Illicit Senses (Illicit Minds Book 1)

by Rebecca Royce

  She closed her eyes and arched her neck until her head hit the wall, giving him a completely uninhibited view of her throat, and the mark he had created moments earlier. If he could, he would capture her in the moment with a camera so he could see her like that for all time, totally unreserved, exposed and gorgeous.

  He tugged at the blouse that was tucked into her pants, realizing with a laugh that he’d never get it over her head. The buttons were going to have to be undone. “I’ll help you.” She started on the top set while his shaking hands went to the bottom. It was fast work, but it still felt like an eternity. She pulled the shirt off her shoulders and exposed the tan cotton bra beneath. Over the years, Spencer had seen all sorts of sexy lingerie, but he would swear until he took his last breath that there was nothing hotter than Addison’s sensible beige bra.

  “Now you.” She tugged on his shirt. Reaching down, he pulled it quickly over his head. Only her bra separated the top halves of their bodies now, and it was still too much clothing. Not bothering to unhook it, he reached inside and took one of her glorious breasts into his hand.

  It fit perfectly, and he squeezed it, memorizing the feel of her. “You know, Addison, I’ve been checking out your figure almost constantly for two days now, and I had no idea you were so well-endowed.”

  Her laughter was pure heaven, something between a giggle and a snort but still totally feminine. “It’s a breast-reducing bra; it makes me look smaller.”

  “Why in God’s name would you want to do that?” He could barely think given the circumstances, but he wasn’t sure that even stone cold sober he could have made sense of what she’d said.

  “It doesn’t work to be jiggling around in the boardroom. No one takes you seriously.”

  “Damn.” He wanted her in his mouth, immediately. “Could you?”

  “I’ll get it.”

  In a maneuver he knew only women could do, she reached behind her back and undid her bra. Sliding it off with her left hand, she threw it on the floor.

  His breathing was rough as he regarded her naked breasts. Trying to swallow, he wasn’t surprised by the lump in his throat. “We need to move to the bed or I’m going to take you against the door.”

  “I’ve never been taken against a door.” She chewed on her lower lip. “Maybe our first time we should try for the bed.”

  He picked her up in his arms and carried her across the room to what the institution called a comfortable bed. He laid her down, giving in immediately to the almost overwhelming need to suck on her breasts. Her nipples were pink and erect as they peeked up at him.

  Sucking hard, he heard her gasp. “Too hard? Too much?”

  “Not nearly.”

  He said a silent prayer of relief. Nice women didn’t usually go to bed with him. Spencer had no idea whether what he did was what Addison would like. She pulled on his nape, urging him back to the gloriousness of her right breast. He laughed, a low sound, and happily obliged her.

  She arched underneath him as he suckled and nipped her areola. “I can see why you have a fan club.”

  He stopped. “What?”

  “Tara said there are hordes of women wanting a romp with Spencer Lewis and you never have trouble finding girls.”

  “Tara is full of shit.” And he wasn’t going to discuss other women. “You’re the only woman I’ve brought here. No one comes to my room.”

  “Why me?”

  “Don’t you know, Addison?”

  Instead of answering him, she reached up and met him mouth to mouth, hard, biting his bottom lip before she let go. God, this woman was hot. His groin was miserably uncomfortable as it strained against his pants.

  As if reading his mind, Addison cupped him on the outside of the fabric. He hissed and grabbed her hand. “Do that again and I’m gone before we even get my pants off.”

  “Really? Is that usual for you? I don’t have all that much experience, to tell the truth. This has already gone on longer than most of my sexual experiences.”

  “Addison Wade, there is nothing ‘usual’ when it comes to you, and I don’t want to think of you ever having other sexual partners.”

  She blushed, and he wanted to crow. “Do you have a… a condom?”

  He nodded, relieved that she’d thought of it.

  “Yes, in the nightstand.”

  He rolled off her, and she gasped and grabbed her head. Immediately, he was concerned. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s like my condition surged. I was fine—feeling great, actually—and then you rolled off me and everything hurt.”

  She had no more said those words than the same thing happened to him. Doubling over, he grasped his head. What the hell was wrong? Sitting up, he reached out and touched Addison, immediately relieved when the pain stopped. Realization dawned on him slowly as his head cleared. “It’s a psychic thing. We’re connecting—like we did in dark space—and it’s not finished, so it hurts.”

  Addison narrowed her eyes. “Spence, are you saying we have some sort of psychic blue balls thing going on here that can only be fixed by consummation?”

  He nodded. “I don’t know anyone I can ask about this, but I would say that, yes, that’s correct.”

  “Well, then, get the damn condom. I’m desperate for you, evidently on many levels.”

  Grinning, he kept his hand on her arm as he reached into the drawer in the nightstand. “Got it.”

  He found her mouth again as he pulled on her pants with his free hand, removing them with three swift tugs. Her underpants matched her bra, and he groaned at his silly excitement over the whole thing. Maybe in a different world he could have introduced her to black lace and leather. What the hell—he could always imagine her in them.

  She tugged at the button on his jeans, then pulled them down until they were around his knees. Freed from his painful confinement, he moaned his pleasure into her mouth and was rewarded with a fierce thrust of her tongue. Her hands roamed his body, pausing to brush gently over his chest hair.

  Getting her panties down and away awarded him a chance to look at her shapely legs, slender and muscular. He wondered if she worked out; she had the legs of a runner. He nipped the inside of her thigh.

  Thought started to fail him. Only single words filled his brain. Hot. More. Yes. God. Please. She seemed just as enthralled, arching her back until only his body on top of her kept her from falling off the bed.

  She tugged at his boxer shorts, freeing him completely, and took him in her hands. He thought he might die from the pleasure of it. If they’d had many times together ahead of them, he would have let her keep stroking him. Her face showed she was enjoying it. He could think of only two things sweeter than letting her bring him to release with her hands, and that was letting her do it with her hot mouth or coming inside her tight, warm core.

  “Stop.” He shoved her hand away. She pouted, and he grinned. Sex had always been intense for him, never funny. Addison had a way of making it both. “I won’t make it, Addy. Our first time I need to be inside you—deep inside you.”

  He loomed over her, taking in the exquisite sight of her nakedness, and realized why people created artwork. They were inspired by the perfection that he’d only ever witnessed in her.

  She grabbed the condom package from his hand and tore it open. His hands shook so much he was glad she’d had the foresight to think about it. Pushing him back a little, she rolled the condom onto him. No longer just a means to an end, it was the single most erotic image he’d ever seen. Promising himself they’d make love at least once more so he could take the time to taste her sweet juices without the risk of embarrassing himself by coming early, he leaned over her.

  Gently, he entered her. She was tighter than he could ever have dreamed. She sucked in her breath, and he paused to let her adjust to the size of him. “You okay?”

  “Don’t stop.” Her voice was a whisper.

  “Just breathe for a second. We’re in no hurry here.” He hoped.

  She nodded, her eyes ha
lf closed. “I’m okay.”

  Moving slowly, he fitted himself inside her, and for a second, he couldn’t move. It was heaven. Like her lips and her breasts, the inside of Addison fit him like a glove. It was akin to… coming home. Perhaps he’d waited his whole life for that moment. He could feel her, and not just physically. How could he not have noticed what was happening with his Condition? She was there, psychically in his mind. They were connected. It wasn’t a pure mind-merge—he didn’t even know if such a thing was possible—but he knew she was inside his mind as surely as he knew his internal dialogue existed. No wonder it had made their heads throb when he’d stopped.

  “Can you feel me?”

  “In my body and my mind. Are you doing that?” Her voice, when she spoke, had taken on an even huskier sound.

  “I think you are.”

  Then he moved, and all thought ceased. Lost to the sensation of Addison’s essence joining his body, in his soul, in his mind, he could think of nothing else but bringing them both the release they craved. Her body worked in rhythm with his, her hips arching to his every thrust. She groaned, and it turned into a moan.

  He covered her mouth with his, letting his desire lose itself inside her.

  The pressure built. It had never been so intense. Never. He hadn’t known it could be. Colors crossed in front of his eyes, and he reached down to touch Addison’s mouth with his hand. She bit his finger. He called out her name.

  She was his.

  Addison threw her head back, eyes closed, and he felt her lose herself to the moment.

  One lone tear fell from his eye. How on Earth would he ever let her go? His own release overwhelmed him, and he hit the bed with a thud, managing to hold himself from collapsing entirely on top of her.

  How on Earth?

  Sixteen

  The bed was too small.

  It was the first coherent thought Addison could fathom. It was too small and there was no way, despite the sated, pleasant look on his face, that Spencer was anything but completely uncomfortable. Twin beds were not made for two grown adults to actually make love or sleep on. The making love part they’d managed, but the sleep—not that they had time for that—was going to prove to be more difficult.

  The room smelled like cleaning products, and the amount of sunlight that slipped underneath the shaded window illuminated tiny dust particles floating in the air around them.

  The fact that she could even think about sleeping filled her with utter remorse. She was supposed to be completely focused on Jeremy, and she’d just shared the most pleasurable experience of her life with a man who was so delectable, she wanted to eat him like a chocolate bar. She closed her eyes in shame. What kind of aunt was she?

  Spencer ran his hand through her hair and hoisted her up. She opened her eyes questioningly until she realized he was placing her on top of him so that her back lay on his stomach. After they’d resettled, with both his arms around her, he kissed the top of her head.

  “Penny for your sad thoughts.”

  “How do you know they’re sad?”

  “I’m not the only one who wears what they’re thinking all over their face.”

  She could have told him how wrong he was. She could hide things away so deeply no one would know what she was thinking, but he’d correctly judged her mood, so she wasn’t going to argue the point.

  Addison took a deep breath, enjoying his heady masculine scent so close to her body. “I’m wondering what kind of horrible person I am that I just shared the premiere sexual encounter of my life, while my nephew is missing and maybe suffering somewhere.”

  Her eyes filled with tears at the thought. Little blond Jeremy with his adult eyes that told the world he’d seen death at too young an age. He hadn’t been there when Jeanne, his mother, had died. They’d gone to tell him, and at just a year old, he’d already seemed to know. Addison had played it off in her head at the time as just part of the strangeness of the experience, but now, in retrospect, she should obviously have focused more on some of Jeremy’s early eccentricities.

  “We’re going to find his location tonight.” Spencer said it with such confidence and assurance that she believed him.

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve assembled the right team. After dinner, I’ll let them know what’s going on and they’ll help us get him back.”

  “Even Tara?” Addison would rather walk on nails than ask that woman for help.

  “She’ll be useful in the actual recovery. Besides, she’s feeling guilty; it’s a good time to get her to do what I want.”

  “That’s awfully pragmatic of you, Spencer.” He was usually so black and white, so cut and dry. This seemed more like something she would do.

  “Must be all the time I’m spending in the company of a certain blonde-haired Wade.” As he spoke of her hair, he ran his fingers through it, causing shivers to travel her spine.

  He cleared his throat. “Can I ask you about your family?”

  She felt her emotional guards click into place. It was always a tricky subject with anyone, and even though Spencer said he wasn’t holding her accountable for being a Wade, she still wasn’t convinced that was one hundred percent true.

  “Sure.” She knew her tone had become as cold as ice, but she couldn’t help it.

  He rubbed her shoulders firmly with his big hands. “Relax—this isn’t about your grandfather. I want you to tell me about your parents and your sister.”

  Swallowing, she tried to ignore the resurgence of her tears. When was the last time she’d talked to anyone about her parents? “Um, they’re dead.”

  “I know that.” He sighed. “How did they die?”

  “Jeanne was killed in a skiing accident. She took a bad fall.” She looked down at her hands. “Into a tree.” Addison could still see her sister’s neck as she lay by that tree. For a moment, she’d looked like she was sleeping, but no one’s neck twisted that way and left them alive to tell the tale. Immediately, she’d known her baby sister was dead.

  Her hands had shaken as she’d dialed on her cell phone for help. It had been so cold that day, below zero on top of the slope, but Addison had felt instantly hot. She’d had to pull off most of her outdoor clothing by the time ski patrol had arrived. The sound of the sirens still followed her into her dreams.

  “Were you with her when she fell?” He’d started drawing lines on her stomach with his fingertips, his arms wrapped around her, and his voice was low and soothing.

  “No. She was so much faster than me.” She grinned as the memory hit her. “She used to say I poked down the hill instead of skiing, but I never liked speed as much as she did.”

  “I’ve seen the way you handle that car of yours; she must have been insane.”

  She laughed. How could she be talking about this and feeling okay at the same time? “Driving is different. It’s like boating. I can go fast as long as it’s not my own body I’m using for propulsion.”

  “And you really have no idea who Jeremy’s father is?”

  She shook her head. “For someone as open as Jeanne, she was completely guarded on that subject, absolutely refused to tell us who he was. I was hurt for a while about it. We were so close, and then she went away to work in England, came back pregnant, had the baby, and never discussed it, not even with me.”

  “But then Jeremy came, and you really didn’t care anymore.”

  “Exactly.”

  He squeezed her shoulders again. “And your parents?”

  “When I was ten, they were both killed in a plane crash over the Atlantic. They never found the wreckage. Jeanne sat by the window for a week, convinced they were going to show up, but I knew they were gone.”

  “You don’t live with illusions. Even when you’re acting like you’re not Conditioned, you know you’re pretending. You’re not the kind of woman who deludes herself.”

  “How do you know me so well?” She’d never even thought of herself the way he’d just described, but he was completely correct
—she couldn’t live in the world of make-believe. It didn’t suit her.

  Gently, he bit her shoulder, and she squealed. “I just do, gorgeous lady.”

  “Why the questions about my family?”

  “It’s been sort of eating at me that we don’t know who his father is and that Jeanne is dead. Then I started wondering about your parents after you told me about your father teaching you to do your ridiculous shielding.”

  Addison rolled her eyes. “Okay, so I suppose you could teach me to do a better one?”

  “In a heartbeat. But I’m not sure what to do with your Conditioned power. You were in my head while I was inside you.”

  “And that’s not standard Conditioned stuff?”

  “Not for me, and not that I’ve ever heard of.”

  “Great, just another way I’m strange and different.”

  He rolled her over until she was beneath him again. His body was heavy, and she loved the feel of him there. They only had a short amount of time together. She’d take any physical contact she could get.

  “Why does it have to be about you at all? Maybe it’s about us.”

  “That’s a nice thought.” She reached up to grasp his cheek, feeling the scratchy sensation of his five o’ clock shadow. His facial hair came in slightly darker than the hair on top of his head, more of a brownish-blond as opposed to the nearly golden locks that hung down in front of his eyes, and which she’d grown so fond of. “But let’s face it, it’s probably about me if it’s never happened to you before.”

  “Well, you’re not going to experiment with any other Conditioned guys to see if it happens again; therefore, this might be a question we never know the answer to.”

  She laughed. “Your eyes are doing that swirly thing again.”

  “I think it’s just in your imagination.”

  “You said something about my parents and my lack of shields and whatnot.” Lying beneath him, she stretched so she could feel his body even tighter against hers.