by Nicole Helm
His hands stilled, and she realized he was doing all the touching, and she was doing all the letting him touch. She needed to stop that, stop being so passive. Passive was not in her vocabulary. She wanted to touch. She wanted to take as much as she wanted him to take, to give.
“Not a bad guy, huh?”
She forced herself to look him in the eye despite the fact that he was slowly edging the straps of her bra off her shoulders. But she was surprised to find some serious concentration on his face. “I just didn’t want you to think… I mean…you’re not just some random guy.” She’d come here specifically, for him, and yes, it was just temporary, something to do because she wanted to do something on a whim, but it was still… She wasn’t at the Pioneer Spirit getting drunk and hitting on the first guy to cross her path.
“I think I get that.”
“Okay then. I mean, I just, I’m not here to—I…”
He took a step toward her, so his knees pressed to hers, her breasts brushed the front of his chest setting off an electric current that almost made her knees buckle again. “You want to forget,” he said, hands reaching around to unclasp the back of her bra.
“Yes.” Which he was helping her do. All this touching, and she was already forgetting what had brought her here. Because everywhere his fingers touched, she felt revered, she felt things she normally didn’t. Soft and feminine and special.
“Then let’s do that.”
* * *
Dan was trying to take it slow. Not because he thought she particularly needed that, but because he wanted to enjoy this. All of it. For all her “you’re not a bad guy” sentiment, he wasn’t stupid enough to assume there’d be more of this.
This might be a onetime deal, and he was going to make the most of it.
Except, she kept making these noises that made him forget about the slow thing. Like the way she inhaled sharply once he’d gotten rid of her bra, and the way she’d sighed when he palmed each breast.
He wanted to make her sigh a million times, to feel her give, relent. There was nothing he did that wasn’t met with some kind of response, and all those thoughts of going slow dissolved. Dissolved into him nudging her onto the bed and immediately beginning to fumble with the snap and zipper of her shorts.
He wanted all of her. All. Mel, laid out on his bed, wanting him as badly as he had been wanting her. He would find some patience for that. Somewhere.
“Here.” She pushed his hands away, undoing the zipper herself and pushing them down her hips. This time he pushed her hands away, hooking fingers in the waistband of her panties and flattening his palms all the way down her legs until the shorts and panties dropped to the ground.
He kneeled above her, reminding himself to take this in, to remember, and to make it count.
Maybe if he took care, found some way to, it would count, at least for a while.
“Mel Shaw naked on my bed.” Not a terrible thing to feel satisfied over, pride in. Even if she wasn’t really here for him, she was here for something he could give her. She could have gone to one of those dumb cops she always laughed with, to the ex she hadn’t loved but had been willing to marry.
So, yeah, this was an accomplishment.
“Yes, are you going to stare all day, or are you going to do something about it?” Her cheeks flushed, but she kept that chin jutted, as if he needed any more proof she was tough and fearless.
But he didn’t say or do anything. Because for a few seconds he wanted to commit to memory the curves of her body, the way the parts of her that saw sun were darker and more freckled than the pale skin of her breasts, her abdomen. The pink tips of her nipples, the white scar on her shoulder.
Every inch.
“What?” she said into the quiet. He supposed she was trying to be demanding, but she came off unsure.
Like there was one inch of her she should be embarrassed over.
“Christ, Mel, do you have any idea…” He didn’t have any idea. She was just…like no one else. Not ever.
He pressed a kiss to the spot underneath her belly button, feeling the muscles of her stomach jerk in response. He savored the places she was soft, delicate. Her stomach, the inside of her elbows. He dragged the pads of his fingertips over her rib cage and then repeated the process with his tongue, savoring each intake of breath, each dreamy sigh.
She gasped when his mouth covered her nipple, his tongue circling it until she all but whimpered his name. He’d been meaning to keep his hands in place, centered on her hips so he didn’t forget to go slow, but it was no use.
One hand held him leveraged above her, and he was doing anything with his tongue that made her gasp again. A flick across her nipple, a swipe under her ear. But the other hand…wandered.
Over the soft skin of firm thighs, down to her kneecap and back up again. He inched his finger closer and closer, torturing himself, torturing her.
He thought he heard her whisper “please,” but it might have been his own imagination. It might have been his own desperation echoing in his ears. He slid his finger inside of her and groaned in time with her.
“Dan.”
When he glanced up, he found her watching him, bottom lip between her teeth, eyes slightly wide. It took her a moment to meet his gaze, and when she did, he slid his finger deeper, soaking up every moan.
“You’re beautiful,” he said earnestly—possibly the most earnest thing he’d ever said.
Her eyes fluttered closed, the blush on her cheeks going deeper. “You don’t have to sweet-talk me. I’m already naked.”
“I’m not sweet-talking. Wouldn’t work if I did. You’d see right through it. So don’t be stupid. I think you’re beautiful. Believe it.”
Her lips curved, and for the first time since the kitchen, she reached out, touched him. First lightly on the chest, then moving up to his shoulders, her hands rough from all the work she put in day after day. There was something so…enticing, that she could be so many different things—shy, bold, rough, smooth.
Her fingertips traced the curve of his shoulder blades, the length of his spine. He forgot everything except the warmth of her, the weight of her hands on him, the steady rhythm of his hand, of her breathing.
And when her hands traveled to the inside of his boxers, he was the one watching intently, the one whose verbal response couldn’t be helped.
She closed her hand around him, and he swore roughly, unable to keep his own eyes open. She stroked, the friction welcome and too much all at once.
When he managed to open his eyes and look at her, her mouth was curved. “You’re smiling smugly,” he accused.
Her hand traveled the length of his erection again, and he whistled out a breath, but two could play her game. He kept pace with her, and each time she stroked, he did the same.
“I am not smug.”
“You’re so smug. Trust me, I know smug when I”—she stroked again, and he had to give himself a minute for fear his voice would crack—“see it.”
“Okay, so what if I am smug?”
He added another finger, sliding over the spot that made her squeak.
“Just wait. I’m going to give you a whole hell of a lot more to be smug over.”
“There’s going to need to be less talking and more…actual penetrating.”
He huffed out a laugh, pained to have to leave her in order to paw through the nightstand drawer for the box of condoms he’d bought the other day.
Making her blush.
He sat on the edge of the bed, opening the box of condoms, retrieving one square from the row. “I lied, you know.”
“About what?”
He turned to her, standing so he could push the boxers off. “When I said I wasn’t buying these for you.”
She rolled her eyes, but even so, her gaze was glued to him as he rolled the condom on.
He was
n’t sure what to say, even if she did want less talking and more…penetration. Shit. Maybe there was nothing to say. They’d certainly done their fair share of talking.
He leveraged himself over her. No, he didn’t have the words for this thing, because it was big, and for all her hard-ass proclamations, it required some level of care. Sure, he was bad at that, but he could learn. He wasn’t an overwhelmed kid anymore. Like any skill, it just took practice and the desire to do it.
He certainly had the desire, and he was very willing to practice.
So he lowered his mouth to hers, something gentle, careful, but she grabbed him, guiding him to the hot center of her.
Okay, careful evaporated. He took her bottom lip between his teeth, scraping as he braced himself on one elbow and closed his hand over her breast, brushing his thumb back and forth across her nipple until she made that squeaking noise again…and then he slid inside her and kissed her as she moaned.
He felt like he was being swallowed alive by something he’d never truly understand. Everything about being inside of her, everything about her under him, everything…
“Honey. Mel,” he corrected. Even though she reminded him of the jar of honey he’d bought off that roadside stand on a whim. Warm and smooth, a decadent sweetness brought on by a whole hell of a lot of work.
Her fingertips dug into the backs of his shoulders, her body arching to take him deeper.
He’d ignore the little flicker of an idea that this was somehow different than his norm. That every feeling, every sensation coiled deeper, stronger, longer than it ever had. That this wasn’t just a physical thing, or even just a vague affection-type deal. Something about being with Mel was…
More.
He did not want that. So he focused on her underneath him. The way her palms were rough, but the skin of her arms was smooth. The way the breath of her sigh drifted across his ear like a whisper. A secret just between them. The tight, wet heat of her as he entered and withdrew, keeping his own release at bay as best he could.
Something changed. He had no idea what. Suddenly she was tense, and when he glanced down at her face, she had her eyes squeezed tight like she was bracing herself for a hit she couldn’t avoid.
He stopped, still inside her, trying to figure out what kind of mistake he’d made, what cue he’d misread. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, eyes still squeezed tight. “Nothing.”
“Nothing my ass. What is it?”
“Nothing. Really. This is great. I just…can’t. Or something. I don’t know. It’s me.” She made a waving gesture with her hand. “You go ahead and finish.”
It took him a few seconds to get through the shock of I just can’t in this context, and to see past it. “Um, no.”
“No, really, it’s fine. This was great. I just can’t.”
She still had her eyes all screwed shut, and this was…what the hell? No, he was not going to accept that. “Mel, open your eyes.”
She shook her head emphatically. “It’s too embarrassing.”
“Oh, honey.” He brushed the hair off her forehead, fingertips lingering on her cheek when she just barely opened one eye. “You know what you have to do?”
The other eye squinted open. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have this problem.”
“You’re going to have to let go.”
Her eyebrows drew together, truly perplexed, maybe a little irritated. “Let go of what?”
But it seemed pretty obvious to him. She carried everything, every second of every day, on her back like a million individual weights. Clouding up her mind, her heart. Even when she wasn’t thinking about it, it was there.
Which meant there was only one answer to her question. “Everything.”
Chapter 12
She could only gape at him. Let go of everything? What did that even mean? She was here, wasn’t she? Ignoring all her responsibilities and saying “screw you” to the people she was supposed to be watching over? He was inside her.
This was letting go. Orgasming was like that mystery llama—she had no idea where that would even come from. And she’d probably never find out. She thought she’d been so close. The way he’d touched her, kissed her, the way he’d explored her…it was like nothing she’d ever experienced.
Feeling him, taking him, it had been everything she’d hoped for, and she’d been so close. But something about that moment just before letting go…it was like every other time. She tensed, she froze, and she just knew…it wasn’t going to happen.
“Look, I… I just don’t think this is going to happen, okay? You should at least get something out of the deal.” Because she wasn’t selfish enough to walk away. He’d tried, so he deserved a reward.
“Something out of the… Look, Mel, you don’t get something out of the deal, neither do I. Those are the rules.”
She moved up onto her elbows and glared at him. “There are no sex rules.”
“There are. A whole book of them. Dan Sharpe’s Rules for Sex. Rule number one: her first.”
“I can’t,” she replied through gritted teeth. She refused to be amused by him. This wasn’t funny. He was still inside her! He just needed to understand this was her issue. End of story. And she wasn’t going to lay here under him and talk about it.
“Okay,” he finally said, and she could tell he wasn’t going to let this go. He had something up his sleeve. “Tell me one thing.”
She sighed and let her head sink back into the pillow. Of course this he would apply himself to. Forget getting a truck, but sex, let’s make sure that happens. “Sure, but—”
Before she could finish, his mouth closed over her nipple. “Oh God.” Everything in her mind fizzled to a stop when he did that. The way his tongue teased, tasted. It bowed that need sharp again, and she arched her back to meet him, even knowing how pointless it was.
“Tell me what you want, Mel.”
A different kind of heat filled her face, but not the sexual excitement kind of heat. The deeply ingrained “oh my God, don’t say those kind of words” kind of heat.
Tell him what she wanted? How could she do that? She didn’t know.
Okay, that wasn’t altogether true. She knew, she just…couldn’t say that. Out loud. She couldn’t… Nope. She couldn’t even say no, so she managed a childish nod.
She closed her eyes, because this was supposed to be fun or easy or anything but another hard thing, another thing that didn’t go right. Futility coursed through her, disappointment, and most stupid of all, tears threatened.
Still Dan didn’t move. But he swept the disheveled hair off her forehead and kissed her there, and then her temple. She didn’t want to open her eyes, but he kissed her cheek, her lips. He kept kissing and touching, and the embarrassment and the self-pitying pain got a little lost in the warm, affectionate touches.
She could tell everyone and herself, too, that she’d learned to live without easy affection. She didn’t need it. It was foolish and probably dangerous, the kind of thing that led to relying on someone or believing in someone wholeheartedly.
The kind of thing that led to heartbreak.
That thought alone forced her eyes open, but Dan’s gaze was intent on hers, and she lost her train of thought.
“How about this,” he said, his thumb rubbing circles over her shoulder, green eyes holding hers. Soothing, relaxing. “I’ll guess, and you at least give me an idea if I’m on the right track.”
“I don’t—”
He took her nipple in his mouth again. This time the pressure was more intense, the sensation zinged through her enough she had to grab onto the sheet. How did he do that?
“You were saying?”
And he claimed she’d been smiling smugly.
“O-okay, I like that,” she managed, and it wasn’t so bad admitting that. So, she liked it? She was supposed to, wasn’t she
? Or he wouldn’t have done it. Or it wouldn’t feel good. So, no, saying “I like that” wasn’t a big deal at all.
“What about this?”
His hand that had been on her shoulder traveled down her side, over her abdomen, tracing her hip bones, and then it dipped to where they met. He withdrew, then slowly thrust deep again, his fingers gently brushing.
It was intense, like nothing else, not even anything she’d ever done to herself. And the orgasm she’d been trying so hard to chase earlier built again. He touched her, listened when she sighed or said “there.” He never made her feel foolish—he stroked each desire, each word with hands, with his mouth on hers.
She was so close to that precipice that always seemed so elusive, but here, with Dan, she could say what she wanted. She could enjoy what she wanted. Every time he slid into her, he touched every sensitive spot he could reach, lighting a fire that wouldn’t simply die. Not this time.
There was a brief flash of panic, but he surged deep, and she forgot what she was supposed to be panicking about. Forgot everything except the way the pleasure went sharp, and then warm and luxurious as sudden orgasm pulsated through her.
God, the way he moved, every muscle taut as he seemed to keep his own pleasure at bay, watching their bodies meet as he teased out the last flashes of hers…
She’d never felt this way before. She’d never thought she could.
His mouth curved into a cocky smile at her breathless noise, but then it softened, and he rested his forehead on hers, groaning as he moved deep one last time.
He held her there, and it took a while for things to work around in her brain enough for the reality of the situation to really sink in.
She’d done it. Well, he’d had a lot to do with that, so maybe they’d done it.
Ill-advised, sweaty, orgasmic sex. And Dan’s arms were around her, holding her close as he shifted to his side. She didn’t burrow in exactly, but neither did she pull away. It couldn’t be too dangerous to enjoy it for a few seconds. The aftershocks of pleasure, the simple fulfillment of someone holding her close.
