Going all the Way

by Carly Phillips

  She laughed nervously. “Be more careful when you talk to other people about the auction, so our bachelors don’t sound like gigolos. You want to make the front page because we raised a lot of money for a good cause, not because vice shut us down.”

  “You seem to be having trouble with the brainstorming concept. Let me help kick-start your creativity,” he offered in a sexy drawl. “Say you were the one up for auction. Want me to tell you what I’d do with you?”

  “No!” Couldn’t he demonstrate instead, her evil libido asked. Double no. “I think we’re getting off track.”

  “Not at all. You brought up a good point. Sure, most of the bids are going to be charity-driven, but there’s no reason we can’t offer evenings women actually enjoy. So it’s my job to figure out what women want.”

  “If ever there was a man up to that task,” she muttered, too lost in his eyes to censor her words.

  “Oh, trust me, honey.” His hands curved around her shoulders. “I am very much up for it.”

  Her breathing had turned shallow and ragged. “How do you do this?”

  She had to ask. Here she was struggling to concentrate on what might be the biggest job of her career thus far, and he switched back and forth from sex to business with no problem. Besides, continuing not to address what was going on between them was as ludicrous as pretending not to see a six-ton elephant. “How do you shut it off and turn it on so smoothly? How can you be talking about budget constraints one minute, all blasé and relaxed, and effortlessly seducing me the next?”

  His smile was wry. “I don’t exactly shut it off, but I’ve had practice dealing with it…those all-night study sessions we did before finals?”

  She swallowed. He’d been attracted to her in college? As they’d gotten to know each other, dropping personal tidbits here and there between academic discussions, they’d flirted some, but it was mostly of the obnoxious variety, ragging on each other’s dates and bantering, not “I must have you.”

  “You wanted me then?” Her voice came out in a disbelieving whisper.

  “I can’t remember when I didn’t want you.”

  The wind caught a few strands of her hair, and David brushed them back, resting his hand on her cheek. “And if you think I’m relaxed, well…”

  He glanced downward, pointedly, and she followed with her own gaze. Hello. Even the thickness of the denim couldn’t hide the erection straining against his zipper.

  Heat swept through her, obliterating her defenses. That someone like David could be so turned on by her…not just now, but apparently for the entire time he’d known her? For so much of her life, she’d felt as if she was struggling with the people she loved, to no avail. Trying to get her father’s approval, trying to get her mother’s attention.

  Then there was David, always there when she needed him, knowing how to make her laugh, how to make her body sing. When he lowered his head to kiss her, she could no more have pushed him away than she could have condoned censorship of the arts. Hell, she barely knew how she’d managed to resist him this long.

  His hands cupped her head, and she kissed him gently at first, tracing his lips, smiling at the way he tasted salty from the potato chips and sweet from the strawberries. Then he slid his tongue into her mouth, and she forgot about gentleness as he stabbed it in and out in rhythmic, suggestive thrusts that replaced rational thought with sensual frenzy. She gripped his shoulders, meeting his ardor with her own, too-long denied.

  It was in a desire-blurred haze that she registered him laying her back on the soft blanket, pressing his weight against her. Her legs, bare beneath the hem of her skirt, tangled with his, the rough caress of the denim on her skin heightening her awareness as he shifted, bringing his erection into tantalizing contact with where her body burned the most.

  He balanced himself above her, his tone raw with passion. “Other women don’t affect me like this. Just you. And I don’t believe other men make you feel this way.”

  Definitely not. She stared into his eyes—far bluer than the sky today—but couldn’t bring herself to admit the truth in what he’d said, unsure what the confession would cost her later.

  But he wasn’t content merely to accept her consenting silence. “Do they?”

  He lifted one of her hands to his lips, dropped a kiss against it, then explored each finger with his mouth, tasting, sucking, nipping with his teeth just enough for a little squeak to catch in her throat. Then he surprised her by turning her hand around and pressing it against her breast, which ached for attention, the pebbled peak thrusting forward.

  “Do you get this turned on for anyone else, Serena? This wet?”

  It was a guess on his part, but an accurate one. She was wet—drenched, practically dripping. Her skin felt tingly and tight, inadequate for holding in the restless fire that shot through her whenever David touched her body.

  He brushed her own hand back and forth over her nipple. The fabric of her shirt and silky tease of her bra did nothing to diminish the sensation. Each stroke sent little arrows of need to her abdomen. He let go of her, skimming his hand past her stomach. Her insides fluttered, and she experienced a shiver of anticipation, knowing where he was going but not how long he’d make her wait before he got there.

  Reaching below the hem of her short skirt, he ran his fingers along the damp feminine cleft shielded by her panties. He tugged her underwear down legs that trembled with the same exertion as if she’d run a marathon, then his touch returned, tracing a teasing path over the narrow strip of hair that covered her.

  He clasped her hand again, guiding her. “Feel what we do to each other.”

  It was an erotic, surreal sensation, her hand moving beneath his direction, as though she were experiencing herself through his senses, feeling what he must when he touched her. The slippery liquid heat, the swollen bud of her clit, the velvety folds of flesh that would envelop him when he slid inside her. Moaning, she thrashed underneath him, desperate for him to be inside her. Her fingers continued to move reflexively when he let go of her.

  But then she realized she could be touching him.

  She rolled to her side, grappling with his shirt and wanting it over his head and out of the way so she could kiss him again. Once she’d accomplished that, she raked her fingers across his chest, hearing her own muffled cry when he captured her mouth, sucking on her tongue. Somewhere during the kiss, they shifted positions so that he was on his back and she was draped sideways over him, kissing the corded muscle along his neck all the way down his shoulder to one flat brown male nipple. The caress inspired him to raise his hand beneath her shirt, shoving down one satiny cup of her bra until her breast popped out.

  He strummed his fingers over her, brushing the now exposed sensitive underside, trailing upward in wide circles that ringed the aching, taut peak. Continuing that, he lifted his head and lightly bit the other nipple through her shirt. Serena gasped, her arousal so fierce it was a pang inside her.

  She blindly sought his zipper, and the quiet metal rasp beneath the overlaying sound of the distant birds on the breeze was sweet music to her ears. He was rock-hard, and she moved aside the smooth cotton of his briefs, freeing him to her touch. She circled him with her fist, squeezing with gentle, insistent pressure, watching his face and the intense desire etched in his tight expression. Closing his eyes, he swore, then whispered her name, falling back and letting her set the pace between them.

  Good thing.

  If he thought now was one of those times to subject her to a slow, sensual exploration, he was insane. Her body had hungered for his for months. About of his teasing, leisurely lovemaking would probably kill her right now. Besides, just because they hadn’t run into anyone—and were less likely to as the afternoon turned cooler and cloudier—didn’t mean it would be smart to prolong this. She tightened her grip, sliding her fingers along his shaft, rubbing her thumb across the slick, engorged head, her heart accelerating with the sheer joy of finally having him.

  She struggl
ed to catch her breath. “Y-you have a condom?”

  He yanked his jeans down, taking his briefs at the same time, then pulled a wallet out of his back pocket. His hands actually shook as he sheathed himself. Knees bent at her sides, she straddled his thighs, the crisp hair on his legs brushing her delicate skin, his body firm and scorchingly hot to the touch. Her skirt swept over him in a gentle swish swish like the lapping of waves, a quiet counterpoint to her pounding pulse and their frenzied breathing.

  David let loose another expletive, running his hand over the clothes she still wore. “I waited all this time, and I’m not going to get to see you?”

  “Guess you’ll just have to use…” She sank down by painfully slow degrees, feeling herself expand around the tip of him, stretching deliciously. “Your. Imagin—oh.”

  He was fully inside her, filling her in a way that was so damn good it was almost unbearable. David clasped her hips beneath her skirt, his fingers digging into her skin in wordless encouragement. She rocked her weight back, lifting herself off him, almost experimentally, before sliding back down, her body memorizing the feel of him and luxuriating in making love again. But the urges she’d been resisting so long overcame her, greedy in their demands and causing her to undulate against him.

  As she settled into a vigorous rhythm, he raked one hand over the neckline of her shirt, dragging it downward until her breasts peeked over the top, giving him free access. The cool air, damp with the promise of coming rain, chilled her skin, and her already distended nipples puckered further, wickedly lifted and framed by the repositioned clothing.

  She paused, clenching her muscles around him, and flashed a brief smile. “Happy now?”

  “Almost.” His eyes locked with hers, and he reached beneath the pooled fabric of her skirt to trail along her thighs toward her center. He pressed his thumb against her, doubling her stimulation as he caressed her and thrust inside her at the same time, and she rode him with increased urgency.

  He cupped his other palm around the curve of her butt, flexing his hips up to meet her, surging deeper into her. “I want to touch you everywhere at once.”

  “Maybe I can help.” She felt decadently exposed, lushly displayed for him in the most powerful, feminine way. Her fingers danced across her chest, plucking at a rigid nipple, then the other. Piercing arousal darted through her body, from erogenous zone to zone.

  She closed her eyes, caught in the maelstrom, all the surrounding sounds of nature drowned out by the soft slap of her body meeting his. He kept pace with her, moving inside her and working his fingers in a wicked circle, knowing just how to keep her teetering desperately on the brink—timeless, weightless, lost to everything but the immediate physical sensations wracking her body.

  But not even David with all his sensual finesse could keep her suspended there forever. Her climax burst through in a blinding flash, her body erupting in spasms of relief and pleasure. She collapsed against his chest, murmuring his name as he pumped into her for the last few thrusts before finding his own release.

  With one hand splayed against the small of her back, he trailed his fingers up and down her spine, caressing her in the sudden stillness after so much frenetic motion. Serena’s mind felt fragmented, and she wondered if she’d ever get all the pieces put back together in a cohesive whole.

  Maybe it was best if she didn’t. She’d rather not think about what they’d done. She wanted to just lie here and—

  Ka-boom.

  The clap of thunder shook the ground beneath them, and rain began pelting down. If it was meant to be divine interruption, it was apparently on time-delay. With the shelter of tree branches above them filtering the rain, Serena wasn’t soaked yet, but it would only be a matter of time. She scurried to her feet, scooping her discarded undies off the blanket.

  David was quick to follow, taking on the more difficult task of trying to slide on damp denim. She packed their things into the car as he struggled with his jeans, then joined her. He put the key in the ignition and quickly put the top up.

  “Not the ending to our lunch I was hoping for,” he told her, running his hand through his damp hair and scattering a few droplets. “But I am fast associating you with forces of nature.”

  His grin brought to mind that first tumultuous time they’d made love, a night she had told him later was a mistake. Satisfying, earth-shattering and incomparable, but a mistake all the same. And what had changed since then? He was still David Grant, of the Savannah Grants, on the fast track to yuppie success, and she was still…

  “David.”

  She didn’t have to look in his direction to tell that his entire body tensed.

  “Don’t,” he ordered softly. “I hope to God I’m wrong, but you have that this-was-a-slipup-and-should-never-happen-again note in your voice.”

  “There’s a good reason for that.”

  He smacked his palm against the steering wheel. “Dammit, Serena.”

  “I—”

  “Not right now. Not yet.” He scowled darkly at her. “Maybe no one’s ever told you this, but it’s a breach of etiquette to tell a man you just want to be friends five minutes after you’ve made him come.”

  * * *

  THE RIDE back to Serena’s office was tense, and even though David himself had been the one to delay the conversation, the gloomy silence was rubbing his nerves raw. The only words she’d spoken had been when she called Natalie from his cell phone and asked her to lock up the office, as Serena wouldn’t be back in today. David hadn’t said anything, either, because he barely trusted himself to carry on a civil dialogue until after he’d calmed down.

  How could she do this to him? Again!

  He’d connected with her back there, he knew he had. And not just in the obvious physical way. He’d seen that moment in her eyes, when he’d really reached her, when she’d understood his feelings for her and felt the same for him. But now she was refuting all that?

  That could make working with her over the next couple of weeks awkward.

  The rain had subsided to a grim sprinkle by the time he parked his car next to hers, but the overcast sky had turned the early evening unusually dark.

  She reached for her seat belt, sighing heavily. “This can’t keep happening.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” With the taste of her kisses still on his lips and the scent of her body on his, he wanted her more than ever. But they couldn’t stay stuck in this frustrating-as-hell pattern of hers.

  Her eyebrows shot up as if she’d expected an argument. “Then you won’t try to change my mind?”

  “I didn’t say that.” He still thought he was right about them, that if she would get past some superficial differences, she’d realize how much they had in common. Like the explosive chemistry that rendered the rest of the world nonexistent, for starters.

  “David.” Her voice held a note of warning. “You’ve hired me to do a job for you, one that’s important to both of us. I need you to respect my professional boundaries.”

  Needed him to respect her escape clause, she meant. “How would you define those boundaries?”

  “Well, no sex goes without saying.”

  He couldn’t help noticing she said it anyway. When was she going to be honest with herself about what she really wanted? As her friend, the least he could do was help her face it.

  “Deal,” he said slowly. “I won’t have sex with you. I won’t even bring sex up. I won’t try to kiss you.”

  She looked startled by this. “Really?”

  “Really.” He paused a moment before adding his condition. “Unless, of course, you initiate any of that. And aren’t going to bolt afterward.”

  Her jaw tightened. “Boy are you in for a long wait.”

  “Not exactly.” He knew his next words would probably sound autocratic, but if it came out as an obnoxious ultimatum, well…she couldn’t be the only one calling the shots between them. He’d never felt quite this way about another woman, but if there was no chance she would let her
self return the feeling, he owed it to himself to move the hell on at some point. “I’m waiting three weeks—until the night of the auction. That’s it. If we haven’t made love by then, it won’t happen again.”

  Her eyes widened at this announcement, but then she scowled. “It won’t happen again anyway.”

  “Call me an optimist. I’m giving you time to consider it.” And himself three weeks to do everything in his power to seduce her into admitting what was between them. His promise not to mention sex directly didn’t prohibit him from saying and doing whatever he could to make her think about it. All was fair in love and war, right?

  Because he was beginning to believe that this madness Serena stirred in him could only be love. He’d enjoyed a lot of women, but none had ever caused this fixation. Or extreme annoyance. He’d definitely never been preoccupied with a woman on the job before. With everyone else, he’d been able to do exactly as Serena had said earlier—shut if off during business hours, during which time he was used to focusing one-hundred percent and working as hard as he could to prove himself.

  Serena was like a splinter under his skin, always there. At first, he’d been irritated with his inability to push thoughts of her away and had even begun dating more in Boston, leaving the office earlier than normal to meet a woman for dinner. But nothing had worked and now he had to admit, he enjoyed thinking about Serena. It was the next best thing to being with her.

  No other woman inspired him to take time out of his schedule to stop and smell the roses…or make love in the park. When he’d finally quit trying to fight her spell, he’d even found he did his job better. She stimulated him—creatively, intellectually, sexually. They’d come up with some great ideas for the fund-raiser, and he was confident they’d be a good team in all areas.

  Now, if only she’d stop fighting it.

  Which wouldn’t happen anytime soon, by the looks of it. Serena opened her door, her expression mutinous in the dim illumination of the car’s interior light. “I don’t need three weeks, David. I can tell you now my answer is no.”