Calamity Rayne: Gets A Life

by Lydia Michaels

  My feet left the ground as he cupped my butt and my legs wrapped around his hips. I grunted as he shoved me into the wall a little harder than expected.

  “Sorry,” he hissed.

  No talking. More kissing! “I’ll live.”

  He ground his body into mine, creating little pockets of heat that filled me with an urgent need to take off all my clothes. When his hand closed over my boob I arched and moaned into his mouth.

  “Jesus, Rayne.”

  “I know. I’m not usually like this.”

  He toyed with my bra clasp through the back of my shirt and it suddenly loosened.

  I gasped. “How do you do that?”

  I’d been wearing bras for almost twenty years and even I couldn’t open one as flawlessly as Hale. His hand reached up my shirt as a door slid open and we both froze.

  My eyes went wide as Marta entered the room with a dust cloth and began wiping down the end tables. Hale released my boob and held a finger to his lips telling me to keep quiet.

  I bit down on my lips and held my breath. He pointed to his ear.

  I shook my head, not understanding. Was this some sort of SWAT signal? He pointed to his ear again and I shook my head again trying to speak with my eyes.

  Why the fuck do you keep pointing to your ear?

  Keeping perfectly still, my body wedged between his and the wall, he rolled his eyes and tipped his head toward Marta then jabbed a finger toward his ear.

  Oh. Headphones.

  I gave him a thumbs-up, and he shook his head, silently laughing at me.

  Carefully, he lowered my feet to the ground and stepped back. When I saw his erection poking through his pants I snorted, and he clapped a hand over my mouth, gesturing for me to be quiet. Catching my wrist, he bustled us into the hall where I broke into full out laughter.

  “Did you want to get caught?” he muttered, adjusting himself.

  “Oh, come on. That was freaking funny.”

  “I’ve known Marta since I was nine. She wouldn’t think it was funny.”

  “I’m sure she knows you get erections, Hale.”

  He rolled his eyes and laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Well, apparently that’s a turn on for you.”

  He sighed and looked at his watch. “It’s almost time for dinner. We better head down.”

  If anything, we took a bit of the edge off, but it would be really great if we could do some more kissing. “Do you want to come to my room later tonight?”

  His brows lifted. “Are you sure that’s an invitation you want to make?”

  “Yeah.” Did he think this was a one-sided thing?

  “Sure. When?”

  “I have to use the laundry room after dinner and get your dad settled, but any time after that. Say around nine?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Dinner was rather bland compared to the night before, but Remington explained that was due to the oncoming storms. Being reminded of the possibility of hurricanes and rough seas terrified me. I thought it best not to eat at all, but the more experienced seamen said having something in my stomach was better than nothing.

  Speaking of semen, I needed to find a condom.

  After dinner, Marta gave me one of those seasick bands and showed me how to work the washer and dryer. Once my clothes were clean and back in my closet, I saw to Remington. He said the damp air was getting to him, so I took extra care setting up his pillows.

  By the time I made it down to my room it was eight-thirty, leaving me just enough time to shower and get ready for Hale. At eight fifty-eight, I panicked and sniffed parts of my body that took a special sort of flexibility to reach, but everything seemed fresh.

  At eight fifty-nine I started to sweat, which might have compromised my freshness a tad. By one minute past nine, I was convinced he wasn’t coming. But at two minutes past nine there was a soft knock on the door.

  Showtime.

  Chapter Eleven

  Have You Met My Vagina?

  “So this is my room.” I shut the door behind him and winced. I was so lame. “Sorry. I don’t really know how to do this.”

  He faced me, a gentle curve to his lips that immediately made me jealous. How was he so calm in these sorts of situations? I had no finesse.

  Tipping his head, he asked, “Do what?”

  Gah! I might not even be on the right page. What if he just wanted to talk?

  “Um … seduce a man in my boudoir. Or are we just hanging out? I don’t know.”

  Laughing, he gave me a full smile. “I won’t object to being seduced.”

  Okay. Good. That was good.

  My hand rested on my hip as I toyed with various positions, none of them feeling sexy. “Does this work for you?” I posed, sort of like a clumsy model that had been roofied. “Or how about…?” Jesus, I was terrible at this.

  He stepped close, invading my space and making my skin come alive. Spreading a hand low on my back he pulled me to his front and whispered, “How about you stop trying to figure out what I’m hoping for and just be you?”

  “Oh.” That could be disastrous. I blinked and looked at his chest, my finger casually plucking at a button. “Well, this is how I do me.” I let my hands drop and stood there like a lifeless mannequin, very Frankenstein before the whole come-to-life zap.

  His fingers tipped up my chin until I was looking at him. “We don’t have to do anything, Rayne.”

  But I wanted to do everything. Or I had. I wasn’t sure what was going on now because it seemed like the flame had sort of flickered out.

  When Hale did stuff I was revved up and ready to go, but when I tried to get the ball rolling everything stopped. I was not a pro-baller. I was a gutter ball heaver.

  Oh my God, I was the girl version of a pre-ejaculator, all full steam ahead and then—ptht. Nothing.

  “Why are you so nervous?”

  Fidgeting out of his hold, I moved toward the bed but didn’t dare touch it. “I’m an over thinker, Hale. Whenever I’ve been with a guy, it always starts out okay, but then I get lost in my head and start cataloguing every touch until the whole thing feels choreographed and fake and I’m just waiting for it to end so I can have my space back.”

  When he didn’t say anything, I turned and found him studying me, his expression impossible to read. Knowing high maintenance had to be counter-balanced with something worthwhile, I muttered, “If this is too much work for you, I get it. I won’t be mad if you leave.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  His simple assurances caused the nerves knotting in my stomach to melt into tickling heat, which swirled in my belly and did nothing to help manage my anxiety.

  “Are you sure?” He wouldn’t be the first guy to walk away.

  “Positive.” Taking a step closer, he rested his hands on my shoulders and rubbed his fingers over the collar of my T-shirt. I was back in my yoga pants and travel clothes because they were the closest things I had to pajamas.

  “Tell me what you imagined happening tonight.”

  “Um…” Always with the hard questions.

  I’d imagined lots of things, but they were all segmented into little glimpses in my head. Fingers pressing into tight flesh, mouths licking, lips parting, bodies writhing. It was basically a montage of every hot movie scene I’d ever watched, including me falling on my ass like Jamie Lee Curtis in True Lies. I liked to keep things somewhat realistic.

  “I don’t have condoms,” I blurted. Not what he asked, but still a fact he should be aware of.

  “I’m not worried about that. I have condoms if we need them. I want to know what you were expecting.”

  “You have condoms,” I mumbled, biting my lip, unsure why his preparedness irritated me. “Of course, you have condoms. What is it, like a twelve pack? How many do you have left? Nine? Six? Two?”

  “What are you doing, Rayne?”

  I growled and flung my body back on the bed. “I don’t know. I suck at this. I don’t even have condoms. T
hat should tell you something about me. Single women have condoms, but I don’t. You do, because, well, look at you. You probably buy them weekly. And I should be relieved you have them, but now I’m pissed off because I don’t want a condom from the box you bought to be with someone else. See how irrational I am? You should really run while you can.”

  He pulled me into a seated position. “I’m not running and the box hasn’t been opened yet.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s a relief.” I bit my thumbnail, mentally searching for another diversion.

  While having protection was good, it also took away my biggest excuse for not sleeping with him. I wanted to have the sex with Hale, but deep down I think I was hoping to prolong things a bit. The problem was, we only had a few days until we reached Florida and once we got there I didn’t know if he’d be staying in the same house.

  “Do you have a house in Florida?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it by your dad’s?”

  “It’s not far.”

  “So you won’t be staying with him when we get there?”

  He’d have his own place and his own schedule. Maybe that schedule included some late night entertainment and some chick’s thighs wrapped around his face like an octopus. I’d see him in the mornings, just after he washed off the whore stench and he’d be all Hey, Rayne. Remember when we had awkward, unsatisfying sex that time? That was weird. So glad we never did that again—

  “Rayne.”

  “Huh?” I glanced at him and debated if one and done was better than nothing at all. My attention dropped to his waist. “Okay. I’ll have sex with you.”

  His brows shot up and he laughed. “Thanks, but I didn’t come here just to do that.”

  Oh, he wanted to do other stuff too? Well, that was good. I liked when we made out and maybe—

  “You really do overthink. I can see we’ll have to pace ourselves. How about this? I’ll give you the condoms and you decide when you want to open them. No pressure from my end.”

  “Look, if you want to open the box, I’m not going to stop you.”

  He smirked. “How about we leave the box closed tonight?”

  “That’s cool too.”

  My relief outweighed my disappointment. Clearly, I wasn’t ready to get to the sex. Blowing out a breath, I relaxed and folded my hands in my lap.

  He sat beside me and cupped my knee. “Feel better now?”

  “Yes.” I gave him a shoulder bump and he pressed his lips to my temple.

  Keeping his lips against my hair, he gently massaged my knee. “My hand is traveling up your thigh.”

  I frowned as his fingers did just that.

  “My other hand is approaching your ass.”

  An uncertain giggle slipped past my lips. “What are you doing?”

  “Choreographing for you. But I think we’d have more fun if we just let it happen.”

  “You’re making fun of me.”

  “Only because I think you’re adorable.”

  Or crazy. “I don’t do it on purpose. Trust me, I want to be distracted during sex, but my brain turns it into a math problem.”

  “Then we have to get you out of your head. That’s all.”

  “Yeah, good luck with that.”

  He arched a brow and stood, holding out his hand. “Stand up.”

  Skeptical, I placed my hand in his, and he hoisted me to my feet. Looking in my eyes, he gently dragged his thumb over the crest of my cheek. As he traced the backs of his fingers along my jaw, I pressed into his touch like a cat trying to get fed.

  “That feels nice.”

  Easing closer, he brushed his mouth over mine, hardly making contact, and I gradually leaned into the kiss. The longer he touched me, the more relaxed I became.

  Loosening the clip in my hair, he pulled the waves over my shoulders and fed his fingers through the mess. Shivers chased up my arms as he grazed my breast through my shirt and I moaned.

  “You relaxed now?” he whispered, his fingertips lifting the hem of my shirt and trailing little circles over my stomach.

  “Getting there,” I sighed, wreathing my arms over his shoulder and pulling him closer. Our lips gently brushed.

  I couldn’t recall a time when someone kissed me just to kiss me. Kissing was always a prerequisite to a questionable next step. I already told Hale I’d do the dirty with him, which included a few appetizers and sides, but he seemed in no rush to finish the first course, which was nice.

  His hands traveled over my clothes, sometimes slipping under them, but never reaching too far. Every move was a slow tease, a temptation for more, and a promise that whatever was coming would not be rushed.

  A sense of urgency bloomed in my belly, as deep longing and hungry desire had me gravitating closer to the bed. While Hale’s hands remained over my clothing, I desperately wanted to get under his.

  I tugged at his shirt breathing a little jaggedly, my fingers clenching in the starched material as my mind sent subliminal messages begging for more. Growing frustrated that he was still keeping things PG-13, I let out a frustrated breath.

  “What’s the matter?” he whispered, his mouth just below my ear where his breath did diabolical things to my senses.

  “Nothing.”

  “Rayne.”

  Shivering at the playful warning in his tone, I sighed. “I want to be under here.” My hand gave a subtle yank to the front of his shirt and he chuckled.

  Stepping back, he watched me as his fingers traveled up the row of buttons and opened his shirt. Come to Momma.

  He was easily the prettiest man I’d ever shared air with. Wow. Touching him made me nervous because all my life I’d been told pretty things were for eyes not hands. When I was in the third grade, we went to a museum on a field trip. The teacher gave a long speech about not touching the art because you don’t touch a masterpiece. I wasn’t planning on touching anything, but once they said we couldn’t I really wanted to, so I snuck a touch, my unremarkable fingers with bitten down nails grazing the paint on the most masterful landscape I’d ever seen. And of course I got caught.

  I had to stay by the teacher’s side for the rest of the trip. My need to touch Hale was a million times stronger than my need had been that day, but I couldn’t shake the sense that there would be repercussions.

  “Wow. You have a really nice body,” I muttered, a little heated and anxious.

  He grinned but didn’t make a big deal out of my compliment. Rather, he pulled me closer and kissed me again. My hands were literally shaking as they lifted to his chest. The moment I made contact, there was a sharp jolt of satisfaction that he didn’t tell me to stop.

  So much rigid muscle trapped under smooth skin. And he was warm like sunshine and fresh baked cookies and all things I liked. My fingertips mapped the geography of his chest, and my thumbs grazed his nipples, making him groan.

  Breaking the kiss, he turned me and—oh, okay. My shirt was off. Wow. He was really good at removing women’s clothing.

  I faced the bed as he gathered my hair over one shoulder he pressed his lips to the back of my neck. I trembled as his mouth ghosted over the slope of my shoulder and he slid the straps of my bra down my arms.

  My nipples hardened, and no matter how many times I inhaled I couldn’t catch my breath. “Oh God.”

  “You okay?”

  I nodded and there went the clasp. Bra gone. My chest rose with each breath as I stood before him, my bare back to his scorching stomach.

  Staring at the bed, I sucked in a deep breath as he cupped my breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers while his mouth kissed down my spine.

  Sweet Jesus, I could die like this and pass a happy woman. My head rolled back as pleasure knifed through me, cutting straight to my core.

  “What is this magic you do?”

  His chuckle was a slow roll of thunder in the distance, followed by a loud crack that ripped me out of my haze as something flashed.

  “Oh my God. Is that the storm?”

&nbs
p; My attention drilled into the window as another flash of lightening flickered, highlighting the choppy waves in the distance. Fuck. We were really going to die, just when things were getting wonderful.

  “It’s just a little storm. You wouldn’t be able to stand still if it was anything serious.” His hands continued to massage my breasts, but my focus was severed.

  I closed my eyes, but they opened as another crash of thunder cracked in the distance. I bet all those other people believed it was just a little storm too. You know, the legendary ones like that Moby Dick guy and Geppetto. They all died, didn’t they? I needed to brush up on my American literature.

  Hale turned me and scooped an arm under my knees, lifting me off my feet, and I gasped, my head craning toward the window as he laid me on the bed. His fingers caught my chin and turned my face until I was looking at him.

  “If you pay no attention to the storm, it won’t bother you as much.” His lips pressed to my mouth as his large body molded over mine, heated and heavy. I stretched out beneath him, trying to distract myself from the imminent death squalling outside.

  I arched as his palm cupped my breast and then his mouth was closing over my nipple. My eyes closed as pleasure shot through my veins and my knees came up, trapping his hips. The hard ridge of his cock pressed into the crease of my pants, creating delicious friction between my legs every time he rocked over me.

  Forgetting the storm, my fingers gripped his hair as his mouth did insane things to my nipples. “Holy shit.”

  He didn’t acknowledge my mutterings as he continued to tease and suckle and—his hand was definitely in my pants.

  His body lifted, putting a little space between us as he brushed his knuckle over my panties. He slowly rubbed and found my sweet spot. Then he slid a finger beneath the cotton and skirted my sex with the most delicate caress. He teased, finding a rhythm in less than a second, and I was making noises I never made before.

  He was going to make me come! The mere thought jacked the bar of expectation so high I lost the slight quiver that made me believe it might be possible. Then he was just rubbing. Damn it. The noises stopped and the moment was gone.