Whispers in the Night

by Diane Pershing

  He touched her everywhere, along the tops of her shoulders, the soft crevice of her inner arm near the elbow. By the time he got to the tips of her breasts, they were hurting, and he took his time, stroking the plump undersides, flicking the nipples with his tongue till they stood straight up, pointing proudly toward the ceiling.

  “Paul,” she said breathily.

  “What, baby?” He moved so he could kiss her stomach now, tongue the belly button.

  “You’re going too slowly.”

  “Am I?” There was lazy amusement in his voice.

  “I—” She gasped, had to catch her breath. Sensation kept building upon sensation. She was climbing quickly. Too quickly.

  “You what?”

  One finger was teasing a nipple, his tongue was in her belly button, and the fingers of his free hand were stroking the soft flesh of her inner thigh. “I think I’m going to—”

  She didn’t finish the sentence because a huge groan that felt as if it rose from a deep, dark place inside her filled the room, and suddenly her body went tight all over, straining toward something nearly but not quite attainable. All it took was his tongue flicking the hot button between her legs once, then once more, and like that, she exploded.

  This time was twice as strong as the one before. Heat filled her, muscles twitched. Again and again, her hips and her head bucked, mirroring the startling sensations happening in her womb. The noises that came from her mouth were like nothing she’d ever heard from herself before. She even screamed his name. Her release went on for a long, long time.

  When her head finally fell back onto the bed, she was still quivering all over. Paul continued to stroke her, soothing her now, helping her transition back to earth.

  “Oh,” she cried through her labored breathing. “I can’t believe…I’ve never… I mean, just from…” She left the thoughts, each of them, unfinished.

  When she felt Paul shift on the bed, her eyes opened to meet his gaze. He was looking at her, shaking his head slowly. “You’re like a gift,” he murmured.

  “What?” She was dazed, disoriented, not sure what had happened to her.

  “Every part of you is orgasmic. Did you know that?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then, lucky me. And I’m not done yet.”

  Gently, he turned her over, kissed the places he’d missed before, the skin on her back and thighs, the soft pad behind her knees.

  “Paul.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not sure I can take any more.”

  He stilled his movements. “You want me to stop?”

  She hesitated, felt herself blushing. “Well…actually, um, no.”

  Chuckling, he turned her on to her side, pulled her top leg over his hip. He moved in closer, his shaft probing between her thighs. Again, the heat spread through her like wildfire, inner muscles tensed and vibrated. She wondered if she’d discovered a previously unknown tendency to nymphomania.

  “Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispered.

  He was teasing her with his organ now and she found herself wanting nothing more than to have him fill her insides again, and hard. Rough, even. Never, she had never wanted this from a man before, but she did now.

  “Stop? Are you nuts?” Using the muscles of her legs, she pulled him even closer, opened for him. He entered her, slowly. Just the tip of his member. Making her squirm. “It’s just my heart—I’m not sure how much it can take,” she said.

  “You’re young.”

  “Getting older by the minute.”

  He pushed into her, but slowly, as if he wanted her to feel every quarter inch of him. She had other ideas. “Paul, please.”

  “Is it too much for you?” he asked her, serious now.

  “No.” She gasped. “Please. Come into me. All the way. Hard.”

  “Ah, baby. My pleasure.”

  With a groan he rammed himself all the way into her, cupping her buttocks with one splayed hand, pulling her closer, tighter. He withdrew partway and then pushed into her, then did it again, with gathering speed.

  Kayla’s eager body met each thrust of Paul’s with one of her own, and, miraculous as it was, by the time she felt him go still and taut, by the time she heard his cries of “Yes, yes!” as he released his seed, she was—again!—joining him.

  Together they rode the roller coaster to the crest of the very highest arc, and together, they plunged down to the bottom, holding tightly to each other with all their might so as not to lose themselves in free fall.

  Afterward, Kayla fell asleep immediately, even before Paul pulled out of her. He turned her so her back was to him, pulled her close, curled his body around her. He smiled into her sweet neck.

  Finally! What he’d been fantasizing about since he’d first set eyes on Kayla Thorne was now reality. Better than his fantasies; he’d died and gone to heaven, there was no other expression for it. He hugged her tightly to him, smelling lemon shampoo and sweat and woman, and felt a tension that had been in his body for years dissipating. Not just sexual tension, but walls that had been erected, maybe for a good reason, but which were no longer necessary.

  He closed his eyes, preparing to join her in sleep.

  But a small voice way in the back of his brain started in on him. It began softly but picked up volume as it went along.

  Don’t get lost in the woman, it said. She will blunt your purpose, scramble your brain.

  It was the voice of a boxer’s manager the night before the big bout, the quarterback’s coach before the championship game. Spill your seed now, it said, you are less razor sharp, less effective.

  And the voice was right—when he was with Kayla, Paul completely forgot about his need for revenge, his need to clear his name, to get his life back on track.

  Nothing he could do about it tonight, he told the voice, and he drifted off to sleep, but not as soundly as she. As he’d learned in the pen, he slept with one ear and one eye open for sounds and potential threats in the night. He was better than a watchdog—the slightest variation in the norm snapped him to total wakefulness.

  Tonight, however, his antennae were dulled and he knew it. After making love with Kayla he was relaxed, sated, that fine edge of sexual tension history. The satisfied male of the species.

  Not good, he thought before plunging into sleep. There was danger up here on the mountain, and he wanted to be ready when it came.

  “There’s nothing like the smell of fresh-baked cookies.”

  Kayla glanced up as she removed the baking sheet from the oven. Paul stood in the doorway, filling it, one shoulder propped against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. He was bare-chested and bare-foot, clad only in his jeans, and her blood heated at the sight of him. She could swear her pheromones and his were reaching, straining toward one another.

  More, they urged greedily. More.

  “What kind are they?” he asked, his gaze wandering around the room, taking in cooling racks of cookies spread out over every available counter.

  “Chocolate chip, this batch. Next one, peanut butter. Help yourself.”

  He walked over to one of the racks, chose one, bit into it and closed his eyes with pleasure as he chewed. “God, I’ve missed these.”

  “Have as many as you want.”

  “You’d have none left. What’s with all the cookies?”

  “A bake sale. Later this afternoon. It’s to raise funds for the Cragsmont Historical Society.”

  “Where’s that?” He picked up a lemon bar this time and bit into it.

  She had to smile at the sheer sensuality of his expression as he chewed. “The small frame house about a block away from Hank’s shop? Painted bright yellow?”

  “Nope, I didn’t notice it.”

  She set the tray of newly crisp cookies down on top of the burners momentarily, so she could slip the next batch in.

  Paul walked back to the doorway and stood there, watching her movements. Silence followed. A long silence. Which meant, she
supposed, that the opening conversational gambit had run its course, and neither one of them knew quite what to do with the empty air.

  She removed the pot holders, set them down on the window-sill and glanced over at Paul. He was licking crumbs off his upper lip as their eyes caught and held. To her, it felt as if thousands of words passed between them, but she had no idea if he was experiencing it the way she was.

  “The morning after,” she said softly.

  He nodded, let a little more time pass before saying, “Yeah.”

  She had more she wanted to say but wasn’t sure if it would be okay to do so. She wanted to talk, about a lot of things, not the least of which was what she’d found out about herself.

  Kayla had heard of multiple orgasms, knew there were different types of climaxes, but had figured herself as your basic one-a-night kind of girl. Paul had taught her about new, previously undiscovered parts of herself.

  And she had, obviously, been a thoroughly willing pupil. She was somewhat shy about bringing the topic up, so instead she started stacking the cooled cookies in layers in a large square tin, with sheets of waxed paper between them.

  She was extremely aware of the man in the doorway, though. It was all so new to her; never had she been taken to the heights Paul had taken her to. Sure, she’d learned to enjoy sex, and it had been pleasant, but never rapturous. Never the kind where she was sure the top of her head was going to come off.

  She wanted to ask if she’d been okay, if she’d been an adequate lover for him.

  “Okay if I get myself some coffee?” he asked.

  “What? Oh, sure. Help yourself.”

  He came nearer, reached over the top of her head for a clean cup, his arm brushing a strand of hair. Her eyes closed involuntarily. She held her breath, so aware, her body on instant sexual alert, trembling in his presence. That connection again, the one she’d felt that first day, as they stood under the Memorial Arch outside the church and stared out at the mountains. It was the I-am-woman-you-are-man kind of thing that women’s magazines and romances talked about. Amazing. Such a thing actually existed.

  She wanted to giggle, wanted to pick up the phone, call a girlfriend, and say, “Now I know. Now I understand.”

  He brushed up against her as he got the cup, but if the movement meant anything to him, he gave no indication. She watched as he poured coffee, grabbed another cookie, took it and his mug back to the doorway and stood there, shoulder propped once more against the door frame, the opposite hip at a higher angle than the other.

  Male perfection.

  But he wasn’t as relaxed as he was trying to seem, she realized. Not that she could tell from his expression, but there was something unsure about him, not grounded. She was feeling a little insecure herself, but mostly she felt ebullient, while he seemed…lost.

  “Paul?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you all right?”

  His answer came too quickly. “Yeah, sure. Why?”

  “Just wondering.”

  And wondering what to say next, to put him at ease.

  There are no strings, she could say. Kayla the worldly sophisticate.

  Great time, huh? Hope we can do it again sometime. Kayla the casual sex partner.

  Instead, she resorted to the truth. “Thank you,” she said, avoiding his gaze, piling one cookie on top of the next in neat rows.

  “For what?”

  “For last night. It was—” Kayla had to swallow before going on “—so very special. I…I mean, before last night, I—” she darted a quick sideways glance at him, then cast her eyes back to the cookies “—didn’t know.”

  Nothing. He said nothing. Which made her feel vulnerable, naked, and not in a good way.

  Finally, he spoke. “I wasn’t too…rough?”

  “Not at all.”

  He expelled a relieved breath. “Good. Well, then I think it’s me who should be thanking you,” he said gruffly. “I forgot how good it could be. Inside, I mean when I was in jail, well…” He left the sentence unfinished.

  She angled her body so she could face him, her head cocked to one side. “What was it like, Paul? It’s not my business, I know, but if you’d be willing to talk about it, I’m willing to listen.”

  A frown formed between his perfectly shaped brows as he sipped his coffee, took a bite of his cookie and seemed to consider her question for a moment. Then he set the cup and the cookie down on the nearby counter. “If anyone’s allowed to ask, it’s you. And to answer your question, it was a nightmare.”

  “You read about these things in the papers,” she said, “the way it is in prison. Men using each other.”

  His expression turned grim, hard, the way he’d looked the day they’d met. “And you want to know if that happened to me?”

  “Only if you want to tell me,” she said, adding, “And I’m not here to judge you, Paul, whatever happened.”

  The tightness in his expression loosened, just a bit, and something inside her did, too. There was no real need to be shy or worried about herself with Paul. Like her, he was an imperfect human being. Sure, he might look like a walking ad for a testosterone supplement, but inside he hurt and felt shame and regret, just like everyone else.

  He shook his head slowly. “No, I managed not to have that particular experience. And trust me, it wasn’t easy. You know what they say about cops having to serve time with the men they put there.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “No you can’t, and I’m glad. But as it happens, I lucked out. I wasn’t put in with the high-violence group, at least. Although where I was could be pretty rough. But there was one inmate, Alberto Gonzalez. He was a natural leader and his gang was tough, trust me. I had helped out his brother Carlos once. On my recommendation, he avoided jail time. He was innocent, in intent, anyway—had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And he was just a kid. A kid who wanted to go to college. Carlos was the bright spot in his family, their hope for the future. So Berto decided to take care of me, to return the favor. He found me right after I got sent up, told me what to do, how to avoid being raped.” He held up his arm so she was gazing at the tattoo. “I affiliated with his gang. They watched my back.”

  “I see.”

  “Plus, I worked out at the gym, got very strong. Snarled at everybody who wasn’t ‘one of us.’ Got a rep as a mean dude, someone you didn’t want to mess with. Even so, it was close a few times. I have some scars. But I defended myself and I always had backup. Berto’s guys.” His expression was grim as he added, “And I became as brutal as the rest of them.”

  “You had to.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I had to. There was no choice—it was that or go under.”

  “Yes.”

  She walked the few steps over to where he stood in the doorway, put her head on his chest and her arms around his broad back. His skin smelled of her lemon shower gel and she smiled. “I’m so glad you’re here, so glad you survived.”

  “Yeah,” he said gruffly, putting his arms around her. They stood there, listening to each other’s hearts beating. “I…guess I needed to say all that out loud. Thanks.”

  “Thank you for trusting me with it.”

  The timer bell went off, interrupting the warm, connected moment. Kayla raised her head. “Last batch is done,” she told him, then broke the embrace and went back to the oven.

  “When did you say this thing is, this bake sale?”

  “This afternoon. Three o’clock.”

  “Oh.”

  She took two baking sheets out of the oven and turned it off. “It’ll be fun. It’s at the small park in town. There’ll be booths and a fortune-teller. And dancing under the moonlight. Kind of a big, last party for the town before the snow comes.”

  “And I suppose you expect all twelve citizens who live here to come?” he asked, one eyebrow raised sardonically.

  “Not everybody’s left for the winter yet. Some of the houses are occupied. And they come from all over, other towns
, even up from Susanville. It’s kind of a tradition. I hope you’ll come, too.” She bit her bottom lip, feeling shy again. “With me.”

  His face registered a look of horror and he shook his head. “I don’t do that kind of thing very well.”

  “Oh.” It was hard to mask her disappointment. “Well, all right.”

  “But, yeah, I’ll go,” he said quickly. “I need to keep an eye on you, anyway.”

  She grinned, pleased with him, pleased with herself. “Watch my back?”

  “Right. But it’s not till later, right?”

  “Right. Well, the cookies are all done. Can I make you some French toast? Waffles? Eggs?”

  He scratched his head, looked bemused. “This is too weird. I work for you. You shouldn’t be cooking for me.”

  “Aren’t we past that yet? The employer-employee thing? I mean, well…” She felt her cheeks redden. “You know.”

  The edges of his mouth turned up. “Yeah, I know. Last night.”

  “Yes.”

  He finally left the cocoon of the doorway and walked toward her. “How about you cook breakfast later.” Brushing her hair off her shoulder, he leaned down and kissed her neck. “Right now,” he murmured, “I’d like to take you back to bed. That is, if you’re not too tired. Or too sore.”

  “Are you kidding?” she said as her body responded like a match that had just been lit. “I’d love to.”

  With that, he scooped her up in his arms. Laughing, she allowed herself to be carried through the house, up the stairs, and into her bedroom, where the lessons in how her body worked took up where they’d left off the night before.

  Chapter 10

  While Kayla was putting together a huge brunch of bacon, eggs and toast, Paul went outside to check the grandpa cabin. He came back in through the kitchen door, nodding. “It’ll do fine.”

  Sure you don’t want to just move in here with me?

  Giddy from lovemaking, she nearly said it out loud. But really, it was way too soon to be even thinking it. And not like her at all. One night and morning of mind-bending sex, a few tender words in times of high stress, and she was already fantasizing about co-habitation. It was so typical of how members of her sex reacted—the eternal seekers of nest partners—but not smart, no matter how you looked at it.