Flirting with Forever

by Jennifer Bernard

  He grinned and brought one of her hands to his mouth, and dropped a kiss on it. “Definitely not, but I’ll take what I can get.”

  Twenty-Six

  Chrissie took Shuri back to the boardwalk, while Ian raced back to the house and took a quick shower.

  Leaving the door open, he texted her. Come on in and lock it behind you.

  The hot water relaxed him and took away some of his nerves. Even though Chrissie was so easy to be with, getting naked with her might be a different story. He had to prepare himself for that. What if his reaction to her was so intense that he lost all his self-discipline, not to mention his focus and, well…skill?

  His sex life had gotten off to a very nerdy start, after all. In college, he’d gotten together—sort of—with Stacy, a fellow pre-med student. She’d decided they should really apply themselves to learning how to have sex. Stacy had treated it almost like a medical experiment: What feels good? What if you try this? I read about this in a book, can we do that? Should we try to have simultaneous orgasms? What if I put my finger here, is that good or gross?

  She used to show up in his dorm room with an exact idea of what she wanted to try that day. They’d do whatever it was. He’d carefully file it away for future reference. Then as soon as they were done and showered off, they’d buckle down to studying for their next exam. In some ways, the studying part didn’t feel much different from the sex part.

  When their grades started suffering, they’d put the brakes on their sexual relationship. He’d been…relieved. He’d never shaken the feeling that he was just a means to an end for Stacy.

  Since that time in college, no woman had fired him up with lust the way Chrissie did. His relationships had a certain pattern. Usually, the woman was the one who initiated things. He was generally too wrapped up in his work to notice when someone was attracted to him, and too slow about making the first move.

  Then had come the stalking incident last year. The mother of one of his young patients had become obsessed with him and stalked him all the way to Lost Harbor. She’d attacked Gretel with a gun just because Ian had a picture of her.

  That incident had changed his entire attitude about sex and women. He’d realized that he needed to be more proactive about finding the right kind of woman to be with. That was why he’d hired the matchmaker. So much for that plan; he hadn’t returned her calls in weeks.

  Because he’d met Chrissie. With Chrissie, nothing followed a pattern, and he was one hundred percent aware of her. With Chrissie, everything was different.

  And now here he was, in a shower with a hard-on, with Chrissie on the way over, and he didn’t want things to end the way they usually did.

  You spend more time with your patients than me… You’re always working… Do you even care about me?… Call me when you’re ready to open up more… Is there a surgery to make you more emotionally available?

  Just a sample of some of the accusations that had come his way at the end of a relationship.

  He rinsed the water out of his hair, feeling the grit of sand under his fingers. Somehow, Shuri had gotten beach sand in his hair. Even Chrissie’s dog made things messy.

  How could he make sure he didn’t repeat the same old patterns with Chrissie? His first idea—hold off on having sex until they knew each other better—hadn’t gone well.

  But what if plan B—surrender to their attraction and not worry about the consequences—went even worse?

  You’re overthinking, Uncle Brain. He could practically hear Bo laughing at him.

  Of course I’m overthinking it. This is important to me.

  Can’t you turn off your brain for once?

  Shaking his head at himself, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Why was he so nervous about being with Chrissie when they’d barely even kissed? Why did this feel so momentous? He needed to get ahold of himself.

  After drying off, he wrapped a towel around his hips and stepped out of the bathroom. His glasses were still fogged up, so he didn’t bother to put them on. Steam followed him out in a curling wisp, as if he were emerging from a fog bank like some kind of superhero.

  He felt like one when Chrissie let out a combination whistle-sigh as he came out of the bathroom. At least he assumed it was Chrissie; the figure in the mudroom doorway had the right shape, though without his glasses he couldn’t make out any details. She must have just arrived and gotten an eyeful before she’d even stepped all the way into the house.

  “Sorry,” he said quickly, moving back toward the bathroom.

  “You should be.” With a firm click, she closed the mudroom door behind her and folded her arms across her chest. “You really ought to do something about that towel. Total mood-killer.”

  Ian squinted at her through the cloud of steam surrounding him. He must like his showers hot. Either that or steam was pouring off him because he was so damn hot himself. His body was defined and strong, like that of a dancer, not a weightlifter. The dark curls on his chest matched the stubble always appearing on his jaw. She could tell that he swam laps because his shoulders muscles were more pronounced than she would have expected. She could picture him doing the butterfly across a shimmering blue pool, all long wingspan and bunching chest muscles.

  Without his glasses, his eyes were greener than usual, and his whole face looked different—younger and more vulnerable. He kept blinking at her, and she realized that he probably couldn’t see her very well. Was it unfair that she was taking advantage of the moment to devour his body with her eyes, from chest to flat stomach to that tempting bulge under his towel?

  Maybe she should even things up.

  She shoved her red plaid jacket off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in an eye-catching splash of red.

  “Just how nearsighted are you?” she asked him. “Can you see that I just took off my jacket?”

  “Is that what happened? I thought so, though I also considered the possibility that you were gushing blood. It’s very red.”

  She smiled as she peeled her sweater off her body. What would a gray herringbone sweater look like to someone without his glasses? Like she was shedding a cocoon? “Can you see what I just did?”

  He squinted at her. “You do look different. More white.”

  “That’s my T-shirt. No bra. I’d just gone out to walk Shuri, I wasn’t intending to see anyone.”

  “No bra? Why don’t you come a little closer or I’ll come—” He took a step toward her.

  “No,” she interrupted him. “I’m kind of enjoying this process. I figure it’s like a strip show with a very soft-focus filter. Very flattering, I assume.”

  “Yes, it is, but a giant spotlight would be good too. You’re beautiful in all degrees of focus.”

  She heard the gruffness in his voice and noticed movement under his towel. Licking her lips, she took a tiny step closer to him.

  “I’ve taken off two pieces of clothing already. And you’re still hanging onto that towel.”

  “You still have a t-shirt on. And I assume your legs aren’t green, so those must be your leggings.”

  She teased him with a smile that he possibly couldn’t see. “I forgot to mention that I’m actually a mermaid. When I’m on land my legs look green.”

  Another step closer, and she could see him start to focus on her. Now he could actually see her, she assumed, because he didn’t seem to be able to look away from her chest.

  The scent of freshly washed male skin wafted toward her. She inhaled deeply, noticing notes of unscented soap and a hint of sex. Or maybe that part was all in her imagination.

  “Come here.” The need in his deep voice sent a thrill through her.

  She stepped close enough that he could reach her, which he did immediately. He ran his hands down her arms, then back up. His hands were still warm from his shower and they felt so good on her skin that she trembled. Then, as if he couldn’t wait another moment, he cupped her breasts through her t-shirt. The heavy weight of her breasts settled into
them perfectly.

  He brushed his thumbs across her nipples, and even through the soft fabric of her t-shirt they immediately swelled. Pleasure pooled in her belly and she let out a sigh of pure desire. She found herself leaning toward him.

  A drop of water splashed on her chest, then another.

  “I’m dripping on you,” he said roughly. “I guess my hair’s still wet.”

  She didn’t want to stop to towel his hair. She wanted this moment to stretch on and on and on, until another piece of clothing dropped off one of their bodies.

  “Do you have a problem with wet t-shirts?”

  “I do not.”

  “I don’t like to brag, but I won a wet t-shirt contest in Arizona once.”

  “I’m not at all surprised,” he said with fervent sincerity. “Just look at you.”

  She looked down at herself. Enough water had dripped onto her shirt that her skin could be seen through the patches of wetness.

  Including her right nipple. It pressed almost aggressively into the damp transparent cotton.

  A slow circle of his thumb around that eager nipple left a trail of glittering sparks in its wake. She sighed and arched her chest toward him. More of that, pretty please. He squeezed the tip between thumb and forefinger, gently at first, then deepening the pressure until she gasped out loud.

  Heat liquefied between her legs and her clit pulsed madly. She shifted back and forth, wanting to rub her thighs together. He noticed her restlessness and let out a deep growl.

  Gently but firmly, he turned her around so her back was to him. He tilted her back against his chest, so all she had to do was lean there. No need to do anything but relax against him and let his hands roam freely.

  With one fist, he tightened the fabric of her shirt so it clung to the sensitive flesh of her nipples. It was a different friction from what his fingers had given her, light and damp and absolutely maddening.

  She groaned with a mix of arousal and frustration that he seemed to understand perfectly. He released her t-shirt, ran his hands under it and crushed her breasts in his hands. Twin lightning bolts of pleasure made her body arc into a taut curve. She let out an inarticulate sound, a moan ending in a gasp. He was so much stronger than she’d imagined, but somehow gentle at the same time. Deliberate and firm, relentlessly focused on her reaction, her emotions, her pleasure.

  It made her absolutely wild, and she felt the craving build between her legs. Everywhere he touched, sparks exploded across her skin. She tried to slow her thoughts down, to absorb every moment, to not miss a thing. Like the way the flesh of her breasts filled his capable hands; she loved that. It made her feel erotic and beautiful. The way his breathing kept getting rougher until it sounded like a blow torch in her ear. The swell of his erection against her ass. Hot and thick.

  She slipped off her t-shirt, but her leggings stood in the way, and so did his towel. She wriggled her butt against him in an effort to dislodge it. She wanted to feel his hot skin flush against her. She wanted his flesh, his skin, his calm, his rough, his glasses, his not-glasses, she wanted him with a voracious lust that stunned her.

  And then his hands started moving and her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t want him to stop fondling her breasts, but she wanted to see what he was going to do next. One arm was a band of steel across her chest, pinning her against him, while the other slid down her body and found its way under her leggings.

  She just about exploded as his fingers launched an exploration. First he discovered the taut muscles of her lower belly, which flinched at his approach. Then he moved to the soft curls that covered her mound. His touch was knowing and relentless, as if he knew exactly where he was headed and how fast to get there. Just fast enough to keep her from losing her mind, but not so fast that it was over too quickly.

  She held her breath as he found all the delicate sensitive places—everything except her clit. The way it was pulsing like a siren at full alert, it seemed impossible that he wouldn’t be able to find it. But his expertise was the brain, not the sex organs. What if…oh God, she was going to die if he didn’t touch her soon. If only she could just plant his hand right there…but she couldn’t because she was gathered against him and he was surrounding her with his strength and steady concentration and…

  A sound penetrated her consciousness. Ian murmuring to her. “Trust me, Chrissie. Just trust me.”

  In general, she never trusted people who said “trust me.” After all, her ex had said exactly that, more than once. She’d learned to trust herself and no one else.

  But Ian…Ian was different. She could trust him. Her body knew it. Without conscious will, her body surrendered to his caressing touch. She closed her eyes and surrendered her head to the wall of his chest.

  When he finally reached the pulsing center of everything with those strong, warm fingers, pure sensation overwhelmed her. All around her, there was heat and muscles and flesh and Ian’s quickened heartbeat thumping against her back. His towel must have dropped, because a hard, hot rod nestled against her rear. She felt it throb to the same drumbeat that was humming through her body.

  Her thighs trembled with need. Her breath came in pants and she twisted against his arm. More contact, more pressure, she wanted his finger right there, pressing right into the heart of her need.

  And when it did, she cried out as the entire world behind her eyelids transformed into a dazzling fireworks show. Fountains of pleasure erupted, showering her with joy and release. The orgasm pulsed through her in waves so piercing that she couldn’t keep quiet. Her long moan rose and fell with the sensations inside her, until finally it trailed into a sigh of pure release.

  She slumped back against Ian for a timeless moment of peace and bliss. His hand left the hypersensitive nest between her legs and moved higher so that both of his arms were cuddled around her. She felt the thumping of his heart and smelled the tang of his sweat. His muscles held a tension that was gone from her own body, but he didn’t move to shift their intimate embrace.

  That was a signal, one she could interpret very clearly. I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere. You take your time and savor every moment.

  Finally she released a long, satisfied breath and turned in his arms. “Okay then.”

  He smiled down at her, his eyes deep-dark with desire. He touched her face and brushed away a lock of hair clinging to her damp skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he said simply. “Your eyes are like stars at dusk.”

  Her lips curved. She could only imagine how she looked right now, all flushed and happy. “Best glow-up in the world.”

  He ran both his hand through her hair, until his fingertips reached the skin of her back. Even just that little touch sent shivers through her still-aroused body. “Are you cold?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No, just all aquiver. But if that’s a segue to the suggestion of a bed, I wouldn’t say no to that.” She put her hands on his bare ass and tugged him closer. His erect penis burned against her groin, through her leggings. “It seems you’re missing a towel.”

  “You did call it a mood-killer.”

  “I was obviously very wrong about that. The mood survived just fine. I barely did, though.” She winked at him. All her usual self-protections were flooding back. Jokes. Deflections. Anything to keep herself from really thinking about what she’d just experienced.

  Which was…something that felt new and maybe a little raw. As if she’d opened herself in a way she never had before. Wow. Had she just followed Jessica’s “crack open your heart” advice?

  No. She didn’t have to blow this out of proportion. Ian had just helped her experience a fantastic orgasm, and that was all. And now it was his turn.

  Twenty-Seven

  Ian wished he had his glasses. As soon as Chrissie stepped more than two feet away from him, she got blurry. He wanted to soak in every detail of her rosy cheeks and drowsy smile. Not to mention her bare breasts, their nipples still erotically peaked. He could still feel their weight in hi
s palms. His hands tingled and twitched at the memory.

  He could still feel her silky slipperiness on his fingers, and smell the heady scent of satisfied woman. All those sensory details kept flooding through his overwhelmed brain, and keeping his cock in a state of relentless arousal.

  So maybe it was a good thing he couldn’t see much more than the creamy curves of her form. Maybe that was his only chance of getting his arousal back under control. If he didn’t, he might explode right here in the hallway of this rented house.

  Chrissie took his hand and led him away from the bathroom. “Which way is your bedroom?” she asked.

  “The other way. But I need to grab my glasses—”

  “Do you? I like it when you’re not wearing your glasses. It’s a whole different side of you.”

  “Yeah, the blind side.” He nearly tripped over her t-shirt as he followed after her.

  “They say that if you lose one sense, all the others compensate.”

  “Maybe, but I want to see you,” he complained. “This is like putting me in a room with the Mona Lisa and blindfolding me.”

  She laughed and stopped. “Fine. Where are they? I’ll grab them. I don’t want you running into any walls with that erection of yours. You might knock right through the Sheetrock.”

  The reminder that he was completely naked and fully aroused made him self-conscious for a short moment. With anyone else, he might have been embarrassed. But not with Chrissie. The light but lusty tone in her voice made that impossible.

  He matched her tone with a joke of his own. “You’re more worried about the sheetrock than my cock?”

  “Ooh, Ian. I’m shocked. I thought for sure you’d call that beautiful cock something more anatomically correct.” She disappeared into the bathroom, blurring as she receded away from him. He took the opportunity to touch himself, amazed at how hard he still was. Maybe it was the effect of hearing the word “cock” in her throaty, laughing voice.