She fumbled with the catch. A milky silicone device curiously shaped like a naval cap rested perkily on the base that was inside. Now if she could only remember how her gynecologist had told her to use the damned thing. It had languished in her toiletry bag for the entire duration of her honeymoon with Jackson.
Just like their sex life.
She caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror. With her hair slightly disheveled and cheeks and lips flushed, she looked like a woman with one thing on her mind.
“Planning ahead?”
The sound of Gage’s voice startled her. She looked up into the mirror. His reflection stared back, eyes twinkling. Her heightened olfactory senses picked up the smell of his leather duster, soap and skin. A dark shadow of two-day beard made him look rougher. Tougher.
Deliciously alpha.
“It’s birth control. It goes in — it’s a—” Her throat had gone dry.
“—cervical cap,” Gage finished her sentence. “Maiden voyage?”
“My doctor told me that I needed to stop taking the pill,” she explained. “So I chose this. I’m just not quite sure what to do with it.”
He took the case from her and closed and pocketed it. “Don’t worry. I know where it goes and how to get it there. But—” Two big hands spanned her waist, and then he popped her up on the edge of the bathroom counter. “—let’s not be so anxious to rush to the finish.”
He ran his hands up her thighs a little roughly. Then the slim tome stashed beside her cosmetic tray caught his interest. He picked it up and examined the back cover.
“Delta of Venus?” He looked at her curiously.
“It’s Anaïs Nin. It’s erotica.”
“I know what it is.” He tossed it aside. “God help us both if you tell me you need it tonight.”
“I won’t,” she breathed, distracted by the progress of his hand, which was moving into the apex of her legs. He put his fingers under the crotch of her panties. She opened her legs a little wider so he could stroke the swollen folds, which were already slick. Gage leaned in closer to give her numerous appetizer kisses, still stroking her. She felt the contour of his smile against her lips.
“So easy…” he muttered as his thumb found the sweet spot. She wanted to draw out the pleasure. Wanted to want him longer.
“No,” she demanded hoarsely. “Not yet.” Her legs locked around his waist, and the next thing she knew, he was carrying her into the hall, her body still wound around his, mouth on mouth, a promise that soon they’d be intimately entwined. T-shirts, yoga pants, jeans and undergarments went flying as they feverishly undressed. His kisses and caresses were elegantly savage as he nudged her down the hall toward her room until his body landed against hers on the sleigh bed.
“I need to put in the — the cap—” Sabrina’s breaths came in short bursts.
“I’m good with my hands. So lay back and relax,” he coaxed. When she finally did, he proceeded to make inserting a cervical cap a sensual part of foreplay. He truly felt at home exploring the hidden gaps and crevices of the female body. There wasn’t any part of her that he was unwilling to touch, stroke or investigate with fingers, mouth or tongue. Now she was in a kneeling position on the bed, letting him admire the contour of her back and spine. Last night had been about nothing but sexual release. But this could actually be … fun.
He pressed up against her from behind.
“Everyone has something that turns them on. What’s yours?” he muttered as he kissed the base of her neck.
“You mean a fetish?”
He laughed. “If that’s what you want to call it. Some women get into hard porn, but I’m guessing you’re not one of those given your, ah, taste in literature. Costumes? Sex toys? Role-play?”
“No.” Sabrina felt herself blushing in the dark.
“Me neither. I can do without the props and scripts. What is it?”
“Rough and tumble. You call the shots.” The words fell out of her mouth before she’d even thought about it.
His chest rumbled with laughter as he ran his hands down the sides of her arms lightly. “I can see that. I can understand it too.”
One powerful forearm shot up against her throat, applying just enough pressure for her to infer that there was strength behind it. With his other hand, he caressed one of her breasts. It was swollen and hypersensitive, but the roll of his thumb against her nipple still felt excruciatingly good.
“Safe words?” His voice was low in her ear.
“I haven’t thought of any.”
“Then you’ll have to trust me.”
Tonight would be no replay of the night before. Tonight would be raw and intense. She’d have to hold her own.
At first she thought he’d pull the same slow, teasing penetration that he had done the night before, but after he penetrated her swollen folds, he shot into her so abruptly it pushed them both to the top of the bed. Everything felt different. He felt different. It didn’t seem possible that sex between them would ever feel too familiar. Not with Gage. His rhythm and intensity fluctuated randomly from quick, hard penetrating thrusts to slow, deliberate strokes. The latter were having a particularly scrumptious effect as the head of his cock touched the core of a hidden nerve center she didn’t know existed.
She didn’t recognize the plaintive, rhythmic cries coming from her own mouth. The climax built with each sure stroke until she finally shattered. With a choked cry, she clasped her arms around his neck as though to protect herself from the quaking of her own body. His hair tickled her cheek. He rocked her as she whimpered with each involuntary flex and release. She felt terrified. Exposed.
“It’s okay,” he assured her. “It’s supposed to feel a little scary.”
His hands knotted in her hair, bringing her face around to his so he could kiss her. It too was a kiss of discovery: equal parts sweetness and dark, primal lust.
“Still good to go?”
“Mmm,” she murmured.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day long.” As he drew out the last three syllables, he turned her body around and positioned it to his liking. The persuasive warmth of his hands against her buttocks was swiftly replaced by the warmth of his groin as he penetrated her. His body shuddered at the end of each languorous stroke. Deeper. Yes. The head of his cock bumping up against her cervix from a different angle amplified the length of him. There was no deeper than this. The inevitable shift of their bodies took them over the edge of the bed along with the comforter and a tumble of pillows.
Her knees and elbows hit the Berber carpeting.
He began to move faster now, and his hardness told her that it wouldn’t be much longer. She wanted to concentrate on feeling his orgasm this time rather than be distracted by her own. With a brusque cry, he plunged into her one last time and came, still pushing into her. He was right about chemistry evoking intensity of response, Sabrina thought with a blissful smile.
Like the man said.
It was her — not him.
**
Sabrina was too exhausted to move any farther than she could reach. She grabbed a couple of the pillows and pulled the comforter over them.
“This is what men and women did at night before the world of a thousand channels,” he said, tucking a pillow under his head.
“Cable television as the demise of sex,” she mused. “Sounds like a subject for a sociology thesis if I’ve ever heard one.”
“And the Internet, of course. Cell phones, too — we can’t forget our smallest of digital distractions. Everybody wants to be distracted.” He turned his head to look at her, his expression suddenly serious. “Why did you sneak away last night?”
The question caught her off guard. “I didn’t think that I did.”
“But you didn’t want to sleep with me. Why not?”
“Falling asleep together is a deeply personal thing,” she explained. “It’s like sex. Only I’m even more vulnerable. I’ve never slept with a man before.”
“You me
an to tell me that you’ve never slept in the same bed with anyone?”
“Never,” Sabrina confessed.
“Not even your ex-husband?” He looked at her in disbelief.
“I planned to during our honeymoon,” she hedged. “But there was some kind of mix-up in the reservations. We ended up with twin beds. Then we got food poisoning. You know how that story ends.”
She rolled over on her side. Conversation and cuddling had never been a part of her post-coital repertoire. The conversation she could handle. Thankfully, Gage wasn’t one of those men who insisted on smothering her with spooning. Not that spooning with him lacked appeal. It was just far too soon.
Sabrina retrieved the cold Chinese food from the refrigerator. They ate it straight from the containers with chopsticks while they lay on their bellies on the floor. Then they talked, keeping conversation at the getting-to-know-you level. She learned that he’d worked at a small radio station in Des Moines, starting out as a spin jockey before he eventually graduated to his own show. He kept her laughing with stories of the antics that went on behind the scenes — bizarre callers, equipment malfunctions and on-air faux pas. Things he would have talked about had they gone on a date, she realized.
Only there had been no first date. Not really.
After the food containers were cleared away, they moved to the roomier four-poster. Gage went silent, but his hands began an exploration of her breasts that was curiously innocent. He tested the weight of each in his palms.
“Your body feels softer and curvier. Near that time of the month?” he asked.
“Yes. You don’t mind?” Sabrina was glad the room was dim so he couldn’t see her blush.
“Only if you can give me a reason why I should.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “The landscape of a woman’s body changes with the moon. The tilt. The tightness. Even the texture. I can feel the difference. Did you know that?”
“No,” she breathed as he delicately traced the outline of her aureole with his forefinger. Both nipples puckered in response. His mouth closed in on one, lightly suckling and pulling at it with his teeth.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex this good,” he murmured against her skin. “Hell, it’s been a long time since I’ve had sex.”
“How long?”
His only response was a smile. “Let’s stay here all night,” he proposed. “All day. And all night again.”
“I’m supposed to go over to Nola’s to exchange gifts tomorrow,” she protested weakly. “She always makes dinner for me the day after Christmas.”
“Give her a call and tell her you’re otherwise en-Gaged,” he suggested, straddling her hips. His erection jabbed at her belly persistently.
Sabrina realized something. “You talk about everything else but your family,” she said. “You know about mine.”
“I do have safe words,” he told her. “My safe words are ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Just for future reference.”
His tone of voice told her that the subject was closed and that he wanted to get onto business. One finger slid into her effortlessly and began to rub the sensitive wall. She gasped and writhed with pleasure. Then she gasped again when she realized he wasn’t trying to stimulate her G-Spot. He’d hooked the strap of her cervical cap and was now in the process of pulling it out.
“What are you doing?” she asked, alarmed.
“We don’t need this. Not tonight.” He deposited the device on the top of the bedside table. “I don’t want a piece of silicone between us.”
“Gage, this is so not a good idea…” The emergency contraception she had taken would protect her from pregnancy, but she didn’t want him to get into any bad habits.
“Trust me,” he murmured against her lips before he glided his erection home.
Sabrina lost track of the minutes. Then the hours. In the past, she’d categorized sex as adequate, tolerable or bad. After each of her engagements, the quality of the sex was the first thing she forgot, while pithier memories of arguments and other contentious moments lingered on in her memory. But Gage was giving her memorable sex. When he finally ran out of steam, they were twisted around each other on the sprawling red sofa in the living room.
“As much as I’d like to hit four for four, I need a siesta. I don’t have the unlimited capacity that you do.” He pulled out of her reluctantly. “Don’t take it personally.”
“Never,” she purred. “I don’t think I’ll ever want sex again.”
“Straight through the heart,” he grinned and fell back on the opposite side of the couch. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“I am.” Sabrina gazed at the ceiling fan. Her mind had gone pleasantly blank. “That was so … nice.”
“Just nice? It was awesome.”
“Okay, then. Awesome,” she agreed, although she was sure there were far better descriptors for a night of marathon sex.
“Good. I like to make my women happy.” Gage intentionally affected a slight Texas drawl.
She sat up as the one word in his sentence yanked her out of serenity. The room suddenly felt cold.
“Women?”
“Ow!” He pretended to be wounded by the small decorative pillow she launched at his head. “Since when did it become a crime to use plurals? Oh.” His expression changed as the faux pas registered. “You object to ‘women’ generally, as in other women who came before you and those who may also, ah, follow.”
“I suppose practice makes perfect.” Feeling exposed under his gaze, she grabbed a throw and wrapped it around her to shield her nakedness.
“What d’you want me to say, Sabrina? Before I met you, I was a virgin,” he deadpanned genuinely before shooting her a look of wicked amusement. “How do you think I learned to do all of those things that make you scream ‘Oh, god!’ — on the back of an X-Men comic? It’s not like females have a universal user’s manual.”
“Damn it, Gage!”
“Hey, stop throwing the decor.” He dodged a second pillow. “Tell me what this is really about.”
“Okay, I will.” Because apparently it wasn’t obvious. She cleared her throat. “It’s about exclusivity. If we’re going to sleep together—”
“—Sleep together?” he interrupted with an amused grin. “Honey, we may have just logged more mattress hours than Elvis, but we’ve done everything but sleep together.”
“If we’re going to be physically intimate,” she started again, “I have to be the only one. I don’t share. I don’t intend to start.”
He appeared to toss the idea around briefly. “That’s fair enough. I prefer sex within an exclusive, physically intimate relationship.” Now his smile was teasing and faint. “I’ve never messed around on a girlfriend before and don’t intend to start. I’m a decent guy to hang a hat with, and the chemistry between us could burn this place down. If you want me, I’m game.”
Was he actually suggesting what she thought he was? A relationship meant that tedious time commitments came part and parcel. Like meeting his station colleagues for happy hour and splitting time with each other’s families during holidays.
“Game?” she echoed incredulously. “I’m game for a good movie. I’m game for sushi. However, I am not ‘game’ when it comes to relationships.”
“Look, plug in the word of your choice. They all mean the same thing. You. Me. Couple.”
“And then what?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “We go out on dates. Get to know each other and each other’s families and friends. See if fate drew us a winning hand.”
“Just like that.” Sabrina stared at him, appalled.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not that simple. You don’t have sex with someone and then decide to date them. It’s backwards. That’s not to say that sex is off the table,” she added hastily.
His smile faded. He swung long legs around the sofa and rested elbows on knees. The subdued golden light from the small Tiffany desk lamp curled over the strong muscles in his shou
lders and arms in a play of shadow and light. Poised there so contemplative and still, he looked like a museum sculpture after closing hours.
“Let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “You want me to service you sexually in return for exactly nothing. Am I talking to Sabrina or her hormones right now?”
She wished he’d left estrogen out of it. When he phrased it so bluntly, she couldn’t deny it. That was what she wanted. That. Exactly.
Or was it? She thought of the way Gage had led her around the dance floor at the ball, his big hand warm against her spine. Then later that night, the feeling of that hand stroking her shoulders when she’d buried her face in his shoulder and cried.
“Look, I ended a marriage not too long ago,” she reasoned. “Getting involved with someone new is the height of poor form. Legislative session’s underway. I don’t have much spare time to invest in a relationship.”
“Any more excuses you’d like to add to the list?”
As if she needed them? There was, of course, the truth or as close as she could brush up to it. She remembered all the afternoons she and Molly had spent at Ella’s, digging into large slabs of pecan pie a la mode and pondering Molly’s latest crush. I like him so bad, Brini.
Like didn’t begin to describe how she felt about Gage. So bad was the tight feeling in her chest that threatened to bloom into something bigger. Something that turned “like” into an unobjectionable verb followed by “chocolate,” “espresso,” and “Jackson.” Whatever so bad was, it was dangerous.
Sabrina forced herself to push the feeling aside.
“We’ve known each other for two months, Gage,” she told him, hoping that he wouldn’t interpret her earnestness as condescension. “I don’t know your favorite color or where you went to college. I don’t even know your middle name. And you don’t know me. Not really.”
He tilted his head and looked at her in consternation. “I get it. You need more pillow talk. You’re also clever when it comes to evading questions. So I must repeat: Do you want a relationship with me or not?”
Sabrina still couldn’t process the question, much less answer it. His proposition registered midline on the linear progression of courtship starting with Where to Go for Dinner and ending with Agree to Spend Life Together. Only this time, she knew from experience where they’d end up. Awesome sex had made Gage a little punch-drunk, she decided. Clearer heads always prevailed. In this case, it would have to be hers.
Something About You (Just Me & You) Page 27
