He chuckled and felt a little heat climb up his neck at the same time. “You say the damndest things, sugar.”
“We all have our strengths.”
His chuckle was deeper, and he had the pleasure of watching her pupils slowly swallow up that sea of green. “That we do, darlin.” He let his palm slide around her waist until his thumb grazed alongside the swell of her breast.
He heard her swift intake of breath, and felt her fingers reflexively dig into the back of his neck. Oh yeah. He wanted to feel her dig in, tighten up, and hold on . . . all over him. But he knew if he so much as brushed his mouth over hers, they’d never make it off the driveway, so he swung her up a little higher in his arms. “Hold on to me, sugar.”
“My pleasure,” she said, her voice a little throaty again as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder.
He tucked her up more tightly against him, liking the way she fit. She liked it, too, and started nuzzling the side of his neck.
He growled a little at the skittery sensations her touch sent racing all over his skin . . . and the further tightening of the front of his jeans. He all but kicked down the front door of his beach cottage and carried her straight to the back of the sprawling structure. “Tour later,” he murmured, ducking his chin to intercept her clever little tongue, capturing it in his mouth.
She was the one to moan, and even though he was mere steps away from his designated goal, they made it only to the short span of wall that separated the kitchen and breakfast nook area from the master bedroom he’d built onto the back of the house. He pinned her against the wall, and used the last shred of restraint he had left to capture her gaze. “The last time for you, it triggered a vision?”
She held his gaze, and when she realized he was talking about the last time she’d had sex, he saw emotion rise swiftly in her eyes until they grew a little glassy.
“Aw, sugar, I’m not trying to stir up bad memories—”
“No, I know. You’re trying to keep me from adding to them.” She slid a hand to his cheek. “Thank you.”
“You sure you’re ready?”
“For the risk? Or for . . . taking this step?”
“Both.” He framed her face with both palms. “If something happens, it just does. I won’t go anywhere, understood?” His lips twitched. “And I won’t take it personally.”
She let out a short, watery laugh. “That would be a nice change.”
The simple little joke broke his heart. To have to go through something every time she got sent reeling off was bad enough. To have it happen during the most intimate of moments . . . he couldn’t even imagine. Then to have her partner be indignant and abrasive about it? Well, he wasn’t one to cling to the past, but he wouldn’t have minded tracking down her past partners and spreading a little enlightenment their way.
“There’s something else you need to know,” he said, brushing his thumbs along the tender skin beneath her eyes. “I wasn’t raised to play well with others. In my world, it was all about protecting your own. And I have to admit, I still don’t like to share what’s mine.”
She surprised him by smiling, and the sheen of emotion finally shifted to one of dry amusement. “So, you’re saying you wouldn’t respond in a positive way if I thought I wanted to test out my new ability to take . . . certain risks with other island residents of the male persuasion? I’m pretty sure old Mr. Hanson was giving me the eye when he came by to drop off those tools you asked him to loan me. Thank you for that, by the way. Of course, it’s also doubtful he’d even be aware if I was having a vision because he’d be too busy trying not to die of a heart attack—”
Dylan cut her off with a kiss. Fast, hard, deep, and absolutely intended to claim. Both were a little breathless when he lifted his head. “Do you know it’s a little terrifying—maybe more than a little—and a lot humbling, that you could actually make me jealous of an eighty-six year old grandfather of nine?”
“Nine grandkids, huh?” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. “Sounds like a guy with some serious stamina.”
She let out a loud squeal when he simply hauled her up over his shoulder and carried her down the short hall to the master suite. “We’ll see about stamina,” he said, even as her laughter trailed along behind him.
“You’re way too easy, you know,” she said, laughter still bubbling. “You should know better than to give me that kind of leverage.”
He slid her off of his shoulder, grinning despite the fact that his desire to claim her as his own grew with every giggle, every little poke or jab. “Let’s talk about leverage, sugar.”
He laid her across the wide expanse of his bed, following her down and pinning her into the soft, pillowed mattress with the full length of his body.
“Oh,” she sighed as she sank into the cool linens and soft, cotton-covered duvet. “This is . . . decadent.”
He grinned, and pushed her glasses up on her nose. “You might be the only one who thinks of cotton as decadent.”
“It’s just so soft.”
“Let’s hope that’s the only time I hear you say that, darlin’.”
She laughed, and wriggled under him. “Something tells me you won’t have to worry much on that score.” She slid her arms around his neck. “Come here,” she said softly, mimicking his Southern accent and pulling him down so she could kiss him. “Thank you,” she whispered against his lips.
“For?” he asked, lifting his head just enough to brush kisses on the corner of her mouth, then along her jaw.
“All of this. Making it so easy to just be myself.”
“I happen to be very interested in just yourself.”
She beamed at that, and his heart did the oddest little tap dance inside his chest.
“That’s really handy, because I feel the same.” She surprised him by rolling him to his back. “It’s a very empowering thing, you know. Mutual desire. Makes me feel like being a little”—she circled his wrists with her hands, pinned them beside his head, and grinned—“aggressive.”
“I’m all yours, sugar.”
She laughed, but a brief flicker of something quite . . . possessive flashed through her eyes. And rather than feel trapped—literally or figuratively—he felt triumphant.
“Good to know.” She leaned in and nipped his chin, then his earlobe. “Very, very good to know.”
He groaned as she continued her gentle assault. “It’s a damn shame it took this long for someone to get you feeling . . . empowered.” He quickly reversed their positions, laughing when she gasped. “But I’m really glad you waited so it could be me.” He didn’t give her time to respond. The teasing, the playing, the exploring, had pushed him past any further hope of control. Next time, he’d be gentle and tender and sweet, and only because she’d already taught him he had that in him.
But for this first time, there was only one way it was going to go. He tugged at her earlobe with his teeth. “I’m going to take those clothes off of you now, sugar. And then I’m going to find out how every last inch of you tastes on my tongue.”
She shuddered under him and his body roared in response. He slowly popped open the row of tiny pearl buttons down the front of her thin sweater, parting it as he went. Her breasts were small, but full, and he teased her nipples through the thin cotton cups. Her sweater had been delicate and feminine, but something about the simple serviceability of the white cotton bra caught at him, too. It all went toward that dichotomy of hers that was handmade skirts, made more flirty and feminine with her own artistic needlework . . . and the no nonsense horn rims, the unadorned, short fingernails, and hands that bore calluses from creating her artwork.
She moaned, arching up against his mouth as he slid his hands under her and unhooked the back and slid the straps down and off her arms. Her skin was pale, soft, her nipples dark, tightly budded, begging to be licked, suckled, teased. So he did, until she was writhing beneath him and he knew if he didn’t peel his jeans off sometime soon, he might become permanently damaged in some way.
As if reading his mind, she tugged at his shirt, pulling it up and over the back of his head. He took it and tossed it away. She smoothed her hands over his chest, then lifted her head and teased him the way he’d teased her. No one had ever done that, and it surprised him, the sharp tug, the aching turning to throbbing. She slid her hands down to his waistband, worked at opening his belt, and he found he rather enjoyed being both the aggressor . . . and her quarry, all at the same time. He found the thin hidden zipper on the side of her skirt, unhooked the waistband, and they unzipped each other, then slid out of their clothes.
His eyebrows climbed as he noted the hand stitched flowers and fairies on her panties. He lifted a questioning gaze to hers.
She lifted a shoulder and smiled. “I lived alone in a barn. I had time on my hands. Besides . . . I didn’t think anyone would ever see them.”
“You had a pretty good idea I might when you slid these on earlier.”
Her cheeky grin peeked out. “I did. Better you know all my hidden secrets all at once. Besides . . . it wouldn’t have mattered which ones I grabbed.”
His eyebrows rose even higher. “They’re all like that, are they?”
“Eight years. Alone. In a barn,” she repeated. “They started my day with a smile.”
“Well, sugar,” he said as he pulled them off, “I’m all for starting your days with a smile. And ending them with one, too.” He tossed the panties on top of her skirt and began working his way back up the curve of her ankles, the flair of her calves, the tender spot on the inside of her knee, the smooth skin of her thighs . . . with his tongue.
She let out soft little gasps, then reached down and wove her fingers into his hair, urging him to where she wanted him to be. He liked that . . . and happily complied. She arched up to meet him as he slid his tongue over her, teased her, taunted her, until she was panting as her hips pistoned beneath each stroke of his tongue. He felt her thighs trembling, and her fingers dug deeper as she gathered up tighter and tighter.
That’s it, sugar, he thought. Come for me. Come to me.
Her short pants became little whimpers, and she bucked harder. “Dylan,” she gasped. “Dylan!”
He realized, suddenly, that she might be spinning away from him and felt a moment of stupidity for not being more aware of it, being so focused on her pleasure. Then she was shattering beneath him, and he stayed right where he was, seeing it through with her, pushing her along the crest of the wave, helping her find every last ounce of pleasure there was to be had until she was trembling, her breath catching over and over.
He kissed the inside of her thigh, then the soft spot to the side of her hipbone, before sliding up and pulling her against him. “You okay?” he murmured next to her ear.
She opened her eyes to his, and they were utterly defenseless.
“Aw, sugar, I’m sorry—”
She pressed a kiss to his lips, silencing him, then kept on kissing him. There was so much emotion, sweet, tender, and passionate. All her guards were completely gone, and he worried, knowing she was at her most vulnerable.
Her eyes closed, so he let his own drift shut and went along with her gentle, but urgent demands. When she pulled him back on top of her, slid her heels up the backs of his thighs, and wrapped her legs around his waist, he slipped his hands to her hips, lifted her to him, found her, and slid steady, strong, and fully inside of her.
He might have growled . . . or it might have been her. He stayed fully inside of her, not moving, just reveling in every sensation, making sure she was okay with the size of him. Making sure she was with him. He waited for her to move, and when she did, he groaned. Long, deep, guttural groans as they slowly found their pace, the rise and fall of her hips and his body sliding into hers in as age old a rhythm as the sea under his sail. He felt like he’d known her forever even as he understood, on every level possible, that he’d never once known anything like this.
They continued to move together, and she slid her hand to the back of his neck, urging his mouth to hers again. “Dylan . . .” she breathed against his lips; then she opened her eyes, and he fell so deeply into that vast sea of green, he knew he’d drown in them and smile as he did.
She smiled back, even as she gasped when he drove into her more deeply, pulled her up against him more tightly, sinking all the way into her as she kissed him again and again, until he was the one climbing . . . and shattering.
They held on to each other, panting, gasping . . . smiling, while their heart rates slowed and their breathing returned to normal. He rolled to his side, gathering her against him. And she surprised him again, by propping her chin on his chest, and looking up with a happy gaze, eyes dancing.
“What?” he said, already grinning.
“I just . . . I didn’t know. I mean, I’ve read about it, and I’m a modern woman and hardly a prude, so, you know, I’ve figured it out on my own. But . . . I honestly had no idea.”
“About?” He gently rolled her to her back and pushed her hair from her face.
“How it feels, to be . . . well, to be taken like that, to climax like that. It’s so incredibly . . . powerful.”
He shouldn’t feel so pleased with himself to discover that he was the first one to show her that kind of pleasure. But he was. Ridiculously so. And he wasn’t ashamed of the pride he felt, because he knew she could share in it. No one made him feel so . . . hell, he felt invincible with her. “Well, sugar, I can honestly say I felt everything you did. I’m glad to know I can do that, be that, for you.” He grinned. “Of course, I’m not saying there isn’t always room for improvement. Practice makes perfect, after all.” “Practice just makes for perfect practicing,” she said, then sighed. “And I’m all for that.”
He chuckled and couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. He touched her hair, traced her lips. “You hungry?” He reached past her and found her glasses, then slid them back on for her.
She slid them right back off again, and smiled at him as she dropped them back on the bedside table. “Not for dinner.” She pushed him to his back. “My turn to do a little exploring.”
He groaned and surrendered without so much as a whimper.
“My, my,” she said, moments later on a giggle. “I was right. Stamina isn’t going to be a problem. Eat your heart out, Mr. Hanson.”
Chapter 16
Honey blinked open her eyes and took a moment to let the blur settle into a slightly more distinct fuzzy picture. She slid her hand out from under the duvet, found her glasses, and quietly slid them on, careful not to disturb the man presently in deep slumber beside her.
It was just as well. If he could see her quite decidedly Cheshire-like grin at the moment, he might be a little concerned. She was feeling rather smug, and didn’t much care who knew it. If she could dance on top of the bedspread and shout to the world how happy she was, she could easily have done so.
Who knew falling in love could feel so good?
It should have been scarier, or at the very least, had her making long pro and con lists and worrying over all the tiny things that could go so disastrously wrong. While she still had lots of trepidations about her life on Sugarberry, about opening up her own business; getting back to work and wondering how all the changes were going to affect her creativity; wondering if her online customers would come back, because she’d need them to make ends meet for a long time to come and possibly forever . . . the only thing she didn’t have any worries about was her feelings for the man beside her.
He hadn’t left her guessing. The very best thing about Dylan Ross was that he held nothing back. Good or bad, he was entirely open with her about whatever he thought, whatever he was feeling . . . and most deliciously, whatever he was wanting.
He was far from perfect. He was demanding in wanting what he wanted, not huge on patience, and could be moody when he was worried about something or someone. She’d seen all those things in him . . . but all she had to do was look at him, smile at him, maybe poke a little, and all thos
e walls came tumbling down. Leaving them simply open and honest, at least with each other. She felt she had the most powerful secret weapon on the planet. She had Dylan. On her side. At her back. And he’d made it quite clear he intended to stay right there unless she booted him off.
She had no intention of doing that. She wasn’t perfect, either. She worried about things, had crazy visions when she least expected them, then worried about how to figure out and fix what she’d seen. She got distracted all the time and often made jokes as a way to appear more confident than she really was.
And he wanted her anyway, flaws and all. In fact, it was possible, just maybe . . . that he thought she was his best secret weapon, too. He held on to her, cared for her, yet respected her and even admired her.
She had no idea how two cave dwellers like themselves had ever stuck their heads out long enough to find each other, but she felt incredibly lucky they had. Knowing she could turn to him when she needed to was enough. She didn’t need him to fix things or take care of things. Her family had been behind her, supporting her, but she’d never had anyone who’d wanted to do it willingly . . . because they cared for her.
She rolled her head to the side and watched him sleep. Maybe, just maybe, he might be falling, too. At least as much as a man like him was able.
They had eventually made their way out to the boat and dined on cold fried chicken, the most delicious coleslaw she’d ever had, reheated biscuits along with homemade rhubarb jam, and Miss Alva’s mini apple pies for dessert. They’d lain on a blanket, Lolly sprawled at their side, and watched the stars wink in and out. Dylan had held her hand and told her all about his childhood. About his mother taking off, his father sinking into deep despair, and even more deeply into the bottle. He’d told her about his abusive brother, also a substance abuser and addict, and how helpless he’d felt against the tyranny Mickey had reigned down. How angry he was at his father for not standing up and doing what fathers should do, and how equally guilty he felt because he couldn’t protect his father from the abuse.
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