by Laura Moore
When she remained silent it was his turn to shake his head … in disappointment. Releasing her chin, he reached for her hand instead and guided it to his erection jutting from his groin. “Feel this, Jordan. Does this feel like the reaction of a man who isn’t absolutely dying to be inside you? Who hasn’t been spending hours imagining this absolutely lovely body since the first day he met you? And now that he’s seen you naked, isn’t hoping some act of God will destroy every stitch of clothing you own?”
“No.” Her lips twitched and then curved into a smile. It was kind of hard to argue with the proof at hand. He was so lovely and hard and big. She swallowed as her inner muscles clenched with need. “I’m sorry, I was being silly.”
“Damn straight you were. So that’s settled. You’re beautiful. Gorgeous. And I want to fuck you every way I know how. After that, we can invent some new ways. Is that all right?”
Her shoulders shook. Bless him for striking just the right tone to banish her nervousness. “I guess so. If you insist.”
He grinned. “I do. Come here, sweetheart.”
Their progress across the room to the bed was accomplished in a dance of slow steps, deep kisses, and searing caresses. His hands roamed freely, leaving her loose-limbed, melting with arousal.
Entwined, they tumbled onto the bed, Owen, at the last second, demonstrating his agile grace. Like a diver executing a perfect midair twist, he turned so that his body landed first, cushioning hers. A flawless maneuver in which his hands never lost their grip, one wrapped in her hair, the other cupped about her ass, holding her as he kissed her feverishly, as the hot satin of his erection rubbed her clit.
His open mouth traveled across the line of her jaw to torment the exquisitely sensitive spot behind her ear with slow licks of his tongue that brought her to the very brink. She writhed against him, her hands moving down. “Please … I need you inside me.”
“Condoms. In my bag by the stool. Take one,” came Owen’s hoarse command, his breath against her dampened flesh making her shudder.
An open toiletry kit rested on a stool that Owen was using as a bedside table. In it, she spied the shiny square packets. Abruptly, a memory came to her of the foil packets she’d found in Richard’s jacket pocket, and she stiffened.
“Jordan?” The mattress shifted as he raised himself up on his elbows. She felt the weight of his gaze.
Resolutely she pushed the memory away. Richard was not going to destroy this as he’d destroyed so much else in her life.
She reached out, grabbed a handful, and let them rain down onto the stool, keeping one. Condom in hand, she turned back and looked at the breathtaking man lying in the bed, waiting for her.
“Six, huh?”
She planted her forearms on his chest, loving the feel of his chest hair against her breasts. “I have very high expectations. And you seem sufficiently cocky, Mr. Gage.”
He grinned. “Indeed I am, Miss Radcliffe.”
She bit her lip as her fingers went to work, tearing at the foil and withdrawing the condom. “I hope I can get this thing on you. I’m a novice at this business.”
“I have every confidence in you,” he murmured huskily. “Go on, give it your best shot.”
Scooting back until she straddled his muscular thighs, she wrapped her fingers about his straining cock, feeling a heady rush of feminine power at the low hiss that escaped him. Slowly she stroked him up and down, tracing patterns on the bulbous head, then down the thick shaft to fondle his balls. Each slow trip of her hand had the muscles in his abdomen flexing as his hips pumped helplessly against her.
Centering the condom on the velvety tip, she began to roll it, pushing it down slowly. Reaching the sensitive spot just beneath the head, she teased it, scoring it lightly with her nails and smiled as he let out a strangled moan.
“Jordan, I do believe you’ve gone straight from novice to expert.”
“Really?” she said, drawing her fingers slowly around the base of his shaft.
“Yes, absolutely yes,” he assured her with a low groan as he pushed against her hand. “God, do that again.”
She’d forgotten what it was to feel so much, her every sense heightened.
She’d forgotten what it was like, the exquisite sensation of a man entering her, his penis filling her inch by inch, stretching her, as she turned liquid around him. Liquid and tight, pulsing and quivering, her nerve endings sparkling bright with pleasure as Owen began to move in long, sure thrusts. Entering and withdrawing, every stroke eliciting soft gasps of wonder. The pleasure redoubling as her own hips found the rhythm and matched him point to counterpoint.
She’d forgotten the heavy weight of a man’s body pressing into hers, the shifting heft of muscles beneath her questing hands, the hair that tickled her tightly beaded nipples as he moved against her, arousing her unbearably until it felt like streams of hot light were radiating through her.
She’d forgotten the slick slap of body against body. The salty taste of sweat as it ran down the corded column of a throat. The scent of man mingled with soap, the hint of aftershave along a jaw, and farther down the rich loamy musk emanating from his groin. The smells, the tastes set her head to reeling, intensifying the mind-blurry whirl of their erotic dance as they grasped and stroked and sighed in mutual delight, as they explored and learned each other.
She’d forgotten the fever of hands grasping and clutching as their bodies shifted and pressed, limbs tangling and twisting. Each movement ever more urgent, driven by blinding need as they climbed higher and higher, while inside everything grew tight, until with that final glorious, near violent thrust, she shattered with pleasure, went soaring in a million light-filled pieces, while above he shuddered and bucked, surrendering to her body.
She’d forgotten all of these things.
And, as piece by piece she fluttered back down to earth, to Owen’s heaving embrace, to the random kisses he scattered over her forehead, cheeks, nose, and lips, Jordan’s smile as she returned them was bittersweet. For while with one act Owen had restored so much that she had lost, some of the incredible, wondrous sensations he’d summoned she’d never experienced before tonight.
Odious as the comparisons were, they were inevitable.
Even at his most ardent, Richard, her husband of nearly ten years, had never matched the exquisite intensity of Owen’s lovemaking. Owen made love with an open passion that encouraged her to be equally free and uninhibited. A fierce hunger marked it, too, thrilling her. It had felt as if he simply could not get enough of her body, was consumed by a need to taste and touch her everywhere. He’d made her feel extraordinary, as if she held some unique power.
His lack of inhibition, his total focus on her body and in giving her as much pleasure as she could take, had made an act Jordan had always enjoyed something altogether different and new. With Owen it was transformed into a union that was not just deeply erotic, but one that also touched her very essence.
All this from a man who had offered to be her lover, not her love.
For that reason, when Owen’s breathing had calmed and he’d rolled to his side, an arm still looped about her and a sated smile playing over his heavy-lidded, relaxed features, she slipped from the shelter of his body with a murmured excuse and escaped into the bathroom.
Once there she drew several deep breaths before looking into the medicine cabinet mirror suspended over the sink. The reflection that stared back at her showed a very different Jordan: her hair a riotous mess about her face, her cheeks still stained with the flush of passion, her lips lushly red and swollen from Owen’s devouring kisses.
She looked like a woman who’d just been most thoroughly loved.
But most of all it was her eyes she didn’t recognize. A wide and luminous blue, they reflected the intensity of all Owen had made her feel. All he’d given her.
And it was that which shook her to the core. His generosity. Despite his claim that they were simply using each other in a consensual relationship, his devotion to s
atisfying her until she shattered with pleasure proved his generous nature. How was she going to keep from falling in love with a man who pleased her both in and out of bed so very much? When she’d ventured downstairs to join Owen earlier this evening, she’d known that she was leaving the safe little world she’d made for herself since her divorce. What she hadn’t properly calculated was how dangerous the journey might be.
But she wasn’t going to succumb to cowardice and crawl back into her shell. She might be scared, but only a fool would decline the chance to experience the joy Owen had given her in his bed.
She would simply have to take care to protect herself as best she could. And knowing the day would come when he would leave, she only hoped he wouldn’t walk away holding her heart.
Owen glanced at the alarm clock. He was going to give her eight minutes. Ten and he’d start missing her too much. Eight minutes would be ample time for her to regroup. Though after the explosive sex they’d just had, he was feeling a little offbalance himself.
It was because he’d been wanting her for so long. That explained the extraordinary sense of rightness when he was sheathed deep inside her. The feeling had been incredible. But that was because she was so incredible and so responsive. A fact that should come as no surprise. Jordan was an innately sensual woman; she just kept it under wraps. He felt strangely honored that she’d shown him what lay beneath that cool and poised persona she presented to the rest of the world. What a colossal fool her ex-husband had been to leave her for another woman.
And though his and Jordan’s affair would end, at least Owen wouldn’t be hurting her by offering false promises. He’d established the parameters for the liaison from the outset so that Jordan would know exactly what she was getting into.
It occurred to Owen that he was trying to justify himself. He’d never had a moment’s worry with the other women he bedded. The reason had to be the odd jumble of emotions wracking him. Mind-blowing sex could do that to a man. And Jordan had definitely managed to blow his mind and body.
Her effect on him would pall. It was inevitable. But until then, he was planning on enjoying what he had with her to the fullest.
Six minutes. Definitely time to bring Jordan back to where he wanted her: in his arms.
He swung his legs out of the bed, pulling off the condom and dropping it into the wastebasket by the closet on his way to the bathroom. He rapped lightly on the door. “Jordan?”
The door opened and he sucked in his breath. How, in the space of six minutes, could he have forgotten how exquisitely lovely she was? Bathed in light, her curves called to him, begging to be kissed and caressed. The breasts, which he’d suckled and stroked, puckered anew under the weight of his gaze, begging for his touch. His desire spiked. He wanted to fasten his mouth on those tight nipples as she arched into him, as his hands caressed the rest of her soft bounty. The urgency of his need to possess her again, to hear her cry of pleasure as she climaxed, took him by surprise.
He told himself to keep things light. It was how he operated best. They were friends. Friends with benefits. He could do friendly. And he damn sure liked the benefits. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She gave a quick nod. “Yes. I’m fine.”
“Good.” He smiled and looped an arm around her shoulder, all casual as he marched her back to his bed where, if he had his druthers, they’d remain for the next week or so. “Because I was getting worried.”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “Worried?”
“Mmm,” he replied, nodding. “You may have forgotten, but protocol dictates that you tell me how terrific it was for you. Otherwise I might feel inadequate.”
“Owen, I have a feeling you know exactly how terrific it was.”
“Ahh, but I need to hear it.” Strangely enough it was true. This was clearly a night for utterly alien needs.
She stopped at the edge of the mattress to gaze at him. She looked so solemn standing there. Beautiful, too, with her dark red hair tumbling about her shoulders and that glorious, perfect pale ivory skin. Titian would have done her justice.
“It was wonderful, Owen. Thank you.”
Something flipped and then flopped inside him at her simple pronouncement.
“Thank you,” he returned huskily. Then, reminding himself to avoid any heavy emotions, he flashed her a grin. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Laughter burst from her. “I should say not!” With another laugh, she pushed at his chest, tipping him backward. As he fell, he grabbed her wrist so that she came, too, landing on him with a laughing oomph.
A quick roll reversed their positions. With a smile he settled over her. “Now I’ve got you right where I want you.”
“And what are you going to do about it?” she asked.
“Actually, I was thinking we could play a little game.”
He heard surprise mixed with a trace of wariness as she asked, “And what kind of game would this be?”
“Oh, you know it already. It’s called Twister.”
Her mouth quivered while she tried and failed to suppress a smile. “You want to play Twister?”
“Very much. But we’ll have to come up with a few modifications as we don’t have that mat thing or the spinner.”
She nodded. “I can see how that might be necessary. What kind of modifications do you think we need?”
“Well, first of all, instead of feet, I think we should substitute our mouths. Hands, of course, remain.”
“Naturally.”
“And in the place of colors, we’ll probably want to use parts of the body. So, when it’s my turn to spin, I’ll have to put either my hand or mouth over your … knee, for example.”
She was silent, as if considering. “Then when it’s my turn, I have to put my hands or mouth wherever the dial says?”
“I knew you’d be a quick study,” he said with warm approval as he dropped a kiss on her nose. “So should we try a few practice moves just to get it right?”
“Maybe we’d better. This sounds awfully complicated.”
“I bet you’ll get the hang of it—if you pay close attention.” He grinned. “Why don’t I go first—only fair as I haven’t played Twister nearly as much. Oh, one other thing. We each get to spin the dial when it’s our turn to move. Though maybe the next time through, we’ll switch it up and spin for each other. That could be fun, too.”
Jordan couldn’t help noticing that Owen’s enthusiasm for Twister was as great as Max’s.
“Okay, here goes. The dial says, ‘Right hand left breast.’ ” Their eyes locked as his hand settled over her and in that moment it felt as if he held not just her breast but her beating heart. Then his fingers closed about her soft mound, squeezing it, and the sensation was warm and delicious. Her breath caught and she tried not to squirm.
“Your turn,” he whispered.
She thought for a second. To copy his move would be a mistake. Owen, though kind and generous, wasn’t interested in letting her anywhere near his well-guarded heart.
“Left hand to right buttock,” she said instead.
And that was good, too. Owen had a very fine ass. Spreading her hand over its silk-smooth curve, his gluteus tensed beneath her. Instantly her imagination jumped ahead to her next spin of the dial, and excitement pooled inside her at the thought of that part of his anatomy hardening and lengthening beneath her touch.
The low rumble of his voice momentarily interrupted her fantasy. “Mmm, this is an interesting one. The spinner says mouth to navel.”
Her lids grew heavy in anticipation. Slowly Owen lowered his dark head to her quivering stomach muscles. At the touch of his wet mouth, she moaned helplessly.
Two spins later, Jordan acknowledged that her sisters had been absolutely right: Owen had some exceptionally good moves when it came to Twister.
But then, so did she.
OWEN HAD INSISTED on driving her home to Rosewood, telling her that a walk back to Hawk Hill through the woods at dawn would be an excellent
way for him to start the day.
“Will I see you later?” he asked as he pulled Jordan’s minivan up alongside the Range Rover, shifted into neutral, and cut the ignition.
“Oh, yes, I forgot. Travis said to tell you that a hand with the foals would be most welcome.”
“I’d be glad to help out, though at some point in the day I have to go to Alexandria and catch up on stuff at the office. But what I really meant was, will I see you?”
It felt nothing short of wonderful that after all the “seeing” Owen had done last night, he still appeared interested in her. “I’d like that.”
He leaned over and kissed her. “All right then. We could have an early dinner and afterward—ahh, damn, I forgot. Nonie’s invited me to a cocktail party at her house. She wants me there when she shows off the cottage to her guests.”
She squelched her disappointment. “I understand.”
“You could go to the party, too.”
The suggestion surprised a laugh out of her. “Strange as it may seem, I wasn’t invited.”
“You could come with me. As my date.”
She blinked. The lack of sleep from their marathon of lovemaking was suddenly hitting her. Her brain was only following sluggishly, if at all. “You want me to crash Nonie’s party? Because believe me, that’s how she’d see it, even if I went as your date.”
“It’s not as if she’d have the help toss you out on your ear, not when you’re with her favorite architect, not when my firm shifted into high gear to get the interior finished in time for this blasted party of hers. You deserve a chance to see the finished look since the ideas for the cottage were ninety-nine percent yours,” he said.
It would be fun to see how her suggestions for the color schemes and furniture had turned out, and she was curious, too, about the bathrooms and kitchen. If there was anything that didn’t quite click visually, it would be good to know so she could avoid making the same mistake at Hawk Hill.
“All right, I’ll go,” she said. “But I warn you, in bringing me along you may be forfeiting your status as Nonie’s favorite anything.”
