He didn’t give her a chance to puzzle it out further. Instead, he leaned forward and brushed her lips with his, and every thought in Caroline’s mind dissolved in the next burst of rolling thunder.
Simon’s arms tightened around her as she shifted beneath him, her lips parting. Instantly, with a groan of hunger, he slipped his tongue into her mouth, tasting, exploring, seeming to brand her with his heat. She clutched at his arms and he stepped forward, half turning her, and the movement jostled his towel free.
It slipped to the ground and he made no move to reach for it. Instead his hand shifted to her waist, and she felt the tug of the sash of her own robe as Simon pulled it free of its loose knot.
“You seem to have me at a disadvantage here,” he murmured. “And you did offer me the use of your robe.”
“Of course,” she murmured, unable to stop the nervous giggle that slipped free. Simon stood back, staring at her again with that peculiar intensity, that searching need and almost confusion that she felt echoed in her own hapless gaze. When he didn’t move again she lifted her hands to the shawl collar of her robe, shifting it back to expose a fuller expanse of her neck and collarbone.
That seemed to galvanize him. He lifted his own hands, taking hold of the material above her fingers. “Please,” he rumbled. “Allow me.”
He pulled the robe wider almost reverently, not pausing until the material was bunched at her shoulders. Gripping her upper shoulders, he finally dropped his gaze to her throat, her breasts, her belly, her legs. He drew in a ragged breath and she quivered beneath him. She was no virgin, but she’d never had a man study her so intently before—she’d never let a man do so, really. Intimacy had always been a rushed act, what she’d assumed was flaring desire leading quickly to a tangled mass of sheets and sighs and urgent, intertwined bodies. That was what passion was supposed to be like, she’d quickly decided. The way it would always be.
She’d been wrong.
The ferocity of Simon’s hunger was almost a physical thing, yet he moved with almost excruciating slowness, pushing back the robe to clear her shoulders, then her upper arms. She should have felt cold with the sudden baring of her skin, but the heat that had been simmering within her swelled up, suffusing her with its power to the point where she felt her whole body must be blushing. She couldn’t check, though, because at that moment Simon pivoted, sliding one arm around her back and bringing the other one around in one smooth movement to rest behind her knees. He lifted her before Caroline could squawk out a protest, then carried her the few short steps to the bed.
He laid her down almost reverently on top of it, knocking several pillows off in the process, then spread the robe wider. The only light in the room came from the fire, and the storm-darkened skies gave the room the intimate feel of night.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he climbed into bed with Caroline, stretching his own long, lean body along hers. Any reply she wanted to make was silenced by him lifting a hand and drifting it along her face, brushing her hair back. He seemed to be staring at her hard enough to memorize every feature, every curve, and Caroline finally managed a smile as his fingers drifted lower, caressing her shoulder, then the length of her arm.
“You act like I’m going to disappear,” she murmured, and Simon’s glance was once again sharp, intense, a sudden shock of emotion passing over his face then gone so quickly, she was almost certain she imagined it.
“That would be a tragedy.” He leaned forward and kissed Caroline again, angling his body over hers. “Especially since I haven’t yet kissed you…here.” He shifted from her mouth to her cheek, trailing a line of kisses to her hairline, then dipping down to caress the sensitive curve of her ear with his lips. “Or here.”
He moved more quickly then, dropping kisses on her neck, her collarbone, and Caroline’s eyes nearly crossed as he eased his mouth further down, drawing the tip of her breast between his teeth in a movement that caused her back to arch up from the bed. Instantly, he snaked his right hand behind her, holding her steady, while his left captured her other breast, palming it in a deep massage that she could feel all the way to her toes.
Caroline groaned, her head falling back, her arms knocking off more pillows as she fought to grab something—anything—to ground her. The sensations winding through her were only building in intensity, and a moment later she stiffened as Simon’s attentions shifted further south, his mouth tracing a trail of quick kisses over the curve of her body and all the way down to the vee of her thighs.
“Simon,” she managed, reaching down to grip his shoulder urgently. But whether she was going to warn him off or encourage him, she couldn’t say.
He apparently assumed the latter, his tongue and lips tasting her sensitive skin as his hands spread her legs wider apart. A moment later she felt the hot, intense touch of his breath on her, and her eyes almost crossed. Sex was one thing—but again, always built for speed, not intimacy. Certainly not intimacy like this.
She felt Simon’s tongue slide along the tight bundle of nerves that at this point seemed to extend from her ribcage to her knees, his soft laughter drifting up as she jumped.
“Everything good?” she heard him ask, or she thought she heard him ask. One of her hands was tangled in his hair, the other was gripping the comforter, and she could barely manage an inarticulate groan.
The only response from him was a hum of purely masculine pleasure, and she jerked again as he returned his mouth to her, learning the intimate pathways of her body, and fixing with sudden and exquisite focus on the one place she needed him most—only to move off from it as quickly, pressing kisses to her thighs, her hipbone, the base of her belly. He did this twice again, three times, until Caroline was practically writhing beneath him, desperate for his touch. Her fingers in his hair were useless in guiding him, her hands were trembling too much, but just when she’d given up hope she felt a different pressure, a soft, insistent fullness, as he slipped a finger deep inside her and pressed upward.
She gasped in surprise but before she could respond further, Simon’s mouth once more unerringly found the apex of sensitivity at her core. The contrasting sensations inside and outside her body crashed over Caroline with the fury of the building storm outside, and she went from a slow burn to a sudden, blinding spiral of need. This time, Simon didn’t move, didn’t waver, his tongue flicking once—twice—until Caroline’s entire body seemed to jackknife in the bed, the only thing keeping her from tumbling to the floor Simon’s strong, steady hands, his sturdy body, bracing her as she burst through the explosion of reaction again and again, then, finally, collapsed back to the bed, completely spent.
“Dear God,” she managed with a voice far weaker than she would have expected. “Is this how you treat all your guests?”
His chuckle rolled over her. “Only those who reserve a month in advance.”
As Caroline laughed shakily, Simon watched her with an intensity he could no sooner lessen than he could understand, his own body wrapped in a mantle of pure gratification. She was beautiful, yes, and they were clearly attracted to each other. But that didn’t explain his almost preternatural need to bring her pleasure and comfort, and most importantly to get her into this bed—any bed—and keep her there.
By now his own body was painfully aware of what he wanted…needed to happen next, but he didn’t want to assume, didn’t want to pressure her in any way. It was enough that he’d brought her to this place, her breathing calming now, her body shifting sinuously beneath his hands as he mapped its every inch.
“Simon.” Even Caroline’s voice seemed different now, deeper, richer, and when he lifted his gaze to meet hers, he gritted his teeth. His already full cock stiffened sharply as she glanced along his body, taking in the clench of his abs, his obvious erection, and no doubt the veins standing out on his hands as he braced himself against the mattress.
She lifted her gaze to his again, and arched a brow. “I think you missed a spot,” she said softly.
“Caroline, we don’t—”
“We do,” she cut him off. Her lips quirked into a soft smile. “You’re going to ruin every fantasy I have about American professors if you think you can leave my bed right now without letting me feel you inside me.”
Her frank words leveled him, and Simon exhaled sharply, wincing as his cock began to throb with need. But reality was reality. “I don’t…” he paused, having to clear his throat. “Despite what you might think about American professors, we don’t walk around with condoms tucked into our jeans pockets.”
To his surprise, she lifted her brows, her eyes dancing merrily.
“Then you should pay extra to whomever stocks your bathrooms.”
In a flash he understood her meaning, and he quickly slid from the bed, striding across the floor to the still-steamy bathroom. A quick search of the cabinets produced the treasure he sought, and he paused a moment to check the expiration date—because he certainly hadn’t put condoms in the Pinnacle House guest rooms. The date was far enough into the future that he was satisfied, and he tabled all other considerations for the moment.
It only took another fifteen seconds for him to return to Caroline’s side, and she watched him with a sufficient level of hunger as he freed the condom and slid it over his cock so roughly that he nearly broke the thing. When he’d sheathed himself, she shifted over on the bed, apparently trying to make room for him to lay beside her.
She needn’t have bothered—there was only one place he wanted to be at that moment, and it wasn’t curled up beside this woman. Instead he climbed onto the mattress and levered himself over her body, bracing his arms on either side of her. She was so impossibly beautiful, her hair spread out over the pillows, her expression clear and open, her eyes regarding him with a mixture of desire and satiety and a deep feminine knowing of her power over him in that moment. Staring into Caroline Saleri’s eyes was the strongest aphrodisiac Simon had ever experienced, and he indulged himself in it a moment longer, even as his body strained toward her, demanding that he close the last few inches between them.
Then Caroline’s arms were up and around him, her hands flat on his back, urging him down, and he officially gave up any semblance of sanity.
As if their bodies were born to the process, his cock settled against the vee of her legs with consummate efficiency. Caroline breathed out a short gasp, then another blush crept up her cheeks—not from embarrassment this time, but a fierce drive toward completion he was trying to ward off as well. She shifted beneath him, spreading her legs wider, and Simon’s breath caught in his throat. He nudged into her, feeling the tight pressure as he did so, and paused, nearly out of his mind with need.
“Is there anything wrong?” Caroline’s question wasn’t quite rhetorical, but there was no actual concern in her voice. Probably the fact that Simon was fairly gasping, his face frozen in a rictus of restraint, gave the intensity of his desire away.
Still, he managed a half laugh, the response causing his shaft to surge inside her. Caroline’s return groan set his blood on fire, and he grinned tightly.
“On behalf of my professorial counterparts, I’m trying not rush this, to give you the full experience of what American academics have to offer,” he finally gritted out. “But you’re making it damned hard.”
Caroline’s eyes brightened and she giggled, but her hands slipped from the small of his back to his ass, and Simon nearly gasped at the unexpected shift. She pulled him into her and he slid forward a slow, sensuous inch, the increased tightness making his head spin.
“Please convey my appreciation to professors everywhere,” she murmured, easing up on the pressure only to reapply it, sliding him home another inch. “But I think you’ve made your point.”
“Not quite.” He finally let himself sink the rest of the way, filling her completely, and with a half-groan, half-sigh, Caroline’s arms fell away. Her body arched beneath his instinctively, her breathing fractured as he slid in and out of her once—twice—a third time. All the while, as he could feel his own hold on his body beginning to fracture, he stared at her face—her transported expression, her eyes now half-slitted as they stared back at him with hazy focus, her soft, parted lips. He could stare at her for hours, he suddenly thought, and the need within him redoubled, his bones feeling like they would come apart from the force of the internal pressure.
He sank into her again and again, and they settled into a rhythm as old as the sea itself, both of them rocking in perfect unison as their hands, their lips, their tongues touched explored and savored. He didn’t know how much time passed beneath the breaking thunder, but he seemed at one with that storm, riding both its crests and its sudden, shocking crashes like it was his only path through the roiling waves of sensation threatening to drown him completely.
Then, in a sudden lull of the wind, Caroline sighed deeply, her legs parting as her knees shifted up, seating him so deeply that a blast of heat shot through him, an intense, primal demand he could no more reason away than he could fly. With a final thrust he came apart in her arms, a white-hot surge of satisfaction, fulfillment, release, and relief sending him tumbling over the abyss. He heard a shout, realized it was his own, and shuddered against Caroline’s body, dimly aware that her arms had gone around him now, that she’d pressed him to her, kissing him, holding him, as tremors wracked through him from his crown to his toes.
It took a full minute before he could focus again, and the lethargy that dragged his limbs was as sudden as it was nearly unbreakable. “Just…a minute,” he managed, pulling himself off her body and shakily regaining his feet. He didn’t bother explaining further, but gestured to the bed, praying she would understand.
It took him less than fifteen seconds to discard the condom in the bathroom and return, but by then Caroline had proven her success at reading his mind. She’d pulled the sheets back and was currently burrowing inside, deep under the comforter. He crossed the room in three steps and joined her, the two of them pulling the blankets up tightly around them as another thunderclap shook the walls.
Caroline sighed with what sounded like genuine happiness as he slipped his arm around her, her back to his chest. Both of their gazes were on the far picture window, though they could see little outside except boiling clouds and the drive of another band of rain against the house.
“How long is this going to last?” she asked, a note of wonder in her voice. “I’d no idea the storm would be so strong.”
Simon’s lips twisted, and it took him a moment to realize she was referring to the weather outside, not to the crash of emotions ricocheting through him. He lifted his head to survey the storm outside—the distant lightening of the sky, the size and force of the raindrops.
“Believe it or not, it’s not that bad. And it’s already changing trajectory again, shifting course,” he said. “It’ll probably blow through in another hour or so.”
“Mmm,” she said, relaxing against him. “Then there’s probably no better way to spend that time than staying warm and dry. Though it seems very decadent, napping in the middle of the day.”
He smiled, breathing in her fresh, shower-washed scent, feeling her warmth and vitality surround him. He couldn’t imagine anywhere he’d rather be than lying here with this woman, sheltered from the raging storm outside, letting his own internal gale blow its way through his system as well.
“Clearly you haven’t read the brochures of Pinnacle House,” he murmured. “Napping is what we do best here.”
Chapter Twelve
Caroline sighed deeply, her dreams a lulling mix of rain, warmth, and a sense of deep pleasure, punctuated with the barest a wisp of unease. Even now, as she struggled toward consciousness, something seemed—not quite right.
It was the rain, she decided. There wasn’t the incessant pounding of the rain anymore, the rattling of the window-frames, the creaking of the eaves. Strange, she didn’t remember her house creaking quite that much ever before, as deeply protected as they were in the rolling hills of Ga
rronia’s…
A huffing, contented, and very male sigh shot through her sleep-fogged haze, and her eyes snapped open.
“I thought you were awake.” Simon tightened his hold—and Caroline realized that she’d been cradled with her back to his chest, a tanned, sleekly muscled arm wrapped protectively around her—but for only the barest of moments. Then he eased back from her in a long, flowing movement, uncoiling his body from the bed. She shimmied up to the pillows as she pulled the covers higher, realizing that she was—they both were—still very much naked.
“The storm’s stopped?” she asked lamely, having only two choices at what she could stare at, and the window seemed the less intrusive option as Simon reached for the towel he’d discarded earlier, and slung it low around his hips. She blinked, realizing why the state of the weather remained a point of confusion. “It’s so dark outside—did we sleep that long?”
“Not really—the cloud cover is dense.” He’d not looked directly at her either, instead picking up his clearly damp clothes, giving her another moment to compose herself before he turned back. He lifted the bundle. “If you don’t mind, I’ll throw everything in the wash?”
“Of course,” Caroline said, moving to get out of the bed herself. Her robe had somehow migrated to the floor across the room. She stopped.
Simon didn’t. In one continuous, casual motion, as if he regularly entertained strange women in his home, he strode over to the robe, picked it up, then laid it on the bed. He smiled at her, and Caroline felt impossibly awkward, shy, and ridiculous all at once.
“I’m afraid I don’t have very sophisticated fare on the menu tonight at Pinnacle House,” he said in his rich, honeyed voice. “Will soup and sandwiches be enough?”
“More than enough.” How she found her voice was a mystery to her, but Caroline nodded quickly, keeping her gaze distinctly eye level, and not letting it stray to Simon’s chest, his abs, or the low-slung towel. Her body was more than aware of all of that scenery directly below her focus, however, and she kept her smile steady to not betray the blossoming heat that stirred in her abdomen, or the way her fingers twitched against the sheets. There was so much more she wanted to see—to touch—to experience about this man…
Charmed: Gowns & Crowns, Book 6 Page 10
