Guys and Godmothers

by Candice Gilmer

  “So what do you want me to do to you?”

  “Whatever works for me…”

  He shook his head. “You wanted to test me, Steph. What do you want?” He ran a finger over her lips.

  “Kissing is good,” she managed to croak out.

  “Kiss you where?”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

  He sat up, his hips grinding into hers. “Well, I could kiss you here…” He picked up her hand and kissed the top of it. “Or here.” He turned it over, kissing the palm. “Or this.” He pressed one on her inner wrist.

  Stephanie let out a moan.

  Roark raised his eyebrow. “You like that?” He did it again, this time adding a little tongue into the mix.

  She shook her head. Then nodded. “I think I know what those Regency romances went on and on about…”

  “Lots of wrist kissing?” he asked, sliding his lips up her arm to her elbow.

  She shivered at the intimate contact. “Never thought it would be so erotic. Always wondered why they went on and on about it.”

  He mumbled something against her skin, but she couldn’t understand it. Nor did she really care, at this point. Too many of her neurons fired off the bazillion sensations he had coursing through her right now, and thinking only added to her confusion. The doubts were still there, but her body’s need shoved those thoughts away.

  Roark reached her shoulder, slipping the dress strap off, and pressed kisses against her collar bone. “So what do you want me to do, Stephanie?”

  “I…” And she tried to rise, but he had her pinned down. Her clothing felt like it cut against her skin. She wanted to rip the fabric off, but she couldn’t. “Move it, would you?” she said, pushing against his chest.

  Roark stiffened, his arms going rigid over her. “What?”

  Stephanie wiggled underneath him. “I can’t get this undone with you on me.” She twisted to release the zipper on the back.

  She paused in her attempt and touched his cheek. The slightest bit of stubble had already started to break through, making his skin both soft and rough. He looked hesitant, afraid.

  It made her heart clench, hitting her hard and fast how honorable he was. He would walk away, blue balls be damned, if she said so.

  And one look in his eyes, she knew he thought she was going to say so.

  She could tell him no. Walk away. Go home and pretend none of this happened.

  Or she could stay. It was all up to her.

  Before realizing how to say it, she asked for his help. “Can you help me get it off?”

  He got that look on his face again and it made her heart thunder. “Roll over.”

  Roark didn’t move while she got settled, then she felt him touch her neck, moving some of the tendrils away and tucking them to the side, his fingers delicately stroking her sensitive skin. Each little caress sent new explosions inside her, as his hands ran over the top of her shoulders, following the V-cut of the dress to the zipper in the back.

  But before he started undoing it, he leaned down and pressed a kiss on her spine just below her neck. And another one, a little bit lower.

  Stephanie purred.

  He unzipped a few inches, pulling the dress open, pressed another kiss along the exposed skin, and continued until he’d opened the dress to the curve where her back met her bottom.

  Every little kiss ignited more of the fire inside her, fanning the fever coursing through her.

  “This is my favorite part of a woman,” he said, running his hand over the curve.

  Stephanie groaned, withering on the bed as he pressed kiss after kiss along her lower back. He pulled the dress as wide as he could, making love to her back, her hips, her spine.

  It was amazing—no one ever took so much time adoring her. She’d always considered herself an in-and-out-and-on-your-way type. Of course, she’d never had anyone give her an option. She pushed the straps off her shoulders and rose up just enough to slip her arms out. Give him more room.

  By God, she was going to savor this.

  He whispered his thanks as he opened her dress to continue stroking and caressing the exposed skin. Each touch made her moan against him. Not being able to see him made her nervous, but not in a bad way. Just a sensual sensory deprivation—one that turned her on with every touch—a new sensation for her.

  He slid the dress down, revealing the little bikini underwear she wore.

  “Steph.” He groaned, his fingers running over the edges of her panties. He slid a finger under the waistband, following the curve of her ass, and she clenched the bedding, trying to find some perch—as if she might fall off if he continued. She knew she wouldn’t—she was in the center of the bed. Still, she felt herself falling, in some way, with his every move.

  His hands ran over her ass, thumbs slipping between her legs, and she tensed.

  “You must be cold with this wet thing on,” he said, touching the edges of her panties. He blew a breath of air on her, and she shivered. He wasn’t kidding. The underwear was very damp.

  “Ungh…”

  He slipped inside the edge, touching all her soft and wet spots, and a shiver ran through her. “You are making me nuts,” she panted.

  “Good.” And he went right back to what he was doing.

  Steph didn’t know if she wanted to kick him or kiss him. Though the way he had her pinned on the bed, she couldn’t do either.

  He coaxed a fire higher in her until she didn’t know which way was up. Writhing, she rolled her hips in time with his touches, panting as she came closer to the edge. She pressed her face into the bed as orgasm took her, crying out into his duvet. She shook and quivered underneath him.

  Roark let out a satisfied grunt, stroked her hips, and placed another kiss on her back. Steph went limp, stretched her arms out, and exhaled.

  “Are you finished?” he whispered as he lay on his side next to her.

  “Fork me, I’m done.”

  He smirked. “I hope not.” He tossed his leg over hers, rubbing against her very sensitized girly parts. “Because I’m not close to being finished with you yet.”

  “I may not be able to do much,” she said, raising her arm and letting it flop back on the bed.

  He rolled her over and gazed over her mostly naked form. Lingering on her breasts, he licked his lips.

  “I am not a buffet,” she whispered.

  His gaze returned to hers. “I don’t know about that.” He proceeded to test the theory by kissing and tasting every inch of her chest. She moaned, her entire body quivering.

  He was amazing.

  He sucked a nipple in his mouth, making her shudder. She put her hands in his hair. Roark grabbed her wrists and raised them over her head.

  “Keep those there,” he said, and continued his attack on her breasts.

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “Then I will get the handcuffs.”

  A surge of excitement flooded her—the idea of him actually handcuffing her enticing her more than she wanted to admit.

  He let out a groan, pressed his hips into hers for a moment, then rose. She watched as he pulled off his pants and boxers and tossed them to the side. His cock stood high and proud, and…

  Holy hell. He was awesomely large.

  Steph stared, wondering how in the world that would ever fit inside her. She wasn’t a virgin by any means, but she certainly had never had anyone so big before. He was probably the most beautiful male specimen she’d ever seen. Had she known all these years he was so incredible?

  No. She hadn’t. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to, because if she did, she certainly would have done this a long time ago. Not the dating thing—that was still weird and a bit more emotional than she wanted—but the physical? Geez, they could have been having all kinds of fun all these years.

  “Now it seems a bi
t unfair,” Roark said.

  “What does?”

  “This.” He leaned forward and tugged her panties down, then tossed them over his shoulder like he had with his own clothes. “That’s better,” he whispered as he started kissing her tummy. And lower.

  And lower still.

  Stephanie reached for him again as he moved one of her legs onto his shoulder.

  “No, no,” he said, pushing her hand back.

  She grumbled but grabbed the headboard again. And closed her eyes as he started repeating the ecstasy he’d created with his hand, this time using his tongue. She moaned as he brought her even faster to orgasm, letting it take her over the edge, and she exploded, crying out, thrusting her hips into his face.

  When she finally came back to earth, he raised up.

  “You’re ready,” Roark said with a grin.

  “I’m half-dead.”

  “Only half? I’m losing my touch.”

  “Well, you aren’t a spring chicken anymore.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m more mature. Aged. More experienced.”

  “And so modest.”

  “Which one of us can barely move?”

  “Touché.” He was far too proud of himself.

  He pressed his hips against hers, making her sigh. Feeling him, all of him, against her sent fires of desire through her again as he kissed her so deeply, the need burned all the way to her toes. She grinded into him everything burning anew, and in the back of her mind, she wondered how she could be ready again, want him so badly—so quickly.

  He truly was far more talented than she’d expected. Though she didn’t know why she was so surprised—Roark never did anything half-assed.

  He reached across the bed, and Stephanie pulled away just in time to see the glint of the silver package in his hand. For a second, it dawned on her she’d never thought about birth control, and she was relieved he was thinking clearly for both of them.

  He rose, ripping the condom open, and slipped it on.

  She propped herself on her elbows. “I didn’t know they made them so large.”

  He grinned. “Keep saying things like that, I may grow another inch.” With that, he pushed against her entrance, and Stephanie arched into him, wanting him to go deep. She wanted to feel every bit of him inside her.

  When had she been such a wanton?

  He reached back and hooked her knee to spread her even wider. The primitive hold sent a shiver through her. He would totally rock her world—as if he hadn’t already.

  He entered slowly at first, which was good, because it took her a moment to adjust to his size. He stretched her more than she expected, and each little inch had her panting. She held her arms out wide, bracing herself.

  “You all right?” he whispered.

  She nodded, clenching the duvet. She’d never actually heard of someone being ripped in two pieces during sex, but she wouldn’t be surprised if Roark could do that very thing—he filled her so completely. She started rolling her hips, trying to help herself adjust.

  Roark hovered there. Didn’t move for a minute. His eyes closed and he bit his lip.

  Immediately she wondered if she’d done something wrong. “Roark?”

  He pulled back, then thrust forward, this time harder, and she moaned. He let out his own groan as he started moving. His tempo increased, and she brought her hips to meet his.

  Their bodies slammed together, hard and fast. A sheen of sweat broke out on her brow as she rocketed toward another orgasm. He cried out, just as his own took him, and he shoved hard into her with two powerful thrusts. She groaned as well, an explosion taking her into oblivion just moments after him.

  Roark collapsed, breathing heavy, and pressed kisses against her throat. “Oh God, Steph,” he murmured, his five o’clock shadow brushing her skin.

  Stephanie, half-dazed from euphoria, didn’t listen as he whispered a few other words. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to, because men tended to say stupid things after sex.

  And they just had some amazing, awesome sex. Euphoric murmuring was to be expected.

  Roark groaned, shifting on her, and started to pull away.

  “Hey,” she said as he climbed off the bed.

  “Be right back,” he replied, stepping into the master bathroom. Stephanie pulled back the duvet and slid between…

  “Holy cow, Roark, what’s the thread count of these sheets?” she asked as she slipped into the softest sheets she’d ever felt. They practically glistened in the low light like satin, but softer.

  He came back, walking around the bed to the far side. “I don’t know. Mom got them for me.”

  “Your mother buys you sheets?” she asked.

  He shrugged as he crawled under the covers with her. “She has a thing.”

  “Well, she can have a thing for me anytime she wants. I’m guessing these have got to be at least one thousand thread count.”

  “Whatever that means.” He pulled her into his arms, and Stephanie rested her head on his shoulder. “Now, I do not want to talk about my mother while in bed.”

  “So what do you want to talk about?”

  “What I can do on these super-soft sheets…”

  “Oh…” Stephanie gulped. She didn’t think she would be getting much sleep tonight.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Friday Morning

  Beep beep beep.

  Roark rolled over, shaking his head.

  Why would the door alarm—

  Shit!

  He leaped out of bed and grabbed the baseball bat he kept underneath in case of an intruder, and took off for the living room.

  The alarm wasn’t going off.

  And the door was closed.

  He put his hand on the door and jerked it open, expecting to see thugs running away or something…

  But not Stephanie climbing into a taxi cab at the foot of his driveway.

  “Stephanie,” he said, coming onto the porch in nothing but his boxer briefs. He didn’t care if the neighbors saw him. He didn’t care who saw him.

  His focus was on Stephanie.

  He took off for the taxi just as it started backing out of the driveway. The cab driver stopped—ass-end of the car in the middle of the street.

  Stephanie made a motion with her hand, and even through the window, he could tell what she said…

  “Just keep going. Don’t stop.”

  “Stephanie, wait. Stephanie!” He ran into the street behind the car, his bare feet slamming into the pavement, but it was too late.

  The cab was gone.

  Stephanie was gone.

  Roark was the idiot standing in the middle of his street, in his underwear, watching her go.

  “I am getting too old for this stuff,” Christy muttered, rubbing her shoulders as she watched Stephanie zoom away in the cab.

  Christy fluttered her wings, a little firmer than normal, and considered flying after the car and yelling at the girl.

  She’d done that in the past with charges.

  Of course, that was before cars, and usually her charges were girls.

  Guys were just different.

  She wondered if she was nuts when proposing this whole challenge.

  She’d tried, oh how she’d tried, to wake Roark up when Stephanie woke, because she could see it in the woman’s eyes. She was bolting. Had a look of utter terror on her face as she climbed out of the bed ever so quietly, trying not to disturb him.

  Christy would have thrown water on him if it wouldn’t have looked suspicious.

  Yet the man slept like the dead—probably due to his all-night activities.

  Christy sighed as her charge went back into his house, his shoulders slumped, and she felt so bad for him.

  Things had been looking up. They really had. At least, Christy thought they
had been. By the time they got back to his house last night, Christy was sure they’d be fine.

  As a matter of fact, she was more concerned about Cupid’s minions showing up and causing trouble this morning than anything.

  Which, for once, didn’t happen.

  She followed him inside, passing through the door just before he got it closed. Roark stood in the center of his living room, looking around. His expression blank, his posture void. He just…

  Stood there.

  Even his aura was still.

  He still held the baseball bat, and Christy got her wand out just in case he dropped it, because the bat was a heavy one, and she didn’t want him breaking his toe on top of all of this.

  “Shit,” he muttered, and hurled the baseball bat across the living room.

  It flew through the air with more force than Christy would have expected, and she barely was able to cast the spell to stop it from destroying the television.

  “Good grief, Roark,” she muttered.

  He stalked off to his bedroom.

  Christy sighed, and hovered over to the arm of the couch, resting on the edge. “I may have to talk to Ewan about this one…” She just wasn’t sure where to go.

  If Stephanie was going to continue to fight him every step of the way, really, then what was the point of trying to bring them together?

  Surely if she was going to be this stubborn, then Roark would have a backup HEA somewhere. Just in case…

  Christy pulled up her file on Roark to check for backups. The blue glitter had barely dissipated when Roark reappeared a few minutes later, holding a picture frame and a hammer. He crossed to the blank wall in the living room, took the nail from his lip and pounded it in.

  Then hung the picture.

  “What on earth?” Christy wondered, casting the file back to the Fairy Archives. She flew over to the frame.

  It was a newspaper article, with a picture of Roark, sweaty and haggard, hugging a girl.

  Caption read: Stephanie Bowers congratulating boyfriend Roark Turner on his undefeated senior season.

  Christy rubbed her chin. “Now why would he hang up that?”