All's Fair

by Suzie Quint

  She changed into her "mom" nightgown and lay down. Her limbs seemed to sink into the mattress. The day had been emotionally exhausting.

  Then she remembered she hadn't set her alarm. She struggled to sit up, reaching for the clock. Two hours. No, an hour and a half. After she'd left Sol, she'd checked the windows and doors and set up a cross-breeze with open windows. She lay back down and sighed as she let herself finally relax. An hour and a half . . . Ninety minutes . . .

  Wasn't that how long it took to get into REM sleep? That place where one was as deep in sleep as you could get. She couldn't remember. When she was overly tired, she sometimes reached over and slapped the alarm off without realizing it. What if she did it tonight?

  The thought lodged in her brain and refused to budge.

  Oh, great. Now she'd never get to sleep.

  She tried anyway, even drifting off for a few minutes only to jerk awake again.

  Oh, hell.

  She swung her legs out of bed and sat up. If she checked on Sol now, she could reset the clock for two hours and stop worrying about whether she'd wake up when the alarm went off.

  With the open window, the room bordered on chilly, so she drew on her plush robe.

  She'd left Eden's door barely ajar so the nightlight between the bedrooms wouldn't disturb Sol, but light from Eden's bedside lamp spilled into the hall.

  She nudged the door open.

  His cowboy hat was on the nightstand, and his boots were side-by-side by the bed. Sol, wearing only ratty, gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, sat on the edge of Eden's bed, his head tilted back, eyes closed, a tissue held to his nose.

  "Sol?"

  He opened his eyes but didn't move otherwise.

  Georgia's hands felt icy. Nose bleeds were one of the symptoms to watch for. "How bad is it?"

  "Not bad." The tissue against his nose made him sound as if he had a head cold.

  "Let me see." She pulled his hand down and breathed a sigh of relief. It must have been just a trickle.

  "How's your headache?"

  "Gone." He palmed the back of his neck. Turning his head into his hand created a loud pop.

  "Here. Let me." She came up behind him, knelt on the bed, and started kneading his neck.

  Sol released an audible sigh. "Mm. Hurts so good."

  Recognizing one of Sol's father's favorite phrases, Georgia smiled.

  She shifted her attention to his shoulders. Sol moaned his pleasure. This wasn't going to be enough. He had kinks on his kinks. She backed away.

  "What? Where you going?"

  "Lie down on your stomach."

  He groaned again as he stood, moving like a man three times his age. Before he could get back on the bed, the lights flickered and went out.

  "Geez, it's darker than the inside of a cow," Sol said. "I didn't think it ever got this dark in the city."

  "I have some candles in my room." Georgia felt her way around the bed. At the corner near Sol, she oriented herself toward the door. His hand found her hip, resting there lightly as she stepped away from the bed.

  "What? Are you scared of the dark?" she asked when she realized he intended to accompany her.

  "Terrified." His voice held a smile.

  If she insisted he wait, he'd just follow her anyway. She didn't want to risk him falling and cracking his head again, so she didn't argue.

  With Sol's hand still on her hip, she found the doorway and turned. She trailed her fingers along the wall until she came to her room. Lightning flashed as she stepped inside, startling her into stepping back. She came up against Sol's hard body. He rocked back then his hands circled her waist, steadying them both, his breath hot against her temple.

  She brushed his hands off her. "Stay here until I light a candle."

  A brass and etched glass hurricane lamp sat on her chest of drawers. Georgia had bought it because it was beautiful, but it was also useful on occasions like this. Blinded by the darkness, she carefully lifted the glass chimney, found the matches by touch in the top drawer, and lit the candle. She replaced the chimney and turned to find Sol laying face-down on her bed, his head cradled in his arms.

  "What do you think you're doing?" she asked. As though she didn't know.

  "Weren't you going to give me a backrub?"

  "Not here I wasn't." Her glare was wasted on him. "I knew you were going to try to get into my bed."

  "I ain't in it. I'm on it. There's a world of difference. C'mon, Georgia. My whole body aches. I feel like a bull do-si-doed on my back."

  "That's because one did." She still didn't move toward the bed, and Sol didn't get up. He wouldn't either. He'd fall asleep there, and she'd have to spend the night in Eden's bed with its too soft mattress.

  Dammit. This was her bed. She wasn't going to be driven out of it.

  She crawled onto the bed and straddled Sol. "Okay. But when I'm done, you're going back down the hall."

  He made a noise that might have been agreement. Or it might have been air coming out of his throat in response to the pressure she applied to his back.

  It felt impersonal enough at first.

  Her hands slid over scars she remembered as well as a few she didn't. Nothing dramatic, but they served to remind her that his life was made up of large pieces that didn't involve either her or Eden.

  My choice, she reminded herself. Because there was so much he just didn't get about what it cost to love a bull rider.

  Georgia shifted forward until she was perched on the upper slope of Sol's ass and went to work on his shoulders. A long, low groan issued from Sol's throat.

  He pulled his arms out from under his head and laid them loosely at his sides so she could work him over better. The candlelight hid the details of the tattoo on right arm, but she knew what it looked like and it, too, was a reminder of his love of bull riding.

  She was about to quit when Sol said, "Scratch."

  A smile pulled at her lips as she clawed her hands and raked her nails over his back.

  "Ahhhhhh . . ."

  She'd once seen him use the corner of a brick building to get at an itch between his shoulder blades and had decided on the spot that he'd been a mange-ridden, old bear in some previous life, one that was still looking for that rough-barked tree to rub up against.

  Obviously, that hadn't changed. Neither had his itches' tendency to migrate since, after a minute, he undulated to get a new itch under her nails. The movement caused his butt to shift. Georgia caught her breath. What was she doing, sitting on top of her prone ex-husband? On a bed. In candlelight, no less.

  Her hands froze on his back, her mind stuck on the idiocy that had gotten her in this predicament.

  Sol whispered, "Lift your hips a sec."

  And she complied.

  Sol twisted onto his back.

  Yup, there she was, kneeling over her ex-husband. If she sat back down, she'd be . . . well, someplace she didn't want to be. Or more accurately, someplace she couldn't afford to be if she wanted to keep the situation under control.

  The potential wasn't lost on Sol. He scooted down. His hands on her hips urged her to settle back down on him in a safer place.

  She appreciated his consideration and yet . . . her awareness of him heightened. Of his hard body, the warmth of his skin, the gleam of his tan in the candlelight.

  He had something he wanted to say. Even in the dim light, she could see that in the way he didn't meet her gaze and in the way he stroked the plush fabric over her hip. "Nice robe."

  "Eden gave it to me for Christmas," Georgia said, wanting to cut through the stalling that was so unlike him.

  "I know."

  Of course, he did. He'd paid for it, just like she paid for Eden's gifts to him. Had he helped his daughter pick it out, too? It suddenly seemed like too much of an intimacy.

  She was about to brush his hand off her hip when he softly said, "You didn't really want him, did you?"

  "Who? Mike?"

  He tipped his head, still not meeting her gaz
e.

  "I don't know, Sol. I didn't get the chance to find out."

  The candlelight reflected in his eyes as he finally looked up at her. "You didn't look right together."

  That was more like her ex-husband. Flat statements that didn't hedge. Opinion stated as fact. But there was an undercurrent she couldn't quite identify. As if he desperately wanted her to agree with him.

  "I think that's my decision to make, don't you?"

  He didn't bother to answer. His hand rose from her hip to trace her collarbone. The light touch jolted her, and her balance deserted her. She laid a hand on his stomach to brace herself and felt the muscles there tighten, becoming rock hard. He lifted his torso, his hand sliding around her neck, cupping the base of her skull, and pulling her toward him. It was like sitting in a car on the freeway, watching a jackknifed eighteen-wheeler skidding sideways toward her. Nothing would get her out of the way in time.

  His lips were soft as they moved over hers. Sol had always known how to be gentle, and that gentleness had always made her knees weak. He caught her lower lip and sucked gently on it. She should have pulled back, but she was frozen, lost in how sweet his kiss was.

  A tingle started between her thighs. In another moment, her arms were around his neck without her knowing how they got there.

  Sol touched her lips with the tip of his tongue. She opened without question. Their tongues sparred, teasing back and forth. He tasted just the way she remembered. Sweet, tender, caring. Sol at his best. His hands dropped to her hips and wordlessly urged her to lift off him again. Freed of her weight, he shifted even as he kept his mouth on hers then pulled her back down. When she settled again, his ratty sweats and her cotton panties did nothing to mask the erection that fit so perfectly in the hollow between her thighs.

  The sensible part of her brain was waving red flags, screaming, don't do this; this is stupid. But her motor was already running and revved. And damn. It had been so long since she'd been in Sol's arms.

  And every time you are, he's unbearable for months after.

  Her body ignored that piece of hard-won wisdom. She rocked on his erection, and Sol groaned. Georgia was too breathless to make any noise at all.

  He released her mouth, buried his face in her neck then worked his way up to nuzzle that sensitive spot behind her ear.

  "Let me love you, baby." Sol's voice was soft. Seductive.

  Her womb contracted even as the voice in her head started flinging flags around, screaming, no, no, no, no, no!

  The hand on her hip slid up over her waist to her rib cage, stopping when her breast was framed in the L between his thumb and his fingers.

  She knew he was waiting for a sign from her. What would he do if she screeched just do it, touch me already? Probably laugh. But then he'd caress her. Her nipples were already hard with anticipation, with wanting his hands on her.

  The words wouldn't come out of her mouth because, no matter how much she wanted him, she knew it was a mistake. Her body disagreed. Before she could stop herself, she squirmed. Two layers of clothing was not enough to insulate either of them from the sensation of her rolling over his erection. Sol's head went back, his eyes closed, his mouth open, a long, noisy exhalation bursting from his throat.

  Georgia ran her tongue over the corded muscles of his neck. He tasted of salty, musky male and lust.

  His hand closed over her breast at last. Georgia moaned and squirmed on him again.

  "Jesus, Georgia," he said on a breath. "Do that again."

  She complied.

  "Fuck." His mouth closed over her nipple. It was Georgia's turn to gasp. Her light cotton nightgown dissolved in the heat and moisture of his mouth. His teeth scraped her nipple. An electrical charge zapped her so fiercely that she rose to her knees.

  "Oh yeah, baby." Sol's hands slipped under the hem of her nightgown and slid up her thighs to her waist, pushing her nightgown up until her breasts were bared. He flicked her nipple with his tongue then took it into his mouth.

  Georgia's eyes closed. She cradled his head in her arms, holding him to her breast.

  The voice of reason in her head hung up the emergency flags, surrendering to the inevitable. Dumb idea or not, she was going to fuck her ex-husband. Even if, in the unlikely event, he changed his mind and she had to tie him to her bed.

  She shrugged out of the robe, pulled her nightgown over her head, and tossed it aside.

  Sol's pupils flared until she couldn't see even a trace of his gray irises in the candlelight.

  "Ah, Georgie." His eyes had gone dark with desire.

  He wrapped his arms around her and flipped her under him.

  His kiss was hard and demanding. His tongue invaded her mouth like a conquering army. She wrapped her bare legs around his hips, feeling the slide of his sweats over his skin.

  He broke the kiss. "Give me your hands."

  "Huh?"

  He didn't wait for her brain to kick in enough to interpret his words. Closing his hands over her wrists, he drew them over her head and wrapped her fingers around the spindles of her headboard.

  "Hang onto that." Then he nuzzled her ear, drawing her lobe into his mouth and sucking on it. Goosebumps rose all over Georgia's body. Before he started his downward trek, in a low, smoky voice, he said, "Now don't let go." Then he was nuzzling her neck, kissing her nipples, licking the sensitive lower slope of her breasts. He Frenched her belly button and made the skin over her womb quiver with feather-light kisses.

  She gripped the headboard tighter with every migration he made. With his hands behind her knees, he lifted her legs and kissed his way up the inside of her thighs.

  Her clit tightened as he savored her, as though it could hardly wait its turn. Sol slid forward, draping her legs over his shoulders, his hands cupping her ass.

  Now. Now he would give her what she needed.

  Damn her panties. Not that they were much of a barrier when his hot mouth closed over her clit. Georgia writhed, wanting to get closer. Of course, if she was any closer, she'd be behind him.

  He'd always had the most talented tongue, and he'd always loved turning her inside-out with it. His tongue pressed against the crotch, but her panties denied him entrance. He was making her crazy on purpose, drawing out the foreplay until she was ready to go up like a Roman candle.

  Letting go of the headboard, she slid her hands down her body, over her breasts, her belly, down to her bikini panties. She'd started to slide her fingers inside the elastic when Sol's hands closed over her wrist. "Uh-uh-uh."

  "Sol." She turned his name into a plea.

  "I'll make you happy, baby. I promise. Now grab the headboard and don't let go this time."

  She whimpered, but he wouldn't lower his head until she did what he wanted. When he didn't step up the pace, she got pissed. "Dammit, Sol, I want some part of you inside me."

  The heat of his mouth faded, and she knew he'd grinned.

  "Okay, baby." His fingers slid inside the crotch of her panties. He stroked her a couple of times. "So soft." Another stroke. "So wet." And then he stroked into her.

  Georgia arched against the mattress.

  "Is that what you want, baby?"

  All she could do was gasp and blink, trying to bring the world back into focus.

  He slipped her legs off his shoulders and peeled her panties down until he exposed her blonde curls. She wanted to open herself to him, but the panties were down just far enough to keep her legs pressed together. Sol applied his tongue to the crux of her thighs. With her legs bound, it was a tease. His tongue could score the target, but he couldn't draw her into his mouth. She whimpered again.

  "Please. Please, Sol."

  He rose to his knees. Georgia quivered. "Don't let go of that headboard, baby." And he stripped off her panties. Georgia opened her legs wide.

  Sol's breath hissed in, his eyes locked on her pussy. "Geez, Georgie, you're so wet, you're glistening."

  Several long seconds passed then he shook his head as though breaking a spe
ll. His sweats hit the floor and his erection sprang free.

  He was more generously endowed than any other man she'd known, and for tonight, he was hers. Georgia lifted her hips, enticing him to come back to her.

  He crawled up the bed until he was on his hands and knees over her.

  "Can I let go now, Sol?"

  He smiled, his eyes glinting in the candlelight. "Yeah, I think so."

  She flattened her palm against his chest as he lowered himself to kiss her. The taste of her was on his tongue. She curled one leg around him. He thrust against her, as though taking a practice swing, then positioned his hips.

  Georgia broke the kiss. "Sol—"

  "No." And he thrust into her.

  Georgia gasped. He felt so good, the thought she'd just had about condoms disappeared like cotton candy in the rain. She wrapped her arms around him as she lifted her other leg and locked her heels behind his back.

  Gentle was not what she wanted anymore, and Sol obliged her, giving her hard, impatient strokes. Georgia welcomed each one, bracing herself for each pounding, blissful one. She dug her nails into his shoulders. Sol swore and slammed into her even harder. She knew she'd just tapped that erogenous zone in his brain. The one where sexual fantasies were born.

  The tension in her was spiraling out of control. Breathing became optional.

  "Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, Sol . . ."

  "Come for me, Georgie." His voice was low and raspy. "Hurry. Coz I can't hold back much longer."

  Knowing he was fighting his own satisfaction to make it good for her tipped her over the edge. Her climax broke over her like a wave. When the second wave hit, she arched into him. Another wave rolled in. He murmured something she couldn't begin to decipher. His arms tightened around her, and he slammed into her again, bringing another wave, a bigger one. Then they were clinging to each other, panting, gasping for air.

  When their breathing calmed some, he kissed her. A nice, slow, lingering kiss. "Can I call you the next time I get a concussion?"

  "Oh, Lord." How could she have forgotten? "Are you okay?"