Well, at least Nick listened to plenty of public radio, she mused, bending down to scratch Click under the chin. The big gray tabbies were Tiger Lily’s kittens, Nick had said proudly. After finding them in his Triumph, he’d laid claim, and Bud had been forced to concede. Click was now twirling around Delia’s ankles and purring his approval, while his brother stretched out in Nick’s office window, soaking up what was left of the afternoon sun. Somewhere farther down the hall, she could hear the dryer rumbling, the button on Nick’s Levi’s making a rhythmic stritch-clack-scritch as it tumbled.
Nick’s house was open and spacious, the dining room, living room, and kitchen defined primarily by wide arches and thick Oriental rugs. He had furnished his home simply, in earth-toned leather and tweedy fabrics. His small, neat office opened off the kitchen, its bay window fitted with a cushion which Clack was using to good effect. A fieldstone fireplace dominated the living room. The iron grate looked well used, and the hearth was surrounded by an antique fender, at least eight inches high, its brass buffed to a mirror-like sheen.
All the floors were made of wide oak planks, stained brown and polished clean, but without any glossy finish. Delia wandered into the kitchen. Compared to the sterile steel and granite in her kitchen, Nick’s kitchen looked spartan but functional. Nice, actually. And amazingly clean. In fact, everything about Nick seemed clean and simple. Uncomplicated. Straightforward. Like his approach to sex.
Click had followed her into the kitchen. He rose upon his hind legs now and rubbed his head against the side of her knee. Delia looked down to see two empty bowls on a Garfield place mat, right by the refrigerator. On top of the fridge sat a bag of cat food. Automatically Delia reached for it and filled both bowls.
How odd, she thought, watching Click began to nibble. She’d never had a cat, or any other sort of pet. Her mother had claimed to be allergic. Neville had been too fastidious. How comforting it seemed to have them there, just hanging around. Intrigued, Delia pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down to watch. When Click finished eating, he began to methodically lick his paws and wash his face. Delia found it strangely soothing to watch. And she was still watching when Nick came through the back door carrying two bulging grocery bags.
“You’re back,” she said, leaping out of the chair. “I fed your cat. Is that okay?”
“Hey, they rule,” said Nick, bending to give her a swift, smacking kiss. Then, in what looked like one smooth motion, he dropped one bag on the kitchen island, shoved the other into the fridge, and scooped her up in his arms.
“Now it’s my turn,” he said, and carried her into the bedroom. “And darlin’, when I’m done, I promise you won’t be able to speak in complete sentences.”
DELIA LAY IN the middle of Nick’s bed, watching as he undressed. Outside, the sun was sinking in a brilliant magenta sky, the last rays of pink slanting through the window blinds, warming Nick’s skin. “Delia,” he said, letting his shirt drop onto the floor. “You sure do look good in my bed.”
Her mouth dry, Delia watched as his clever fingers made short work of his button, then grabbed the zipper tab. Swiftly he jerked it open, then shoved both jeans and briefs down his thighs. His penis sprang free, already hard and impossibly large. Delia made a little choking sound in the back of her throat.
Nick looked up, grinning, as he kicked his brown Docksiders off with the jeans. “Don’t worry, darlin’,” he said. “It still fits.”
He came toward the bed, sat down on the edge, and fished through his pants pockets, withdrawing a package of condoms and a small bottle of lubricant. Whoo boy, thought Delia, getting a really good look for the first time. Nick was tanned from his buttocks all the way up, and along the nape of his neck, his hair was razored off straight and neat, in an almost military fashion. His waist was narrow above his perfect ass, and his back looked broad and strong.
The chest was fine, too, she noticed when he turned toward her. Smoothly he rolled onto the bed, propped himself up beside her on one elbow, and began to undo the buttons on her shirt. Delia just lay there, savoring the look of him, and the feel of his heavy hand working its way down her body.
Nick tried to keep his hand from shaking as he folded back the fabric that shielded Delia’s breasts. She looked so small and fragile in his shirt, which was about three times too big for her. Carefully he cupped her left breast in his hand, weighing it carefully. “So beautiful,” he murmured gruffly. “So small and perfect, Delia.”
He reached back to his night table and picked up the little bottle of lubricant he’d bought at the drugstore, flipping the cap open with his thumb. “I warmed it in my pocket,” he said, drizzling just a little onto his fingertips. “I don’t want anything cold touching your body tonight.”
Then, lightly, he brushed his fingers across her left nipple, watching as it pebbled invitingly, begging him to suck and to bite. Christ, what a vision. Delia was eager, hot, and ready. But he wanted to delay. To tease. He only prayed he could hold off. She’d driven him nearly insane on top of the Triumph this afternoon, and only raw fear had kept him from pumping her full of his seed, and perhaps claiming her forever. God, what a close call. For both of them.
Shaking off the worry, Nick turned his attention to Delia’s other breast, lightly rubbing the lubricant into her soft flesh. Beneath his hand, Delia moaned and closed her eyes, writhing just a little on the bed. Her hands came up, as if pleading for something, then her arms went limp, and her hands fell back into the pillows beside her head.
Surrender, he thought. Sweet surrender.
The sharp, exotic tang of patchouli and citrus filled his nostrils. But underlying the scent of the lubricant was the sweet smell of Delia’s skin. He’d first noticed it when he’d pushed her back onto the hood of his car and shoved up her sweatshirt. It was like Dove soap, mingled with a warm, feminine fragrance that was uniquely Delia’s.
Her body was so responsive, so exciting. Nick had to force himself to go slow, to savor her. How many times would Delia consent to share his bed like this? A man couldn’t take such good fortune for granted. Gently he dotted the lubricant down her breastbone, then lower still. He watched, intrigued by her responsiveness as Delia writhed again, her hands tightening into fists, her back arching as if to beg for his touch.
“Nick?” Her voice was thready and uncertain.
Nick leaned into her and set his lips against her ear. “Less can be more, sweetheart,” he said, lightly flicking the tip of his tongue around the perfect, pink shell of her ear.
Delia’s body flexed again. “But more is what I want,” she said thickly.
Nick chuckled softly. “Just feel for a bit, darlin’,” he whispered. “Don’t rush. Let me touch you. Let me heighten that ache.”
Delia’s eyes held his, ice-blue and full of need. “I want it all now. I want you inside me again. Please, Nick.”
Impatient. He liked that. “Not now, baby,” he crooned to her. “Not yet. I want to touch and taste you first. I want to make you beg just a little. And then I want to watch you touch yourself—”
“Umm,” moaned Delia. “And I want to touch you, Nick. Teach me. Show me what you like.”
Nick lowered his mouth to her right breast, drew the tip between his teeth, and gently nipped her. “I want you on your knees sucking my cock, baby,” he growled. “That’s one thing I like. Will you do that for me?”
Delia swallowed hard, the muscles of her throat working beautifully. “Anything,” she whispered, her gaze going eagerly to his penis. “Anything for you, Nick. Just make love to me again.”
That hungry look in her eyes almost broke him. “Oh, I will,” he rasped.
Looking mesmerized, Delia watched his hand slide over her body. Then suddenly she shuddered a little and closed her eyes again, allowing her head to fall back.
Nick studied her for a moment. It wasn’t the first time she’d closed her eyes that way, almost as if she feared sensory overload. As if she had to shut out some of her senses, or explode. He
was intrigued. Delia was amazingly responsive to his touch. On a whim, he got up and crossed the room to his closet.
Delia sat up a little when the door slid open. Nick reached inside and grabbed a fistful of neckties, then returned to her side. “I want to blindfold you, Delia,” he rasped. “Will you let me? Will you trust me?”
Delia looked a little uncertain. “Are you going to tie me up?”
Nick smiled and slowly shook his head. “Not unless you want me to,” he answered honestly. “I just want to slow down your responses, restrain you a little, and heighten your senses.”
“That sounds…intriguing.”
Nick leaned forward and drew his tongue along the sweet curve of her jaw. “And I want you to plead for it just a little, Delia,” he whispered against her throat. “Stroke the old male ego. Beg me—eventually.”
Delia nodded weakly. “O-okay…”
Nick sat up again and drew his favorite, a dark red Ralph Lauren, from the slithering pile of silk and wool. Her eyes were round now. He flashed her a deliberately wicked grin. “Now, be a good girl for me, Delia,” he said, deliberately trailing the silk over her milk-white thigh. “Be real quiet, darlin’, and hold just as still as you can. That’s our little game, okay?”
Delia shivered. “Yes. Okay.”
Nick drew the red silk around one fist, and snapped it taut in the other hand. “Now, don’t let me make you scream, Delia,” he warned, reaching for her. “Make me work for it first.”
Gently he positioned the tie just below the soft arch of Delia’s brows and tied it just tight enough for his purposes, then followed with a second tie, just a little lower. Then he sat back on his haunches, licked one finger, and lightly brushed her nipple with it.
“Aaah,” moaned Delia, arching a good three inches off the bed.
Satisfied, Nick stroked her other breast, and got the same sensual response.
“Oh, Delia, darlin’, you’re hot enough to melt paint,” he whispered in his silkiest voice. “This is too easy, baby. Don’t let old Nick make you beg for it.”
Delia nodded, her soft black curls scrubbing his pillow. “I—I won’t, then,” she said, following his lead. “I—I’ll make you beg for it.”
Methodically, then, Nick stroked her breasts and her belly with the tip of his finger, sometimes wetting it first, sometimes trailing it lightly through the nest of curls which hid her clitoris, but never letting her guess where the next touch would occur. Soon he could feel the faint heat and dampness between her legs.
He eased his next stroke a little deeper, and Delia couldn’t hold out. Soon she was punctuating the falling dusk with her little cries of pleasure and surprise, until eventually, her whole body was shivering, her pelvis tilting up invitingly.
“Now, Nick,” she finally rasped. “I can’t—I can’t—wait. Do it now.”
“No, no, no,” he whispered. “Be good, sugar. Be a good and patient girl.”
Delia gasped for breath. “I’ll try,” she said faintly. “But it’s hard, Nick.”
“Oh, darlin’, you don’t know what hard is,” he whispered. “But you keep wiggling around on that bed, and you’re gonna get hard right up to the hilt.”
“So do it, Nick,” she begged. “Give it to me now. I’m bad. I can’t wait. Do it now.”
Then, fascinated by the raw lust in her voice, Nick picked up another tie, this one made of soft wool, and stroked just the tip of it down her belly. Restlessly she shifted on the mattress. His blue shirt was snarled underneath her now. “Nick,” she groaned. “Please. Please.”
“God, Delia, you are such a sensual creature,” he said, stroking the tie down her body again. “Your every nerve ending must be hot-wired.”
Delia swallowed, and nodded. “Do it, Nick,” she choked. “Fuck me now. You promised.”
Nick smiled. “I don’t think so, baby,” he murmured.
Then he stroked the tip of the wool tie from her belly button down into the nest of dark curls. Delia shuddered again and moved one leg, opening herself to him. Nick set one hand on her inner thigh and pushed her wider still.
Delia moaned and followed his silent command, opening herself fully. Nick felt his stomach bottom out with need. The folds of Delia’s flesh were already damp and glistening. Closing his own eyes now, Nick puddled the tie between her thighs, then dragged the full length of it up her body, sliding it through her outer lips.
“Nick!” The word came out a little yelp, and Delia began to pant.
Nick pushed the other thigh open. Over and over, he teased at her wet folds, drawing the tie up, then down, and back again, the rough woolen fabric not quite capable of touching her clit, but merely hinting at the tantalizing possibility. Delia’s nipples were hard as little rocks now, taut and jutting from her small, fine breasts. Nick wet his fingers, and lightly touched one, still sliding the tip of the tie through her mound. Delia gave a little scream, her shoulders coming off the mattress.
“Nick, please—!”
She was not going to last. Nick could sense it. He dropped the tie over one side of the bed, then drizzled more oil on his fingertips. “Okay, baby,” he said. “You’ve earned this.”
Then he set one hand above her mound and spread Delia’s lips wide. The pink folds of flesh were shiny with her dew, and in the center, her delicate clit was as hard as his cock. Deliberately Nick touched her there with his lubricated fingers. Delia’s breath exploded from her chest on a roar, and one hand went to her blindfold. Nick caught her wrist and pushed it firmly into the bedcovers, holding her down. At once her other hand followed, but instead of clawing at the tie which bound her eyes, Delia fisted it in the fabric of his bedspread, her knuckles white with need.
Nick stroked along her inner lip, and Delia began to shake. Greedily he bent and touched just the tip of her clitoris with his tongue. Delia shrieked, then began to sob. He stroked her again, lapping at her with long, sure strokes, ending each with his tongue teasing lightly at her nub. God, he wished he could feast on her forever. How he wanted to lick and suck every morsel of Delia’s small, lithe body.
“Good Lord, Nick—!” Delia sobbed again on his next stroke. “Oh, oh…”
And he knew he’d already waited too long. One more stroke, and Delia tumbled over the edge. “Oh, my God, oh, my God,” she chanted as Nick watched her explode before his eyes. She was gasping for breath, fighting to claw out for him. “Oh, God, Nick—!”
She was so beautiful, so lost in herself, so completely caught up in her passion. Nick stroked her with his palms, then soothed her with his crooning voice until Delia stopped shaking. Then gently he reached up and untied the blindfold. His heart lurched when he saw her eyes, wet with tears and soft with satisfaction. He gathered her up in his arms and pulled her against his chest.
“Baby, that was beautiful,” he whispered thickly.
For a moment she held herself against him, saying nothing. “My God, I’ve never felt anything like that in my life,” she finally said, her voice even huskier than usual.
Nick let her go and reached for a condom. His eyes never leaving Delia’s, he tore through the wrapper with his teeth and swiftly rolled it down his cock. After all he’d been through today, he wasn’t going to last, either. His erection twitching insistently, Nick slid his hands around Delia’s waist.
“Get on top, darlin’,” he commanded. “Climb up and take old Nick for a good hard ride.”
Delia had returned to full consciousness now. At his teasing tone, she grinned and allowed herself to be dragged awkwardly over Nick’s body. They ended up with his head somewhere near the footboard, and Delia half-straddling his thighs. Nick shifted his weight, and Delia rose up on her knees.
Fascinated, Nick watched as her expression shifted to one of intense focus. Then, taking his sheathed cock in her hands, Delia thrust it between her legs, tipped back her head, and sank straight down on it with a long, sweet sigh. It was the most graceful thing Nick had ever seen. Then Delia lifted herself, lightly and eleg
antly, and did it all over again.
Nick moaned deep in his chest and kept watching her move on top of him. It took only a stroke or two before he understood the reason for her intense focus. Each time she sank down on him, Delia clenched her vaginal walls tight around his cock, so tight she almost couldn’t rise up again. With every fluid, graceful motion of her body, the woman pulled at his flesh, milking him.
It only took about ten of those tight, fluid strokes before Nick had forgotten all about grace. Two more and he was hollering loud enough to wake Bud Basham. One more, and his brain was splintering apart in about six different colors—and if he could have found the strength, he’d have begged Delia to marry him, right then and there.
But he did not have the strength. He couldn’t even open his mouth. And without saying a word, Delia slid quietly off of him, tucked her body against his, and went promptly to sleep, thereby saving them both from what would undoubtedly have been a moment of grave embarrassment.
Oh, God. With an awful premonition stirring deep in his stomach, Nick just lay there, flat on his back, one arm behind his head and the other holding Delia snug against him, and feeling morally confident that he had just gotten himself into the deepest shit of his life.
THREE HOURS LATER Delia woke up with a fierce appetite. For food. Remembering the bag Nick had shoved into the refrigerator, she rolled over in his arms and prodded him awake.
Nick cooked while she sat at the kitchen island drinking his burgundy—the really good kind—and watching his delicious rear end. The food, as it turned out, was delicious, too.
“Nick, I was just wondering,” she said, forking up a sliver of sautéed portobello. “You don’t think there’s any way Bud could have seen us, do you?”
From the opposite end of the kitchen table, Nick looked up from his steak. “What, bonking on the hood of the Triumph?” he asked with a wink. “Nope. He’s gone to his granddaughter’s for the weekend. Left early this morning.”
Big Guns Out of Uniform Page 15
