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 elegantly, 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 d
ifferent 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 sauteed 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."
"Thank God." Delia poked at her potatoes for a minute, but she was full. "Can I have some more wine?"
Nick grinned unabashedly. "Only if you'll get drunk enough to have phone sex later."
Delia felt her face color. "Nick!" She reached for the bottle, but Nick snatched it away.
"Maybe I'll make you lick it from my navel," he said, thrusting the bottle behind his back.
"Maybe I'll make you beg for it," she shot back, keeping her voice soft and low.
"Ooh, a mean woman," he said, circling the table. "I like that."
Delia smiled faintly, but she could sense that something deeper lay behind his banter. Nick bent his head and nibbled at her earlobe. "Hey, Dr. Delia," he whispered. "Remember what you told Evelyn from East Brunswick?"
"Evelyn?" Delia considered it. "The one who thought her husband was a pervert for wanting to have sex in his velour recliner?"
"That's the gal," said Nick, working his way down her throat with his teeth. "You told her that having sex in unusual places could be a turn-on."
Pushing away her plate, Delia let her head tip back against her chair. "Worked for me," she answered, feeling suddenly lethargic. "It doesn't get much more unusual than the hood of a sports car, does it?"
Nick's hands were all over her now, and his voice was thickening. "Stand up, baby," he rasped, skimming one hand down her belly to ease his fingers beneath the elastic of her panties. "Let me bend you over that table and show you just how unusual we can get."
After Delia and Nick made love in the kitchen, they did it again in the living room on Nick's big leather sofa. In between they had a little foreplay in the laundry room, followed by an interesting interlude in the foyer with Delia on her knees and Nick clinging to the coat rack, begging for mercy. All of which ultimately landed them back in Nick's king-sized bed again, with him on top. The man was unstoppable.
When Delia awoke long hours later, the big red numbers on his clock radio said 3:35 and the bed was empty. Shrugging into Nick's chambray shirt, she padded through the bedroom and down the hall. She found Nick in his study, dressed in nothing but a pair of jeans. He sat at his desk, his head in his hands, staring down at a blank piece of paper. On his laptop, flying windows fluttered across his screen-saver, and Delia got a distinct impression they'd been there a while.
Delia's eyes were still adjusting to the light when she spoke. "Hey, handsome," she said, dragging a hand through her hair. "You okay?"
Nick wheeled his desk chair around and threw his arms wide open. His smile was wan, and he looked tired around his eyes. "Well, top o' the morning, Dr. Delia," he said, pulling her into his lap so that she straddled him.
"I'll say." Delia stared him straight in the eyes. "It isn't even four o'clock. Couldn't you sleep?"
He kissed her nose, then lightly rested his forehead against hers. "Mmm, you smell like a sleepy, luscious woman," he whispered. "Mind if I have a bite?"
"You're avoiding my question," she pointed out.
But her shirt wasn't buttoned, and before she could draw another breath, his mouth was on her breast, nibbling and sucking. It felt so good, Delia let her breath escape on a little sigh. But he was trying to divert her, and she knew it. She could sense the edginess inside him.
"Hey, come on, tough guy," she said softly. "What's wrong?"
He flicked a wary glance up at her. "Nothing," he said. "Except that I've got a sexy woman on my lap, and she won't hush up long enough for me to kiss her."
Delia gave him a sideways smile. "You'll kiss me. But not talk to me?"
Nick's eyes flashed with irritation. "Damn it, Delia, it isn't like that and you know it."
"Do I?" she answered softly.
Nick's shoulders sagged in resignation. "Okay, I've got a stressful job," he grumbled. "And a goddamned incident report I can't seem to write, even though, yes, it's keeping me awake. But look, Delia, don't nag, all right? I don't need a psychologist to chat with. I need a woman to screw. Trust me, sugar, that's the best therapy there is."
Well. Nick had just posted a No Mental Trespassing sign, hadn't he? Delia considered it. Okay, so his interpersonal communication skills sucked. He had other talents. "Fine, point taken," she said.
"Hey," he said, gentling his tone. "Hey, Delia, look at me. That came out sounding ugly, didn't it? I'm sorry."
Delia shrugged. "Look, Nick," she said coolly. "I didn't come over here to moonlight. My day job is hard enough, remember?"
Nick seemed to take her sarcasm well. A slow, sexy, and slightly chastened smile began to curve one corner of his mouth. "Well, if you didn't come over here to psychoanalyze me, Doc," he said very quietly, "what did you come for?"
"The sex, Nick," she said flatly. "You're good at it."
The grin deepened. "Well, I do aim to please," he said, setting his hands at her waist and lifting her up just an inch.
Delia felt her eyes grow round, and Nick laughed. "Unzip my jeans, sugar, and give me some physical therapy."
Well, why not? His snap wasn't even fastened, so she lowered his zipper and pushed down his white cotton briefs. Nick's penis was already half-hard. Delia took it between her hands, closed her eyes, and felt the velvety length throb and harden beneath her touch.
Nick made a sound, a low, dark rumble in his chest, and shoved a hand into his jeans pocket, fishing out a condom. She watched hungrily as his clever hands worked the sheath down his erection, now rock-hard. It took only seconds, but it seemed like forever. Then Nick lifted her effortlessly up, allowing Delia to settle herself onto his shaft with a soft, satisfied sigh. The chair's mechanics squealed in protest as she rode him. Her body was restless, needy. She pressed her lips to his throat and felt him shiver.
Good. Oh, God, it was so good. Her eyes still closed, Delia licked her lips and surrendered all her thoughts. Nick kissed her again, hot and deep, plumbing her mouth with his tongue until, by the dim glow of his desk lamp, they found satisfaction yet again. Then quietly he carried her back to bed and drifted off to sleep with her in his arms.
When next she awoke, the big red numbers said 5:07.
Monday morning. Delia felt an ache of disappointment in addition to the ache between her legs. Nick Woodruff had just about worn her out. Her extraordinary erotic encounter with him was over, and in less than three hours, she'd be back on campus, facing a roomful of bleary-eyed graduate students. Quietly she slid from the bed, stretched her sore muscles, and dressed. Nick still slept deeply, facedown with the sheets tangled about his waist. Good Lord, he looked fine. Still, Delia let herself out of the house, wondering what she'd been thinking, to spend her Sunday having sex with a stranger.
> Except that Nick wasn't a stranger. In fact, Delia felt as though she'd known him for ages. And now she was left standing on his back porch, her legs dimpled with goose bumps, half afraid she was going to get her heart broken—and by a man she hadn't even liked especially well three days ago.
Well, she liked him fine now, that was for sure. Delia set a fast pace across the grass toward her house, wondering if she'd see him again. Well, of course, she would see him. He had her car. But at this point in the relationship-—the relationship they were not having, she reminded herself-—what should she do next? Thank him for a lovely evening? Send him flowers? Delia laughed, her breath fogging faintly in the cold air. None of her grandmother's old etiquette lectures seemed applicable here.
The street lamp from Greenway Circle cast just enough light to keep Delia from breaking a leg in the murk. Once inside her house it was a little easier to forget about Nick. After brewing a pot of coffee, she showered, dressed, then spent an hour on her lecture notes, something she should have done last night. At seven sharp she grabbed the phone and called Becky Jo for a ride to work, and soon she was back in the thick of her dull, ordinary life.
But as the day wore on, the lack of sleep caught up with Delia. Her morning dragged, and by the time her show went on the air, it was all she could do to feign interest in her guest, an epidemiologist studying the resurgence of syphilis on high school campuses. The first three calls were routine, all of them terrified teenagers who wanted to follow up on the discussion. Then Frank signaled a change of topic. The epidemiologist snapped open a copy of Newsweek and kicked back in his chair. Delia motioned Frank to send the next call through.
"Well, hey there, Dr. Delia," said a dark, sexy, and very familiar voice.
"What?" Delia's stomach lurched, and she almost knocked over her coffee cup. "I mean, good afternoon. Welcome to Let's Talk About Sex. Tell us who you are and where you're calling from."
"Yeah, sure, this is, um, John," said the sexy voice. "From—er, from—"
Nick had obviously forgotten to plan the geography part. But Delia's shock had passed. "It's not a trick question, John," she interjected in her huskiest voice.
BIG GONES - OUT OF UNIFORM Page 15
