by Olivia Dade
Oh, thank God. Even though she knew it would only make their eventual parting worse, she wanted more time with him. As much as she could get.
She strove not to seem too eager in her response. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” Reaching out, he clasped her hands again and gave them a squeeze.
Don’t jump his bones, she reminded herself. Don’t tackle and ravish him just because the two of you will be alone together near various pieces of comfortable furniture. Or because he’s incredibly sexy. Not to mention a great kisser.
Also, according to the laws of horror movies, if I jump his bones, my bike will totally devour my flesh and spit out my bones. That’s just common sense.
“Then follow me home,” she said, praying for strength.
* * *
So far, Chris’s presence in her house was proving disappointingly anticlimactic. He’d barely said a word, simply following her into her front hall like a really hot shadow. All he’d done was ask for some bandages and antiseptic wipes. When she’d left to get them, he hadn’t attempted to sit down or make himself comfortable in any way.
He’d made it abundantly clear he wasn’t staying.
And that was a good thing, given his views on relationships and her intent to pursue another man in—she checked her watch—about thirty-three hours. Even if it didn’t feel like a good thing right this second.
Sarah stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. There was one small scratch on her cheek that had leaked a few drops of blood. She could easily wash it, and she was almost sure it didn’t require a bandage. But was she going to take care of the tiny wound herself? Hell, no. She wasn’t that stupid. Or that smart.
She flung open the bathroom door, carrying a box of bandages and the antiseptic wipes in one hand. “Here are the supplies. Do your worst, Doctor.”
“Take off your clothes.” A slight flush washed over his cheeks. “I mean, not everything. Enough so I can tell you don’t have any other cuts and serious injuries.”
He shifted restlessly. “You know what I mean.”
“Not really.” With an effort, she kept her face completely neutral. “I thought you were telling me to strip for you.”
The flush spread. “Well, I wasn’t. Other than the top layers.”
“So you want me to strip, but not completely? Aren’t there special bars for that?” She knew she was pushing her luck. But she just couldn’t seem to help herself.
“Stop busting my chops, woman. I don’t expect you to”—his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard—“go topless. And you know it.”
“So I’m supposed to take off some items of clothing, but not too many.” She sent him a wicked grin. “How slowly do you want me to remove them?”
He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, face pointed at the ceiling. His jaw was clenched, as were his hands. “Just go into the bathroom and take off your top layers of clothing,” he ground out. “At whatever pace you want. Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll come in to look at your cut and any other injuries you have.”
Figuring she’d tormented him about as much as was wise, she headed into the bathroom and obediently stripped down to her bottom layer: a bra and panties. Wonder of wonders, they even matched.
A tiny portion of her brain—the rational part, clearly—bellowed, What the hell, woman? You know he doesn’t want a relationship, so why are you setting yourself up to get hurt?
But she ignored that part for the moment, deciding to concentrate on a different section of her body. Her loins, to be precise.
After one last look at herself in the mirror, she called for Chris. “Ready!”
He appeared in the doorway but didn’t come into the bathroom. His blue gaze moved up and down over her body. It didn’t look like the clinical gaze of a doctor anymore. It was hotter. More prone to stopping in places where she had no obvious bumps and bruises.
Actually, that wasn’t true. She definitely had bumps in those places. Just not ones caused by the fall.
A slow smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “Coming in?”
She shouldn’t want him to come closer. But the thought of even a single night with Chris . . . God, what wouldn’t she do for it? She wanted it. She wanted him.
Chris’s words from earlier that night echoed through her thoughts, shouting down all of her doubts. If you want to ride, you have to take the chance you might fall. That’s just the way it is. No risk, no reward.
And in that moment, she stopped waffling and decided for sure. Damn the consequences, she was going after the man she wanted. Not Ulysses, the man for whom she’d been prepared to settle. This man. Chris, the most potent specimen of manhood she’d ever seen in her life.
Whatever it took, she’d do. If he gave her any indication he wanted to stay, she would let him. She would risk her heart, even though she had no idea what he really wanted from her.
He might walk away in the next few minutes, leaving her half-naked and alone. He might sleep with her and then refuse to talk to her ever again. He might dump her after a week or two, like so many of her other boyfriends. But at least she’d have taken a chance. At least she’d have chosen a man who sparked a zing of electricity through her veins. More than a zing. A goddamn lightning storm.
He walked into the bathroom and stopped in front of her. His eyes dropped to her right arm, where new bruises had already risen. With one gentle fingertip, he traced the edges of the discolorations. “How bad does this hurt?”
She struggled to control her breathing. “Not too bad.”
He squatted down in front of her, looking at the pale skin of her right thigh. “More bruises here.”
His brow furrowed, he stared at her small injuries for a long, silent second. She could have sworn he was about to get to his feet and back away.
Instead, to her shock, he leaned forward and pressed a light kiss on each mark.
“My grandma used to do that,” she said. But her grandmother’s kisses had never made her belly clench like Chris’s did.
“Mine too.” He rose, brushing his lips across any bruise he met along the way. “I’m going to turn you around to see if you have any cuts back there.”
She stood very still as he stroked a hand down her spine and pressed kisses along the back of her ribcage. “Um, Chris?”
“Yeah?” His voice was muffled against the skin of her back.
She gathered her nerve. No risk, no reward. “Is . . . this going where I think it’s going?”
By the time she finished speaking, he’d reached the back of her neck. She shivered violently.
“Hmmm?” He licked a spot at the base of her skull that made her gasp.
She clenched her thighs together, trying to soothe the sudden ache in her center. “Are you spending the night with me? Or are you just practicing a new form of kissing-based medicine on all my bruises?”
He raised his mouth, brushing his lips against her ear as he spoke into it. “You haven’t had bruises anywhere I’ve been kissing for the last few minutes. If you want me, I’d like to spend the night. In your bed. In you.”
At those words, her knees nearly collapsed beneath her.
“I want you.” A vast understatement. “Even though I know my bicycle will inevitably kill me at some point if we have sex.”
“No risk, no reward.” He took her hand and tugged her out of the bathroom.
“Just what I was thinking.”
She followed him into the hall without a single doubt in her mind. With only one thought repeating over and over again: A night with Chris Dean would surely be the biggest reward of her life.
8
Sarah Mayhew had irretrievably scrambled his brain. There was no other explanation for everything that had happened recently. Why else would he have agreed to teach a grown woman to ride her bike over the course of three days? Why else would he have kissed her against the front fender of her car in a dark, deserted parking lot, even after swearing he wouldn’t touch her again?
Why else would he have failed to remind her to wear her helmet on that last loop around the lot? Why else would he have forgotten the damn first aid kit, even after he’d set it aside to take to the lesson?
Most importantly, why else would he be pressing Sarah onto her bed in the dark warmth of her house? Why else would he be yanking off his clothes and her cute underwear despite all the reasons he shouldn’t?
It was her. It had to be her. Because no other woman had ever affected him this way.
Oh, he knew he’d reap the consequences of this night in the morning. Most likely, he’d get his heart stomped on for the second time in a year.
Right now, he didn’t care. He intended to make this night with Sarah unforgettable. Worthy of a woman as sexy, funny, and determined as her. He wasn’t sure about many things. Not anymore. But he knew, given the electricity that arced between the two of them every time they touched, that a night with her would destroy the memory of every other sexual encounter he’d ever had. Every other woman he’d ever known.
When he finally had both of them naked, he looked down at her, spread across her bed. Her blond curls lay in disarray against her pink cheeks, and her blue-gray eyes met his without hesitation. When his eyes lowered, she didn’t squirm. Didn’t hide herself. Didn’t apologize for being what she was: short in stature, but lushly curved. Her pretty breasts and round tummy made him want to nibble, while her strong legs and generous hips invited the stroke of his hands.
She was a small woman, but not a fragile one. At least, not usually.
“Sarah?” Much as it pained him, he had to ask. “Should I stop? Are you still hurting from your fall?”
In answer, she grabbed his hand and tugged him down on top of her. Her legs opened, and she hooked them around his hips.
A grin spread across his face. “I’ll take that as a no.”
He lowered his mouth to hers, courting her lips with gentle brushes of his own. The corners of that luscious mouth turned up when he nibbled her bottom lip. He moved to press kisses on her cheeks, chin, and forehead. Spying her little snub nose, he rubbed it against his own. She gave a pleased little hum deep in her throat, and the sound made him smile.
He lifted his head for a moment and saw the joy on her face. His heart seemed to crack within his chest, warmth flooding inside it for the first time in months. A happy Sarah Mayhew . . . God, he’d never seen anything more beautiful. And he was the one who’d made her look like that. Him. No one else.
Newfound confidence made him bold. “Turn over, Sarah.”
After shooting him a startled glance, she did. And for a moment, he just stared. God, he loved her ass. With the sort of deep and abiding affection he’d never felt for a woman’s backside before. It was just so . . . round. And dimpled. And adorable.
But starting there wasn’t part of his plan. So he began at her feet, kissing and nipping his way up her legs, over that amazing ass, across her back, and to her neck. By the time he reached the curve between her neck and shoulder, she was squirming. So was he, to be honest.
Her hands clutched the pillow under her head, her knuckles white, and she was breathing in quick pants. He braced himself above her on one arm, and sent the other searching between her legs.
When he found the warmth and wetness waiting for him there, he groaned. His cock grew even harder, ached even more, which he hadn’t thought possible.
“God, Sarah.” He pressed a kiss against the back of her neck. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever known.”
She didn’t answer, but she pushed herself more firmly against his hand, shifting her hips to increase the friction. He parted her folds in a gentle stroke, and then began to explore. His fingers traced through the crease of her sex, brushing against her clitoris and dipping into her pussy. She whimpered when he filled her with his thumb and rubbed inside her, and she shuddered in arousal when his forefinger circled her clitoris in gentle, inexorable circles.
“Feel good?” he whispered into her ear.
She spoke into the pillow, her voice hoarse. “Don’t fish for compliments.”
After a minute, he withdrew his hand from between her thighs, urging her onto her hands and knees so he could see and feel more of her. He curved himself over her back, completely surrounding her with himself. The contrast between his large, hard frame and her small, soft body . . . Christ, it made him forget everything but the urge to push inside her. Immediately.
Mindful of her pleasure, he forced himself to hold back. And his restraint came with its own rewards. With her up on her hands and knees, he could support himself on one arm and fill his other hand with her breast. Play with her nipple, tugging and pinching it until her hips pushed back against him in an urgent rhythm. God, that ass felt so good pressing against his cock. So perfect.
“Are you ready for me?” he asked, hoping to God her answer was yes.
“Um . . . ,” she said.
He froze. Oh, Jesus, had he entirely misunderstood her? Was she putting a stop to this?
“Condoms, Chris.” Her voice was quiet but firm.
At those words, his head bowed in relief, and he rested it against her shoulder. “In my wallet. Let me go get them.”
“I have a better suggestion.” She tilted her head to her right. “Check the top drawer of my nightstand.”
He reached over, giving thanks for his long arms. He didn’t even have to move from his position atop her pliant body. He fumbled blindly through the contents of the top drawer until his fingers closed around a cardboard box. With a grunt of triumph, he brought the box to the bed and searched for a foil package. But there was something . . . odd . . . about these condoms. He didn’t quite understand—
She cleared her throat. “Tampons.”
He could hear the stifled laughter in her voice, but he didn’t care. In about thirty seconds, he planned to be inside her, so not a lot was going to bother him at this point.
“Ah,” he said. “That explains a lot.” Dropping the tampons onto the floor by the bed, he searched in the drawer again. This time, he came up with the right box. He plucked out a condom and managed to tear open the packaging with one hand, which he considered a triumph.
He rolled the condom down his cock. Then he forced himself to pause and ask one more time, “Is this okay? Are you ready?”
“For God’s sake, Chris. Stop fucking around and do it already.”
Just for that, he delayed the inevitable. Instead, he rubbed the head of his cock around the entrance to her pussy and pressed it to her clit again and again, until she was whimpering and rocking her hips against the pressure. It almost killed him, but he resisted pushing into her until he heard her strained whisper.
“I’m about to come, you maddening son of a bitch. If you want me to do it around your cock, I suggest you get it inside me. Soon.”
His blood roared in his ears at the thought of feeling her come while he was buried deep inside her. Without any further preliminaries, he positioned himself and slowly slid into her pussy. He took his time, wanting her to feel every inch of him. By the time he’d buried himself completely inside her, both of them were breathing in rapid pants.
He remained still for a long moment, trying to gather himself. The heat and tightness of her had him on the verge of coming, and he desperately tried to think of anything that would slow this down. Anything that would ensure she found her pleasure before he found his.
Nothing came to mind.
Actually, that was a lie. His mind was entirely filled with her. How soft she felt beneath him, around him. How she moaned when he took a nipple between his thumb and forefinger and lightly pinched. How it sounded when he withdrew from her wetness and pushed back in with a smack of flesh against flesh. How she smelled, like some sort of combination of musk and berries. How her spine arched every time he withdrew, and how she pushed herself back against him when he returned. How swollen and slick her clitoris felt when he slid a finger around it and pressed.
And finally, God help him, ho
w fucking amazing it felt minutes later when her pussy tightened around his cock and she came in a series of moaning shudders. He wanted to hold back, to try to bring her to orgasm a second time, but there was just no way he could resist the call of her body and her pleasure. The pulsing of her inner muscles erased everything from his existence but the need to mark her as his. Holding her hips with both hands, he pushed into her as deeply as he could and shouted his pleasure into her dark bedroom when he came.
* * *
When she left the bathroom, he was waiting for her just outside the door.
He reached out with a gentle hand and stroked the small wound on her cheek. “I never treated your cut. Something must have distracted me.”
“By something,” she said, “do you mean your penis?”
“Pretty much.” He grinned at her and took her hand, pulling her back into the bathroom. The disinfectant wipes and bandages lay on the counter where she’d left them an hour or so ago. “Time to get you all cleaned up.”
“Are you calling me a dirty girl?”
“Are you denying it?”
“Hell, no,” she said with a laugh. “Becoming a dirty girl has been my life’s ambition. I can die in peace now. Which is convenient, given the circumstances. Because we had sex, I’m pretty sure my bike is going to burst through my garage door and kill me any moment now. That’s what always happens to dirty girls in the movies, anyway.”
He shook his head at her and smiled. Sarah’s face sparked with life and vitality, as it almost always did. He could picture a man doing pretty much anything to preserve that joy in her eyes, to keep that vibrant spirit in his life. To claim her incredible, voluptuous body. Honestly, he didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with the moron at her school. What kind of idiot wouldn’t notice Sarah? What man wouldn’t want her in his bed and by his side?
