***
He could have had some finesse. He could have gone slowly, could have said all the things she probably wanted to hear. He could have made it last, drawn it out, done something special. But he didn’t. He was behind her, was pulling her into him, his soapy hands sliding over warm, soft flesh, and there was no time for finesse. His hands were on her breasts again, teasing and pulling and pinching at the deliciously erect nipples, so pretty and pink, so wonderfully responsive to his touch, and she had her head back against his neck and was moaning, and there was even less time now.
His hand dove, and found her, and if the rest of her was wet…this was more. And it was his.
The water cascaded down, he had her hauled back against him with a hand on one white thigh, and his other hand was probing, circling, hard and slick and sure.
“Ah…Hah…” She wasn’t managing words for once, just a succession of keening moans, because he’d found the way she needed it. The perfect spot, the most wonderful pressure point, and it was like pushing a button. Like turning on a spigot and having the liquid flow, exactly the way the warm water was beating onto her breasts, down her belly. Her back was arching, she was rising onto her toes, and she was almost there, her cries growing louder.
“I’m going to fuck you hard.” His mouth was next to her ear. He was telling her, because he had to. “I’m going to make you scream.”
She hovered, trembling, at the brink, her entire body stiffening, and then she was convulsing, and he was driving her higher and higher, taking her over the top, her body jerking against him, the powerful orgasm taking her in its teeth and shaking her hard.
He kept his hand going until she had finished, until the convulsions had turned to shudders, then yanked the tap closed, pulled her out of the shower again, grabbed a towel from the rack, and started rubbing her down as fast as he could.
“No,” she said, and his heart very nearly stopped. “I don’t care about being dry. Please. Will. Come on. Do it now.”
She was the one tugging at him this time, taking him into the bedroom. She started to pull the duvet back, but he couldn’t wait for that.
“Lie down,” he said. “Right now.”
She shuddered, and she did it, and he made it to the bedside table in two strides, thanking every blessed providence that he still had some condoms in there, because stopping wasn’t an option. He was ripping the packet open, and she was on the bed, shivering a little, her wet hair soaking the pillow.
He might have been cold, too, except that he wasn’t. He was over her, kissing her again, devouring her mouth, his hand cupping one of those gorgeous breasts, until he finally lowered himself and took a luscious pink nipple into his mouth, bit down a little, sucked hard, and felt her respond as if it were wired straight to her core. Her hips were bucking under him, and she was crying out, telling him exactly what she wanted. Which was exactly what he wanted to give her.
He wanted to stay there and do it some more, but he couldn’t. Not this time. There was someplace else he needed to be.
At last, he was getting what he’d wanted since the first day he’d met her. He was sliding inside her, easing his way, because she was so deliciously tight, and his eyes were closing with the heat, the indescribable silk of it. He wasn’t rushing now, because he wanted to feel all of this, and to watch it. Her eyes closing, her mouth opening, her hands flung out wide, fists curling around the sheets, grabbing, holding on. She was starting to pant now, and he was on his elbows, his hands in her hair, watching her beneath him, watching himself taking her, and seeing her wanting it. Needing it as badly as he needed to do it to her.
Long and slow, with her rising into every thrust, moaning out his name. And then, finally, increasing the tempo. Moving harder and faster, feeling what that did to her, and seeing it, too, because he was up on his palms now.
“More,” she moaned, and he’d never heard anything better. “More. Please.”
Her back was arching again, she was moaning louder, frustration twisting her face, and he had paused, even though it was killing him, had a hand where she needed it, was stroking, teasing, driving her up again.
“Come on,” he urged her. “Please, baby. Do it for me.”
Her eyes opened, locked on his, her lips formed his name, and he said, “Yeh. Yeh. It’s me. I’m here. Come on. Show me.”
She did. She did it for him, because she’d have done anything for him, and he knew it. She was calling out, tightening around him, the contractions squeezing him, milking him, and that was it. It was tipping him over the edge, and he was on his hands again, riding her waves, surfing that exquisite knife-edge of pleasure, until he was tumbling, falling, groaning. Going deep. Going under.
***
Faith lay under him, still shaking, her eyes closed, because she didn’t seem to be able to open them.
“Cold?” A gentle hand brushed a wisp of hair from her face.
“No,” she sighed. “Just so…well done.”
She heard the huff of laughter. “Yeh,” he said. “Hope so. Hope that’s what you are.” He slid down and gave her a soft kiss on the mouth, his tongue brushing against the little gap between her front teeth, and then he shifted position to drop another kiss on her upper lip. “I love this. Been wanting to do this since the first day I saw you.”
“What? Kiss my mole, or…?”
“Both. Absolutely. Both. Dreams come true, eh.”
She opened her eyes and gave him a slow smile. “Told you I didn’t need a vibrator.”
He laughed out loud at that. “You kept me awake that night. Wondering if, somehow, you didn’t touch yourself, or if it was just that you didn’t need any extra help when you did. I was betting on didn’t need it, so you know, but thinking about it cost me some sleep, no worries. When we were in that shop, the way you looked at me, when you had your hands behind your back…” He sighed. “I was betting on that.”
“Hah. I knew it. I knew that whatever you said, you loved that ribbon. Or maybe I should say that you loved tying my hands.” She smiled at him some more, and she could hear the hitch in his breath, could almost feel his heart pounding.
“Could be.” His voice had come out a little strangled, and she felt a rush of purely feminine power.
“Mmm. I knew it. And that night, so you know? That night,” she said, stretching against him, “I really didn’t need any extra help, because the way you were looking at me when you did it—that worked. Oh, man. It worked so well. Besides, I’m fairly…” His hand was on her breast, stroking over it, playing there, the low tingle had started up again, just like that, and she was getting distracted. “I’m fairly responsive,” she managed to say. “I can do it…oh, a lot. A lot.”
“Ah,” he said on a long sigh of satisfaction. “Good times. Left you wanting just now, did I? But then, I was in a wee bit of a hurry.” He rolled off her to the side of the bed and pulled the sheets back. “Come on, then. In you go. Give me a challenge like that? You know I need to answer it. Show you what else I can do, and see what you can. Some more of that boot camp, eh. Provided by your very own instructor.”
“You may not be the hurtin’ kind,” she said as he pulled the covers over them both. “But you do a pretty fair line in dark and dangerous after all, don’t you? You’re not quite as easygoing as you pretend to be. You’ve got a little command in you there.”
“Only if I really want it. And oh, yeh. I wanted it.”
One big arm came around her to haul her close, and she had to shut her eyes for a moment at the rightness of being here, being held by him. And then she had to open them, because she hadn’t seen nearly enough of him. All this time, she’d been avoiding looking too much for fear that he would catch her staring, and now it didn’t matter. So she wriggled in closer, put a leg over his, and pillowed her head on his chest.
His hand cupped her head, and she turned her face to kiss the spot where his tattoo ended, a ribbon of deep blue against rich brown. She brushed a hand over acres of smooth, har
d muscle with its light furring of hair, swirled a finger lightly over one flat nipple, and felt him respond instantly. His skin quivered at her touch, giving her a thrill that had nothing to do with her own desire, and everything to do with his. And made her want to do so much more.
“Does this mean I get to touch you anytime I want now?” she asked him, then had to kiss him again. Her hand, whatever his answer was going to be, was moving, stroking over his broad chest, across the heavy muscle of his shoulder, down the sculpted contours of his arm, tracing the whorls of the intricate tattoo. But then, what woman would have been able to resist?
“It does,” he said. “Anytime you want. And it means I get to touch you anytime I want, too. I also get to kiss you anytime I want. And any where I want.”
He had rolled them both, was over her again in one smooth, athletic move, one knee was parting her legs, and her hands had flown up by her head. “Starting right now,” he told her. “You can stay exactly like that, because you’re right, I’ve got a little command in me, and I’m going to use it. And oh, baby.” He sighed. “I have so many places I need to kiss you.”
Man of the House
Will woke to the predawn chorus of the tui in the back garden singing their delight in another new day, the answers to yesterday’s questions staring him in the face so clearly, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen them before. Even though he hadn’t got much sleep, not after taking Faith dancing, keeping her out late just to hold her, to watch her move under the flashing lights.
Dancing with her eyes closed, her body swaying to the pumping music. Running her hands down her sides, feeling exactly what he was, he could tell. So aware of her body, of every aching, tingling centimeter of it, and so aware of his, too. Opening her eyes again to smile at him, to move into his arms. The feeling when he’d wrapped her up in them, had held her, and had known he had the right to do it. That he wasn’t pretending, and neither was she.
They had stayed until after midnight, then had stepped out of the doors of the club and walked the short kilometer home, and despite the fact that they had still been in the city, there had been stars.
She had tipped her head back to look at them. “A sky full of stars,” she’d said, and she’d sounded so happy.
“Not as good as it’ll look when we’re out in the bush,” he’d told her. “On the coast, or out on a boat, maybe. Do a bit of a cruise, and I can really show you something. But still. Good, eh.”
“Good.” She’d snuggled a little closer, one hand tucked into the crook of his arm. “And you’re right. The moon’s upside down.”
“Or right way up. I like to think of it like that.”
They’d reached the house again, had climbed the stairs and got ready for bed together with no pretending, and no pillows.
They’d spent some time there, navigating in the dark. Sighs and murmurs, languid touches and slow, sweet kisses. Learning the curves and hollows of each others’ bodies, eager explorers mapping their newfound terrain with hands and mouths, steering by sound and sigh. He’d slid his hand over the curve of her waist, down the swell of her hips, into that most wonderful indentation where her thighs began, feeling the shiver that ran over her skin at his touch. Over the slight curve of belly, then, and up over her sensitive midriff to the delicious roundness of her breasts. Over everything that had told him he was touching a woman. That he was touching Faith.
He’d kissed his way down her neck, had lingered again, had felt her hands on him, holding his shoulders, caressing the muscles of his back, his arms, and had known that she felt exactly the same way. That she wanted to touch him, because when she did, she knew he was a man, and she knew that it was him. And then, as he moved down her body, those eager hands were stroking over his nape, curling into his hair as if she couldn’t stand not to. As if she couldn’t bear to let him go.
So, no, he hadn’t had much sleep. But then, sleep was overrated.
“Hmm?” Faith stirred now, rolled over, and opened her blue eyes, and he almost changed his mind about getting up.
“Go back to sleep.” He tugged the duvet up a bit to cover her more snugly.
“Is it morning already?” she murmured, her eyes drifting shut again.
“Yeh.” He smiled at her, because she was so pretty, all mussed and sleepy like that. “But early, eh. I’m going to the gym, and then the rest of the day, I’m all yours.”
She didn’t even hear that, because she was already asleep again. He’d worn her out, he guessed, and that was fine by him.
He headed downstairs, the house still Saturday-morning quiet. He didn’t stop for breakfast, but he stopped in the kitchen all the same. His grandmother was in there having an early-morning cuppa, and that made his morning a lot less complicated, because she had the information he needed.
“Want me to fix you breakfast?” she asked after he’d got his intel from her and put his phone back in his pocket again.
“No, thanks. I’ll get it at the café before the gym.” He gave her a kiss on one soft, finely lined cheek and headed out the door, feeling as light as the birdsong all around him.
He reached his destination, a shabby house at the edge of town, with grass that needed cutting. Not so different at all from the house he’d grown up in, except for the garden. Koro had cut the grass, or Will had. Their house might not have been flash, but it had always been tidy.
He got out of the car, walked up the concrete path, and a dog barked from behind a chain-link fence.
“No worries,” Will told the animal. “Purely an exploratory journey.”
He leaped up the steps to the porch and rang the bell, waited long seconds until he sensed movement inside, and then the front door was opening.
He smiled at the middle-aged Maori woman. Dressed in black leggings and a long T-shirt, her figure heavy from a bunch of kids, her hair in its knot, her face a bit careworn. She had a toddler on her hip, dressed only in a red shirt and nappy. A grandson, probably.
Not an easy life, and he knew it. He wasn’t going to add to her cares, not if he could help it. He was here to make sure he wouldn’t have to.
“Morning,” he said. “I’m here for Chaz. He around?”
She blinked at him. “Will Tawera, isn’t it?” The baby on her hip stared in fascination, fingers stuffed into his mouth, black ringlets springing up in wild profusion all over his head.
“Yeh.” Will smiled again.
“He’s not awake yet. He works nights.”
“I know. I’ll just nip in and have a chat all the same, if it’s all right.”
“Course,” she said, because she was too polite to say anything else.
Will stepped into the little entryway with its worn lino flooring, and she waited while he bent to take off his shoes. “Down here,” she said, leading him to a narrow passage. “Second on the right.”
“Brilliant. Cheers.”
She nodded and disappeared into the back of the house, and Will knocked on the wooden door.
“Bugger off,” he heard. “It’s Saturday.”
Will opened the door and stepped inside, into musty air and a carpet made of dirty clothes strewn across the floor. A beer can lay on its side on the bedside table, another empty sitting beside it. Chaz was a slob and no mistake.
“Nice way to talk to your mum,” Will said, shutting the door behind him.
“What the hell—” Chaz was sitting up, blinking, groping on the floor for something to cover himself. “What are you doing here?”
“Come to talk to you. Get dressed and come outside.”
“You think I’m bloody stupid?” Chaz gave up the search for the nonexistent shirt and crossed his arms across his pathetic excuse for a chest instead. “I’m not doing that.”
“Then I’ll open the door, get your mum in here, and say what I’ve got to say to her, too. That sound like a plan? Or better yet, I’ll drag your skinny arse out there myself. Get dressed.”
Chaz opened his mouth again, then apparently thought better
and closed it. He shoved the rumpled bedclothes back, then got out of bed and shuffled around in his boxers, picked up jeans and a T-shirt from the floor over near the dresser, and shoved them on.
He could just bring Talia in here and have her see the place for herself, Will thought. That might do the business. But on second thought…no. She might think it was romantic.
Chaz still wasn’t talking, though his eyes were shifting back and forth under the tousled hair, his cheeks looking a bit gray under the stubble. He’d done some partying after the show the night before, Will would have bet.
At last, Will was following him through the house, putting his shoes back on, although Chaz didn’t bother. Chaz followed him out the door and down the steps, and the dog offered up a desultory bark or two from behind his fence.
Chaz stopped at the bottom of the steps. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” he said, his expression sullen. “This is as far as I go.”
Will smiled. Anyone who had ever played against him would have recognized that smile, when the easygoing mask dropped and the warrior emerged. Chaz’s eyes widened, and he took a step backwards. Pussy.
“You’ll go anywhere I take you,” Will told him. “And if I have to come back here, I’ll be taking you somewhere good. But I’m not going to have to do that, am I? Because I’m not going to know you. I’m going to be able to forget you ever existed.”
“What are you…” The boy’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his scrawny throat. “What are you on about?” he tried again.
“You know exactly what I’m on about. Did you think, because she doesn’t have a dad around, or a granddad either, that she didn’t have anyone who would care?”
“I didn’t—I haven’t done anything.”
“You’ve done enough.” Will made sure his face and body were sending the message, just in case Chaz had got too scared to listen. “You’ve done more than enough. It’s time for you to get to know some girls your own age. Time for you to stay away from the lake after school. Time for you to find out, so sadly, that your taste doesn’t run to fifteen-year-olds anymore. Or fourteen-year-olds,” he decided to add, because Talia wasn’t the only young girl in Rotorua without a dad in the house.
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