“Now just so I’m sure I understand, I can stay here as long as I don’t mess with your food or try to cook for you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any problem cooking for me?”
“No.”
She walked to the door, picked up her bag and turned toward the bedroom. “Good. You feel up to making French toast?”
He smiled. “Sure.”
“Thanks. I’m going to jump in the shower.”
That was it. Done. Fig blew out a relieved breath. He’d shared his biggest secrets, and rather than bolting for the door, Roxie responded by asking him to make French toast while she went to take a shower. Granted, he’d known her for only less than two weeks, and they’d gotten off to a rather rocky start, but her actions affirmed what Fig was starting to feel in his heart. Roxie had definite long-term potential.
Did she have any idea how special she was? So different from all the other women he knew. Accepting. Honest. Roxie said what was on her mind and went after what she wanted. She played at tough but turned out to be sensitive and caring. She understood him and knew what he needed before he did. Fig could read her, too. He’d hurt her this morning. Roxie deserved better.
Before he could think better of it, determined to make amends, he had his right arm sealed in plastic wrap and was pushing open the bathroom door.
“You can’t get that arm wet,” Roxie cautioned as soon as he entered.
The fact that she didn’t tell him to let her shower in peace was as good as an invitation. Fig dropped his boxers and pushed back the shower curtain.
“Oy,” Roxie said in the process of rinsing shampoo from her hair, rivulets of suds streaming down her firm, tan, luscious body. Fig went from semierect to full-on let’s-get-busy. “In order to stay here I have to put up with your freaky eating habits and have sex with you? It’s too much. What’s in it for me?”
That was the problem with not thinking a plan all the way through. No protection. Fig climbed into the tub anyway, holding his right arm up and away from the spray of the shower, and closed the curtain behind him. “I’ll feed you well and give you lots of orgasms.” He hooked his left arm behind her back and pulled her front flush with his.
Roxie wrapped her arms around his neck and rubbed her warm, slippery, magnificent body from side to side, her taut nipples scraping across his chest, her pelvis cradling him, her bare mons igniting his fire.
She kissed his neck. “Works for me. What do you get out of it?”
He hugged her close. “You.” Day and night, to cuddle up to in his bed and brighten his wide-awake hours.
“Smart man. I can be very useful to have around,” she said enticingly.
Of that he had no doubt.
“I can help you with your shower, for instance.” She stepped away, picked up the soap and nestled it between her palms. She stroked it and twirled it sensually until a foamy lather seeped between her fingers.
Fig’s erection envied that soap, wanted to be that soap. He swallowed. “You have an uncanny ability to know exactly what I need.” When Roxie set her sudsy hands to his chest, his man-parts sent out a flare of excitement that left behind a residual intense yearning. His body throbbed with a desire only Roxie could satisfy.
From his neck down her soft hands left no part of him untouched, her movements more graceful and arousing than purposeful. The experience: incredible. The end result: one clean, ready-for-sex man.
“I think you should get another tattoo,” Roxie said. “Around here.” She drew a circle on his thigh. “An itty-bitty raccoon.”
Tease. He pulled her close, ran his hand down her back and squeezed her right butt cheek. “How about you get one right here? To give me something to spank.”
She actually trembled. Fig had never even considered spanking a woman prior to Roxie, had never been as scared and angry as she’d made him the night of the fire. But if she liked it he’d do it. Anything to please her.
“Rinse,” she said.
He stepped beneath the warm water.
Roxie joined him, kissed his shoulder, his chest. “I am in love with your body.” She accepted him. As is. Tattoos and quirks and all. It was time to show her how much that meant, how much he was starting to care for her.
“If I had two working hands, this is when I’d pick you up, slam your back to the wall and drive myself deep inside you.”
“Ooohhh. Something to look forward to,” she said as she took him into her hand and began a slow, sensual glide up and down his swollen shaft. It felt so good. She felt so good. Her long, thin fingers surrounding him, squeezing him, pushing him closer to the edge of ecstasy.
“But you need to take it easy,” she said. “Let me do all the work.” She went down on her knees.
“No,” Fig said, reaching for her with his left hand and helping her up. “Today is all about you.”
He closed the distance between them and pressed her back to the center wall, keeping his left side under the water. “Lift this leg.” He tapped her right thigh. “Now wrap it around my waist. Open for me. Good girl.”
He thrust along the seam of her sex, teasing and titillating, giving her a sample of what was to come. Roxie’s breathing became deeper, her movements urgent. She rubbed his head, kissed his cheek, his chin and bottom lip.
Where normally he would have turned his head, Fig froze, waited to see what she’d do next.
“I want to kiss you in the worst way,” she said, tracing his bottom lip with her finger.
Deep down he wanted her to kiss him. Wanted to kiss her. But when it came to actually doing it…he couldn’t.
“Would it help if I told you I flossed, brushed my teeth and gargled before I got into the shower?” she asked.
In anticipation he’d join her? He leaned back and raised an eyebrow in question.
She nodded. “You, my friend, have a plethora of oral hygiene paraphernalia.”
He liked a clean, healthy, as-germ-free-as-he-could-get-it mouth. He stared at her lips, wondered what they’d feel like pressed to his, what she’d taste like. His mom’s words haunted him. The human mouth is the dirtiest part of the body. It contains more germs than a toilet seat. Germs will kill you, Ryan. No kissing on the lips. Ever.
Damn her. The last thing Fig wanted to think about when he looked at Roxie’s beautiful lips was a toilet seat.
“Do you remember yesterday, on the stretcher in the E.R.?” She rocked along his length, ran her fingertips up and down his sides.
He nodded, although she made it difficult to think about anything other than her hands on his body and how much he wanted to get inside of her, to pleasure her over and over.
“When you said you’d make it up to me? Whatever I want, you’ll do? Anything, you said.”
Uh-oh. Fig swallowed, knew where this was headed.
“Well, I sure would like it if you’d kiss me.”
Ka-pow! Take that, arousal. Dread replaced his elation of a moment ago. What woman would appreciate a man experiencing dread at the thought of kissing her? It wasn’t normal. It made no sense. He knew that. But still… Now she’d get angry. She had every reason to. He was a mental case. He couldn’t look at her. He stepped away and gave her room to leave.
“Hey,” she said softly as she took his arm and brought him back to her. “If you’re not ready, that’s okay. I can wait, but not too long.” She lifted his chin. His eyes met hers, soft and caring. “Promise me you’ll work on it. To surprise me.”
“I will.” He buried his face in her neck. Thankful. Blessed to be with Roxie, who didn’t make unrealistic demands and carry on when he couldn’t meet them, who simply stated what she wanted, prepared to wait. He would reward her patience with the most amazing kiss ever. Hopefully. After he received some counseli
ng. Which he would inquire about first thing Monday morning. For Roxie. For himself. For a future he’d never thought possible before today.
“I’m sorry I brought it up.” She hugged him. “Can we get back to the celebration-of-me day?”
Of course they could. After he took care of a few small details. “You soak for a little while longer. Give me five minutes to get ready,” Fig said. He whispered in her ear, “Then dry off and meet me in my bedroom, where we will commence with the Day of Roxie revelry.” He kissed her temple. “Come as you are.”
Okay. So when the idea of making their next few hours extraordinary and worthy of standing out above every other sexual encounter from Roxie’s memory had popped into Fig’s head, he’d failed to consider he had only one usable hand.
When Roxie exited the bathroom in full goddesslike nakedness—in way less than the five minutes he’d requested—he’d barely managed to get the bottom sheet on the bed.
“Mocha satin,” she said, rubbing the still-folded top sheet against her cheek. “These things are legit. Me likey.” She took over making the bed and winked. “Conserve your first-day-post-op energy. You’re going to need it.” She had the bed made in minutes.
He glanced at the candles he’d placed on each nightstand. Without being asked, Roxie lit them while he closed the blackout curtains.
“You’re going all out,” Roxie said.
“You’re worth it,” Fig responded. And she was. Even if she didn’t realize it. “Now lie down.”
Roxie folded down the top sheet, crawled to the center of the queen-size bed—giving him a tantalizing view of her nice, round posterior—and lay down on her back. “This feels rather decadent.” She eyed him askance. “But a party of one is no party.” She patted the bed beside her.
Even though the room wasn’t completely dark, the light from the candles danced on her beautiful skin. She looked like a serving of rich caramel cream piped onto a bar of mocha chocolate. Fig’s mouth watered. Come to find out, he had a sweet tooth, after all.
He grabbed a strip of condoms from the drawer by the bed and held them out to Roxie. “You’re in charge.”
She scooted to the edge of the bed, eagerly ripped one open and rolled it on. Fig called on every bit of control he possessed to keep himself from tackling her and giving it to her hard and fast. “On your back,” he said. “Arms over your head.”
* * *
Roxie did as instructed because the command in his tone excited her. She settled onto the silky sheets and reached her arms—and what the heck, her legs, too—toward each corner of the bed. Spread out, exposed and open, she was his for the taking.
He watched her, a hint of domination in his gaze. Power.
And with no more than that look, Roxie’s body heated and made itself ready to accept him.
“Tell me what you want,” Fig said, still standing at the side of the bed.
She wanted him to tie her arms and legs in this exact position, to do wicked things that would make her scream out with pleasure. “You. I want you.”
He joined her on the bed, careful of his right arm. At one point he winced.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Roxie asked.
Fig settled on top of her, balancing his weight on his left elbow. He stared deeply into her eyes and slid the broad tip of his erection along her warm, wet path. All the way down then back up. Over and over. “I am definitely up for this.”
Well, then, let’s get started. Roxie tilted her pelvis, hoping with his next pass he’d slide inside.
He didn’t.
“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” he asked instead.
She wasn’t. Her face was too narrow, her eyes too prominent and her nose resembled a hawk’s beak.
“You have the prettiest eyes. When I look into them I can tell exactly what you’re thinking.”
Oh, no, he couldn’t.
And still staring down at her, he thrust deep. Filled her. Touched a part of her she didn’t know existed until that very moment, making sex with Fig so much more than a mere physical encounter.
He pulled out and pushed in again. “Today is all about you.” Out. In. “Tell me what you want, Roxie.” Out. In. “What you really want.”
She couldn’t. Not yet. But there was one thing. “Make love to me.” Not down-and-dirty-fill-me-drill-me sex. But slow, sweet, you’re-worth-a-little-time-and-effort sex. The kind two people who cared about more than each other’s bodies had. It’d be nice to experience that at least once.
Fig got an odd look on his face.
Roxie went hot with embarrassment. “Don’t panic. I’m not saying I love you or anything.” But if she let herself, she could. Oh, so easily. “I hardly know you.”
“Yet you know more about me than friends I’ve had for years.”
She liked knowing his secrets. If only she could share all of hers.
“You can,” he said.
“Can what?” Roxie asked.
“Tell me whatever it is you’re hiding.”
How could he possibly…?
“When you’re ready.” He kissed her forehead. “Keeping secrets is going to give you wrinkles.”
Roxie focused on relaxing her facial muscles. No stress or indecision or guilt here. “Are we going to spend our day talking? Because there are other things…”
“Wrap your legs around my hips.”
Gladly.
He twirled the knuckles of his right hand around her nipple until it tightened into a hard, ticklish peak, and increased his thrusts. The nurse part of her wanted to tell him he shouldn’t be using his right hand. The aroused woman part—who loved how he made her feel—took the nurse by the throat and squeezed so not even a peep of sound could escape.
“I wish I had two good hands so I could do everything I want to do to you.”
“Improvise,” Roxie suggested.
Fig lowered his mouth to her ear. “I’m going to make you love me, Roxie,” he whispered, his breath hot and heavy, his hips rocking into her.
He wouldn’t have to work hard. It would take far more effort for her to make herself not fall in love with him. “Oh, you think so?” she asked, meeting each thrust.
He bent his knees, shifted up and drove into her, gliding along the exact spot that drove her wild.
“I know so.” He lavished attention on the tiny cove at the base of her ear and Roxie reveled in the sensation of having each of her turn-on triggers engaged at the same time.
Soon they were both breathing too heavily to talk. They spoke with their bodies in a mix of tender touches and loving caresses. They communicated via escalating moans, desperate groans and deep, lingering sighs. Roxie had her legs clamped around him, urging him deeper—as if it were even possible.
Then he did something that sent a surge of wonderfulness loose inside of her and Roxie screamed out, “Just like that. Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”
Like he’d hit her power boost she thrust harder, moved faster, and squeezed him tighter than she’d thought herself capable. In return he thrust harder, moved faster and squeezed her tighter right back.
A few minutes later, lying replete on Fig’s muscled chest while he twirled his fingers in her hair, unable to move more than her mouth, Roxie said, “We sure are well matched in the bedroom.”
Fig kissed the top of her head. “It’s a start.”
* * *
On Sunday morning Roxie finished wiping the counters with a paper towel and said, “Sit. You made breakfast. I clean up. Then I’ve got to go.”
Fig pulled out a chair, sat down and studied her like he could tell she was hiding something. “What’s on the schedule for today?”
“Mami made a list of things she wants me to bring ov
er to Victoria’s. After I stop by her room to pick it up I need to meet with Victoria to discuss my job and, if I still have one, to put in a request for some more time off.” And pick up what she needed for Tuesday night. An ominous feeling of doom weighed heavily on her shoulders. She turned her back to Fig so he wouldn’t see.
She hated not being totally honest with him. But he’d never approve, would no doubt want to be involved somehow and he wasn’t up to it. As much as she didn’t want him to know the truth, she worried about him, too. He looked absolutely drained from them spending the better part of the past twenty-four hours in bed. Not sleeping. Barely resting. They’d been insatiable for each other. He needed to relax and strengthen. Not worry about her. No. She’d handle it herself and put the ordeal behind her. Without Fig ever finding out.
“Then I’m going to the house to try to find everything,” she said with forced vigor. “Then it’s back to the hospital to wait for Mami’s discharge, and a trip to Victoria’s to get her settled in.”
“I’ll come with you,” Fig offered.
Any other time she would have taken him up on his offer. She liked having him around. But not today. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She washed the last of their silverware and set them in the dish rack to dry. “You need to elevate your arm and rest today. But thank you.” She walked over to kiss the top of his head. “Really. I appreciate the offer. Now what do you need me to do for you before I go?”
“Leave me your brothers’ names, addresses and phone numbers.”
“Yeah. About that.” She ran the ends of the scarf she’d chosen as a belt through her fingers. “They’re not going to come.” They didn’t care about her or Mami one bit. “And they probably won’t appreciate you bothering them.” And would be obnoxiously vocal about it, like they were back when she used to call them to ask them to come home.
He stood up and slid a pad and pen across the counter. “Names, addresses and phone numbers. You let me handle the rest.”
“I don’t…” How embarrassing to admit the only number she knew for certain was Ernesto’s. While Mami wrote down the return addresses from the occasional Christmas cards she received, Roxie couldn’t say for certain where any of her brothers lived.
The Nurse's Not-So-Secret Scandal Page 14
