by Hughes, Mary
“Hey, Rocky,” Nixie sang from the next room. “What’s taking so long? Do I have to send in Julian?”
I shrieked softly and scrambled out of Dragan’s arms. He released me reluctantly and straightened. I paused, struck with how far he’d had to bend to fuse to me like that. He really was quite tall.
But wow. It seemed he meant what he’d been saying: he truly thought I was beautiful, desirable.
It boggled the mind.
He reached into the refrigerator and plucked up the cruet of dressing. Cocking a smile, he said, “Shall we?”
Cool, as if that kiss, or rather insta-seduction, had never happened. Maybe he just liked the challenge of arousing a relative innocent? I picked up the salad and gave him a scornful, “Sure.” Thrusting my chin in the air I stalked for the door.
As I passed he bent and brushed a chaste kiss on my cheek. I stopped, and threw a suspicious glance at him. His smile was smaller, more intimate, his eyes sparkling bright. “If it were simply the challenge, I’d have bedded you already, not drawn it out. Two courses to go.”
I wondered if I would survive.
Mom was circling the table, filling cups with wine. “A toast. To company, both new and old.”
I sat and murmured “Cheers” with everyone, then drank a healthy swallow. The wine went down smoothly. I peered into the paper cup; it was actually pretty good. Then again, I have no taste. I glanced at Dragan to see his reaction.
As he drank, his dark eyes were focused totally on me. His tongue slid over his lips. I shivered at the warmth in his gaze.
So yes. Good wine. Chalk one up for Mom.
I’d barely finished chasing my last cherry tomato around the firetruck when my mother said brightly, “Main course please, Rocky. The ham is under the tin foil, and the butter-and-spinach pasta and green bean casserole are on the counter. Oh, and there’s cranberry sauce in the fridge. Dragan, do you mind bringing out the jug of blush wine to go with?”
A different wine with each course? She’d made a huge effort to be chic—for me, because she loved me. My eyes stinging a bit, I grabbed the salad bowl and escaped into the kitchen.
Dragan followed with the cruet, gliding in like a big black panther.
The moment the door shut he grabbed the bowl, set it on the counter, seized my wrist and whirled me into his embrace. All thoughts of my mother disappeared. His touch woke my skin, his male scent filled my nose and my chin was already lifting in anticipation of another kiss.
So it was a complete shock when he buried his lips in my neck.
I gasped. The skin there is sensitive. His kisses and licks and nibbles thrilled straight to my belly as if hot wired. My eyes closed and I found my hands running through his hair, hair as warm and soft and fresh-smelling as bath oil.
He spun me into the counter and lifted me onto it. He stepped between my raised legs, his hips pressing into my private flesh, only a few layers of cloth making it less than hotly scandalous.
And then his fingers, those long, strong, elegant fingers, slid between us and stroked down the zipper of my slacks to the seam, down until they kissed my rising clitoris. He purred almost inaudibly and began to stroke.
I gasped again. He nibbled my earlobe and stroked me harder. I swallowed several times. I could feel the dampness between us, my sex going from hello to Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome, come on in! I grabbed his arms for support, my fingers barely denting massive biceps.
My skin tingled all over, my blood effervesced like soda water, yet my limbs were strangely pliant. My heart raced to keep up with the new sensations. My eyes slid shut as my pelvis grew heavy and dark with throbbing.
“Why are you doing this?” I panted.
“Mmm.” His breath billowed against my neck. “Because you taste exquisite. You feel exquisite. You are exquisite.”
Exquisite? When folks said my flute playing was exquisite, I took it as a mild sort of hyperbole. No one had ever told me I was exquisite.
A flood of need splooshed.
“Whatch-you kids doin’ out there?” Nixie yelled.
I scrunched my lids briefly before opening my eyes. Dragan raised his head from the crook of my neck with a sigh and let go. I scooted off the countertop and bolted to the refrigerator. Well, wobbled.
A cylinder of cranberry sauce still bearing the circular marks of its can was in the fridge. I grabbed the bowl and abandoned the fridge to Dragan, skirting him with a yard of airspace to get to the end of the counter where the rest of the food sat. He’d already taken the pasta.
I picked up the chipped rummage-sale dish covered in aluminum foil; underneath would be a canned ham bristling cloves. I didn’t eat ham but I could smell the wine baste that my mom had used and blinked scratchy eyes. She really had gone all out. Next to the ham was the green bean and cream of mushroom soup casserole served at every family holiday dinner from Augusta, Maine to San Diego, California.
Hands full of ham and cranberry sauce, I stared at it in consternation.
Dragan sauntered over, holding the pasta and the jug of blush wine, and picked up the casserole dish with his free hand. I did a double take—no, he didn’t have three hands. The jug hung by its loop off his ring and pinky fingers while thumb, index and middle held the pasta securely. The man had insanely strong hands.
Well, I knew that, from the power of his strokes between my thighs… I scooted for the living room, my face a furnace.
I slid the ham onto the table and sat. Dragan deposited his burdens and sat next to me. With a small, intimate smile, he leaned over and squeezed my hand.
He acted like the chipped serving dishes, the kiddy plates, hell, our whole cheap and inelegant life didn’t matter.
Was it possible I’d underestimated him?
Food disappeared, although I never saw the men eat. They drank, they laughed, they talked. Luke lost the haunted look in his eyes for a time. Even some of the animosity between Julian and Dragan seemed to die down in the presence of food, drink and company. My mother didn’t say much but she was smiling and nodding at the others enjoying themselves. Even the dark circles from Nixie’s sleepless nights seemed to lift.
When the plates were empty and the serving bowls nearly so, my mother said, “And now for dessert. I made a cobbler. There’s cream to go with it.” She gave me a look. “Real cream. Not half-and-half.”
I smiled into her eyes. “Thanks, Mom.” I didn’t mean for the cream; I meant for everything, and her return smile said she knew it.
Dragan took me by the elbow. I shivered at his touch—more kisses in the offing? He guided me into the kitchen and then, to my surprise, kept going.
“The cobbler’s in the fridge—”
“I have a different dessert in mind.” He steered me to the back door and opened it. “Quickly now.”
“But—”
“They will simply find more ways to interfere. We have a small window of time before the big bad Alliance males notice we’re missing.” He shut the door soundlessly. “Let’s make the most of it.”
He hustled me through our tiny backyard into the alley that split our block in two. We’d just hit the street, half a block away, when a door slammed open.
“Rocky!” Julian sounded beyond peeved.
“Now we must really hurry.” Dragan scooped me up and ran. I grabbed his neck; we didn’t quite leave my teeth behind but he was motoring.
“Zajicek!” Julian again, closer. “Bring her back. You’ll pay if you hurt her!”
He emerged from the alley behind us. His eyes were a pissed-off violet, extra-long canines flashing as he shouted. “Zajicek!”
Dragan was already shoveling me into his low slung sports car—where had that come from?—and leaping into the driver’s side and starting the engine with a deep-throated vroom and zooming away from the curb.
I twisted in my seat to see Julian put on a burst of speed, running so fast his feet blurred. Dragan accelerated, smoothly but he wasn’t shy about it, introducing metal to floorboard
and breaking a few speed limits—like the sound barrier. Hyperbole, but we quickly left Julian behind.
And then we left the city behind, and it was us and the road and the speed and the wind. I tipped my head back; strands of my hair whipped around my face.
Until Dragan pulled into the gravel lot of a strip motel, when I sat abruptly straight. “What are we doing here?”
He turned off the engine and faced me, a worldly smile tipping his lips. “What do you think?”
I cut a glance at the dash-dot-dash of closed doors and draped windows. “But…but I’m not on the pill and I don’t have a condom and—”
“Raquel, what a surprise.” His smile expanded. “You do know about sex.”
“Sure,” I said, confused. “I read.”
“You read.” His lips quirked. “That’s your only education? There is much pleasure in store for you.” He reached for his door.
“Wait.” Panic wrapped my fingers around his arm. “Here? Now?”
“Now, certainly. At least, once you release me.” He nodded at my clutching fingers. “Here, unless you have someplace better.”
I didn’t let go. “Don’t get me wrong, I know what intercourse is and I’ve had it, sort of, but…but you…this…now…?”
“Raquel, be at ease. Not intercourse, not here. We’re simply going to explore each other. When we come together completely, it will be someplace more romantic than this.”
Even not-intercourse with bucket crush Dragan would incinerate me. Delay, delay… “I thought you said you walked to my apartment.”
He gave me a quick grin. “I said Otto’s is walking distance. I can’t help what everyone thought.”
“You’re a bad boy, Maestro.”
His grin widened to a full wicked smile. At that sexy punch to the gut, my fingers burst open and he popped out of the car. He blew me a kiss and disappeared into the corner unit, a neon OFFICE alight in the window.
Oh my, oh my. I shivered. I was so totally in-over-my-head drowning. My stomach was a bubbling cauldron and my veins filled with tumbling fireflies. Like waiting offstage before a performance, but I knew what to do once I was on a stage. I wasn’t so sure when the stage was a bed.
Bed. I was going to bed with Dragan Zajicek.
My shivers increased to trembles. At least it wasn’t a royal bed at a ten-star hotel with eyelet lace and a zillion pillows and a cloud for a quilt. I’d never have the guts to get all that opulence dirty with my mere humanity.
Infinitesimally, I relaxed. Had he chosen a working-class establishment on purpose, to put me more at ease? That was either the most caring thing anyone had done for me, or it was slightly insulting.
He emerged with an old-fashioned plastic diamond key charm in his hand and a smile on his face. Who the hell cared why he’d done it? This was it.
He jumped into the car and started the engine. “The boy at the desk told me where I can park the car so it won’t be seen from the highway. Emerson didn’t follow, but he could be looking for us.”
“Except he’s part of the group that includes Logan Steel, right? They probably have a spy satellite that could see your car from space. Not to mention that Elias guy, who seems to have a direct line into the Outer Limits.”
Dragan gave me an intrigued glance as he pulled under some half-bare trees behind the motel. “I will ask you how you know that. But later.” He got out of the car, came around to open my door and held out his hand.
Tentatively, I put my fingers in his. He tugged me from my seat and then, somehow, I was lifted in his arms and we were moving and there was a click and we were inside in the cool dark. His arms around me blazed with contrasting heat. He shut the motel door with his foot, his mouth already claiming mine.
He was experienced and it showed, in how fast he moved, how completely he dominated me. I’d barely gotten used to his devouring mouth when he slid me down his body to stand and his hands shifted and my top was being peeled over my head. Even I wasn’t so smooth with my own clothes; it hit me hard that he’d undressed a lot of women to be so good.
Then cool air hit my cleavage and I realized I, dowdy old Rocky Hrbek, was topless but for my silver necklace and serviceable white cotton sports bra, a dollar each in packs of ten. I crossed terrified arms over me.
He didn’t seem to care whether the bra was cotton or silk. His eyes dropped to my plumped cleavage and heated to black irises capturing huge pools of fire.
It made me feel more than beautiful. It made me feel desirable.
Because of that, when he gently peeled away my arms, I let him. Yes, I was scared, not just leaving but zooming out of my comfort zone. But a part of me was softly pleading for him to show me what he knew.
To show me more.
He cupped my cotton-covered breasts, one in each hand. I sucked in air. He kneaded softly and excitement popped in my blood like sparklers. He thumbed my nipples and I moaned, my head falling back. It was an invitation I didn’t know I was giving. So when he bent, his well-shaped lips pursing, I tried to bring my head up for the kiss I thought he wanted. But he wasn’t headed for my mouth.
His lips landed on the top of one plumped breast, open, wet and hot. I squealed. The strength I couldn’t find before shot through my neck like an iron rod, jerking me straight. He thumbed my nipples through the thin bra, stroking them erect while massaging and plumping my breasts with his clever fingers.
It stole my breath. In his hands, under his lips, my plain-bra-covered tits looked as he’d said, exquisite.
While I was enthralled with undulating flesh, he thumbed back one bra cup, fastened his mouth onto my nipple and suckled.
I shrieked. A fuse flamed from my breast, arrowed toward my groin. It hissed and snapped and sizzled—and hit ground zero and my hips jerked into his.
He lifted his head and smiled into my eyes.
Oh God. He was doing this to me deliberately. He knew exactly what buttons to push to make me wanton pudding in his hands.
He maneuvered me back until my legs hit the bed. I fell with my legs slightly spread. While I was still processing the fact that I was on my back on a bed with my legs spread around Dragan Zajicek, he opened my slacks, pulled off my shoes and yanked off my pants, zip-strip-strip.
And then I was on my back on a bed with my legs spread around Dragan Zajicek and naked, but for my white briefs, silver chain and askew sports bra, one breast mounded above the stretched neckline, nipple peeking out.
He was still fully dressed.
Something must have been wrong with me, because my groin tightened at the sight, as if I thought me-naked-him-clothed was incredibly hot.
He mounted the bed with one knee, his hand cupping my face. His lips parted and he grabbed my mouth in a kiss that inflamed me. I didn’t know what to do with my hands and they flailed before landing on his arms. I dug in and encountered those big rock-hard biceps again. I remembered how good his hands felt kneading my breasts and tried to move my fingers the same way. It must have worked because he straightened long enough to strip off his coat, flip buttons on his shirt and shrug out of it, revealing bronzed skin over shockingly defined muscles. Burnt-red nipples snagged my gaze, and a line of black hair running from mid-abdomen to the buckle on his belt. His coloration wasn’t typical for a Czech and I almost wondered why.
Then he fell on me and thrust his thigh between mine, put his hands on my breasts and buried his mouth in my neck, and I stopped thinking about anything but how thrilling he was.
I writhed under him. My hands grasped his back and roved, traveling a narrow waist, up long wings of muscle rising to shoulders that I could barely wrap arms around. I wished I’d gotten a better look at him; the brief flash of power sliding under sleek skin wasn’t enough.
His thigh pumped between my legs, generating shock waves. My muscles were starting to melt again, languid and yielding. His kisses included a lot of tongue and ran along parts of my body I didn’t even know I had. His hands swept down my torso to my hips, flushing wav
es of shivers along my skin. He shifted to kneel between my legs on the floor, kissing my belly and delicately licking my navel where it peeked above my briefs. My ribcage was rising and falling, but I wasn’t sure if it was my panting breaths or my hammering heart moving it.
He touched my mound. “I would love to taste you. But that will have to wait until you are more…shall we say acclimatized?” He pressed kisses to my abdomen while he stroked the wet inset of my panties—and then his fingers slipped inside and stroked skin.
I yelped. My sex clenched, excitement exploding through my entire body. My clit sang a happy song and rose to meet his fingers.
“Ah, my sweet innocent.” He purred. “You’re already swollen open for me.” His canines flashed as he spoke.
“I thought…” I panted. “I thought no intercourse.”
“Drahý. There are other things we can do.” He slid a finger into me. A strangled cry rose from my throat. I’d had my own fingers there but his was so much longer, thicker, hotter. Hell, even the cocks of the couple boys I’d had weren’t as exciting as Dragan’s finger.
He raised himself to plant a knee between my thighs and leaned one forearm on the bed next to my shoulders. His eyes glittered under heavy lids.
With his finger filling me, he levered his hips to thrust directly into my pubic bone. The impact shuddered the bed under me and vibrated his finger inside me. My whole pelvis hollowed out, then flushed with liquid fire. He thrust again, scrubbing against me with something harder than muscle but giving slightly, not bone…he set up a regular rhythm, his purring more pronounced and vibrating us both where his chest rose and fell above me.
He claimed my mouth in an open kiss. His insistent pounding drove any self-consciousness from my head. I loved him back, thrusting my tongue into his mouth, tasting and giving in return. It wasn’t enough. I grabbed his head and tried to crawl down his throat.
He chuckled and opened fully for me. I found myself happily spelunking in a hot, damp masculine cave. His driving against my pubic bone tugged my briefs around both my crotch and his impaling finger, and it was all pulling at my clit, which was quaking and sparking like an anime bomb just before it blows.
