by Alison Kent
But she preferred more even odds in this game. I suppose you’re just going to watch.”
He rocked his head in a thoughtful sort of nod. I was thinking about it.”
“You were thinking wrong.” Bare-breasted, she planted her hands at her hips and dipped her chin toward the lower half of his body. “Your pants have to go.”
“I was thinking about that, too. Thinking you could help with that.” His hands went to his fly and he made quick work of his fastenings, giving Eva the barest glimpse of white cotton before he swung to a sudden sitting position. “Right after I help you get out of yours.”
Ah. Finally. The full contact participation she’d been waiting for. Carson settled his hand on her hipbones, his fingers grazing the bare skin just above the loosened waistband of her jeans. He pulled her forward one step, then another, made sure that she faced him directly, then buried his face in the open V of her unzipped jeans.
His breath was warm and his lips pliant as he kissed and nipped at her skin, healing the tiny love bites he took with the press of his tongue. Eva held his head, threading her fingers into his thick hair and closing her eyes to the unraveling going on deep in her core.
When Carson moved his hands around to her back, hooked fingers into her waistband, and began working down her jeans, she couldn’t hold back a whimper. He heard and was obviously pleased, the arrogant beast, because he chuckled against her skin and dipped his tongue under the elastic band of her practical athletic gray panties.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped. He could be as arrogant as he wanted as long as he didn’t stop. She blew out a breath of longing. Nothing had felt this good, this right for a very long time in her life. And nothing had ever felt like Carson Brandt.
His teasing had never been fair. Had always brought her to the edge long before she was ready to go over. He knew that now because he’d known that then. And that was why he was doing what he was doing with his tongue. Moving from hipbone to hipbone while his hands worked her jeans over her backside to her knees, where his fingers stayed to tickle.
The touch brought her close to falling. She moved her hands to his shoulders, bracing herself to kick out of the jeans, leaving her in panties damp from his mouth as well as from her response. She might as well have been naked. She felt that bare, that exposed.
“Carson.” She moaned, wanting to bare more, to expose more.
“Eva,” he replied, drawing his palms up the backs of her thighs, sending his fingers upward into the leg openings of her panties and urging her apart.
She felt the press of each fingertip between her legs and wiggled, wanting his touch deeper. He shook his head, knowing what she’d asked though she hadn’t said a word. He gripped her elastic waistband with his teeth, snapped it gently against her belly, then gathered the fabric of her panties and pulled them to her feet.
He settled his mouth where she wanted his mouth, where she wanted his fingers, where she wanted his tongue. His tongue was smooth, it was sandpaper rough, it was hard as an erection, it was soft. It was all she could do not to come in his mouth.
But holding on and holding back was even more arousing. She allowed him to play for a couple of minutes more. Then she had to stop him because it was time to turn the tables.
She stepped back, and watched Carson’s frown deepen as the television images flickered over his face. “Time to take your clothes off, big boy. Time to rise and shine.”
She said that because she knew how he would look. How full his penis would be. How slick the shaft. How taut the head. And he did not disappoint, removing everything he wore until he stood before her in his cast and in the dark, the room and his skin lit by only the movie.
He was gorgeous, beautiful, incredibly male, broad in the shoulders where he needed to be broad. Wide in the chest, strong in the biceps, narrow and lean where it counted on a man, in his hips and his stomach. His legs were a runner’s legs, no, a sprinter’s legs, with the muscle required for power rather than for endurance.
His endurance was evident elsewhere. Oh, so evident as he propped his hands at his hips and said. “I’m waiting.”
“And so you are,” she answered, then sat where he’d been sitting, while he stood where she’d been standing. She intended to return every long licking inch of the torture he’d inflicted on her.
But Carson had other plans. “Later,” he said, and shook his head, reaching for her hand and drawing her to her feet. “I need to feel you. All of you.”
She moved into his embrace, wrapped her arms beneath his and around his back, stepping as close as she could, running her hands from his shoulder blades to his backside and settling her palms at the dip in his lower spine, a mirror image of where his hands had settled on her body.
They stood entwined for a long moment, full of so many memories and so many years gone by and so many “what ifs” and “what might have beens.” And then Carson throbbed, once, twice. Pressed as his erection was between their bodies, Eva couldn’t help but notice the way he pulsed. And then he pulsed again, and she knew he’d done so for her benefit.
She smiled against his chest and breathed deeply of his scent, so close to the one she remembered. She touched her tongue to the center of his chest. His taste she remembered as well. And then her feet left the carpet and she had time to blink once before she was flat on her back on the couch.
Carson rose above her once more, nudging her legs apart with one knee. Their position was so familiar, yet the hands braced on the cushion above her shoulders were stronger, the chest hovering over hers broader. The hips lowering into the cradle of her thighs, settling between hers, more powerful than she remembered.
But the feelings of energy and expectation, the need to lift her hips in invitation... these things had been a part of every coming together with Carson. She dug her heels into the backs of his thighs, wrapped her arms around his waist, splayed her hands on his taut backside, and urged him to enter her body.
He did, slowly, easing deep inside and stopping to lower the rest of his weight and hold her close. He shuddered with the effort of halting. She shuddered with the effort to remain still. And then she shuddered because she couldn’t help it. Because the small wave of ripples rolling through her demanded she do no less.
“Stop that,” Carson said, his voice gruff.
“I would if I could.” She took a deep breath. “And it’s your fault, anyway.”
“Don’t be blaming this on me.” He thrust deeper, once, twice.
“You’re the one poking me. I think that makes it your fault.”
“But I wouldn’t be poking you if you hadn’t taken off your pants.”
“And whose idea was that?” She gripped his backside. Pulled him harder to her.
He groaned. Growled. Grunted. “I want to make love to you, Eva. But if you keep that up this is going to be about sex.”
She had to smile. She couldn’t help but smile. “Haven’t you figured it out by now, Carson? It’s always been about sex. And it’s never been about sex.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“Is there anything about what we’re doing here that makes sense?”
He propped his weight on the elbows squared above her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I wanted it to be nice and long and slow.”
“It is nice and long.” She wiggled, pressed upward, wiggled again. “But it doesn’t have to be slow. It won’t mean any less if it’s not slow. And it can always be slow later.”
“Promise?” he asked.
“Promise,” she answered, glad the question required no more because he had started to move. Slowly. Like he’d wanted, like she’d told him he didn’t have to do this time. Slowly. Like he’d promised for later. But slowly was doomed to fail. And it only took a minute or two or three at the most then Carson picked up the tempo.
The rhythm was Eva’s undoing. How could she hold on, hold out? How could she wait when reaching for what Carson offered was the only thing that mattered, that
counted, that existed?
She let go, cried out, and fell apart within seconds. Carson urged her on with words for a lover’s ears only, noises and sounds drawn from his throat, pulled from his chest in response to her sobs of release.
And then he followed her down, the cords in his neck straining, his body tightrope-taut as he reached deeper and deeper into the core of his body and found his hot rush of satisfaction.
Eva felt the flow of his heat and shuddered again, spent and complete and exhausted. Carson collapsed on top of her, his weight a welcomed comfort. She’d forgotten, somehow she’d forgotten how nothing else came close to this feeling.
Carson stirred and mumbled, “It was too fast. I’m sorry.”
“No, it wasn’t. It was perfect,” she said.
And she meant it.
Chapter Eighteen
WEARING NOTHING BUT her pullover and her panties, Eva returned to the living room from the kitchen. She’d thrown together a huge omelet filled with cheese, mushrooms, tomatoes, onions, and bacon while Carson had slept off his after sex man disease on the couch.
The smells of coffee and onions roused him from his near comatose state. Sex and sleep and food. Not to mention a beautiful woman. A beautiful woman he happened to be in love with. Did life get any better than this?
He scooted up to a sitting position, making room for Eva to sit between his spread legs. He’d slipped back into his khakis, but nothing more. And only that much at Eva’s request. He’d have preferred to remain naked. Or to sit around in his skivvies. But this thing with Eva had come out of the blue and he wanted her to be comfortable.
She cut into the omelet and fed him the first bite. He watched her while he chewed. Looked into her eyes, still glassy and spent. Watched the movement of her hand as she guided the fork to her mouth. Studied her lips as they closed over the tines.
Then he remembered. The feel of her mouth on his skin. The softness of her lips, her taste. Remembered that he hadn’t allowed her the time she’d wanted to take using her mouth on his body. Remembered using his mouth on her. And the way she’d quivered so beautifully.
He decided then that it was a good thing he’d pulled on his khakis, because with the way Eva was sitting, her crossed knees nestled on his thighs, her ankles tucked to his hips, the center of her body more or less in his lap, he knew she couldn’t be unaware of the effect his recollections were having.
She wiggled against him, nudging the part of him growing so hard. “What’s that all about?”
He might be ready to get started on the rest of the night, but he wanted to give her time to recover. And so he changed the subject before they got into it again. “I went to Ireland last year. Did I tell you?”
This”—she pressed a shin against him—”is about Ireland?”
He laughed at her wide-eyed, raised-brow incredulity. “No, honey. This is all about you. But—” He accepted the bite of omelet she offered. He chewed. He swallowed. He continued. “I couldn’t remember if I’d told you about the trip.”
“And exactly when would you have told me?” With a frown of concentration, she picked up stray bits of cheese and tomato with the back of her fork. “We haven’t done much talking since you’ve been here.”
“What do you mean we haven’t talked? We’ve talked.”
“When have we talked?” She fed him another bite.
Once he’d downed it, he answered. “Today, for example. We talked in the Jeep on the way to Zack’s game this afternoon. And on the way home afterward.”
“But you can’t remember what about?” She slanted up a teasing glance. “You’re getting old, Carson.”
Old? Ha! “Tell that to Mr. Happy-to-See-You, Miss Smarty Pants. I remember every word. We talked about the Jeep. You told me Zack has a birthday coming up and has a set of wheels on his wish list.”
“One of many items on his list he knows we can’t afford.” Eva shook her head. “It was a lot easier when he did his wishing out of the Sears catalog and not out of Road and Track or Photography Today.”
Carson could easily afford to buy a Jeep. Or any equipment Zack wanted. “What day is his birthday?” he asked as Eva shoveled another fork of omelet into his mouth.
She looked at him closely, narrowing those tiger eyes that saw way too much, saw beyond the innocent intent of the question to the not-so-innocent thoughts he’d had before he asked. Then she blew out a piqued huff and started to move.
He grabbed her ankle and held her still. “Where’re you going?”
She stared at him like he had a third eye in the center of his forehead. “You ask me about the date of my son’s birthday during the same conversation in which I mention not being able to afford the things he’d like to have. Where do you think I’m going?”
“To the kitchen for coffee?” He released her because he didn’t have a choice.
She popped up from the couch, kitten turned lioness, and waved her fork his direction. “Don’t be swooping in here from Ireland or India or Urban America thinking to give my son what he knows I can’t afford for him to have.”
“That wasn’t what I was thinking, Eva.” He forgave himself the small lie because he wasn’t sure what she intended to do with that fork. “But you’re right. My timing sucked.”
“Yes. It did.” She perched on the very edge of the couch, and retracted her claws.
Carson pressed forward. “It was a natural question, asking about the date since we were talking about his birthday. I only asked out of curiosity.” He took a deep breath. “And because I need to apologize.”
“Apologize? What do you have to apologize for?” What had been a frown of confusion dissolved into a teasing grin. “I mean, what specific thing are you apologizing for?”
Carson plunged right in. “For giving you such a hard time.”
“About?”
“About Zack being my son.”
“Oh. That. Well,” she stammered, turning her attention to the plate she still held. She cut off one bite of omelet, then another, and finally a morsel too small to be used to polish strings of melted cheese from her plate though she was making quite the concentrated effort. “I guess with the way I left... and the timing of, well, Zack’s age and everything... I can see why you might think the way you thought.”
“But I kept on thinking that way. Even after you’d set me straight more than once.” He opened his mouth for the bit of egg and cheese she’d scooped onto the fork and now raised with a less than steady hand.
Making her nervous, upsetting her with this line of conversation hadn’t been a part of his plan. He wanted to share some of what had been going on in his mind. See if he stood a chance, or if she’d say he was crazy, that he needed to get beyond their past, that second times around only came true in romance novels and fairy tales.
Hell, he didn’t feel old. He felt reborn. Unless she told him to hit the road and not to come back no more, he was going to stay. And this time he was going to do all he could to earn happily ever after. This time he wasn’t going to let his ego and his arrogance get in the way of love.
He carefully took the plate from Eva’s hand and set it on the floor. When an objection rose in her throat, he countered with an X crossed over his heart and; “I’ll do the dishes. All of them. Promise.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
“You can hold me to anything you want. As long as you let me hold you now.”
Her expression softened. She crawled up into his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pillowed her head on his cheek. He folded himself around her. She snuggled closer still. Then she sighed and splayed one hand on his bare chest.
“Nice,” she said.
Nice wasn’t even the half of it. She felt so small n his arms. “Why didn’t we do any of this years ago?”
Her laughter was silent. He felt it as a vibration and a release of breath on his neck. “Because years ago we were too young. Years ago we thought intimacy was all about sex.”
Car
son’s mouth pulled into a private smile. “You mean intimacy isn’t all about sex?”
“Of course it is. But it’s about so much more.” She looked up at him—he swore her eyes were a trap, one he fell into every time—and placed the very tips of her fingers along the line of his jaw.
“It’s about tenderness, and words of praise that make us feel beautiful and invincible.” She ran her index finger over his top lip, down across his lower. His tongue flicked out and caught but a hint of her taste.
“It’s about emotion too powerful for words, spoken straight from our hearts with only our eyes.” She traced the line of his socket, then his lid and his lashes as well. He blinked, but the sensation of pressure remained.
“And, yes, it’s also about this,” she said, and laid the flat of her hand on his lap where beneath his khakis his erection had once again sprung to life.
“Okay,” he ground out, amazed he’d managed to drive the one word past the pressure in his chest. He hadn’t known his heart could beat so hard and so fast. “So long as we’re straight on all that.”
Eva’s fingers traced his hard length, and the pressure in his chest became nothing compared to the one building deep between his legs.
“I’m not sure we’re exactly straight.” She was not the least bit shy about pointing out his directional challenge. “I think there’s a slight bend to the left here.”
It occurred to Carson that love play beat foreplay hands down—so to speak. “That’s my secret weapon. Enables me to locate spots you didn’t even know you had.”
She pushed an elbow into his chest for leverage and sat halfway up to look in him the eye. “I’m very familiar with all of my... spots, G and otherwise, thank you very much.”
He raised one brow. Then the other. “You don’t say.”
“Yes. I do say.”
Her conviction gave rise to all sorts of questions Carson wasn’t sure he wanted to have answered. “Well, then. What about your H spot?” He tickled a finger beneath the lobe of one ear to her hairline where he rubbed tiny circles. “Or your I spot?” He dropped a kiss to the corner of her eyelid, then nuzzled his way to her temple.
