by Nina Lane
I felt his hand brush against my hair for an instant, as if he wanted to push it aside, but then he stopped. Relieved and emboldened with my face hidden, I tugged at the buttons of his fly. His erection pressed against my fingers, his evident need making my own body quiver in response.
I pulled his jeans and boxers off, my breath escaping in a rush. I shot him a quick glance through my veil of hair. My heart leapt, catching in my throat at the sight of him stretched out on the bed—all tense urgency, taut skin, lean muscles, and jutting cock.
“Liv.” His voice was strangled. He reached down to grab my wrist and guide my hand to his shaft. “Touch it.”
I wrapped my fingers around the base, feeling heat pulsing beneath the smooth skin. I pressed my legs together as an answering pulse throbbed in me. I started stroking him tentatively at first, until his hips jerked upward as if he wanted me to move faster. I did, entranced by the sight of his muscles tensing, the swell of arousal.
“Wait.” He pushed up on his elbows, breathing hard.
I stopped. “Did you want me to—”
“Everything. I want you to do everything.” He put his hands around my waist and pulled me on top of him. He pushed up the hem of my shirt and cupped my rear, kneading and stroking. I started to twist against him as the ache uncoiled.
He slipped his fingers beneath my panties and rubbed the cleft of my bottom before dipping below to my sex.
“Jesus, Liv. You’re killing me.”
“I need you,” I gasped. “I’m ready. I—”
“I want to see you first. All of you.” He pushed me up so I was straddling his waist. I felt his cock throbbing against me through my panties, and the sensation made me moan aloud.
“Take your shirt off,” he said.
I got a little tense again, but grasped the hem of my shirt and pulled it off. Before I could hesitate, I unhooked the front clasp of my bra and tossed it aside. Air brushed against my damp skin, sensitizing my nipples. I shuddered, curling my fingers against Dean’s flat stomach.
“Fuck, Liv. You’re incredible.”
Incredible. I wasn’t, but I knew he believed I was. Especially when he stroked his hands up the curve of my waist to touch me. My full breasts nestled right into his palms as if I’d been made for him. I watched as he caressed me, his fingers gliding over my nipples, his body hot and hard between my legs.
“Dean.” Strain threaded my voice, but my nervousness had shifted into a different kind of tension, one that was beginning to desperately need release.
He plucked at my underwear. “Take these off.”
I slithered the cotton over my legs, then flushed again when he ran his fingers down my belly and into my wet curls.
I gasped. He cursed. His cock throbbed against my bare backside. He eased a finger into me and stroked his thumb over my clit, and before I could prevent it, I came—sharp and fast and surging.
“Dean… oh, God, Dean…”
I was still shuddering when he put on a condom, then rolled us both over and pushed my legs apart with his knee. I grabbed his hips to encourage him to move faster.
“Wait.” His breath rasped against my forehead as he held himself off me with one hand and slipped his other hand between my legs. He slid two fingers into me and groaned when I clenched around him again. “You’re so tight, Liv. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” I panted, twisting as he stroked my inner flesh.
He’d make it good. I knew it. He moved the head of his cock into position and eased into me slowly, his muscles corded with restraint. I clutched his hips tighter and pushed upward.
With a mutter of surrender, he sank into me, stretching me with his thick length. A sting burned me from the inside out. I gasped, gripping him harder, swimming in the conflicting sensations of both pleasure and pain.
“Liv.” Strain threaded his voice as he stilled, holding himself off me with his hands on either side of my head. His gaze searched mine.
“I’m… I’m okay.” I wasn’t entirely sure that I was, but I knew I would be soon. I squirmed beneath him, drawing air into my lungs, every part of my being sensitized to his touch.
I cried out when he pulled away and pushed slowly back into me, like a key fitting into a lock. He stopped again, his chest heaving, and waited for me to adjust to his size.
My nerves sizzled. My heartbeat pounded in my head. My body pulsed around his cock, the feeling of overwhelming tightness dissipating into a throb of urgency.
“Okay?” He shifted. His jaw clenched.
“Okay.” I forced my muscles to relax and arched into him. Sweat trickled down my neck. “I want this… want you…”
He eased back and pushed forward again, levering his upper body off me. I lifted my knees to hug his hips and met him halfway, stunned by the slick ease of our bodies sliding together. He pushed his hands beneath my thighs and spread me wider, sinking into me until he could go no farther. I drew in a gasp, lost in the sensation of us finally becoming one, forgetting where he left off and I began.
“Oh…” Blissful tension began to spiral through me, and the threads of discomfort faded into a swirl of colors. I seized Dean’s forearms and pulled, wanting him closer.
His mouth crashed down on mine as he thrust again, and then we were pushing and sweating and rocking together. He filled me over and over, still slow until I flexed upward to meet his every entry.
Then his thrusts grew faster, eliciting streams of sensation that seemed endless, his shaft sliding in until he could go no farther before he pulled away and pushed forward again. The rhythm increased in pace, his breath rasping against my neck.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his thighs. My breasts rubbed against his chest with every push, sensitizing my nipples. Thoughts fell away, and there was only the feeling of his thrusts, the need spooling through my body, his hands and lips everywhere.
I convulsed again, my inner muscles clenching around his cock. He groaned and thrust deep, his body tensing above me as release coursed through him. When he rolled to the side, we both panted for breath, our bodies slick with sweat.
My sex throbbed, pleasure coating my mind like a fine mist. Dean reached over and put his hand on my belly.
“Wow,” he said. “That was… terrible.”
I started to laugh. He grinned and pulled me to him, kissing me and squeezing my bottom. I sank against him, my curves yielding to the hard planes of his body.
“Stay with me,” he said.
“Yes.”
I tumbled into a shallow sleep with the scent of him on my skin. When I woke at three in the morning, my body was sore—but in a pulsing, rather pleasant way. I hadn’t slept very well, waking and turning often, but no dreams had disrupted my light slumber.
I shifted toward Dean. I’d never slept in the same bed with a man before. He was lying on his back, one arm thrown over his head and the sheet tangled around his waist.
I lifted myself on one elbow to look at him. Slivers of moonlight slanted through the blinds and spread over his long, half-naked body. His features were relaxed in sleep, his eyelashes shadowing his cheekbones.
Reaching out a tentative finger, I traced the half-moon line of his eyelash. Like feathers sweeping across my fingertip. He twitched. I lowered my hand and tracked my gaze over his body from his shoulders to the planes of his abdomen.
A foreign emotion rose in me—a mixture of longing and affection and fear. When I lifted my eyes back to his face, I found him watching me.
For a moment, we just looked at each other.
“Nice to wake up and see you here,” he said.
“Nice to wake up and be here.”
He reached out to push my hair away from my forehead. “You okay?”
“Remember last month when we we
nt to the botanical gardens?” I asked.
“That day you wanted to see what plants were still blooming at the end of October and we nearly froze our asses off? Yeah, I remember.”
I grinned. “Remember how that wind was biting through our coats and stinging our cheeks, and the cold got into our bones? Then remember we went to the conservatory, and the moment we stepped inside we were in the warm, humid tropics with blooming orchids, butterflies, canaries, and waterfalls?”
Dean twined a lock of my hair around his finger.
“Yeah,” he said. “I remember.”
“That’s how I feel.”
A slow smile curved his mouth. “You have me at your feet, Olivia Rose. You know that, don’t you?”
“No, but that sounds very promising.”
I leaned over to kiss him, pleasure flooding every part of my being. We sank into each other for a few long, luscious minutes before Dean eased away. Desire filled his eyes, and I glided my hand down his chest and beneath the covers.
He captured my wrist with a laugh. “Not so fast.”
“You don’t want…”
“Oh, I do,” he said, his gaze sliding down to my bare breasts. “And I will. But you’re probably sore, so I’m going to make us both wait awhile.”
I wondered how long awhile was. I stopped the downward trek of my hand and settled for rubbing circles on his abdomen. “I have a morning shift at Jitter Beans.”
“I’ll take you, then come back here. I need to get those essays finished and start grading midterms.”
Midterms were already over. It had been almost three months since that day at the registrar’s office.
“It’ll be Thanksgiving soon,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to visit your family?”
“I usually do.”
There was a dissonant note to his voice that sparked my curiosity. I leaned my head on my hand and studied him.
“What’s it like?” I asked. “Thanksgiving with your family?”
“Tense.”
“Why?”
“My mother always has this illusion about what holidays should be like, but things can’t be that way.”
“Because of your brother?” I asked.
“Because of everyone.” Dean shifted to look at me. “What about you? Not so good?”
I shook my head. “My mother and I spent most Thanksgivings at diners. Sometimes with the guy she was seeing at the time. Sometimes alone. I’ll probably visit Aunt Stella this year.”
He was silent for a moment before he asked, “Do you want to come to California with me instead?”
My heart thumped. “You’re serious?”
“Not only am I serious, I want my parents to know I’m serious about you.”
“You’re serious about me?”
“Seriously.” A smile twitched his mouth.
I tried to picture it, tried to imagine myself in the illustrious household of Justice West and his socialite wife.
“You’re sure?” I whispered.
“Beauty, you’re the only thing I’ve ever been sure of.”
We looked at each other for a few minutes, the air charged with this fragile understanding.
I wanted to give him everything, this man who had changed my life. He made my heart soar and my body sing. He was brilliant, handsome, kind, patient. He knew how and why the Crusades had changed thirteenth-century castle architecture. He couldn’t cook much better than I could. His chocolate-brown eyes filled with heat and affection when he looked at me. He thought boring foreign movies were fascinating. He made me laugh. I liked myself when I was with him.
A memory of his voice echoed in my mind from three months before, that night when I’d first come to his apartment for dinner.
“What’s your key, Olivia?”
“My key?”
“An old friend once told me that everyone has a key to unlocking their secrets. What’s yours?”
“Um… I’m pretty sure I don’t have a key.”
“I’m pretty sure you do.”
“Well, if everyone has one,” I said, “what’s yours?”
“Ah.” A twinkle flashed in his eyes. “You have to discover that yourself.”
“Then you have to do the same with me.”
“Challenge accepted.”
The coldness that had lived inside me for so long was dissolving now, spreading warmth through my blood. A little bud seemed to be unfurling in the depths of my soul, something with petals of velvet and a core that contained a thousand unspoken wishes, wants, and desires.
I moved closer to Dean, breathing in the scent of his skin, the heat of his body.
“Remember when you told me everyone has a key to unlocking their secrets?” I whispered. “And you wanted to know what mine is?”
He nodded. “And you told me you didn’t have a key.”
“I think I do.”
“What is it?”
“You.”
CHAPTER NINE
Dean
January 21
wake before dawn and head out for a run. Although I like winter weather and snow, I miss running outside any time of year the way I can in California. I take an old path through the neighborhood that I used to run in high school. Six miles. Feels good—doubts and fears dissolving into the sound of my shoes on the pavement, breath filling my lungs.
When I get back to the house, I shower and change, then head to the kitchen to make coffee. It’s my favorite time of day—quiet and still.
I pull the milk from the fridge for Liv and notice some deli salads that Helen brought over. After my initial surprise, it actually wasn’t horrible to see her again. And while I’m grateful for her friendship with my sister and mother, I still want to keep a few thousand miles between me and my ex-wife.
As I wait for the coffee to brew, I check email on my phone. There’s a message from Nancy the real-estate agent that the owners of the house we’d bid on have accepted another offer.
Damn. Even though I know Liv wasn’t crazy about the house, not even she can deny we need a bigger place, a good school district, a safe neighborhood. I want to give all that to her and more. I email Nancy asking her to keep looking, then turn off the phone.
I write a note and stick it to Liv’s coffee cup:
By the time I’ve had toast and coffee, Liv comes into the kitchen. At home, she always stumbles in looking sleepy with her hair a mess, but today she looks crisp and neat in slacks and a collared white blouse. Her hair is pulled back so tightly into a bun that I swear it’s stretching her eyebrows up.
“Good morning.” She gives me a smile and glances around as if checking to see who else is there.
“Morning.” I hand her a cup of decaf.
She reads the note I’ve stuck to the cup.
“It’s a pear,” I say before she can make a comment about my artistic abilities. “The fruit.”
“I see that.” She smiles again. “It’s a grape drawing, professor.”
“Thank you.” I pick up my mug and lean against the counter. “What’s up with the hair?”
“What do you mean?” She smooths her hair with her hand.
“Looks like you’re wearing a swimming cap.”
“Hey.” She frowns, but the skin on her forehead is pulled so taut that not a line forms. “This is a very sophisticated style.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
“Come here.”
“No.”
As she moves past me to get to the table, I snag her around the waist. She tries to frown again. I take her cup and put it on the counter.
“You’re going to get a headache if you don’t loosen that up.” I pull her c
loser so that her hips settle against mine. I fumble with the pins holding her gorgeous hair back.
“Don’t.” She pushes at my chest. “I spent half an hour fixing it like this.”
“It looks terrible.”
“It does not! It looks elegant.”
“I like your hair down.” I tug at the pins again. A few come loose. “Like to run it through my fingers.”
“You are in so much trouble.”
“Awesome. Hope we get to have make-up sex.”
“You’re not getting any kind of sex.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Maybe.”
“I accept.” A bunch of pins clatter to the floor.
Liv’s not making much of an effort to escape, especially when I drag my hands through her hair, freeing it from the ridiculous knot. I comb the thick mass with my fingers until it’s loose around her shoulders. Just the way I like it.
When she opens her mouth to complain again, I slide one hand around the back of her head and pull her in for a kiss. After a few seconds of half-hearted resistance, her body softens against mine. She winds her arms around my waist.
Ah, good. Sinking into her. Nothing but her lush mouth against mine, her breasts pressing against my chest.
“Morn… oh, sorry.”
Liv stiffens and jerks away at the sound of Paige’s voice. My sister enters the kitchen, shooting me a look that appears to say, “Really, Dean? Right here in the kitchen?”
Liv wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Uh, morning, Paige. Sorry about that.”
Paige pours herself a cup of coffee. “What time is Dad’s surgery?”
“Ten.” I glance at the clock. “We’re leaving in half an hour, if you want to come with us.”
“Might as well.” After getting a container of yogurt, Paige sits down to eat and read the paper.
I make Liv an egg and toast. She glowers at me while attempting to put her hair back into some sort of order. I mouth the words “I love you,” which makes her smile even as she tries to maintain the glower.
