and not even on an actual planned date.

But here I am. And here he is, looking damn well amazing in only boxers, so I guess I’m going to go with it.

I should’ve known better than to trust someone this hot, with that evil Prince Charming smile. I have a feeling this man is going to take me on a ride I’m never going to forget.

His thumb rubs back and forth along the edge of my panties. It’s simultaneously too much and not enough. My entire body is ready to explode and he’s skirting the detonator. I need him to press my button and put me out of my misery.

And then his thumb slips out from under the fabric. So of course, I struggle against his hold on my wrists, which are still pinned behind my back. Why am I letting this man get away with this? Why is this so hot?

“Stop fighting.” His mouth hovers over mine, tongue flicking out to touch my top lip before he sucks the bottom one between his teeth. At the same time, he grazes my lust button—but he does it over my stupid panties.

It doesn’t seem to matter that there’s a layer of wet satin dampening the contact. I jolt at the sensation. I also groan. Loudly.

“Does that feel good?”

“No. It felt awful. There’s too much fucking fabric in the way.” Here’s the thing about me: I don’t usually swear much. I’m pretty polite in the general sense of the word, but apparently when orgasms are withheld from me, I get a little bitchy. And sarcastic.

Pierce has the audacity to laugh. And then he goes and does it again. This time when I moan, it’s his name, and it comes out sounding somewhere between an angry growl and a whiny sob. It’s embarrassing—at least until he pushes my panties to the side and makes direct thumbto-clit contact.

Pierce finally releases my wrists. I’m about to grab hold of his shoulders for balance, but the welcome pressure between my thighs disappears.

“Lift your ass,” Pierce orders. Really, it’s the kind of firm, authoritative demand I expect from an officer of the law. So, of course I comply. I’m a law-abiding girl, after all. Unlike my hit-and-run sister.

My panties are yanked down my legs. He drags me to the edge of the dryer, slides his palms up my inner thighs, and drops to his knees.

“I have ocean vagina.” Any further protest dies when Pierce suctions himself to said vagina and he starts to swirl his tongue. And then it’s all I can do to hold onto his shoulders and enjoy every second of the ride. And ride I do. I

basically use his tongue as my personal massager until I come, and then come again. The second time I have to bite the palm of my hand to stop from screaming his name. I’m still breathing like I’ve been playing chicken with a freight train when he pushes back up to a stand.

“Please tell me you’re going to sex me now.” I’m grateful that it sounds more like a demand than a plea.

“Only because you’re so polite.” Pierce grabs his wallet from the top of the washing machine and retrieves a condom.

I make myself useful by removing my bra, then push his boxers over his hips. His erection springs free. It’s pretty damn big. Not scary-porno big, but it’s definitely in proportion with the rest of him, and it’s so . . . veiny. I have a feeling the aerodynamic qualities are going to be a serious advantage in the orgasm territory.

He flicks the condom to me and I fumble to catch it. “Wrap me up, baby.”

With his eyes on mine, he slides a finger inside me, pumping a couple of times before he adds a second one. It’s smart. He’s big. A little warm-up down there is well advised. It makes it difficult to focus, but I position the condom at the tip and grip the shaft. I smile when he groans as I roll it over the head and down the shaft.

I’m super ready for some hot sex and whatever dirtiness he wants to throw my way. He doesn’t shove his way in there, though. Instead, he runs the head up and down, around and around, teasing. After a dozen infuriatingly slow passes, the head disappears inside.

I put my hand on his chest to prevent him from going any farther. “Go slow,” I tell him. “I want to watch this happen.”

His eyes snap up to mine, hot and needy, and his jaw tics. A smirk curves up the corner of his mouth. “You really have no idea how perfect you are. And don’t worry, I want to watch me stretch you with my cock too.”

I clench at his words. “That was way dirtier than anything I would’ve said.”

“I can dial that back if you’d prefer.”

“No, thanks. I think I like it.”

Our gazes dart back down at the same time. I clamp a hand on the back of his neck and he does the same to me— except he’s far more gentle about it. We watch as he disappears inch by gloriously slow inch. I am stretched with a capital S. Maybe even all caps. Shouty ones. It looks so hot.

“Fuuuuuck.” It’s a drawn-out groan through clenched teeth. “You feel incredible.”

“Thanks, so do you.”

He laughs a little. “I can’t wait to feel you come on me.”

“Pretty sure you’re not going to have any trouble making that happen.” Not based on the way everything is tightening below the waist already.

Pierce shifts his hips back and then forward again, the tiniest little bit, the most miniscule of movements. I don’t think it can be effective at all, until he starts the same backand-forth motion and combines it with gentle, but firm, circles on my lust button. It doesn’t take long before the tightness in the pit of my stomach radiates outward and I come again. Harder than before. It’s insanity. I can’t stop moaning my appreciation through my orgasm.

Pierce lets out a triumphant groan. “Keep coming, baby. I love it.”

I’ve never been with someone who talks this much during sex. I figured it would be distracting, but it’s actually quite encouraging. I’m being praised for having an orgasm when it’s him doing all the work.

Pierce kisses me as I come down from the epic high. “Hold on, baby.” He brings my arms up behind his neck and hooks the backs of my knees into the crook of his elbows, pulling me right to the edge of the dryer. “You ready to come some more?” He winks, gives me a dirty grin, and then the real sexathon begins. All I can do—quite literally—is hold on for the ride. He manages to pound two more orgasms out of me before he comes himself.

I’m a ragdoll by the time he pulls out. I’m not even sure if my legs know what their purpose is anymore. I would like to have sex with this man for the rest of my living days. Maybe not daily, though. Every other day would probably be safer. I won’t even need boot camp if I had him on a regular basis.

“Holy crap balls.” I loosen my grip on the back of his neck. My fingers are cramped from holding on so tight, and a line of crescent-shaped marks decorate his skin. “That was—”

“Spectacular?” Pierce rolls the condom off, ties it at the end, and tosses it in the trash in the corner.

So much damn ego. I don what I hope is a bored expression and lift a shoulder. “I was going to say it was okay.”

He grins, tongue caught between his teeth. He runs his palms up the outside of my thighs. “I think you’re my new favorite person.”

I laugh. “So you have a thing for women who minimize your sexual prowess?”

“I have a thing for women with nice boobs.” He cups the right one and slides a hand into my hair. Tilting my head to the side, he kisses me, slow and sweet, discordant to the dirty sex we had.

The dryer buzzes under me, and I jump at the sound. “Wow. That’s some good timing.”

Copyright © 2018 by Helena Hunting in I Flipping Love You and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Paperbacks.

I Flipping Love You will be available in stores and online May 29. You can preorder your copy here: Amazon | BN.com | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay. And if it’s more Hump Day excerpts you’re after, we’ve got ya covered

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