She twirled on her heel, walked into the room, and stopped next to the bed. To her great satisfaction, Wayne followed behind with uncertain steps, not nearly as macho as his words. All bark and no bite.
“Which side?” she said with a smirk.
His thick, long lashes lowered. Staring at her from hooded eyes, he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from his body. Good God. She barely contained a gasp. He was rock hard, built like a machine. Every sinewy muscle was chiseled to perfection. The line in the center of his chest ran deep. His abdomen was like a washboard. Taut, bronze skin rippled over a valley of abs. The hair dusting his chest and navel was as coal black as his hair. She couldn’t breathe. Her oxygen-deprived brain couldn’t think. She became even more lightheaded when he undid his buckle and pulled down the zipper of his jeans. Maybe he didn’t tease her by pushing the jeans ever so slowly over his hips until he stood in front of her in only his boxer shorts. Maybe it all happened in slow motion in her mind. His thighs were powerful, like tree trunks. The bulge under the tight, baby blue cotton of the boxers was huge. Dear God, now she was staring. She swallowed away the dryness in her mouth as he folded the shirt and jeans neatly on the chair that acted as a nightstand, desperately searching for something else to focus on. She chose the pile of books on the chair.
“Strike Force Ten,” she said, reading the first title on the top. “Konsalik. Wow, that’s old. My dad read that. Not that I mean you’re old, but it’s old. For a book, I mean.”
He didn’t answer, just watched her with that look, that look of … of a cat that knew the mouse had its tail caught in a trap.
With difficulty, she got a grip on herself again. If he hadn’t undressed, she would’ve still had the upper hand. When in doubt, she always rewound a situation and played it back. In her mind, she rewound to the part before he’d taken off his shirt.
“So, which side is yours?” she asked.
Slowly, as if his fingers were doling out a caress, he drew back the covers, and then hopped into bed, slap-bam in the middle. He puffed out the single pillow and folded his hands under his head. “I don’t have a side.”
It was clear he had no intention of making space for her. Feeling stupid, naïve, and all the things he’d accused her of, all she wanted was to run to the sofa, but that would mean admitting defeat, and she wasn’t that down and out. Not yet.
Taking a deep breath, she got into bed next to him, trying not to touch him, but it was impossible. Her body rolled into a hollow in the center of the mattress. His hipbone pressed into her stomach. She kept completely still, not daring to breathe. She’d wait until he was asleep and tiptoe to the sofa. She’d blame the mutinous act on him snoring. That way, she’d wake up with her pride intact and her virginity.
She jumped when he turned on his side, his nose rubbing against her temple.
“Goodnight, Sara.”
“Night,” she said in a thin voice.
“Careful,” he whispered. “I kick in my sleep.”
By the time she’d perfected her glare, he’d already turned out the light, and they were huddled in complete darkness. There wasn’t even a moon to illuminate the room.
She lay as stiff as a stick until his breathing changed, and she realized he was fast asleep. Wow, that was a slap in the face. It took him all of two minutes to fall asleep next to her. Since he was passed out, she dared to reach out, carefully so as not to wake him, and rest her hand on his chest. The beat of his heart was strong under her palm, his body warm and hard. She imagined all that iron hardness wrapping around her, smothering her in heat and passion. All that train of thought earned her was a pulsing ache in her lower body and a dull throb of rejection in her throat. It was a good thing he wasn’t attracted to her, or else they’d be doing all of the wicked things she was conjuring in her mind at this very moment. No, she was holding out for Mr. Right.
She sighed. Who was she kidding? It was becoming more and more difficult to abstain from sex. To be perfectly honest, some opportunities had arisen in the past, but the candidates weren’t husband material. She wanted to hold out for the one, for the man she saw as her children’s father. The older she grew, the less likely it seemed that the man was going to make his appearance. She trailed her fingers through the hair on Wayne’s chest, enjoying the masculine feel of him. Maybe there wasn’t someone special for each person in the world. Maybe she was wasting the best years of her life, withholding from mind-blowing sex, waiting for a Mr. Right that would never come when there was a hot Mr. Wrong next to her in bed. Maybe it was time to throw in the towel and give up her virginity, go out into the world and have some fun. She did have fun. Lots of it. Just not the loving kind. Yep, it was time.
At the very moment she took her decision, Wayne gripped her wrist. The sudden move had her cry out in fright.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“You pulled my chest hair.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize.”
“No?” There was disbelief in his voice.
He lifted on his elbow, and then his body rolled over hers. The full length of him pressed on top of her, pushing her down into the mattress with the most delicious weight. His hands cupped her head, his fingers spearing through her hair. Without warning, he gave a tug, catching her off guard.
“Ouch,” she cried out. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“You pulled my hair.”
“Did I?” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I didn’t realize.”
Oh, he was making fun of her again. She pushed on his chest. “You’re vile.”
“Told you, little girl, I’m not a gentleman.”
“That doesn’t mean you can hurt me.”
He lifted his weight a fraction. “I didn’t pull that hard.”
“My scalp is very sensitive.”
“How about this?” He loosened his fingers to thread them through the strands.
Her hair was knotted, so it did pull, but in a different way, a way that made her hot from her scalp to her toes.
His breath fanned over her face. “How does this feel?”
“Still hurts.”
“And this?” His fingers moved to her scalp, applying gentle pressure, like a massage.
She groaned. Too late to catch the sound, she bit her lip to prevent another moan from escaping.
“Better,” she whispered.
His head came closer. “I’ve made a good job of steering clear of you.” He rubbed his nose against hers. “You’re not helping.”
She licked her dry lips and swallowed her pride. “Maybe I don’t want to help.”
“This won’t work. I’ll fuck you, we’ll still be enemies, and you’ll resent me.”
All of what he said was true, but her heart was beating so hard, she could feel it keeping time in her ears. Blood coursed through her veins like water over rapids. Heat warmed her skin. If there were light, he’d see the blotches on her neck and cheeks.
“Why have you waited so long?” he asked.
“For what?”
“To have sex.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it does.”
She inhaled deeply. “I was waiting for the right man. I was hoping my first time would be with the man I’d marry.”
“Like wedding night sex?” he asked, a note of surprise in his voice.
He said it like there was something wrong with wanting to be with one man only.
Her reply was uncertain. “Yes.”
“I’m not the right man.”
“I know.”
“Why give up your ideal now?”
“Maybe I’m tired of waiting.”
“Maybe?” He lifted his body, the heat of his skin evaporating. “Maybe isn’t good enough.”
“I am tired of waiting.”
She arched her back, pushing their upper bodies together and putting her mouth a hairbreadth from his.
“If you kiss m
e,” he brushed their lips together as he spoke, “I’m not going to keep my hands off, any longer. So think carefully before you make the next move.”
Think? She was beyond thinking. Maybe she’d regret this in the morning. How could she not? He’d told her every kind of insulting thing since coming to his cabin, had fallen down snoring next to her in bed, and had no intention of letting sex mean more than a fuck. But damn, she’d never been more aroused in her life. If she was going to give up her virginity, now seemed like a good time.
Taking the plunge, she snaked her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. It lasted no more than a second before he untangled her arms and lifted them above her head.
“Brave little girl.” He kissed her throat. “You’re choosing the wrong man.”
“At least then say my name right. Told you, I’m not a little girl.”
He kissed the column of her throat again, right on her Adam’s apple. “Sahara.”
His lips moved to the hollow below and along her collarbone to her shoulder. Wayne was a man who needed to be in charge. She knew it from the way he grabbed both her wrists in one, big hand, keeping them pinned above her head while working the hem of the T-shirt up her body. For a moment, his broad, warm palm rested on her stomach, causing a shiver to contract her muscles. He kissed his way up the side of her neck to her ear, planting a gentle kiss on her jaw before sucking her earlobe into his mouth.
She pulled in a ragged breath, already panting as his hand moved higher, and his lips finally found hers. She opened eagerly, parting for his tongue, but he kept the kiss light while his fingers played on the underside of her breasts. Shifting, he aligned their bodies, his erection pushing on the mound of her sex. She moaned into his mouth, lifting her hips, but he anchored them with his weight, keeping her exactly where he wanted her, pushing her, molding her, rearranging her, until her legs were spread and his hard-on cushioned between her thighs. This was really happening. Part of her couldn’t believe it. Until now, she hadn’t realized how badly she wanted this. Maybe it was just him.
Her attention stopped wandering when his hand moved up to cup her breast. The touch was intimate and electrifying. She cried out and pushed into his palm, needing more friction.
“Don’t stop,” she said, her kiss turning urgent even as his remained gentle.
“I like how you react to my touch, Sara. So damn hot.”
Cool air washed over her breasts. They were bared, and he was the first man to lay eyes on them. Figuratively, at least, because they were still surrounded by inky darkness. His fingertips, the skin rough and hardened, tortured her nipples by rolling them gently. When they pebbled and extended, he rubbed up and down the aching tips with a flat palm. He did a flicking thing with his thumb, making her feel the sensation not only in her breasts that turned heavy, but also in her swollen folds and throbbing clit.
“Oh, my God, Wayne.”
“That’s it, angel. Tell me what you feel.”
“I feel… I need…”
He abandoned her breasts and moved his hand down between their bodies and under the elastic of the sweatpants to cup her sex. “Here?” His thumb teased lightly over the fabric that covered her clit.
She gasped. “Yes. Ah. More.”
“Soon.”
He planted a feathery kiss on her lips and moved his head down to her bellybutton. He kissed her there, too, and then he grabbed her breast and plumped it up until the tip peaked. Slowly, he dragged his tongue, hot and rough like sandpaper, from the under-curve up over her nipple, setting the sensitive skin on fire. He blew over the wet tip, making her skin contract. Every part of her was burning. As if that torture wasn’t enough, he increased the pressure of his thumb on her clit while he molded his mouth over her breast, licking her like candy. If coming from breast stimulation alone was an option, then she was nearing that option fast. He sucked with his mouth and pressed with his finger, nipped with his teeth and flicked with his thumb until she couldn’t take it any longer.
“Please, please, Wayne.”
He changed to her other breast. “Soon.”
Giving that one the same treatment, he stroked his thumb down the cotton of the boxer shorts that covered her sex, tracing the line where her folds parted. The mattress was a bed of smoldering coals. Desire made her sleek and need made her brave while she burned under him. He took his time caressing her breasts until both nipples were raw from his tongue, lips and teeth. Only then did he move his mouth lower, at the same time pushing the elastic of the sweatpants and boxer shorts down her hips.
He exposed her without hurry or urgency, pulling the fabric down until only the mound of her sex was visible. There he paused to bite softly into the flesh, sending a shiver of pleasure mixed with anticipation and fear down her thighs to her knees, turning them weak.
Lower still. At the next stop, her clit was exposed. He kissed the nub with no more than a brush of his lips, but her hips jerked at the contact. For a second he paused, and she could sense him staring at her face in the dark, but neither of them spoke.
There were so many reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this. For starters, it was a violation of her work ethics. She was supposed to reinforce the reclaim of his land, not lie in his bed and shiver under his body. Secondly… She couldn’t think. Not when he moved the shorts down her legs and over her ankles. For the first time, she felt more fear than excitement. Involuntarily, she clenched her knees together, but he parted her thighs without apology or request, like a man who went after what he wanted with no excuses.
The ‘no excuses’ was what she wanted, the heat of the moment without the consequences that would have to be faced in the daylight. For now, she wanted his hands on her body, everywhere he was willing to put them. He chose her hips, clamping his big hands below her waist and pulling her down the mattress an inch. Next, he stroked her thighs from her knees to the juncture between her legs, all along the insides. He traced the outline of her folds, up on one side and down on the other.
“You’re pretty everywhere,” he said, “but you’re perfect here.” He pressed on her clit and dragged a thumb down her folds, stroking around the inside of her labia.
The light caress gathered her moisture, working it back up to her clit and down. He didn’t penetrate her deeper. He kept the invasion to that one digit, the tip of his thumb, stroking her need higher but not taking her where she needed to go.
“Wayne,” she panted, her frustration reaching a crescendo.
“I know, angel.”
Using both thumbs to part her gently, he lowered his head and took her clit in his mouth. The sensation was unlike anything she’d ever felt. It was hot and wet, dizzying, and when he started sucking, alternating with soft nips, she nearly came undone on the spot. Her hips lifted off the mattress of their own accord, the movements of her body no longer in her control. She was a puppet in his hands.
He hummed his approval, sending a vibration through her pubic bone that felt like sugar crunching under her teeth. It was both delicious and unbearable.
“Wayne!”
His name was a plea, a cry for help, a beautiful sound.
“I know.”
Pins and needles pierced her clit. Little arrows of heat flew up her abdomen and burned where they landed.
She gripped his hair, needing to hold onto him. “I’m… Wayne, I–”
Everything inside of her imploded, wracking her body with shocks that rippled inward to the eye of the explosion, the part that Wayne held in his mouth and refused to let go.
“Too much.” She pushed on his shoulders to shove him away, but it was a weak attempt. All of her energy was concentrated in the orgasm that held her in a vice.
He kept on nipping as smaller aftershocks detonated, leaving the havoc of an earthquake in its wake. Only when she had nothing left to give did he let go, crawling back up her body. Spent, she felt satisfied, yet vulnerable, but Wayne filled that emotional hole that inexplicably opened in her heart with a tender kis
s, his tongue delving deep inside her mouth this time, kissing her long and slow until every muscle in her body was unknotted and relaxed.
He ended the embrace with two soft kisses, leaving traces of arousal on her lips.
“How was that?” he said, his voice husky in the dark.
She stretched under him, feeling like a lizard on a warm rock in the sun. “Nice.”
“Nice?” He chuckled. “Seems like I need to work on my skills.” He rolled off and lay down next to her, dragging her closer and draping an arm over her breasts.
That was it? Now he was going to stop?
She turned her head toward him in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“You came in my mouth. It’s called oral sex.”
“I know what oral sex is,” she said with indignation. “I mean, aren’t you … aren’t we…”
“This is as far as I’m prepared to go with you.” He let go and turned his back on her. “Go to sleep.”
Different emotions assaulted her—disappointment, embarrassment, anger. After the pep talk in her mind to make the decision, after the anxiety and then the anticipation, it wasn’t going to happen, after all. Maybe he didn’t want her like that. Nursing her dented pride, she lay awake, staring at the ceiling, longing for the release of sleep that didn’t come. No matter how many sheep she counted, her brain refused to shut down. She went over every minute detail of what had passed, wanting more and not daring to voice it.
It wasn’t until much later that she felt Wayne stir. The mattress springs creaked as he turned. In the dark, she felt his gaze on her, but she kept her eyes shut and her breathing even, feigning sleep. Several seconds passed before he got up and quietly walked to the bathroom. Soft yellow light filtered through a crack of the door. She had been holding her breath, not sure what she’d been hoping for. Part of her wanted him to finish what they’d started, and part of her wanted him not to know she was awake.
Scapulimancist (Seven Forbidden Arts Book 7) Page 4
