by Eden Summers
She pivoted on one foot, swaying to the final bars of the song as she faced him. Her eyes were closed, her face such a peaceful mix of enjoyment and nirvana that he wanted to bridge the distance between them and kiss the love of music from her mouth.
“What do you think?”
The final riff sounded, and a smile widened the curve of her lips. “I can’t wait to get started.” She blinked her eyes open, now grinning with full force.
“Then start.” He pushed from the wall and leaned forward to press repeat on the iPod. “Show me what you’ve got.”
She chuckled and shook her head. “I don’t have anything at the moment, just a mass of thoughts and images running through my mind.”
“I don’t care.” He didn’t give a shit what she came up with. He wanted to see her move, any way, anyhow. “Throw some ideas at me.”
Her smile wavered as she lowered her gaze to the floor. And there it was, her vulnerability returning to the forefront in Technicolor.
“Are you nervous because of me?” That had to be it. Every time they were close, or on the verge of touching, she changed. He didn’t like it. He wanted her confidence, and her head held high with her bright pixie smile beaming.
“Nervous? Because of you?” She let out a breath of laughter that wasn’t convincing in the slightest. “No. Not at all.”
He stalked toward her, noticing the change to her stance as he approached—the stiffening of her spine, the nervous twitch of her hand at her left thigh. Like hell, she wasn’t nervous.
“Then you won’t mind dancin’ with me.” He stopped a foot away, close enough to hear the slight hitch in her breath over the music. “Let me have it.” All of it.
“OK, then.” She shrugged and quirked her lips to the side as she looked him up and down in a calculating, entirely sterile manner. “Because the song not only showcases soft and sweet lyrics and tone, but also rough and hard, we have an innumerable amount of moves at our fingertips.”
She shuffled backward, then frowned and strode for the iPod. “Do you mind if I turn this off?”
“Not at all.” He didn’t care if she threw it against the wall.
“So…” His barefooted pixie shuffled toward him and placed her hands on her hips. “The song starts out strong, saying that he doesn’t want to be attracted to her. So in my mind, I see a woman walking up to you, seducing you with her proximity, until you can no longer fight the urge to touch her.”
She sauntered forward, playing the part of seductress, thrusting him right into the fantasy of the lyrics. He wanted Red. Clearly, she didn’t want him. He had to fight the attraction he had for her as she stopped before him. He had to curb the need to drag her into his arms and kiss the concentration from her lips.
Gently, she settled the tips of her fingers on his chest. She strode around him, blazing the trail of her touch to his bicep, then his shoulder blades, and all the way back around to his chest. He was on fire, the breath in his lungs heavy and congealing, his cock begging to be sated.
They came toe to toe again, and she blinked up at him, her hand now flat on his chest, her lips slightly parted. Her throat convulsed with a swallow, and the pale skin of her cheeks turned pink. “Obviously, we’ll make it a whole heap sexier. Then, as the chorus approaches, I’d begin to walk away, and you’ll pull me back.” She shrugged, shook the daze from her features. “I don’t know. That’s just my initial thoughts on the intro. I’ll sleep on it and have the full routine ready by next Sunday.”
She turned and began walking toward her shoes. He didn’t know if it was the seductive trail of her fingers still burning his skin, or the delicate convulse of her throat as she’d swallowed, but each step away left him cold and hollow. He couldn’t stand it.
He lunged for her, grabbing her wrist and tugging hard. She swung around, her gasp splitting the air as her forearms collided with his chest. Fuck. He was lost in her brown irises, in the way her pelvis rested against the hardness of his shaft.
“Is that the way you envisaged it?”
No answer was forthcoming, no words at all, only the rasps of her breathing as she gave a jerky nod. He let go of the dancing pretense and trailed his hand up her arm, over her shoulder to cup her cheek in his palm. He had no disillusion that her tiny stature meant she was malleable to his intentions. She was a tough cookie. He could see it in her eyes. He just couldn’t keep his hands off her. The light stain of pink in her cheeks was irresistible.
“Stay the night with me.”
Her nose crinkled, and she shook her head. “I can’t.”
There wasn’t an excuse in the world he’d find acceptable for them not being together. She could be married. Have ten kids. Be a One Direction fan. He didn’t care. As long as she wasn’t hiding a dick in those cargos she was going to find it hard to pry his greedy hands off her.
“Why?” His voice was a whisper.
“I told you, I’ve got baggage.”
“Don’t we all?”
She swallowed again, shaking her head. “I’m particular with what I like. You know…” She sighed with a scowl. “…in bed. You wouldn’t approve of my restrictions.”
Really? She was going to use that as an excuse?
“I’m accommodating,” he drawled. So fucking accommodating. He didn’t care how she liked it. He’d deliver. He’d do whatever necessary to have her mouth on his, her hands all over his naked body.
“Sean…” She was shaking her head, denying him. The way her palms softly spanned his chest, and her pelvis rested more firmly into him, told another story.
“I can make you feel good.” He leaned in, placing his lips beside her ear. “Just tell me how.”
There was no turning back. No running. The games were over and they’d both won. They just needed to claim their prize.
He tilted his head, nipped her jaw, and allowed her quick intake of breath to shoot right through him, all the way to his dick. “Come on, Red. You know you want to.”
Chapter Ten
Melody was reeling—one part nervousness, one part excitement, eight parts what-the-holy-crap-am-I-doing?
“Wait.” She slammed her palm against his chest, needing to dull his excitement. “I don’t like having sex with the lights on.” Humiliation engulfed her as the words blurted from her mouth. She hated this woman. She loathed who she’d become. Tonight would’ve been a dream before her accident. She would’ve been in his bed long ago, spending hours between the sheets, and now she was a pathetic mess of stipulations and rules.
Sean’s eyes narrowed, probably wondering who this weak, sex starved woman was. “Like I said—” he gripped her chin, stealing her focus when all she wanted to do was look away, “—I’m accommodating.”
Her heel began to thump against the carpet with a nervous tick she couldn’t control. She was scared to the point of nausea. She didn’t want her secrets revealed, yet after all the months in isolation with her troubles, she couldn’t stand the thought of being lonely anymore. Sex was what she wanted. It was what she needed. The rush of blood. The overwhelming pleasure.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he murmured, so close to her lips she could almost taste him.
Her heart beat harder at the uncertainty in his eyes. Apparently, her emotions were contagious. She nodded, numb and shaking in some places, hot and over-sensitized in others. “Lead the way.”
The words didn’t stutter as they left her lips, but she still wondered if she could get through this unscathed. She would’ve had sex in the dark a million times. The only difference was previously it hadn’t been a necessity. And was it really worth the angst? Her body was overheating, yet mentally, she was so tightly strung she wasn’t sure climax was even possible.
Sean entwined their hands—always with the hands—and led her forward. He turned off the lights as they went from room to staircase to upstairs hall, the entire journey made in palpable silence. They walked past the entry to the kitchen, and with a flick of his fingers against the wall, he sent the
house into darkness.
Almost pitch black solace engulfed her. Her chest pounded. The crazy scariness of her vulnerability making way for the hope of what was to come. She could barely make out the doorway he led her into, couldn’t even see the bed in his room. Blinding brightness blasted her eyes, and she squeezed Sean’s hand as she sheltered her face into his shoulder.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “I just thought you’d want to know your way around first. I didn’t want you thinkin’ I’d led you to the set of Dungeons and Dragons, or something.”
She pulled back from his body and glanced around the room, from the king-sized bed with its blood-red quilt and barely visible black sheets, to the clean, dust-free bedside tables with matching gold lamps. “Don’t worry, big guy. I can handle just about anything.”
“Except the lights, right?”
She met his gaze and held his questioning stare. She ached to tell him. To lay her issues on the line and see how he reacted. She wanted to prove herself wrong, to know that there was a guy out there who wouldn’t think her less of a woman because of her flaws. Then his focus lowered, the hunger in his eyes almost feral in its intensity.
She knew that possessive look. He thought she was gorgeous, and after convincing herself otherwise, she wanted to cling to his misconception. He didn’t need to know the truth. It wouldn’t hurt to keep him in the dark.
“Just the lights.” She’d deal with any other issues as they arose.
He inclined his head. A little devious. A tiny bit arrogant. “Believe me, I get it. You’ve got your hang-ups. I’ve got mine. Just know, I’ll never deliberately hurt you or mean to push. At any time, you can tell me to stop.”
He may not want to push, yet he’d piqued her interest by mentioning his own issues. What could this brilliant man be harboring other than an uncanny ability to melt her panties?
“But know this.” His hand wove around her neck, reaching her ponytail and gripping tightly. With one sharp tug, he eviscerated her curiosity under the wash of overbearing anticipation. “Every single second together, I’ll be wanting to see you naked. Every time I touch you. Every time you moan, I’m gonna be picturing what your gorgeous body looks like.”
He wove his other arm around her waist and backed her into the wall. “So if you change your mind, let me know.”
Disappointment welled in her stomach. His wish would never happen. It couldn’t. She wouldn’t allow her ugliness to evaporate the craving in his eyes. The blow to her ego would send her spiraling into depression.
A grin pulled at his lips a second before her world tilted. The lights went off and then his mouth was on hers. She moaned into the kiss, expecting hard and fast and receiving confident yet oh-so-gentle instead. He cherished her in soft sweeps of lips and delicate caresses of tongue, winding her tighter, making her need a growing force.
He dominated every inch of her with his heavy frame and powerful hands. She was compelled to cling to him, to hold his shoulders in a tight grip to keep herself steady. All her limbs threatened to buckle. Her legs couldn’t stand the anticipation. Her heart couldn’t handle the rapid pump of blood.
In a flash of speed, he spun her around, making her scream into his mouth. He never stopped kissing her, didn’t even pause as he led them to the bed and brushed her calves against the side of the mattress.
His hand loosened in her hair, and the other unraveled from around her waist. He settled them on her shoulders, and with painstaking lethargy, ran them down her sides, over the thin material of her top to the waistband of her cargos. She was too lost in sensation, too distracted in lust, and the pretense of being the old Melody, that she didn’t keep track of what he was doing until his palm was on her hip, grazing the top of her scar. She gasped, her entire body shutting down at the reminder of who she’d become.
Sean froze, too. No longer touching. No longer kissing. “Red?”
She swallowed over the dryness in her throat, unable to speak.
“Was that a good or a bad gasp?” Sean hadn’t moved. He hadn’t pushed, and if she wasn’t hovering on the brink of devastation, she would’ve smothered him in kisses of gratitude. “Red? Talk to me.” His breath whispered over her lips. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No.” She answered on instinct. “I’m just…It’s been a while.”
“Then tell me what you like,” he whispered against her lips. “Show me.”
She didn’t think she could. She wasn’t sure what she liked anymore. Her libido had changed since the accident, almost as much as her body.
“How about I tell you the things I like,” he murmured. “Then you can tell me yours.”
He pulled back, and in the faint glow of his alarm clock, removed his shirt, then her camisole. Drawn to his heat, she placed her hands on his chest, running her palms over the skin covered by a thin layer of hair in an effort to soothe herself. He was perfect—muscled, large, a little scary.
“I like rough.” His mouth lowered to her neck. His teeth grazed her collarbone.
Her mind was consumed with sensation, from the hardness of the erection nestled against her abdomen, to the mass of tingles he brought to life across her back.
“I like dirty.” His hands slid up her rib cage to cup her lace-enclosed breasts. “I like intense.” He worked the flesh in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over her hardened nipples before reaching around her back to unclasp the hooks.
“I like to test boundaries.” His mouth smashed against hers, punishing, torturing. She dug her nails into his skin as his tongue worked her into a frenzy, taking away reality while her bra fell to the floor.
He was all male, all in control, and she was beginning to love every second of it. With determination not to fail, she matched his fervor, scratching her nails along a trail to his nape. With the tips of her fingers, she tugged his hair, hard, letting him know she had never, and would never, be a wilting wallflower in the bedroom. This had been her domain. She wanted it back—the power of arousal, the high of climax, the adoration of her lover.
“I’m the same,” she mumbled against his lips. “I like it hard. I like it rough.” She grabbed his shoulders and jumped onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist. His groan made her squirm for friction against her clit as he held her tight to his chest. She wasn’t going to let bitterness ruin this moment. She wasn’t going to let the past steal her pleasure.
“And I like to push the boundaries, too,” she whispered in his ear, and then paused. She needed to clarify. He had to know at least the outline of her issues if she had any hope of obtaining the orgasm teasing her to breathlessness. “I just don’t like the lights on…” Oh, geez, she hated this. Weakness was a disease. It was something to loathe and despise. She hated what her scars had done to her. But in the face of one fun-filled moment, she was going to lay it bare. “And I don’t like my thighs being touched.”
She let out a rough sigh, the weight of her secrets leaving her chest and being replaced with nausea. She’d never laid restrictions on a man before. It was all or nothing. Tonight, she was climbing a huge hunk of a man, one who wanted to test her sexually, and she had to go and slap halt stickers over certain parts of her anatomy.
She waited for his annoyance. For the moment when he realized her hang-ups weren’t worth the effort of a quick thrill. At the very least, an acknowledgement of his frustration. None came.
“No problem, Red. You just remind me if I get carried away.”
That was it? No questions? No annoyance?
“Don’t worry, you’ll know if you push the wrong buttons.” She smiled against his lips. Happy. Finally elated for the first time in too damn long.
He chuckled, gripping her waist and nuzzling his stubbled cheek against hers. “I love when I get a glimpse of that wicked confidence of yours. It’s the biggest fuckin’ turn-on.” He lifted her, helping her to stand on the soft, quilt-covered mattress. “Now, take your pants off.”
She stiffened—at the chore she hated doing more than anything el
se in her daily schedule, and also at the dreamy command in his voice. Was he really the first man to dictate to her during sex? Holy shit. He was, and it was thrilling. It was enough to take her mind off the painstaking task of lowering her waistband and exposing herself to the darkness.
“Is this what you’re like all the time?” She pushed her cargos down her thighs and winced at the reminder of how damaged she was when they grazed her scar.
“Like what?” he growled, making his own rustle of clothing.
Fuck. She wanted to see him—all the skin, all the muscle, all that cock ready to take her to heaven. It was unfair. “The drill sergeant routine.”
He released a breath of laughter. “I’ve barely started, twinkle toes.” His tone lost its dominance, and she thought maybe she’d chinked his mojo. “I can be gentle, too, if you like.”
“Hell no.” She kicked her pants away, then lowered her panties and stepped out of them. When the room became silent, the rush of undressing now stopped, she wondered if she’d hit a nerve. “You’ve had women who don’t like the same things you do.”
It wasn’t a question. She’d been there before. Men sometimes expected her to be demure and malleable in the bedroom, and in some cases she was. But she also didn’t like wasting her time. If a man didn’t know what he was doing, and didn’t listen to instruction, she was happy to kick him out of bed before he got his rocks off.
“There’s been a woman or two who hasn’t liked my style.” His words were grated, exposing more vulnerability.
She leaned forward, squinting to see through the darkness to grip his shoulders tight. “Well, you’re free to push me, sticks. In fact, I dare you.”
His smooth, delicious chuckle sent another rush of heat to her core. His mouth found hers, but he didn’t kiss her, he hovered, teasing her, driving her to madness with the scorching brush of his breath.
“Challenge accepted.” Gently, he grabbed her wrists and raised them from his shoulder. “Give me a sec to find some protection. I’m not used to working in the dark.”
