She swore, wriggling out of his grasp and snatching the skillet off the heat. Didn’t need to be a MasterChef judge to figure out one side of the steak was well, well done. And the once delicious buttery garlic steam rising from the sauce wasn’t so delicious anymore.
“Dammit. Dinner’s ruined. Everything’s ruined.” She dumped the crispy blackened steaks into the trash while he turned off the stove.
“Not everything.” He dropped a lid on the saucepan and grinned at her. “I saw salad in your fridge, and there’s the loaf of rēwana bread on the table.”
She followed his gaze with folded arms and a doubtful stare. “Yeah, but…”
“Sandwiches are fine.” He resisted adjusting himself, a certain part of him still hungry for satisfaction of a different kind. “And they’ll keep until later.”
Her gaze crept greedily down his body, hovering at his overstressed zipper. “Will they, now? What did you have in mind to pass the time?”
Two long strides later, she found out, and let out a shocked squeak when his momentum drove her against the wall. His mouth found hers amid the tussling to remove extraneous clothing. Tui’s tank top flew, hooking on the back of a kitchen chair. Her bra followed, landing on a he didn’t give a damn—he was blind to anything other than her bare breasts, her dusky-colored nipples budding in the cooler air.
His breath stuttered with the need to touch her, to have her naked so he could show her with his hands, lips, and tongue just how beautiful she was. One swift move and his T-shirt was up and over his head, falling to the floor. Returning to her, he gathered her into his arms—God, skin on skin never felt so good—and slipped his hands beneath clingy Lycra, palming her rounded ass cheeks. Lace scratched against his fingertips, but sports leggings gave no room for further exploration.
“I want you horizontal when I peel these off you,” he said.
“Bedroom’s behind me.” She scaled him like a tree, arms locked around his neck, strong legs wrapped around his hips.
He settled his hands more firmly on her butt and ground against her. “You are one hell of a handful, lady.”
“I’m going to pretend that isn’t a snarky comment about what part of my anatomy you’re holding.” She nipped his bare shoulder and lightly tapped her heels against the backs of his thighs. “Bedroom. Now.”
Gift. Horse. Not wasting time on looking, Kyle quickstepped it in the direction she indicated.
He muscled open the door, kicked it shut as he walked through, and lowered Tui to her feet at the end of the bed. Without giving her time to catch her breath, he toppled her onto the mattress. Her breasts gave a little bounce as she landed. She slid her hands up to cup them—her fingers skimming over her erect nipples—and her eyelids fluttered to half-mast as he shucked off his shorts and boxer briefs.
Lust and something softer but no less bright weakened his knees. He half knelt on the bed with her, one knee between her lax thighs, palms braced either side of her arms. He bent, dropping a kiss on the back of each of her hands, then down onto her breastbone. Taking his own sweet time, he trailed damp kisses between her breasts, down her quivering torso until he met the waistband of her leggings. He lifted the band with his teeth, ensuring that they scraped along her flat stomach first.
Rising to meet her gaze, he let the Lycra snap back into place, and Tui jumped, breasts spilling from her hands. When she went to cover herself again, he pinned her wrists to her side, leveraging upward to flick his tongue against one sensitized peak. Her breath hitched, causing her breasts to wobble again.
Dipping his head, he licked her nipple again—this time engulfing the whole tip with his mouth as her back arched. She strained upward, upper thighs squeezing the knee he’d braced between hers, and squirmed beneath him. He swirled his tongue around her pebbled flesh, suckling, teasing, switching sides because he couldn’t decide which perfectly rounded breast was his favorite.
He released her wrists and her hands flew to his head, fingers lacing tightly in his hair, keeping him right where she wanted him to be. And he wanted to be there—but there was somewhere else he wanted to be more.
After one last kiss on her now pink and erect nipple, Kyle moved down her body, catching hold of the leggings and peeling them over her hips and down her thighs. He tossed them aside and whipped off a pair of lace G-string panties that in other, less desperate circumstances he would’ve paused to admire.
With her bared before him, he nearly had to pinch himself to ensure she wasn’t a scorching-hot figment of his imagination. Sinking to his knees, Kyle gripped Tui’s smooth calves and slid her toward him. Glistening folds spread wide, a feast for his eyes. He loved that she slid a hand down to stroke the swollen heart of her sex—though it made him harder than the wooden floor he kneeled on.
The word beautiful didn’t do her justice, so he leaned forward to show her in the rawest way possible. He let kisses fall where they may on her inner thighs, breathed in the lingering scent of apples and the muskier one of arousal, felt the quiver of muscles flexing and releasing under silky skin.
She moaned, arching her spine in a flagrant offer to taste. As a man who’d been starved of her for weeks, he didn’t have nearly enough willpower to say no. Nudging her fingers aside with his nose, he nuzzled the spot she’d been stroking—this was all his now. And like a dog given a juicy bone, he wasn’t sharing.
He took his fill, remembering her rhythms and how to wring pleasure from her with his lips and tongue. She fisted the covers in a death grip, then as he worked her higher, driving her closer to the cliff, she exchanged the covers for his hair and rode his mouth until release propelled her into loud cries and limp satisfaction.
But she wasn’t anywhere close to satisfied yet—not if he had anything to do with it.
Kyle rose, bending over her to kiss her lax mouth. She made a soft whimper in the back of her throat as he skimmed his hand down her stomach to cup her intimately. Meeting warmth and wetness, he slipped a finger inside her. Her internal muscles flexed around him and he bit back a groan, imagining those muscles gripping him as he seated himself balls deep in her.
“God. Kyle,” she whispered, lifting her hips from the bed to give him room to add another digit. He obliged, thrusting his fingers into her slickness until she cried out his name again and stilled his hand by clasping his wrist.
“Please.” Her gaze, fierce on his as she ground into the heel of his palm, told him what she needed.
“Condom?” he managed to grind out in between ragged breaths.
Her eyes widened for a moment, and she sucked in a shuddery breath. “Um. Bathroom cabinet.”
He slid his fingers from her and stood, feeling more blood pumping south into his already painful erection as her gaze dropped to him and she ran the tip of her tongue along her pouty lower lip. She rose onto her elbows, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
“Aren’t you going to tell me not to move while you suit up?”
He felt the wide smile slowly stretching his mouth, tugging at his cheeks, and he couldn’t resist taking himself in hand for two long pumps of his fist while she watched.
“Baby, I want you on your hands and knees by the time I get back.”
“Then you’d better bring two.” She poked her tongue out at him, but he wasn’t hanging around to banter any longer.
He found the bathroom, located the packet of unopened condoms, and ripped into them, grinning like an idiot at the thought of one for now, one for later. Returning to the bedroom, he met the arousing sight of Tui, who’d followed his instructions to a tee. She watched his return coyly over her shoulder, with her parted thighs and slick folds an open invitation. He crossed to the bed edge, tossing the extra foil square onto her nightstand, and clasped her hips in both his hands.
She wriggled back to meet him, her butt cheeks bumping against his steely erection—which jerked a rough groan out of him from somewhere in the region of his aching balls. God knew how he’d last longer than a few minutes, because as emb
arrassing as it was to admit, he wanted her that savagely.
Before he could guide himself into her, Tui reached back to wrap firm fingers around him. While her movements of pumping him in her fist were awkward, the results of her actions had his spine bowing in pure bliss. He’d waited, it seemed, a million years for her to touch him again. And if he hadn’t needed to be inside her so damn desperately, he would’ve let her continue to torture him.
He groaned—actually, it was closer to a growl—as she positioned him between her slickness, then the backward thrust of her hips propelled him halfway into heaven. Squeezing his eyes shut, he slid home, feeling her body yield and engulf him. Tight—so tight—it was a wonder she couldn’t feel the blood pulsing through his veins as he reveled in that tightness. She cried out as he started to move, sinking forward onto her elbows, deepening their connection.
One slow stroke, getting reacquainted with the contours of her body by feel only, he opened his eyes, watching as she quaked around him. He leaned forward, wrapping an arm under her waist and sliding his fingers through her wetness to where they were joined. Rubbing her swollen flesh, he thrust into her again and again until she strained upward, meeting him stroke for exquisite stroke.
He lost himself in her, driven by an almost animalistic urge to dominate, to make her pleasure his, and his, hers. She stiffened suddenly in his arms, her body clenching hard around him as she came apart with a scream. He wanted to last longer, challenge her even further than she thought she could go, but the relentless spasms gripping and releasing him had him emptying himself inside her with a rough shout.
Five seconds or five minutes after round two—he’d lost all concept of time—Kyle opened his eyes. Staring at him from the nightstand was the remains of the ham and salad sandwich he and Tui shared when they’d finally kept their hands off each other long enough to make it.
He’d happily eat dinner like that every night.
Propping himself up on an elbow, Tui’s hand slipped off his chest and dropped bonelessly to the sheet. She sprawled starfish-style on her back, eyes slitted against the bedside lamp’s glow.
He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Still seeing stars, huh?”
“Such ego,” she muttered.
“Want me to rock your world a third time, babe?”
She snorted and rolled onto her side away from him. “Doesn’t a man of your advanced age need a bit more recovery time?”
“Of my advanced age?” he said with pretend outrage as he scooted over to spoon her from behind.
“Yeah, old fella.” She reached an arm behind her to slap a palm on his ass.
He leaned over, switched the lamp off, and found her breast on the return trip. “Be prepared to eat your words…in about fifteen minutes.”
She snorted softly again and burrowed her bottom back into him. He stirred against her.
“Or less,” he added. Perhaps hopefully, because, yeah, he wasn’t eighteen anymore.
A call of an owl drifted through the still night, sounding closer than it probably was. More-pork, more-pork. The bird’s distinctive cry for which it was named made him smile against her shoulder. According to Māori belief, one interpretation of its call meant good news was on the way. The other meant bad news.
“What?” she asked.
“Haven’t heard a morepork in a while.”
“Ruru,” she corrected—the Māori name for the bird. “And no wonder, city boy. You’re more Aucklander than Northerner now.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He felt her shoulder move. “Auckland’s okay, depending on where you live. Herne Bay, for example—that’s nice.”
One of the most affluent suburbs in Auckland, no less. He lightly squeezed her breast. “You must be doing all right for yourself if you’ve lived in Herne Bay.”
“I house-sat there for six weeks when the owners were off on their annual European tour. Their house was right by the beach and probably worth a cool two and a half million.” He felt her shrug. “But another time I stayed in a one-bedroom place in the Waitākere Ranges, surrounded by native bush and in charge of half a dozen chickens and a kunekune pig called Dexter. I enjoyed myself just as much.”
“Dexter the pig?”
She chuckled. “I know, right?”
His belly gave a little flutter at her teasing, easy tone. The same teasing, easy tone they’d had with each other in Raro—before reality set in. He didn’t want that ease between them to end. Not yet.
“How did you get into house-sitting?”
“Fell into it,” she said. “Started with friends, then friends of friends, then word of mouth. I’m the perfect sitter, in and out with no mess, and houseplants and pets happy and alive when the owners get home.”
“And it pays well?”
“Pittance, but I’m a surgical transcriber and I can work remotely wherever there’s internet access. It’s a job that gives me the kind of freedom I enjoy.”
“You’re your own boss.”
“Yep.”
“And your home base?”
“Wherever I lay my hat. I travel light—my bike on the trailer, some boxes and suitcases of stuff, my laptop. I’m usually booked ahead into houses around the country for three-quarters of the year in advance, but after my dad’s accident…I’m sticking to the Bounty Bay area for a little longer.”
“Family’s important to you?” It wasn’t really a question when he already knew the answer.
“Whānau first, always.” She inhaled deeply and yawned. “Even when you’re the lovable but untamable scatterbrain of the family.”
“You? A scatterbrain? Haven’t seen any evidence of that. The untamable part, that I believe.” He nuzzled along her shoulder until his face was buried in her sweet-smelling hair. “Wild woman.”
The soft hum Tui made in the back of her throat turned into another yawn. He should pull away from her, leave her to sleep in peace. Gather up his clothes, slip out of the house, coast down the hill like a car thief so as not to wake her. Leave before Beaker destroyed the spare room he’d locked him in. Leave before he wanted to stay any more than he already had.
Tui sighed, her breathing evening out into the rhythm of sleep. One hand was trapped beneath the delightful weight of her breast, his other under her pillow with the weight of her head keeping him pinned. He shifted subtly and she murmured, nestling closer into him.
Ten minutes, he told himself, relaxing again. Ten minutes until she was really out to it and he’d head off and deal with whatever revenge Beaker had wreaked on the room’s carpet. Not that a cat yukking its guts up on the gold and orange swirls could make it look worse.
The jolt of the mattress shifting beneath him dragged Kyle into consciousness. His eyes popped open, then slitted at the shards of sunlight spearing through a crack in the bedroom drapes. Tui’s bedroom drapes. He snaked an arm over the bed but his fingers found only the wrinkled sheet. Blinking against the harsh light, he got a frame-by-frame effect of Tui’s naked run out of the room.
What the—? Kyle boosted himself onto his elbows. Weren’t they beyond the walk of shame, or in this case maybe the sprint of regret?
Then the unmistakable sound of retching reached his ears.
Tui was sick?
He flung himself out of her bed, hauled on his boxers—because he wasn’t under the illusion that his junk swinging in the wind would make her feel any better—and hurried after her. He found her hunched over the toilet bowl, shaking like a leaf. He scooped her hair away from her face, held it loosely in his fist, and caught the glimpse of tears tracking down her cheek under squeezed-tight eyelids.
“I’ve got you,” he said, and desperate to shove aside the tenderness threatening to clog his throat, added, “Better out than in, that’s what I always say.”
Instead of a chuckle, she whimpered and retched again, her spine arching catlike. He frowned, taking a moment to give himself a quick nausea scan—stomach okay but awaiting food—and r
acked his brains trying to remember if the ham in their shared sandwich the night before had tasted funky.
Tui waved a hand in the direction of the tissue holder in an unspoken request. He plucked a couple from the box and pressed them into her hand. He had this. Tissues then a damp, cool washcloth applied to the brow. Kyle cast his gaze around the bathroom until he spotted a stack of them. He knew the routine from his many mornings assisting Lyds when she was—
His hand, which had been soothingly stroking Tui’s back, froze on the curve of her waist. Spit evaporated out of his mouth and his stomach elevator-plummeted into his bare feet, the nausea alarm starting to ominously toll.
“Was it the ham?” he asked. “Never trust a use-by date, I guess.”
“Not the ham.” She flushed the toilet and slid down the wall to sit beside it. Keeping the crumpled tissues close to her mouth, she met his gaze with eyes shiny with unshed tears. “I’m pregnant.”
The water roared in his ears, a Niagara Falls of water as the cistern continued its cycle. He couldn’t do anything, couldn’t say anything, couldn’t think anything over the rushing water.
His legs suddenly lost all muscle tone, and Kyle slid down the bathroom wall to sit next to her.
Pregnant. Tui was pregnant.
Now the ruru’s cry made sense.
Chapter 13
“What’re you smiling about? Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m pregnant.” And sitting butt naked on her bathroom floor after puking her guts out hadn’t been the way Tui envisioned telling him.
No, she’d planned a nice dinner—which she’d burned to a crisp—and thought they’d have an awkward but adult conversation about her being knocked up over coffee and cake. Then he’d gone and pulled the rug out from beneath her with his honesty about him and his ex-wife losing a baby, and she just couldn’t.
“I heard you,” the man seated next to her said mildly. “What kind of reaction were you expecting? A panicked stampede out of your front door?”
Tame Your Heart: A Small Town Romance (Bounty Bay Book 6) Page 16
