Dillon had never smelled anything headier than the mingled mint and dew of Serena coming in her garden, or licked anything smoother than the silk of her breasts, neck, and then lips as his mouth blazed yet another trail across her skin. She nudged his hands away so she could lower his fly and release an erection that was all too eager to replace his fingers inside her as she rubbed her swollen cleft along his length. He may have been this hard and desperate at some other point in his life, but he doubted it. He sure as hell didn’t have enough blood to his brain to allow him to think back and figure it out.
Serena’s thumb circled the head of his cock and he bucked forward, groaning out her name. Her face was radiant under the moon, and the gentle light picked out the curves of her breasts and thighs, the dark tips of her furrowed nipples. Dillon's only desire in the universe was to stay where he was, stroked by Serena’s wet and open vagina while her breasts swayed before him and her hand cupped his balls. On the other hand, his only desire in the universe was to spend an hour or three thrusting into her.
“We should go inside,” she said, her tone a relaxed and seductive toy he wanted to play with forever. “Inside is where I keep the condoms.”
He grinned cockily. “I keep mine in my pocket. At least, tonight I do.”
“Hmmm,” she said, regarding him through narrowed, teasing eyes. “And is that where you want to keep them now?”
His laugh was low and intimate. “No. Not even close.” Much as he didn’t want to let go of her glorious breast, he lifted up his hip long enough to dig the foil packet out. “Serena,” he said, but didn’t have any follow up words. He just handed her the condom, and she rolled to the side long enough to remove her panties and for him to lower his pants, and then she was back atop him, wearing nothing but the skirt hiked up her waist. The cheeks of her ass peeked below the hem and he compulsively stroked them, their smooth round curves leading directly to the still wet and now entirely bared to him entrance to her vagina. The light curls around her clit were damp and he bracketed her hips so he could lift her higher and blow into them, just a little, just lightly. And oh, God, but she smelled hot and ready for him. And her hands were on his cock.
She hadn’t put the condom on yet. She was tracing his length slowly with one fingernail, and his hands gripped her sides to stop himself from dropping her directly onto his shaft without preamble. He needed to be inside her, but God, she was circling the head again, rubbing moisture over the tip, and even if he didn’t know from the way her hips were pulsing under his palms, he could sense the damp and heat that meant she was ready for him.
He tried to let her play, but it was no good. He finally leaned forward and bit her nipple, and she jerked convulsively, and he growled with eagerness, and she wasted no more time. She rolled the condom on and followed her hands with her body. Dillon angled up his legs and put his arms under her knees, pulling her chest to his as he thrust upwards. He sat forward, opening her legs wider on either side of his shoulders, and caught her mouth with his. She held his head to her and their tongues and teeth and lips and breath and moans met and traded places. They explored each other inside out and Dillon was buried in her warmth and was able to thrust to his heart’s content.
They kissed, and Serena’s arms went around him, and he grasped her ass and pumped into her as he rocked her to his rhythm. Her hair fell over his shoulders and they moved together, finding a pace together that had her panting and pulsing higher and higher, repeating, “Dillon, Dillon, Dillon, Dillon,” in a plea that he was thrilled to answer with deeper thrusts and just enough space between them to slip his hand around and rub her clit lightly with the base of his thumb. She dug her fingers into his back and nodded, rocking, taking every inch of him into her and pulsing, pulsing into another orgasm that squeezed his cock tight, so tightly, again and squeezed again until with a loud moan of his own, Dillon joined her, coming and coming and holding Serena to him, a perfect fit inside and out.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Eventually they rolled out of the mint bed and brushed each other off and gathered their clothes and headed inside. Squinting against the indoor lighting, Serena pointed Dillon towards the bathroom then laughed as he walked that way. The butt of his khakis looked, well, like those of someone who’d been rolling around in plants.
He turned, eyebrows up. “Something funny?”
She shook her head. “You may want to retire those pants after this.”
Swiveling around to look he grinned back at her. “Aw, that’s nothing. I think there are about a million splinters in my shirt from that fence.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you okay?”
“None the worse for the wear. Anyway, if any got through the fabric your hands probably brushed them away.”
She was still inspecting her palms when he poked his head out of the bathroom and said, “But perhaps you could shower with me, scrub my back, just to be sure?”
Serena watched his widening grin and had a quick-fire review of moments from the past several hours. Dillon on her doorstep, handing over a box of antihistamines. Dillon grinning as he flipped through the Charles Barkley book. Dillon pulling grapes and salami out of his cat-hair-free messenger bag. Dillon pouring her a glass of wine and complimenting her garden. Dillon tasting basil from her palm. Dillon pausing on the brink of her first orgasm to joke about her wardrobe. Dillon gazing searingly into her face as she sheathed his cock inside her. And now Dillon leering suggestively despite the bedraggled shirt and woodsy debris in his hair.
She was really, really, really glad that she wasn’t allergic to him.
As intense as the garden sex had been, Dillon was pretty happy with this, too. Jostling for room in Serena’s little tub-shower, ducking his head so it would fit under the spray while she rubbed the leaves from his hair. Running a soapy washcloth over her body, and she doing the same to him. They didn’t fuck in the shower—not this time, but Dillon was making plans for later—but he got to see her fully nude, to touch her everywhere, to slip and slide and laugh and hold her.
“You still taste minty,” he told her, licking into her mouth while she brushed her wet hair back from her forehead.
“Mmm. You, too.”
“Maybe I don’t need my toothbrush after all,” he said, wrapping his arm more securely around her waist.
She started back a little and looked at him. “Your toothbrush?”
“Yeah. When I was getting the groceries, I got the condoms, too, and a toothbrush.” He wiped water from his eyes and tried to gauge her expression. “I was just hoping, not presuming.”
She smiled, but didn’t relax. “I know.”
“I’m not inviting myself to stay over.”
She only hesitated for a second before she said, “No, you should stay over. I’d like you to stay over.” And she kissed him. Lightly, but she did say it, she did kiss him. So he was probably imagining her resistance. Or reading her wrong, maybe it was just surprise. And frankly, he’d felt more abashed and conspicuous putting the toothbrush in his shopping cart than he had with the condoms. So he got her being surprised, if that’s what she was.
“Serena?”
“Yep?”
“Are your sheets made of natural organic fibers?”
His question took down her guard, at least. She squinted her eyes a little at him. “What if I said they weren’t?”
“That,” he said, turning her and pulling her so that her slick wet backside was snugged into his thighs and he could soap-stroke her breasts, “would not be acceptable. I can’t sleep on cotton that has been in contact with pesticides.” He bent his mouth to her ear, her neck. Her shoulder. She backed against him and he growled.
“You’re in luck.”
“Mmm?”
“My sheets?”
“Mmm?”
“They’re unbleached, too.”
Dillon nipped the vein pulsing in her neck, lightly pinching her nipples, and wondered how long the smell of Serena’s lavender honey soap would linger
on his own skin, and if it meant he would spend every moment until his next shower at least half-aroused. He would just have to make sure he spent as much of that time as possible naked, next to her.
He did that guy thing, Serena thought as she watched Dillon sleep the soundest sleep ever. He’d managed to dispose of the condom and wash up a little after they’d made out again, but he was asleep almost as soon as he was back in bed. At least he didn’t snore, and laying there all spooned and wrapped up and snug in her, yes, organic bedding was a fine feeling indeed. But Serena’s mind was a little active yet, and she rolled over to her back to watch Dillon's sleeping face while her thoughts chased around.
It was dark, and his hair and beard meant most of Dillon was shadow and darker shadow. She could pick out the angle of his cheekbone, the plane of his forehead sloping straight to his brow, echoed by the straight slope of his nose. His lips, relaxed in sleep, still gently curved and Serena resisted the temptation to reach out and trace the lower one. No doubt about it, he was about the most comfortable guy to spend the night with she’d ever met. It took months of dating Joey before the post-coital snuggle felt this relaxing and just plain right. Of course, his sheets were not only not organic, they weren’t even cotton.
She had a frowning suspicion that if Dillon's sheets weren’t cotton, he would rush out and replace them, and she tried to sort out why that made her uneasy. She was all for promoting natural fibers, of course. But as charmed as she’d been by the antihistamines and the new shirt, there was something on the verge of off-putting about the toothbrush. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but when he’d mentioned the toothbrush her stomach had twisted up a little. He’d shown up without asking, yes, but she’d been about to call him. He’d brought the food, sure, but that was mannerly and romantic. It was all part of what she’d sort of imagined as the road map for the evening. Seeing him, eating together, talking out the cat allergy thing. Touching and kissing. And more. Yes, her road map had definitely included the ‘more’ part, which is why she knew for sure where her condoms were after the move. In case. In the happy, happy case. And it had been—oh, so truly been—a happy case.
In her road map, though, there wasn’t an extra toothbrush in her toothbrush holder. It was out of place.
Dillon, though. He was so so sexy-sweet. And an amazing lover. But they already saw each other at work all the time, and she suspected they’d be seeing plenty of each other on their off hours now. Oh, yes, there was a lot of him she was looking forward to seeing, she mused, no longer resisting the urge to touch the dark arch of his brow, his smooth soft lip. It wasn’t impossible that she would fall for this man. She was honest enough to admit to that. But she had to face up to a worry, too, that he was going from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye. From not speaking for days, to bringing over a toothbrush. And she wanted to proceed with caution. They were already friends. They had great chemistry. They were coworkers. No, correction—she was kind of his boss. Or on the verge of being his superior, in some arenas. If he went full steam ahead, he threatened to drag her onto a runaway train—the Dillon Express, where everything in her world was hitched to everything about his world. No stops for Serena’s friends, Serena’s hobbies, Serena’s time to just be her self-reliant self. It would be a train wreck.
And now she was going to have bad dreams about locomotives. She mentally rolled her eyes at herself, and reminded herself that all she had to do was apply the brakes when he got too intense. If he got too intense. No need to borrow trouble. Still, having identified what was niggling at her about Dillon helped her relax. She sank into the mattress beside him, wrapping one hand around the bulge of his forearm where it was draped over her chest, and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Serena stretched as she woke, and as she arched her back she brushed against Dillon's warm, naked body. He was propped on an elbow, and his eyes were fixed on the sheet that covered her chest. She followed his gaze and noted that the more he gazed, the more prominently her nipples peaked under the cotton. Then—wicked grin in place—he reached over her to dip a forefinger into the glass of water on her bedside table. He tapped a few cold drops onto each peak, then he blew on them. Anticipatory moisture flooded Serena’s vulva, and she tried to squirm, but Dillon had pinned the sheet on either side of her with his forearms, so she couldn’t even reach for herself to solve the problems he wasn’t solving fast enough for her.
She could, however, reach for him, and she made damn sure he stopped his silent teasing and got to work satisfying her. He pulled the sheet out from the bottom of the bed so he could keep her torso pinned but still slide his cock—and cock was the right word this morning, he was being so cocky about being so agonizingly slow—slide every hard inch ever so gradually into her. Serena couldn’t move her body and Dillon's hands held down her shoulders and upper arms, but she had enough agility left to take her breasts and press them together and up until they were free from the sheet. Then she could readily squeeze them together and hold them tight for Dillon to devour with lips and tongue. And if he tried to be too cagey, too deliberate when she wanted abandon, she could thumb her nipples her own self, Dillon be damned.
And lo and behold if her taking action like that didn’t motivate him away from whatever sadistic pleasure he was getting from driving her crazy with his molasses speed, because suddenly he was pounding, not sliding. And suddenly she was trapped and immobile again but it did not matter because his grip was on her breasts and his tongue was roughly tasting each nipple in turn, in rhythm with his thrusts, and she could give up any need for self-control and mastery over her own limbs as she rose into an orgasm that pulsed with each lick-thrust and pulsed and pulsed again as Dillon's final thrusts broke the rhythm and he, too, came and came.
And the light filtering through her curtains was bright enough to see each sweat-glistened muscle on his torso, and Serena smiled.
“Good morning,” she said, fruitlessly smoothing back the hair that fell over his eyes. She had the answer to a long-held question: he didn’t need gel or comb to get that sexily scruffy look each day. His nearly black hair did it all on its own.
“Well, howdy, as you Texans say.”
“Listen, buddy, if you have any cowgirl fantasies we’ll have to have a talk.”
“Not willing to yee-hah for me? After I promised you a guided tour of my sex dungeon and everything?”
She could eat his smile for breakfast every day, it was that delicious. And nutritious, her sated soul reminded her. “No, I’m willing. I just don’t have a Stetson, so I’d have to go shopping.”
He planted a smacking kiss on her lips and hauled them both up to sit against her headboard. “I do admire your forethought and practicality in all things kinky. It’s a side of you I’d never have guessed at.”
“You thought I’d be slap-dash about it?”
He considered. “No. I suppose I didn’t dare to picture it one way or another. Too dangerous to my self-control at work to spend much time thinking about you in the bedroom.”
“Or garden.”
He laughed and pulled her closer. “Especially in the garden. When time travel is a reality, remind me not to go back to the Dillon of January and tell him about the mint, okay? It would entirely ruin his ability to work.”
Serena rested her head against the lovely strong plane of his shoulder. “When it’s a reality?”
“Don’t mock me.”
“I wouldn’t dare. You’d chain me in the dungeon. And I’d have to wait for time travel to become a reality—somehow I take it this will happen in my lifetime? And travel back to free myself.”
“What makes you think you’d want to free yourself?”
She glanced up into his bright blue eyes, practically the same shade as the wall behind his head despite her earlier determination to veer away from that compelling hue. “You make a fine point.” He kissed her again, so she kissed him again, then giggled when her stomach growled.
“You want
some eggs or something? They’re free range.”
“I’d expect nothing less,” he laughed, and glanced at the alarm clock. “Maybe just coffee, though. My sister and Justin arranged brunch for my birthday in just over an hour. It’s a buffet, so I want to go hungry.”
“Wow. You are such a boy.”
“Man.”
She stroked his thigh and agreed, wholeheartedly. “Man.”
Dillon used the spare bath and came back to watch her brushing out her hair. He was wearing the mint-pressed khakis but a clean shirt.
“You packed clothes, too?” Serena rubbed at the back of her neck after she pulled her hair up into a knot at the nape. She reminded herself that it didn’t itch, and lowered her hand.
“Just a clean shirt and boxers. I told you, I was hopeful. But listen, I can’t go to brunch in these.” He wiped at a green mark on his thigh. “Well, I could, but Shannon would ask questions.”
“Somehow I think you’re right.” She walked him to the kitchen, hand in hand. “Also, I don’t have coffee. I could make you tea, though?”
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