"Fine with me." Sabrina glanced around the small, crowded restaurant. "I like this place. It's loud, it's jam-packed and, at the same time, it's cozy. Is that possible— or is it an illusion created by imbibing half a pitcher of sangria?"
Dylan chuckled. "Both. Sure it's possible. But it's better when you're mellowed by wine."
"Mellowed. Yes, I'm certainly that. What worries me is what I'll be after pitcher number two, which is on its way." She eyeballed the one sitting in front of her, empty except for a wooden spoon, half-melted ice, and a sliver of apple. "I can't believe we're actually going for a second batch. I don't care what Carson said—I think it's only fair to warn you that I'm a cheap drunk. If I go for more than another glass or two, I won't just be sleeping in. I'll be slumping over."
"I'll make sure you stop before that happens."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"Well..." Her eyes sparkled. "In that case, a little more mellowing out can't hurt."
"Glad to hear it." A corner of Dylan's mouth lifted. "Because reinforcements have arrived."
As he spoke, the waiter appeared with the second pitcher. He topped off each of their glasses, then placed the pitcher on the table between them, and left.
"Ummm." Sabrina's eyes slid shut as she savored her first cold sip. "I think this batch is even better than the first. My glass has almost twice as many oranges and lemons as last time."
"Really." Dylan sounded amused. "You multiplied that out with your eyes closed?"
"I didn't need to multiply," she replied, her lashes lifting. "I inhaled. The stronger citrus aromas told me what I need to know."
"Ah. That remarkable olfactory sense. I can't wait to see you apply it to perfume." Dylan watched her take a second swallow, and his eyes darkened as she licked a few drops off her lips. "Actually, there are a lot of things I can't wait for."
The electricity between them crackled to life again— its impact jarring. Sexual tension sizzled through them, between them.
This time Sabrina explored, rather than fought, it. "Tell me something, counselor." She propped her elbow on the table and regarded Dylan intently. "Did you take me here so we'd relax, or so we'd be on safe ground because we're among lots and lots of people?"
He set down his glass, folding his hands on the table and leaning forward. "I took you here because the food and the sangria are great, and because it's far away from offices and hospitals. As for safe ground, I told you there is none." His voice lowered, took on a rough, provocative quality that sent shivers up her spine. "The crowd's irrelevant. The setting's irrelevant. I want you no matter where we are and no matter who we're with. I think you know that. What I want to do with you can't be done in a restaurant—any restaurant, busy or quiet. It requires total privacy, long interrupted hours, and a very big bed." He paused. "Actually, the bed is optional. I could improvise."
Sabrina had never been seduced by words before. But there was a first time for everything.
Waves of heat shot through her, throbbed in all the right places. She swallowed, hard, savoring and fighting the sensations all at once.
"Too blunt?" Dylan asked. "Or too much to handle?"
"Neither. Too close to what I want."
Those orange sparks glinted in his eyes. "The complications that stopped us in our tracks yesterday—I was going to wait to bring them up. But I think we'd better get past them, fast. How does now work for you?"
"Now works fine—if I can think straight." Or if I want to, Sabrina added silently to herself. She took a fortifying gulp of sangria.
"Let's start with the biggie." Dylan wasn't mincing words. "You're going through a lot of upheaval right now. An affair with me would be another complication."
"True. But maybe it wouldn't be an affair. Maybe it'd be something simple, like a one-night stand."
"Uh-uh." Dylan pushed aside his glass. "Not a chance. Not with us. One night would merely whet our appetites. Trust me."
She arched a brow. "About this, I guess I should. You're the one who discovered sex the day he reached puberty. That makes you a pro."
"It makes me experienced enough to know that with us—" He sucked in his breath. "Let's just say that once I get inside you, neither of us will be coming up for air for a long, long time. That's a given. Now, is it what you want, even with the complications?"
"Yes." Sabrina had never run away from anything in her life, and she wasn't running away from this. "It's just what I want. I only hope it doesn't push me past overload. But if it does, so be it. I'm a big girl. I can cope—I think. There's only one way to find out."
"Ditto, on all counts." He noted the dubious expression in her eyes, and addressed it. "Don't kid yourself, sweetheart. Experienced or not, I'm way out of my league on this one. I told you so last night. And I meant it." He reached over, took her hand, and brought her palm to his mouth. "But the bottom line is, I no longer give a damn."
Sabrina had to grit her teeth against the pleasure of his touch, his breath against her skin. "O-okay, we covered complication one. What are the others?"
"Mixing work with play. Becoming part of the media hype when your relationship to Carson gets out. Other things I can't come up with right now because all I can think about is getting inside you." Dylan's warm, open mouth moved against her palm in slow, teasing sweeps. "Your turn. Do any of those complications matter enough to change your mind?"
"No. There's only one potential obstacle that matters—and I'm not even sure it's valid."
"You're talking about Carson, and the way he'll react when he finds out."
"Y-yes." Sabrina caught her breath as Dylan bit down lightly on her palm, sending shock waves shimmering through her. "But after the way he just acted..."
"... it could be that that last complication's nonexistent." Dylan was tasting her skin, lingering at all the pleasure points.
"So you did notice."
"Um-hum."
How was she supposed to think straight when every caress was shooting straight to her loins?
Carson. They were talking about Carson, and whether or not he would be bugged by their getting together, or cheering them on.
"It wasn't my imagination then. Carson was pushing us into bed together," she managed weakly.
"Sure seemed that way to me." Dylan's tongue traced the inside of her wrist. "Unless it was a coincidence that he happened to be out of it just long enough to tell us both to get drunk and sleep in—and then, wham-o—he was wide awake when Susan walked in."
"That was my take on it, too." Sabrina tried to recall the conversation, but all she could think about was her libido, which was screaming at the top of its lungs. "I wonder if he has an agenda when it comes to us."
"Maybe. Maybe not." Dylan's breathing had become uneven. She could feel it against her damp skin. "Frankly, I don't care. I want you. You want me. We're consenting adults. Yes, I respect Carson's opinion of me. But that doesn't include needing his approval to take you to bed. The only person whose approval I need is yours." He dragged her ringers slowly across his parted lips, circling each fingertip with his tongue. "Do I have it?"
She would have replied, if she could speak. All she could muster was a nod.
Dylan took in the play of emotions on her face, and his jaw tightened. "Is there anything I'm forgetting on the complications front?" he demanded. "Because I thought I could wait. I can't."
"Neither can I."
The tension peaked, and splintered.
"Forget the second pitcher of sangria," Dylan ground out, releasing her fingers to shove his hand in his pocket and grope for his wallet. "I want you sober. I want your mind totally clear. That way, you'll know when I make you lose it."
That did it for Sabrina.
She was shaking as she tossed her napkin on the table, pushed aside her still-full glass. No arm-twisting was necessary. She wanted her mind as clear as Dylan did. "Get the check."
"Done." Dylan was already signaling the waiter.
Three minutes la
ter, the receipt had been signed, and they were making their way toward the door.
"Whose apartment's closer?" Sabrina asked, her voice so raw she hardly recognized it.
"Yours. But we're going to mine."
"Why?"
The look Dylan gave her could melt stone. "Because I've got two boxes of condoms there."
The tension in the car was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Sabrina and Dylan climbed out in front of Dylan's brownstone, and he sent the driver away, saying he'd walk Ms. Radcliffe home. Whether or not the driver sensed how frantic they were to get at each other, neither of them cared.
Dylan unlocked his front door, steering Sabrina inside. He slammed the door shut and flipped the lock. "The grand tour's going to have to wait," he said thickly, backing her against the wall. He tugged her blazer down her arms, lowering his head and covering her mouth in a kiss that burned through them both.
Shaking her arms free of the garment, Sabrina let it drop to the floor, tearing her mouth away from Dylan's long enough to answer breathlessly, "I don't want a tour. I want this." She resumed the kiss, her palms gliding inside Dylan's suit jacket, up his shirt front.
He was unbuttoning her blouse, sending a few buttons scattering to the floor as he yanked it free of her skirt, spread the sides apart to give him access to her skin. His lips burned a path down her throat to her cleavage. "Decision time. It's too dark for you to see your surroundings. So I'll describe. You choose." He pulled the pins out of her hair, tunneling his fingers through it as it tumbled to her shoulders. "The fireplace is across the hall. There's a shag rug in front of it. The living room's to our right. It has a wide, cushy sectional sofa. The den's to our left. It has a leather recliner that tilts way, way back. Upstairs, there are two bedrooms. The guest room's got a queen-size bed and a huge area rug. The master's got a king-size bed and extra pillows. What's your pleasure?"
Sabrina paused in the process of unbuttoning his shirt, tipped up her chin. "Where are the condoms?"
"In the master."
"Sold."
His mouth came down on hers, hard, and he tangled a hand in her hair, anchored her head to deepen the kiss. His tongue plunged inside, rubbed against hers, and Sabrina shoved open his shirt, pressed herself against the hair-roughened surface of his chest. Her nipples hardened through the sheer silk fabric of her bra, burned into his skin, and Dylan's control snapped.
"We're going up there—now." He swung her into his arms, strode through the darkened hall and up the flight of steps.
"If you'd turn on the lights, I could walk," Sabrina murmured, burying her lips against his throat, pressing hot kisses there.
"That would take too long." Dylan's voice was hoarse, and he shuddered with each stroke of her lips. "All that matters is getting your clothes off and getting you under me.
He carried her into his bedroom and lowered her onto the bed, following her down.
They came together without prelude, their kisses hot and frantic, their fingers yanking impatiently at the clothes that separated them. Dylan unhooked her bra, and his mouth was on her nipples, sucking them until Sabrina was moaning and squirming, every tug of his lips shooting straight to her loins. He went with the motion of her body, moving from one breast to the other as he worked her skirt and panty hose off, not pausing until she was completely naked.
Sabrina's hands were equally busy. By the time Dylan tossed the last of her clothes to the floor, she'd unzipped his slacks and dragged them down. She slipped her fingers inside his briefs, finding and exploring his erection from base to tip.
"Shit." Dylan exhaled the word in a hiss. He vaulted off the bed, kicked free of his clothing, then scooped Sabrina up long enough to pull back the bedding, place her on the sheets. He came down over her, covering her, his solid weight pressing her into the mattress.
The contact was electrifying. The entire experience was electrifying, pushing them both into major sensual overload. Whatever was happening here was too intense, too impalpable to assign a name.
They didn't try.
They kissed, again and again, unable to get enough of each other's taste, each other's touch. Sabrina inhaled Dylan's scent—that musky cologne and outdoorsy soap, mixed with Dylan, just Dylan—his own heady masculine scent more potent now that his skin was damp with sweat, sensitized with arousal. She wrapped her arms around his back, her mouth slanting under his repeatedly, hungrily, her body arching to increase the exquisite friction of skin against skin. Dylan anchored her head in his hands, devouring her mouth over and over, his thighs wedging between hers as their kisses deepened, became hotter, more demanding. His hand slid down, defining the curves of her body, then reached between her legs to touch her.
Sabrina stopped breathing at the contact, then whimpered as his fingers slid inside her, his thumb rasping over her clitoris. Her body reacted instantly and of its own accord. Her inner muscles resonated, loosening and tightening all at once, and everything inside her went liquid, desire pounding at her brain as her hips lifted, seeking more.
"God, you feel so damned good," Dylan muttered, repeating the motion. "Hot. Wet. That's right, sweetheart. Tighten around me. Like that. Again." His fingers pressed deeper, higher inside her, and Sabrina heard herself cry out. "Sabrina, I'm losing my mind."
"So am I." Her hand moved between them, her fingers closing around his erection, feeling it pulse in her hand as she caressed it. "Don't go slow. Not this time. We've got all night for slow. But this time... it has to be now.... Now..." Her fingertips circled the head of his penis, absorbing droplets of fluid. "Dylan... please."
His control shattered.
With a muffled curse, he rolled away from her, jerking open his night table drawer and groping inside until he found the box of condoms. He pulled out one foil packet, tore open the wrapper with his teeth and, in a few quick, urgent motions, guided the condom into place.
"Ah, remembering cardinal rule one," Sabrina murmured as he knelt over her.
"Yeah, by a thread." Dylan hooked his arms beneath her knees, opening her for the deepest possible penetration. "Another second and I'd have been too far gone to remember. That's what you do to me. As it is, I've kissed rule three good-bye. Staying detacher's not an option. I'm so involved I can't think straight." He fitted his body to hers, and pushed slowly inside.
Sabrina sucked in her breath. "That feels... amazing. But it's not enough." She arched, trying to deepen his penetration.
"Don't..." Dylan got out between clenched teeth. "You're tight. I'm trying not to—"
"Stop trying. I need you all the way inside me." Sabrina's fists knotted at the base of his spine, pushing him forward and anchoring herself so she could lift up—hard. "To hell with rule two."
She glided around him—slick and trembling—and Dylan lost it entirely.
The muscles in his back flexed, and he thrust deep, burying himself inside her.
The meaning behind her last comment penetrated his passion-drugged mind a split second after he got firsthand confirmation.
He went deadly still, the muscles in his forearms rippling with the strain of holding back. "Damn." He dragged air into his lungs. "Sabrina, are you okay?"
"No... I'm..." She could barely speak, the pleasure jarring along her nerve endings was so intense. She shifted under him, her body adjusting to the incredible sense of fullness, the clawing hunger that coiled tighter inside her now that he was there, stretching and filling her. "Don't stop.... Dylan, please... I'm... dying...."
A hard shudder ran through him. "Not yet you're not." He began moving, each thrust slow and deliberate, his penis rubbing on her and in her, the excruciating friction pushing her closer and closer to where she needed to be. "But you will be—soon." He lowered his head and kissed her again, his breathing hard and ragged as he ate at her mouth.
She responded blindly, her mouth as frantic as his, her nails digging into his shoulder blades. "Faster," she gasped, her inner muscles coiling tighter, clamping down on Dyl
an and stripping him of his last shred of self-restraint. "God, I'm so close.... I..."
Dylan gave a hoarse shout, and his hips pumped convulsively, driving him all the way into her in quick, powerful motions so forceful they shoved the two of them farther and farther up on the bed, until they were flush against the headboard. The thick piece of cherry wood slammed against the wall with each relentless thrust, and the mattress springs groaned and squeaked beneath the onslaught.
Neither of them cared. Without stopping or slowing, Dylan dragged a pillow up to cushion Sabrina's head, and he planted a palm on the wall to brace them from the impact. Sabrina didn't even notice. She wasn't aware of anything except what was happening inside her—and what was about to happen. Her head tossed back and forth, and she sobbed inarticulate words of need that didn't register any more than the heated phrases Dylan was rasping in her ear.
They went over the edge in rapid succession, Sabrina first—by a heartbeat. She climaxed violently, biting back a scream as the spasms boiled up inside her, slammed through her, spiraling out in rhythmic waves that pulsed around Dylan, tore another muffled shout from his chest. He pushed into her contractions, erupting in his own mind-numbing orgasm, gripping the headboard as he came. He continued thrusting in quick, jabbing motions, letting Sabrina's climax milk him until he collapsed on top of her, half-dead.
For long minutes, their harsh, rasping breaths were the only audible sound in the room. Sabrina sank into the mattress, feeling utterly replete, her mind devoid of thought, her body sated. She would have been perfectly content to lie there like that indefinitely, if it hadn't been for the dull pain in back of her neck that began to gradually make its presence known.
She frowned, shifting ever so slightly, and winced. "Ow."
That got Dylan's attention. He raised up on his elbows, his brows knit in concern. "I hurt you. Dammit, Sabrina, I didn't mean to be so rough." He gathered his strength, lifted himself off of her. "I just wish you'd told me you'd never—"
"Dylan," she interrupted, squirming into a sitting position and massaging the spot where her neck throbbed. "If you want to ream me out for not mentioning my virginity, go ahead. But you didn't hurt me. Your headboard did. I feel like someone took a hammer to my neck."
Kane, Andrea Page 24
