Talking Sense: Sensual Healing, Book 3

by Serenity Woods

  He worked for about fifteen minutes, also working on her arms, before reverting to a slower, gentler massage, ending with almost feather-light strokes along her skin that made her shiver in her dreamlike state.

  When he’d finished, he wiped off the excess oil from her back with a towel and dried his hands. She lay half-dozing as he removed his shirt and pants, leaving on his boxers, then slid into bed next to her. He pulled her into his arms, her back to his chest, drew the covers over her, and kissed her shoulder before snuggling down.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. She felt not so much tired as dreamily relaxed.

  “You are very welcome. How does it feel?”

  “Good. Much better.”

  “I’m glad.”

  She lay there feeling comfortable and cared for, conscious of the rise and fall of his chest behind her, his breath warm on her ear, his arm heavy around her rib cage beneath her breasts. Although he’d undressed, he seemed content to just hold her. How delectable.

  She’d grown used to being in bed alone. It was so much nicer having someone with her, though. She’d told herself she was happy on her own and that she didn’t need a man to make her complete, but she didn’t realise how lonely she’d been until that moment.

  He hadn’t made a move to touch her intimately, but as she relaxed, gradually she became conscious of his body, his warmth and strength and lovely masculine smell.

  Mmm.

  He’d pushed the duvet between their hips before he’d pulled her against him. Wriggling, she lifted the duvet so she could press her bottom against his crotch.

  “Goodness,” she said. “Did you bring a cucumber into bed with you or are you pleased to see me?”

  He chuckled. “I tucked the duvet there so it wouldn’t disturb you.”

  “I like being disturbed.” She continued to wiggle her hips a little so his erection nestled between the cheeks of her bottom.

  He kissed her shoulder. “I didn’t want to assume. I’m happy just to cuddle.”

  “I thought you said an orgasm would help relax me?”

  “I’m sure it would.” He sounded amused.

  She shifted onto her back to look up at him. He lay looking relaxed and gorgeous, his head propped on a hand, his brown hair ruffled. He smiled as she reached up and brushed her fingers against his bristles.

  “Hello,” he said, and winked at her.

  “Hello.” To her surprise, her face warmed. Why? She’d always prided herself on the fact that she never blushed.

  “I’m sorry I bullied you.” He turned his head and kissed her hand.

  She said nothing for a moment, not wanting him to think she liked being bossed about, but the truth was that she loved the fact that he cared enough about her to be firm and commanding. Very few men had known how to handle her in the past—they knew she was feisty and tended to either try to match her aggressive manner or back down completely, neither of which was likely to work. Colm’s gentle encouragement and determination was like baby bear’s porridge—just right.

  Because she couldn’t think what to say, she slid her hand into his hair and pulled his head down to kiss him.

  He returned the kiss happily, leisurely, stroking his tongue across her bottom lip until she opened her mouth, then deepening the kiss until she arched against him, desperate for his hands on her body and breasts.

  “This wall’s an exterior one,” she pointed out when he lifted his head. “So it doesn’t matter if the headboard bangs against it.”

  He shook his head. “Not tonight.”

  “No?” She pouted as disappointment swept through her. Didn’t he want to make love to her? His erection suggested otherwise.

  He kissed her nose. “No to the headboard banging, not no to the sex. Tonight we’re going to take it slow.” He traced a finger down her breastbone and circled it around her breasts.

  “We are?” The disappointment flared into excitement.

  “Yes.” He cupped her breasts and rubbed his thumb across her nipple. “You’ve had a tough time and I want it to make it last for you.”

  “Oh.” She’d never met a man who appeared more concerned about her pleasure than his own.

  “And for me,” he said, confirming that her pleasure wasn’t the only thing on his mind.

  “Well, of course.”

  “I want to make the most of you while I’ve got you.”

  She met his gaze, tensing a little at the thought that this was temporary, and it wouldn’t be long before he’d be returning to Ireland to meet up with some pretty Irish girl with flaming red hair.

  The thought of him loving someone else stung, though, so she pushed it to the back of her mind. He was here now with her, and as he’d said, they had to make the most of each other while they were together.

  So she let him make love to her slowly, enjoying the change of pace as he aroused her with calm, unhurried precision. He took her nipples in his mouth, groaning as they turned from soft peaks to hard buttons beneath his tongue. Sighing and closing her eyes, she ran her fingers over his back and shoulders, admiring his physique and thinking again how surprised she was at his muscles. She’d assumed he’d be skinny and slightly wimpy beneath the corduroy, but instead he was so…manly.

  He moved his hand between her legs and slid his fingers into her so easily that she knew she was ready for him. And she knew it turned him on because his erection grew even harder, if that were possible. He plunged his tongue into her mouth as he moved his fingers inside her, and she moaned as he returned them to her clit to arouse her until her breathing grew erratic and she begged him to enter her.

  “Roll over,” he murmured, pushing her shoulder gently.

  She turned onto her front, relieved to feel only a dull ache in her back, her heart pounding as he moved behind her. “Ooh,” she said, breathless. “From behind, yum.”

  He chuckled. “We did my favourite position—it only seems polite to do one of yours.”

  He slid on a condom, then leaned over her, supporting himself on his strong, muscular arms, and bent and nuzzled her ear. “Are you comfortable? I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “You won’t.” And she knew for a fact that he wouldn’t. He was so tender with her, so careful. And she knew he’d be gentle until he was sure she was relaxed.

  How could she be so sure? She’d only slept with him once. And yet she knew. He’d take care of her.

  Jeez, what the fuck was wrong with her? She wasn’t going to get all starry-eyed over a quick screw.

  She parted her thighs wide, wiggling her butt as he pressed his erection between her legs. “Come on,” she begged. “I’m desperate.”

  “Patience, Farrow,” he scolded. He pushed his hips forward and slowly, very slowly, slid inside her.

  She groaned and buried her face in the pillow. “Oh my God that feels fantastic,” she said, her voice muffled. She felt full to the brim, stretched to bursting with him.

  He kissed her shoulder. “I know.” His voice was husky.

  He pulled back and pushed forward again, and continued to do so, regular and rhythmic, refusing to increase his pace even though she begged him to, driven mad by the slow and sensual slide of him inside her.

  “Colm,” she sighed, resting her forehead on the pillow as he laced his tongue up her neck and ear without ceasing his movement, “please…”

  “Behave,” he murmured, nipping her earlobe and making her squeal. “And do as you’re told.” He slid a hand beneath her and squeezed her nipple.

  She moaned and tried to push back against him to make him thrust harder, but he just laughed and continued his slow speed, relentless, tormenting her as his hand wandered over her breasts and then moved between her legs.

  Only when everything began to tighten around him did he finally give in and thrust harder, and she welcomed the rush of exquisite sensation, conscious of him swelling inside her as he came, the two of them climaxing together in a beautiful dance she knew she’d never grow tir
ed of.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Afterward, Colm found some grapes and chocolate in the fridge and brought them with a bottle of white wine back into the bedroom. He proceeded to feed Mia where she lay on her back, too lazy to get up.

  “Someone’s obviously taught you right,” she said, opening her mouth as he dangled a bunch of grapes over it. He lowered the bunch until she took one between her teeth, then lifted it so it parted from the bunch with a pop. “You could hire yourself out as some kind of gigolo.”

  He chuckled and took one of the grapes for himself. “Because I’m feeding you grapes? You’re easily pleased.”

  She sat up, her brow furrowing earnestly, the point obviously being important to her. “No, you don’t get it. It’s not just the grapes. It’s…everything. You’re so thoughtful, for a guy.”

  “Are you saying I’m effeminate? I’m not going to start talking about eyebrow shaping or anything.”

  She rolled her eyes and reached for her wine. He took the opportunity to admire her breasts as she did so. Although she’d lost weight, it hadn’t come off her bust, and her breasts were still nicely full, the nipples high and pink. Now they were relaxed and soft, but he knew if he took them in his mouth, they’d contract into tight tips that would make her sigh when he teased them with his tongue.

  She’d stopped moving, and he lifted his eyes to hers to see her staring at him, one eyebrow raised.

  “Are you ogling me, Baloney?”

  “Yep.” He popped another grape into his mouth. “You’ve got nice tits, it seems a shame not to admire them.”

  She gave a choke of outrage and smacked his arm. “Shocking.”

  “And you love it.”

  “I do.” She lay back again with a sigh. “You’ve shown a very pleasing ability to shock me. I like that.”

  He grinned and stretched out beside her. “I’m glad I exceeded your expectations.”

  She took a piece of chocolate and sucked it thoughtfully as she studied him. “I’ve got something to ask you.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “It’s nothing sexy,” she added.

  “Oh, okay. Only I was going to say yes to whatever you wanted to ask me to do.”

  Her lips curved. “That’s a very dodgy thing to say. I could come up with anything. Sex in public. A threesome.”

  He tipped his head from side to side as if he was considering it. “I’d think about it.”

  “Colm!”

  “What?” He grinned. Actually, there was no way he’d share her with anybody else, and he’d rather not let the whole world see him in action, but it was fun to fantasise.

  She shook her head as if shocked, although she was laughing. “No. Actually I was going to ask you about your father.”

  “Oh?” He chose a piece of chocolate. “What do you want to know?”

  “When we spoke on the phone, you said you were sure he was in New Zealand and not Australia, even though your mum had only said ‘Down Under’. And you said it was another story, and you’d tell me about it sometime.”

  He chewed the chocolate. He’d wondered whether she’d forget about that, but clearly she’d only been waiting for a suitable time to ask him. “I did.”

  Her green eyes were patient, curious. “You want to tell me now?”

  He hesitated, not knowing how she would react to his strange talent.

  She reached out, picked up his hand and threaded her fingers through his. “You can tell me.”

  “It’s…an unusual story.”

  “I’m surrounded by men with unusual stories.”

  It was true—she had two male friends with weird abilities, but he was still afraid she’d make fun of him, or even worse, that it would put her off him. Still, what choice did he have? He couldn’t really refuse to tell her now he’d hinted at it.

  Touched by her reassurance, he nodded. “Okay. Well, the first time I noticed it, I was six. Our dog had gone missing. My mum was really upset, and my dad spent hours walking the streets of Dublin trying to find him. I can remember sitting in the kitchen watching my mum, and she was holding Rua’s spare collar. She put it down to make herself a cup of tea, and I picked it up. I can remember it vividly—I could see Rua in a field, sitting by a fence, and her collar was hooked on the fence. It was kind of misty and unfocussed, and it vanished quickly. But it was definitely her.

  “I didn’t say anything until Dad came back, and they were discussing where he’d looked, and I said, ‘Did you look in the field with the two oaks?’ And my father said she probably wouldn’t have gone that way because it meant crossing a busy road, and I said, ‘But I can see her there—her collar’s hooked on the fence.’ I can remember them both staring at me. Mum said, ‘What do you mean, how can you see her?’ And I told her what had happened when I held Rua’s collar.

  “They exchanged a glance and Dad went out again, and sure enough, he found her exactly where I’d said, collar hooked on the fence, looking sorry for herself.”

  He stopped and disentangled their fingers so he could have a sip of wine. What was going through Mia’s mind? Jeez, what a weirdo? But she didn’t look alarmed, just interested.

  “What did they say when they realised you were right?” she asked quietly.

  He shrugged. “Not much. I got an extra-large helping of apple pie that night.” He smiled.

  “So what happened after that?”

  “Not much, for a while. I forgot about it. My parents didn’t mention it. I guess they thought it might have been a fluke. It happened once or twice as I grew up but I ignored it. It was as I entered my teens that I really started noticing it again. But this time it wasn’t just images. I began to get the emotions of people when I picked up something belonging to them. I could tell what they were feeling. I didn’t realise what I was doing at first—I thought I was reading their faces, you know, intuition. But gradually I understood it was more than that. I could see things people were trying to hide. Their deepest, darkest fears and worries.”

  He stopped, afraid he’d gone too far.

  “The watch,” Mia said. “In the staff room. You picked up my watch and that’s how you knew I was in pain.”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “I didn’t do it on purpose—it was about to fall off the table and I caught it. And I didn’t have my guard up, so the feelings came through without me even trying.”

  “What do you mean, you didn’t have your guard up?”

  “I normally try to shut it out,” he said. “But sometimes if I have a strong connection to someone, I can’t stop it happening.”

  Her eyes met his. “A strong connection? We hardly knew each other at the time.”

  “It’s not about how well you know someone.” How could he explain himself out of this one? “I don’t know very much about this sort of thing so I’m talking out of my arse here, but from what I understand, we are all made of energy, and we have this energy field around us.”

  “That’s what Ash says,” she said.

  “Yes. And these energy fields intermingle when we interact. Like shadows. And I think if there’s an attraction there, it means there’s more of a connection…” He trailed off, embarrassed. He didn’t know what he was saying and couldn’t put it into words. He sat up and took another swallow of wine to cover his awkwardness.

  She pushed herself up and sat before him, legs crossed, tucking the duvet under her arms and across her breasts. “Why do you normally try to shut it out?”

  He thought about that for a moment, staring into his wine glass as he twirled it between his fingers. “I’m a Catholic,” he said eventually. “Or I was raised one, anyway. I don’t practice, but the old ways are ingrained, you know? And anything to do with the occult is frowned upon by the Church. My parents know what I can do, and they’ve never told me it’s wrong, but they’ve always had this vague sense of disapproval. And I can’t escape the feeling that it’s somehow…”

  “Evil?” she suggested.

  “I suppose.”

&nbs
p; “You’re thinking you’re like Damien from The Omen.”

  He smiled wryly. “Maybe. But I don’t like doing it. I try not to. I try to shut it out. But sometimes it happens on its own.”

  She just nodded. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

  “So tell me about your real father,” she said. “Do you think you got the gift from him?”

  He noted that she called it a “gift”. “Probably. I haven’t heard of anything like it through my mother’s side of the family. But anyway, about eighteen months ago, my mum and dad moved house for the first time since they were married. She was clearing out the loft and she came across a box of things belonging to my birth mother. And in the box was a ring. It was a man’s ring, and Mum said Mary had worn it on a chain around her neck and had been wearing it when she died. We assume it was Robert’s.”

  “So did you hold it?” Mia said.

  “Yes. I took it back to my apartment and for the first time in my life, I consciously tried to see what I could get from an object. All I could see was a building—a really unusual building. I had to look it up on Google because I’d never seen it before.” He paused, putting the wine glass on the bedside table. “It was the Beehive.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mia stared at him. He’d just given the nickname for the New Zealand Parliament Buildings that were shaped like a skep, or woven beehive.

  She reached for her wine and sipped it as she thought about what he’d told her. Did she believe him? It was difficult not to. His face was open, honest, and he was clearly more than a little embarrassed about admitting what he could do.

  What a shame that he felt his gift was somehow evil, though. Clearly he still had to come to terms with his talent, like Nate had before Ash had shown him the way.

  She remembered the way Colm had kissed her in the staff room—that had been because he’d picked up her watch and sensed her feeling down. She was also pretty sure he’d done it a couple of times since then—maybe when he’d held her scarf in Grace’s house, for example. Had he planned to try and “listen in” on her feelings, or had it just happened to him because of their “strong connection”?