by King, Asha
“Be seductive. Bat your eyelashes, flash some cleavage. You’re lucky you even have boobs to wave at him.”
Niara chuckled. “Your breasts are fine.”
“Bullshit. Now my ass, that’s definitely a double D.”
She rubbed at her eyes and sighed. “I have no idea how to do this.”
“It’s easy. First? Buy condoms.”
****
The yard was mostly tidy. Flowerbeds were ready for plants, excess leaves raked and composted. Brady hadn’t yet fixed her swing but waited to find out where she might want it, or if she planned to have the whole porch fixed first. It was early afternoon and there were plenty of hours left.
Hours he should be spending finalizing things. Checking in with his sister and her family. Maybe running by his dad’s place, though the old man had barely spoken to either of his kids in two years. He could have a few beers with friends, or just crash early.
Instead he was waiting to have dinner with Niara.
The words had hovered on his lips when she offered, but the idea of saying no never occurred to him. She looked so hopeful, so unsure. The taste of her still lingered on his lips and he could close his eyes and feel her again, responding to his touch.
Jesus. If he stayed for dinner and everything continued going well, he didn’t have a damn clue how he’d just drive away tomorrow. His place was packed up, nearly everything either given to the Salvation Army or put in a small storage unit which he paid for a year’s worth of rent already. He could head to his sister’s, yes, if he suddenly decided to stay in town, but what then? Find somewhere else to live? Wait and see if things developed with Niara? And what if it just fizzled? The whole thing was crazy.
Crazy. But then so had been kissing her. If he hadn’t, maybe he could’ve walked away. But now...
He shook his head, stripped off his gloves, and walked around the house. Sun beat down, throbbing against the back of his neck. He should head home and shower, but not until he knew what else she might want him for. At the very least, he’d like to wash up, but he didn’t feel right going in her home while she was gone, so he headed for the garden hose wounded against the side of the house. It was bright green with a new head, something she must’ve purchased and added after moving in because it stood out starkly from the rest of the rather beat-up house. The water sputtered on, cold and clear, and he ran it over both of his hands first, then leaned over and soaked the back of his neck and hair. With the sun that hot, he’d dry soon, and at least he felt less grubby.
Movement flashed in his peripheral vision, and he glanced to see Niara approaching. His heart sped at the sight; he turned the water off and stood straight.
Her wide eyes glanced over him once, growing cloudy. Lips parted, but for a moment she said nothing. A big brown grocery bag was clutched tightly in her arms, shielding her torso like armor. The four feet between them gaped, tension crackling in the air, and the way she looked at him, he remained certain she was about to ask him to leave.
“I’m divorced,” she said suddenly.
His brain wasn’t quite working, perhaps, because he wasn’t sure what she was—
“That’s why I moved back. My husband...wasn’t a very good husband. He cheated on me and put me down and I left him.”
And I want to beat the ever-loving shit out of him. Whoever the guy was, he deserved it.
“I’m blurting this out like an idiot because I’m...I feel like I’m a little messed up. I’ve tried a bunch of dates and they didn’t work. I’m still repairing me. But I wondered if you’d...”
Anything. He nearly said it, too—anything, for her.
“I don’t know that I’m ready for...something serious, or dating, or anything like that—not while I’m still getting myself back together. But I wondered if you’d stay and maybe just...have one night. With me. For...whatever develops.”
He stared at her.
One night. With Niara Morgan.
She’d been married at some point during these past few years. Of course, something major must’ve happened to send her back home out of the blue. No wonder she got quiet, distant when he asked earlier—no wonder she looked so damn surprised with herself when she asked him for dinner. Ready for something approaching a relationship, no, but he understood now what she asked—her body was definitely ready for more. He’d felt her reaching for him, yearning for him, burning through her clothes, and he went rock hard at the thought. His heart sped again, body heating up and making it difficult to breathe.
One night. He was leaving anyway, wasn’t he?
Right?
Chapter Four
Niara trembled around the grocery bag in her arms.
It was so, so much harder than she thought it would be and now she felt like a goddamn fool. Was she really asking the poor guy if he’d throw her a pity fuck on his last night in town? Stupid! She was utterly mortified and should’ve at least waited to ask him after dinner, where he could politely leave if he was weirded out.
Oh God. Oh God. Such a bad idea.
Deena was dead. So, so dead. Dead, wrapped in plastic, and buried in the—
“I have one question.” His deep, dark voice sent shivers through her.
“What?” she trembled around the word.
He started forward with long, languid steps. “Does this afternoon count too?”
Niara was too busy wrapping her head around that when he reached and grasped her chin, tilting her face up to his as his lips consumed hers.
She was lost in him—in his mouth moving on hers, his conquering tongue invading and tasting, his hands raking through her hair. The grocery bag thumped on the ground at her feet, paper crackling, and she was stepping back, back, back as he walked her against the side of the house. Her spine hit the wall and she arched into him, relishing the feel. He stood a head taller than her and she rose on her tiptoes, meeting every thrust of his tongue, every movement of his lips. Her fingers moved over his broad, strong shoulders, and up to twine with his damp hair.
Hands traveled down her body—her neck, her shoulders, skimming down to her breasts where his thumbs brushed her hardened nipples. She moaned, every contact sending fire through her, and his lips left hers to trace down her throat. Somewhere her rational brain might be questioning getting felt up by a guy against the side of her house where any car driving by might see them, but the road had been mostly deserted all day and she honesty couldn’t bring herself to care.
Dimly, Nia was aware her hips were undulating against his, feeling the hard length of his cock through their layers of denim, delirious with wanting to feel it moving against her, moving in her. His hands and lips worshipped her, drinking in her flesh with every kiss, every touch, and she felt more desirable than she had in...God, she didn’t know how long.
She moved her hands down to grasp the bottom of his damp shirt and drag it up, revealing toned and corded muscles, gleaming in the bright sunlight. She cast the shirt aside and ran her hands over him, feeling the soft skin stretched over his hard body, enjoying the feel, the way he shuddered and panted with her every touch.
He caressed her breasts again, one forefinger and thumb finding her nipple and rolling it in exquisite pleasure-pain while his other hand traveled between them to cup her mound.
Niara gasped. Parted her lips, struggled to think of what she wanted to say. “The bag. There are condoms.”
Brady paused his mouth by her throat and she could all but feel him smiling. “Not needed yet.”
Damn it, why not? She blinked her eyes open to an assault from the bright sun overhead and moved so he was standing straight again, looking down at her. Blue eyes heavy-lidded and pupils dilated, he watched her sudden intake of breath and little shudder as he deftly popped open the button on her jeans and eased the zipper down. Her eyes grew wide and despite the happy flood of endorphins rushing through her and the yearning for his touch, tension gripped her. It was never like this with anyone, not even with Ron during their four year marriage—sh
e never stood out in the daylight, pinned against the side of a house, with a man about to stick his hand down her panties while she watched.
“We can stop,” he whispered, and pressed his lips to her temple.
Oh to hell with that. “Don’t,” she returned softly.
He met her gaze again, left hand still teasing her breast, right easing along the elastic band of her panties. “Don’t?”
She was panting already and he’d barely touched her yet. “Don’t stop.”
His lips descended on hers in a gentle, sensuous kiss as his fingers skimmed under her panties, over her quivering flesh, and eased into her slick warmth. He traced her slit once, twice, then the third time dipped deeper and grazed up to her clit.
Her entire body shuddered, an electric charge working through her at the contact.
Brady’s forehead pressed against hers as their lips parted. “Jesus, you feel good. You’re wet.” He moved against her clit again, harder this time, and her hips rocked against his hand.
A chuckle rose but she was panting too much and it died in her throat. “All...” She swallowed—she didn’t talk about these things, didn’t admit these things, but damn if she didn’t want to, with him. “All fucking morning.”
He kissed her again as his fingers caressed her slit, moving back and forth, back and forth, and then deeper. One finger sank into her, thrusting as she worked against him, and his other hand dragged the front of her tank top down and descended into her white lacy bra.
A warm wind brushed over them but she felt little of it, consumed by his heat. Her nails bit into his arms, holding on as a second finger joined the first, pumping into her. So much sensation—she was so close, so damn close... “Oh God.”
“Open your eyes,” he whispered and she did, looking up into his intense stare, his eyes dark with desire. His panting breath touched her lips and when his gaze traveled down, hers did as well—over his hand rolling her breast and rubbing her nipple, down over her belly to where his fingers were buried in her panties, working in her wet heat. Just inches away, his cock strained his jeans, hard and jutting up.
She met his gaze again and she could imagine it—imagine him moving inside her, filling her.
“Come for me,” he said hoarsely. His thumb touched down on her clit and she did, exploding and shattering, coming completely undone as she rode wave after wave climax brought. Breath left her and stars played behind her eyes; she slumped and he caught her, fingers easing out of her panties and bra, bracing her upright with both arms.
She couldn’t speak for several long moments, exhausted and lightheaded, head pressed against his chest and feeling the rapid beat of his heart. At last she whispered, “That was...” A sigh. “Yeah.”
He kissed her temple, mouthed her ear, and shifted her head up to trace her jaw with his lips. “If you want to sit down, I’ll get you a drink and fix your swing.”
She glanced up at him with a wry grin. “Pretty sure you’re off the clock.”
“I am, and I’d work for you free anyway. But sit down and relax, I’ll put your groceries inside, and look at that swing.” He zipped her jeans up for her, rearranged her tank top, and kissed her once more, igniting yet another charge down her spine.
Rest. Yes, she could do that—they had a long evening ahead of them.
Chapter Five
The kitchen still smelled of cooking lasagna, though the oven had been turned off an hour ago, as Brady gathered their dishes to take to the kitchen.
Dusk had settled half an hour earlier, bringing a chillier air with it, but Niara’s house was warm and comfortable. The afternoon had passed with easy conversation, the odd touch and kiss, but nothing more. He wanted more, yes—desperately so, craving Nia so bad he could barely see straight. But he wanted to wait, to prolong and savor it, so he continued working around her house until she went to put dinner in the oven. She’d given him use of her shower before dinner, and he’d cleaned up and changed into a spare T-shirt he had in the van. She’d showered and changed as well, wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a lavender button tee. She looked refreshed and alluring, and not reaching for her all evening had been killing him.
The languid meal around her small kitchen table, with a single low light hanging between them over the food and wine, had brought more conversation. She spoke a bit of her life after high school, about her disappointment in where her life had gone so far. Her marriage had been a flurry of excitement as she was taken in by a smooth talking man who chipped away at her little by little. The guy made good money, had a nice house—sounded like everything Brady wasn’t—and he’d hurt her. Even though she didn’t dwell on her ex-husband in conversation, he felt the pain coming off her in waves, helpless with no way to soothe her.
His own life, he hadn’t spoken much of. His sister Tracie and her family, briefly, but he skimmed over the rest as it wasn’t a pretty story. A couple of meaningless relationships on his part in college. Then his dad’s estrangement after his mom... And the girl he thought he’d loved for a few years who broke his heart at the worst possible time. None of it came into conversation and he bottled it up, holding on because he wanted this night to be about her.
He deposited the dishes by the sink while she returned the ice cream to the freezer, sexual tension creeping up in the silence. Her house was small but comfortable, faded wallpaper with yellow daisies in the kitchen and painted plaster elsewhere; hardwood floors creaked and had scratches, but otherwise seemed in good condition. The only light she’d left on was over the table, casting layers of shadows over the stacked boxes in the room beyond and leaving light to glare from the windows.
Nia moved toward the sink as he went to retrieve the wine, leaning over to run water with her back to him. He paused a moment, halfway between her and the table, and gave in. The running water masked his approach but she didn’t tense up when he reached for her, just let out a sigh and eased back into his arms. His fingers dragged up her neck, through her hair, tilted her head to the side so he could taste the smooth flesh of her throat. Goose bumps rose fast and hard, her hand coming up to touch the back of his head and pull him into her further.
Despite it all, his heart ached. This might be the only time this happened—even if he stuck around, she might never want more from him. He ingrained her scent in his memory—not the perfume smell of some women but fresh and natural, just soap from the shower. Memorized the curve of her neck, her smooth shoulders, the feel of her plush breasts as his hands traveled over her. Carved in him the little sighs and moans leaving her lips.
No more teasing. He was painfully hard, pressed firm against the soft cradle of her ass, and he’d been aching all day for release. Brady reached over and shut off the water, turned her, and devoured her mouth again, locking her against the counter. She wove her arms around his neck, pressing against him, and he went lightheaded, consumed by the feel of her.
He wanted her now. Right here against the counter, legs spread so he could kneel down and taste her cream. Or behind them, across the table, that luscious ass in the air and waiting for him. But despite all the fantasies, it had to be right—had to be respectful, memorable—in her bed among soft sheets, where he could lay her down and watch her writhe below him. He lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his hips, holding on while he walked out of the kitchen and then up the stairs.
Her bedroom was dark, rising moonlight coating the space in pale blue; he’d passed it briefly on the way to her shower earlier, and knew to turn in there without the overhead light as a guide. He set her down by the bed, found a lamp on the dresser, and switched it on.
Yellow cast a glow over her dark skin and her eyes, clouded with arousal, met his—held his. Immediately she began unbuttoning her shirt one button at a time. Though the action wasn’t specifically erotic—or at least not meant to be—there was something heartbreakingly charming in it. No pretense, no teasing, but her fingers trembled and chest rose and fell in quick, nervous breaths; he had the distinct impression
she hadn’t done this in awhile. Not sex specifically—just the act of eagerly undressing in front of a lover.
He leaned against the dresser and watched, taking her form in, coiling his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her. She cast the shirt on the end of the bed, standing in a crème-colored lacey bra that contrasted beautifully with her skin. Full cups caressed her firm, high breasts, and he wondered if her panties matched beneath her skinny, dark blue jeans.
A wry grin touched his lips. “Pants too.”
She cocked a brow but reached for the button on her jeans. “Demanding.”
“Impatient. I—” He cut the sentence off, but then wondered why the hell not? Why not tell her? Sure, it might make her nervous, or she might think it was too much and ask him to leave. But if this was all she wanted right now, he didn’t have a whole lot left to lose.
“You?” she prompted, thumbs hooked in the waistband of her jeans as she shimmied out of them.
He watched the sway of her hips and at last she stood free of them, her panties all lace and boycut. “I liked you in high school. Really liked you. For a long time.”
Her smile softened, wistful. “You should have asked me out then. Now I’m worried I don’t live up to expectations.”
The woman was mad. Totally and utterly mad. But his heart eased a little and weight lifted from his shoulders. Sure, he’d kissed her today, felt her satiny flesh in great detail, but he hadn’t confessed that. And it was small, as far as confessions went—not even the big speech he’d prepared that day of graduation when he’d last seen her.
But maybe it didn’t need to be grand. Just true.
Brady stepped up to her, cupped her jaw in his hands, and tilted her face up to his as he held her gaze. “You’re beautiful.”
Niara stared back at him, lips parted though she said nothing. She’d said she was a little damaged, pushed down fairly low from a cheating husband. That would do a number on any woman’s self worth, so perhaps she didn’t believe him.
