The circumstances couldn’t be more ideal. No one needed anything from her at this moment. Pops was sound asleep, in bed for the night. She and Marco were on the couch, enjoying the cinematic greatness that was Beverly Hills Cop. She was snuggled up under a quilt and surrounded by snacks. Lady was beside her. The dim room created a warm intimacy that cocooned them as they lounged on the soft couch cushions.
“Pops said he met the mayor.” Marco reached across her lap and got a handful of popcorn.
“He did. Henry, I think. He invited Pops to senior night at the community center.”
On days that Pops was feeling up to it, they’d go out and explore the city. Each time they went out, they’d made a new friend. It was a friendly town. Once each new friend found out that Pops was Marco’s grandfather, well then it was like they were part of the Hope Falls family. That’s what this town felt like. Like a family.
“And he said that you got an invitation of your own.”
“I did.” She still couldn’t believe that Karina Black had invited her to her house. For a book club. She’d tried to call Devon to tell her but hadn’t been able to get through. Her sister would probably kill her if she declined, but Marco had the day off tomorrow, and she wanted to spend every minute with him. Not even an evening at Karina Black’s home could top time with Marco. Especially since she only had one week left. “I don’t know if I’m going to go.”
“Why not?” he turned toward her. “When is it?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“You should go. I have tomorrow off. Pops and I can go to Sue Ann’s for dinner and then if he’s feeling up to it, I’ll run him by the rec center. Whenever there’s a book club meeting, the guys play basketball.”
She nodded her agreement and Marco smiled as he turned back to the TV.
It hadn’t occurred to her that Pops and Marco hadn’t had any time alone. Before their talk, she’d tried to make herself scarce when Marco was home. But over the past week, they’d fallen into a routine of Marco coming home for meals and eating with her and Pops before returning to work. Then around nine-ish, he’d walk through the door for the night. They’d pick out a movie that inevitably one or both of them would fall asleep during. It would end, and they would call it a night, each going to their separate beds.
She had her friend back. It should’ve been enough. Instead, there was discontentment building just beneath the surface. Anytime she was in the same vicinity as Marco there was a simmering sexual tension that passed between them. Like a low flowing current.
It was both the most thrilling and most torturous sensation. In one sense, she never felt more alive than when some part of her body, however small, would make even the most innocent contact with some part of Marco’s. At the same time, it sent an ache running through her body that was so pervasive that she thought she just might die from it one day.
There was no getting around it. Marco’s physical presence, let alone making contact with him, just plain turned her on. He brought her to life, firing up every synapse in her brain and every nerve ending that ran just under the surface of her skin.
He lit her up inside like a baseball stadium during a night game; the floodlights shining as bright as the midday sun.
And, somehow, someway, it kept growing more intense. She couldn’t concentrate on what was happening on the screen. How could she? When Marco’s arm touched hers, so blatantly casual that it had to be intentionally faux-casual? When her side was pressed up against his side? When they were so close together that she could feel every tiny movement of his muscles, every small shift that he made from the way he was sitting to how his arm was positioned?
Marco laughed at something one of the characters on the screen had said…or maybe done…or…?
She had no idea because she wasn’t really following it. Not at all. She laughed right along with him, though, to cover up the fact that she had no idea what was going on. The last thing she wanted was for him to know that his nearness was inducing such an all-consuming fog that her brain had ceased to function entirely.
They were friends. He seemed happy with that arrangement.
He turned his head toward her. In a reflexive response to his movement, she tilted her head up toward him.
They were seated so close together that the slight movement of both of their heads caused their lips to line up with each other.
They were so close to one another that she swore she could feel his lips touching hers. She could feel the heat of his breath over her face and it caused her head to spin. It set her skin on fire and sent her heart galloping at a stallion’s pace.
He opened his mouth to speak but whatever he’d been planning on saying to her, she never found out. He gave in to the undeniable current traveling between them and pressed his lips to hers.
At first, it was sweet. Gentle. Tender.
That only lasted a moment. Then it grew desperate and demanding. They were moving their mouths against each other hungrily like they were each starving for something that only the other person’s lips or the other person’s tongue could give them.
Sydney’s head began to spin, and she grew even more lightheaded than she had been the entire night.
The whole night had been them snuggled up against each other in the dark room, lit only by the blue light of the television screen. Like they were both encapsulated in this intimate, blue bubble together—the rest of the world locked out, somewhere beyond the dark edges where the bubble faded away.
Now, instead of that lovely, cozy feeling, she felt as if every muscle in her body, including her brain, had been electrified. There was no way around it—her muscles seemed to be animated by some unseen puppeteer. Her legs and arms, at least, were undoubtedly moving without her conscious control of them.
She knew it because she didn’t think about sliding her hands underneath the hem of his T-shirt and running her fingers over the muscled, heated planes of his abs. She just did it.
And when she did, his hand grasped her hips and pulled her so that she was straddling his lap. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard the popcorn bowl hit the floor. They could clean it up later.
Marco’s hands roamed up and down her back, over her backside, along the sides of her thighs, and around her hips. She felt his touch everywhere, even places he hadn’t yet explored. Her breasts and core tingled with sensation as if his fingers had brushed against her most sensitive areas.
Her hips rolled against him, searching for more pleasure through the soft cotton that separated them. They both wore sweats, and the soft barrier allowed her to feel the strength and heat of his straining shaft. Soft, moans began vibrating through her. Each one deeper and stronger.
His hands, his tongue, his lips, and his rock-hard erection were all too much, and she felt a release start to build in her. Her breaths started growing shallower as Marco explored her mouth in a commanding kiss. Her hips rocked with greater pressure and speed. The delicious friction caused pleasure to coil low in her belly, ready to strike. And without any warning, it did in the form of an explosive, shuddering climax that claimed her with a punishing force.
A cry tore from her throat, but Marco swallowed it in his all-consuming kiss. She rode out the release, hanging on for dear life like she was on one of those mechanical bulls. Her body seeking every ounce, every drop of gratification.
She’d heard people’s claim to orgasm from dry humping, but she’d always thought it was a myth. Not that it happened but that someone could orgasm from it. Well, she’d just Myth Busted that theory.
Just as the climax faded, she felt herself being lifted off the couch as Marco stood.
“Wait,” she breathed as she pulled away from his mouth. “My phone.”
“Your phone?” His voice was so gravelly and rough it sent a sweet aftershock directly to her center.
A shiver ran through her as she choppily explained. “The sensor. Pops oxygen sensor. On my phone.”
Marco’s arm tightened around her as he
leaned forward, dipping her back so that he could grab it. She giggled as her arms circled his neck and she nestled her head against his shoulder. Her lips pressed against the soft spot where his neck and shoulders met, and she felt a groan roll through his body as he carried her up the stairs. Wanting to hear more of those groans, she continued placing open-mouthed kisses up and down his neck, licking and sucking the salty sweetness of his skin.
When they reached their destination, she opened her eyes and saw that they were blanketed in darkness. The only small allowance of light came from the moonlight slipping in from the outline of his curtains. She liked the ambiance. As much as she wanted to see and memorize every inch of his body, she clung to the unreal, hazy quality that the darkness afforded them. It all felt like a beautiful dream to her.
In the context of a beautiful dream, she didn’t have to deal with any of the real-life concerns that would want to crowd their way in during the stark light of day.
Questions such as—what does the future hold? How does Marco feel about her? When she left, would she see him again?
None of those things were a concern in the dark—or, if they were, they were a lot easier to ignore.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Marco gently lowered her down. His hands slid up the sides of her body and took her shirt with them. She lifted her arms as he tugged it up and over her head. She returned the favor and removed his shirt. Before his garment joined hers on the ground, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to her neck, then he moved to her shoulders, and then finally down to the swell of her breasts. Lifting her arms, she wove her fingers through his silky, dark hair and luxuriated in the kisses she felt peppering her skin.
He treated her bare skin like a canvas and his lips were the paintbrush. With every kiss he planted on her, every brush of his lips against her hot flesh, he was adding yet another brushstroke to the masterpiece he was creating.
As Marco’s kisses became more deliberate and insistent, she felt her knees grow weak and knew they wouldn’t be able to go much further before they would have to take it to the bed. Her shaking, jellied legs wouldn’t be able to support her under the dominant force of this drawn-out seduction.
The last time they were together, she’d let him take the lead and she hadn’t been disappointed. But this time, she wanted to take the situation into her own hands…and mouth. Without warning, she slid from his grasp and dropped to her knees. He groaned at her actions, no doubt anticipating what was coming. She got wetter at the sound of that hyper-masculine grunt; the ache between her legs grew to the point where it was almost unbearable.
Her hands were shaking as she dipped her fingers beneath the waistband of his sweats and pushed them, along with his boxers, down to the floor. He stepped out of them as she sat back on her heels. From that position she got her first up close and personal look at his dick and all she could think was how pretty it was. Maybe that was an odd thing to think about a penis, but that’s what she thought. The skin looked so smooth and shiny around his thick shaft and it was topped with the most delicious looking mushroom tip. She licked her lips in lusty anticipation of the treat that was about to be hers.
The sensation of Marco’s fingers gently brushing her hair back from her face as she studied the delectable shape of his erection added to the sensual quality of the moment. Everything else consumed her with burning desire, but the gentle stroking of her hair gave rise to feelings of affection. Even love, if she were willing to admit that to herself.
“You’re so beautiful when you smile,” Marco said, his voice raspy with desire.
She hadn’t realized that she’d been smiling. She’d just been so overwhelmed with the rightness of this moment.
She reached out with her tongue and dragged the tip of it all the way up from the base of his dick to the sensitive head. Then she swirled it around the soft skin there. His member twitched at her touch.
There was already a small amount of hot and salty fluid on the tip. The dollop of his release caused the taste buds on her tongue to tingle with desire.
She tightened her lips around the top of his shaft, creating a suction that she used to give light pulls on the tip as she tightened her grip around his girth and pumped her hand up and down his smooth, hot flesh. She could tell that her technique was effective because of the way he groaned and massaged her scalp involuntarily with the fingertips that were still threaded through her hair.
Then, moving her mouth with deliberate care, she proceeded slowly down his shaft, swallowing him up, inch by inch. She wanted to draw it out. She wanted to torture him the same way that his mere presence tortured her.
His groans told her that she was well on her way to achieving that goal.
She moved her mouth back up again, until only the tip was engulfed in her hot wetness, and then back down. Four more times. Up. Down. Up. Down.
He grew in her mouth; his shaft became a steel-hard, pulsing rod under her erotic suction.
When she reached his tip again, he tugged at her hair, tilting her head to look him straight in the eye.
She wanted to finish what she had started, but she didn’t think he was going to let her.
“What do you want?” She asked, her voice a husky whisper. “Tell me what you want.”
The gaze he fixed on her was so sweet, so tender, that she felt like she might shatter into a million fragile pieces, right there in his bedroom.
“I want you,” he responded, tenderness laced through every word. “All I want is you.”
*
Marco bent and placed his hands under Sydney’s arms, pulling her up to her feet. He wrapped her up in his embrace, crushing her to him and holding her tightly to his chest.
What he’d said was true. All he wanted was her. Everything else was a spoke coming off that hub. Wanting to touch her, kiss her, make love to her—all of those things were just subcategories under the one, huge, main goal—he wanted her.
He didn’t know what that meant, in terms of the future, or how things might proceed. He didn’t know if she felt the same way. He didn’t know so many things that were, in a way, other spokes off of that same hub.
But he knew one thing. He wanted her.
Lowering his mouth to hers, he kissed her with every ounce of pent-up emotion that he felt. He kissed her like it was their first kiss, or maybe their last kiss. He kissed her like it was everything. And in a very real way, it was.
She reached down between them and grasped his cock, still slick from her mouth around it just moments ago. And then she slowly, languorously stroked her fist up and down on his shaft while they kissed.
It stoked the fire inside him. He knew that this was going to escalate quickly, he could feel the flames shooting up from the smoldering embers. He felt it in his gut, he felt it in his limbs, and down to his bones.
He was consumed with the thought of being naked with her. All of a sudden it became the most important thing in the world. Nothing was more critical at that instant than stripping every piece of clothing from her body, and from his.
In one, fluid movement he tugged both her sweats and her panties off. They both stood there, panting hard, their skin glowing in the small amount of reflected moonlight leaking in at the edges of his window. She started to reach for him again, but he grasped her wrists and pinned them to her sides. He let his eyes travel up and down her flesh. He admired every inch of her body. Every curve, every line.
She was perfect.
She looked like an otherworldly goddess standing there in the dim light, her creamy skin emitting the brightest glow in the room.
He couldn’t wait one more minute. He had to be with her. He had to feel her body tighten around him as he pushed inside of her.
Bending slightly, he scooped her up and carried her across the room, feeling a very caveman-like satisfaction in the act.
When he set her down on the broad expanse of the bed, he grinned down at her and brushed the hair from her face. “Was that too Tarzan for you?”
Her chest heaved from heavy breaths as a slow, seductive smile spread on her face. “Just call me Jane.”
Marco, the man, knew that they were kidding. Marco, the caveman, did not. All he wanted to do was take care of her. It was a primal instinct that overwhelmed him. It was in his DNA.
He climbed onto the bed next to her, rising up on an elbow so that he could look down the length of her body easily. He let his hand touch everywhere that his eyes traveled. He wanted to do this for her. He wanted her to lie back and relax while he did all the work of making her feel good.
“God, you’re amazing,” he breathed. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world right now.”
She smiled mischievously, letting her fingertips trail down his face, then his shoulders and chest. “Yep. You sure are,” she teased.
“I am,” he breathed as he slowly leaned down and pressed his lips to hers with whisper-soft pressure.
His kiss began gently as his hands roamed her body. His fingertips brushed up and down her arms, then her sides, and then he trailed them over the flat expanse of her belly. As he did, he felt her muscles ripple underneath the skin, jumping at his light touch.
He did notice, also, that every time he moved his hand over an area that he’d touched before, he found goose flesh covering her skin. Everywhere his fingers grazed, he left pebbly dots of shivering arousal in his wake.
He paused at her breasts, cupping them and caressing them in turn. He took his time and built up the anticipation before finally touching her nipples. He moved his fingers around on the sensitive flesh, drawing large, then subsequently smaller circles, narrowing in on her nipples.
When he did finally touch those sensitive nubs, he ditched the fingers altogether. He moved his head down to capture them each in his mouth, one after the other, suckling and nipping at them, alternating one action with the other.
She moaned and pushed his head down on her chest while she arched her back, pushing her breasts tighter against his mouth.
He grasped her hips firmly. She was bucking and writhing on the bed, moving like she wasn’t even in control of her own muscles, and he liked to feel that wildness under the palm of his hand. It gave him just the tiniest glimpse of the pure storm he was stirring up inside of her, and it fired up his imagination.
Fire and Romance Page 16
