Bargain in Bronze

by Natalie Anderson

  He grew bolder—sliding hands beneath her T-shirt, cupping her breasts, teasing her taut nipples, making them harden more. It wasn’t enough for her. She wanted rid of her bra—couldn’t her clothes just evaporate?

  “We can’t do this here,” he said, casting a rigid look around the steel kitchen.

  Hell, that’s right, they were in a kitchen—a bakery where people arrived at three in the morning to start on the bread.

  “I don’t normally do this,” she panted—suddenly jerked back into reality. She didn’t want complicated. She didn’t want heartbreak. But she did want him.

  “Tonight you do,” he replied. “But not here. My place. Comfort, space, privacy.” He suddenly turned away from her, flinging the rinsed dishes into the dishwasher with supersonic speed.

  Libby couldn’t help smiling. “What about Tom? I thought you didn’t want me to see him?”

  “He’s not there, he’s back at training camp for the last part of his preparations.” Jack was wiping down the counter already.

  “So how’s he getting my muesli?”

  Jack rinsed the cleaning cloth, stowed it and glanced around the sparkling kitchen with a satisfied grunt. “I’m couriering it to him.”

  Oh. They’d have his place to themselves. No interruptions, no distractions. Only privacy—perfect for sex—full on, hard, frantic, glorious sex. She could do that for one night, right? Just because she didn’t want forever, didn’t mean she couldn’t have this now.

  “Come with me.” His words dropped into her ear sending a shiver of anticipation—excitement arrowed to her belly, her whole body squeezed in glee as she leaned into his heat. He took her hand and led her from the kitchen. Every five paces along the footpath—each moment she was about to speak—he stopped and kissed her, his tongue skillfully sweeping away any rising caution.

  Finally in his apartment, they kissed their way to his room. He fingered the hem of her T-shirt, teasing it up—she lifted her arms to help. His fingers worked at her back, and in a second her bra was undone. He slid the straps down her arms until the satin and lace fell to the floor. Standing there bare-breasted—warm summer air whispering over her skin, she looked at him.

  “Libby.” He appeared to have frozen.

  “I have to warn you, it’s been a while,” she blurted.

  He gently bent and kissed her neck, his chuckle muffled against her skin. “You think I didn’t know that?”

  “Smart Alec.” She mock swiped him, but at the last minute softened her blow to caress his cheek. But then she added seriously. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  He pulled her close so she could feel exactly how aroused he was. “There’s no way you’d ever disappoint. It’s been a while for me too.”

  “Now you’re the one telling tall tales,” she chided.

  “I’m not,” he answered seriously. “I’ve been very busy at work.”

  She gazed up at him, reading the hot sincerity in his eyes. And she smiled.

  She stepped back, undoing her jeans and shimmying them down—along with her knickers. She didn’t want to be shy. She didn’t want to waste a second with silly worries. She wanted to indulge, to revel and celebrate this only time she had him.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked, sounding like he’d suddenly come down with laryngitis.

  “I want to see you naked.” She’d been imagining it for days.

  He whipped his T-shirt over his head. She stared. Oh man, her imagination was officially useless—he was way more incredible than she’d dreamed. Her legs turned to goo. She sat on the bed, watching as he swiftly discarded his jeans and boxers. He was so fine, so built, with a dusting of hair arrowing to his literally outstanding hard-on, and not an ounce of fat anywhere. All muscled male.

  All mine.

  Libby’s blood flowed like quicksilver, spirited and fast along her veins. It pooled in her lower belly—the nucleus of her need and where she needed him to be.

  “You have an amazing body,” she said in frank awe. She’d never seen anyone so sculpted. And she went to the gym, she saw fit frequently. She swallowed—with difficulty. Because he was broad too—broad shouldered, big-muscled, endowed. His palms spread wide over her narrow shoulders, making her feel very feminine. She moved her fingers in feline fashion over him, skimming a nail over his defined abs, tracing the taut grooves of muscle beneath skin.

  He drew in a deep shuddering breath.

  Eyes wide, she looked up at him as she swept her hands lower still. “You okay?”

  “You’re very good,” he murmured huskily, pressing his hot body against her hands.

  “Flatterer.” She shook her head. “It’s just that I want you like crazy.”

  And it was abundantly clear he wanted her as much.

  “Thank goodness,” His fingertips traced her collarbones. “You’ve been killing me these last couple of days.”

  “You’ll have relief soon enough,” she sent him a gleaming look beneath her lashes. “And we’ll both feel better.”

  She glided her hands over his muscled arms. He let her take her exploration slow—seated in front of him, drinking in his physical beauty.

  “Did you row too?” she asked, lifting her hands to sweep them across his ridged abs and up to his broad chest.

  He nodded.

  “Not lightweight division.” She moved her sweeping circles lower again. Her temperature sizzled.

  He smiled and shook his head.

  “And you obviously use all those torture machines in the living room.” He was majestic—so built.

  “Uh huh.” He gently ran his fingers underneath her chin, stroking the vulnerable skin down her neck.

  She tilted her head to give him more freedom. She’d not known how sensual such a simple touch could be—especially from such a big guy. “You’re the one who’s good,” she sucked in a breath.

  His hands lowered, cupping her breasts and gently pushing them together. “Not that good.”

  “Prove it,” she whispered.

  He moved, pulled open a drawer from the low bedside cabinet, rummaging for protection. She laughed as he struggled to get the box free of its plastic wrapper—secretly thrilled to see his haste.

  He glanced at her. “Oh sure, you go ahead and relax while you still can.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “That in about a minute,” he paused as he tore the foil with his teeth. “You’re going to be wound tighter than a gymnast’s leotard.”

  He rolled on the rubber with a grimace and stood, feet planted wide on the floor in front of where she still sat on his bed.

  “Is this what you wanted?” He asked, a wicked look in his eye.

  “It’s the first item ticked off, yes.” Seeing him naked had been even more thrilling than she’d imagined. Would every thing else surpass her fantasy too? She was certain of it.

  “And the next?”

  There was really only one other thing she could think of now. She told him. Two words—raunchy, crude and blunt in their meaning.

  He laughed as he stepped closer, bending to tease. “Going to do more than that.”

  “No, just do that now.” Now, now, now. She didn’t need foreplay, she was ready. She wanted him inside her—that huge, powerful body driving in her, rapid and relentless until she went mad.

  He put a fist either side of her and leaned forward. Instinctively she lay back, wriggling on the soft coverings, encouraging him to lie right over her—to mount her now.

  But he remained just out of reach, too far away. “You’re going to come first.”

  Why? She was almost there now and she suspected the second he entered her she’d lose it. “What about you?”

  “It’s inevitable,” he laughed, lifting a hand from the bed and sweeping firmly down her thigh. “I need to be sure you’re taken care of because this first time may not be as sustained as I’d like.”

  “No?” Her body rippled beneath that one stroke, her nipples tightening to the poin
t of pain. “I thought you rowers were good with endurance.”

  “Eighty-odd hours of anticipation,” he said. “I’m like a loosened Champagne cork, embarrassingly ready to fire.” He drew a deep breath as he slowly looked down her length. His muscles visibly clenched. But then he smiled. “Will you let me go down on you?” he asked oh so politely.

  “Um…” She lifted her hand and pretended to study her nails. “I guess that would be okay.”

  He chuckled and rewarded her by leaning closer and kissing her mouth—letting her know exactly what he was going to do to the rest of her. She moaned as that one kiss sucked her under his spell again. His mouth was the sexiest thing. She curled both hands into his hair—holding him close, arching upwards to get closer to his heat. No, she didn’t need the oral sex actually, she just needed him. She pushed her legs wider, wanting him to thrust between them. She wanted everything now.

  He put his hands under her arms, literally hauling her into position in the middle of the bed—all while still kissing her. So the guy could be bossy but with one hell of a sweetener. He reached above her, grabbed a couple of pillows and lifted her hips to shove them beneath her. Now her hips were raised, while her torso stretched back, leaving her so exposed to him.

  “You like your women on a platter?” she teased. But she was amazed at how unselfconscious she felt. The way he looked at her, like she was the most beautiful thing, like he’d never wanted anything as much, made her feel so treasured. So sexy. And, this once, she was going with it.

  “Maximizing pleasure,” he replied, running his palm over her stomach, his gaze sweeping over the bared secrets of her body.

  Just that one stroke sent flickers of fire along her nerve endings. She arched uncontrollably, thrusting her breasts up, wanting his mouth nearer, everywhere.

  Okay so she did want the oral sex. She did want that tongue everywhere.

  He kissed and nibbled his way down her neck, over her chest to one breast, then the other. His fingers subtly teased in tandem with his lips, igniting every inch of her skin—below her belly button, then lower still.

  For a big guy, he had a delicate—tormenting—touch. The man’s tongue teased, flicking light and quick across her entrance. His fingers strummed her—faster, faster still. But he didn’t penetrate her. Desperate for that, she groaned. Her hips pumped as he lapped. Her groan became words—blatant, hot demands. She spread her arms wide on the bed beneath her, fingers extended as the tension within her burned intolerably. He moved, lying across her thighs to stop her from curling them around him and pulling him in. His greater weight and strength rendered her captive, yet he was tender. Tender. But wicked.

  His attentions consumed her. With one hand he rubbed her, still deliciously but maddeningly licking. His other hand swept up the side of her body—cupping her breast, rubbing her nipple, sending shivers of delight back to her belly and outwards again—to her scalp and her toes and every bit in between. He took her soft flesh in his hand, owning her until she was begging for more, begging him not to stop. Spread-eagled—rigid—beneath him she cried out, her head thrashing as she neared the peak. A second of silence and then she screamed as sensation slammed, hitting her in entirety. She shuddered, convulsing. As the spasms of intense pleasure wracked her, she instinctively tried to wrench back from his continued caresses. But his strength was too great—she panted, fast and short as he kept up his quick, relentless touches. Her eyes widened, she stared at him for one moment of heightened clarity before her head fell back on the bed, her eyes closing as she rode the crest into another orgasm even more overpowering than the first.

  “You okay?” Minutes later he asked, breaking through the sound of her still-rapid breathing.

  “More than okay.” She slowly opened her eyes.

  He was on all fours above her, his arms either side of her head, his eyes warm, his smile pleased. “You’re amazing.”

  “Lucky.” She tentatively tried to flex, her body one warm mass of luscious languor. “Thank you.” She looked down his tight body and saw the fast rise and fall of his chest, the sharpness in his eyes. “I feel bad for you though.”

  “I’ll get my turn.”

  “Now,” she reached up, winding her arms round his neck and drawing him close for a kiss. She flicked her tongue into his hot mouth—mimicking the lush strokes he’d just tormented her with.

  Incredibly, a feeling of power surged back into her, galvanizing her muscles—the pure energy of desire. Recharged, she arched, running her hands down his back to his butt and pulling so he’d lie on her. He resisted for a second, spreading her legs further with strong hands first and then settling between her thighs. She almost purred with the pleasure of feeling his weight upon her, of feeling his hard length push at her slick entrance.

  She rocked to hurry him, loving how the pillows beneath her hips drove her core closer to his. He put his fisted hands to either side of her, pressing down into the mattress while his arms remained straight so he arched above her—his pelvis pushed against hers. She devoured the view of his magnificent bared torso, her gaze drifting lower to see how close they were to being joined.

  “Libby.”

  At his strained whisper she immediately looked back up to his face—reading the rigid restraint there—and then watched the unbearable pleasure as slowly he moved into her.

  She moaned as a sensational feeling of fullness—completion—engulfed her, inch by inch. As she’d suspected, ecstasy came instantly. She trembled, succumbing to bursts of bliss, while he continued to stoke the inferno. He pulled back and then pressed close again—harder, to the hilt—and paused. Delight locked in.

  “As amazing as that was before,” she breathed in the exquisite rush. “Nothing but nothing beats this.”

  So damn good.

  He breathed in and out harshly through his nostrils, pausing, like a reined in stallion, rearing.

  “Please,” she murmured with a small, satisfied purr. She wanted him out of control in his desire for her—as she was for him.

  He growled, a short, rough sound and then moved. She met him, slow thrust for slow thrust. Every movement sent pleasure rippling through her. His arms spread wider, the sheet caught in his fists as he sought traction. She too clung, her hands curled round his biceps, feeling the tension beneath her fingertips.

  He moved in slow, sweeping, circular motions, watching her close, a small smile on his lips. His gaze dipped to her breasts and that smile faltered—his nostrils thinned as he breathed in deeply again. His muscles tautened as he looked, dark heat flaring in his eyes, color slashing across his cheekbones as he ground deeper into her with those delicious movements. She understood the pleasure he found in having her spread before him—beneath him—accepting his invasion. She reveled in it too, feeling sexy, desirable, riding the heat, the sweat, the energy. They’d left this world and gone to another of their own—a higher, hotter, paradise.

  His hard plank of a body worked into hers, yet he was so warm and fluid in his movements and so tender in his smile. It was slow, addictive torture and she groaned as the tension caught her again, winding her tighter, ever tighter.

  His biceps bunched as he braced above her. Their rhythm increased. He was all she could see. There was nothing else in her head but him, the way he looked right now, the way he felt.

  Passion built. She shivered as the fever took hold, faltered as small slivers of ecstasy surged through her…tiny precursors to her next release. She called out in increasingly quick, breathy moans, closing her eyes as the intensity became too much. Her body clamped and locked, seeking the final hit that would send her over the edge.

  He moved to meet her moaned demands—thrusting faster. Her eyes snapped open—wide—as she watched his muscles pump as he plunged through the fierce, rigid hold of her body. The friction so intense, so pleasurable, so damn good. His face locked in the grip of determination, of fire, a growl escaping through gritted teeth. But she smiled as the sensations conquered her consciousness. Her ey
es flicked shut again as she sank into ecstasy. Her moan became a shout as sheer, sharp pleasure surged in spasm after spasm, blissful contractions shivering outwards from her core. In the height of the storm his fingers dug into her hips as he pushed her closer still, grinding into her with fast, wild force. His abs slammed against her stomach, his chest crushed hers as he dropped from his dominant position and simply embraced her as a deep moan was wrenched from him.

  She looped her arms around him, her hands smoothing his sweat-slicked back. She held him, uncaring of how hot she was, how she could hardly breathe, could hardly hear for his rapid, rough panting in her ear. Every so often she’d shiver again—her body locked in aftershocks. Until the tension slowly ebbed and that languorous warmth slid along her veins.

  “So,” she said breathlessly, trying to find a way back down to earth. “That wasn’t sustained?”

  His laugh was combined with a pained groan. “Must have been your performance enhancing muesli.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jack stared out the bakery window as he waited, still in a daze ten hours after she’d left his bed. Despite their intimate marathon, he’d hardly slept. Instead he’d wound his arms around her and held her until she’d woken—too early. She’d quickly kissed him and thanked him for a lovely night and left. What an idiot he’d been to make his move on a weeknight when she had to be at her local council copywriting job the next morning. He laughed—stupid—even if it had been the weekend, she’d be up early wanting to resurrect her cereal business.

  But it was the cereal that was his way back in.

  He sat at the counter when she turned up—not touching her, simply getting on with his work. She smiled, clearly determined not to let any awkwardness build between them. She thought she could be like a pal now? Like a buddy? He didn’t think so. But he said nothing. He knew the chemistry wasn’t anywhere near burned out—hell, with her flushed cheeks and her tight nipples and her restlessness, it was obvious.