“Oh, look, the car. Let’s go.”
“Wait, wait, did any of your teammates ever ask you what you were so busy writing all the time? Did they sneak open your locker and pass the poetry around while you were in the showers?”
He growled, “Serena.”
“Dillon,” she grinned back.
“You are actually not as funny as I’ve always claimed.”
She was smug. “Am too.”
“Are not.”
“Am too.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, and she just laughed again. “Here,” she handed over her keys. “You drive. I have to text Gillian, tell her I’ve been swept off my feet by a poet.”
Dillon tried to look stern. Failed. Gave up and started the car. “You’re not really telling her that, are you?”
Serena’s head was tilted over her phone screen, her lips just playing at smiling. She slanted a look at him and it was an electric current. The air in the car crackled between them, and the few short streets between the parking lot and Blue Capri were such a long damn journey.
At last, at last, at last, a closed door between them and the world. Serena locked them in and adjusted the lights while Dillon knelt again in front of the cabinet he’d been investigating when she’d come out wearing her date outfit. He put something slow and jazzy on the CD player and swiveled to light the fireplace.
“It’s seventy degrees out there.”
“It’ll get cooler now that it’s dark. Besides, I’ve spent the past several hours imagining how I’d take that skirt off you. You’re going to be very, very naked soon, and I’d hate for you to get a chill.”
“Several hours?”
“From the second I saw it.”
She did a couple of twirls on the way to meet him mid-room. “I owe Gillian another text. She talked me into this.”
“I knew I liked her best.”
“I’m getting jealous.” She ran her fingers along the placket of his shirt, gently testing the buttons. That movie thing of ripping open the guy’s shirt, sending buttons flying, was intriguing but didn’t seem plausible. Besides, she really liked him in this ice-white shirt, the brightness against the shadow of his stubble, the cotton smooth and cool under her fingers. “So you like the outfit, then?”
“Oh, yeah.” Dillon sank to his knees again, bit lightly at her ribs as he pressed her pelvis up flush with his chest. “Except this shirt. I don’t like this shirt. You should take it off immediately.”
He already had it pulled out of her waistband, his squared nails lightly scoring her flesh as he wriggled his fingers higher centimeter by centimeter. She was ticklish and turned on in equal measure, but grinding her hips against his solid shoulder did a lot to increase the turned on quotient and give her the focus she needed to lift her top the rest of the way off.
“God, Serena,” Dillon whispered, burying his head between her breasts. She was wearing a seafoam lace demi bra, and as soon as he’d seen it, Dillon had shifted his hips to put his groin in insistent contact with her leg. Serena moaned as he sucked her through the bra, and slid her foot up between his legs to caress his full length.
He moaned in response, leaving her damp tight nipples behind. He explored the skin of her thigh, which had emerged through the slit on her skirt when she’d braced her knee against his hip. Dillon nipped her flesh between his teeth, and licked his way to the edge of the wrap skirt. So fast she almost lost her balance, he caught the tail of the bow in his teeth and jerked his head to the side, so all that was left holding her skirt on her waist was one loose knot.
Serena laughed and backed up. She was standing in bra and almost-gone skirt, her candy necklaces and strappy sandals, Dillon kneeling before her with his hands caressing her hipbones. She assessed him. “You are far too dressed. That fire has to warm your naked flesh, too, you know.”
“I just want to see you. I need to see you, Serena.”
“Well, the feeling is mutual,” she said, and stopped talking milliseconds before she added the word ‘love’ to that sentence. It had almost just slipped out without her knowing about it. No way. No way was she going to sweet nothing her way into that kind of declaration, not without being very sure she meant it, first. She flashed a wicked grin to cover, and poked him in the chest. “Clothes, off, now.”
Dillon slowly stood, still holding her, managing to slide closer and wrap his hands around her ass as he did so. She gave a futile little tug at his shirt, but, nope, the buttons didn’t go flying. She knew just how to get him moving, though, and went straight for his fly. One zip, and he’d let go of her to unfasten the shirt himself, almost tossing it into the fire before he corrected his aim. His trousers were sinking towards his ankles, and he sat on the little love seat to get rid of them and bare his feet.
Serena retreated to lean on the mantle, watching the firelight play across his chest and arms as he moved. When Dillon was in only his boxers and started to stand, she held up a staying hand.
Silently, never breaking eye contact, she reached back her other hand to unhook her bra. Then both her hands were cupping her breasts as she rotated first one shoulder, then the other, sending the straps sliding down her arms. Dillon sat transfixed. Her thumbs rose over her nipples, rubbed them gently, then hooked the tops of the bra cups and dragged them downwards, dropping the bra entirely but keeping the intent weight of her breasts cradled in her hands, fingernails playing lightly over her tense areolas.
Dillon just stared.
Serena hummed out a low moan and drank in the sight of his long, strong, splayed legs, the twitching erection he stroked slowly through his boxers, his abs tense with the urge to stand and thrust against her, his broad chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. The shadow on his cheeks, the clarity of his eyes. His parted lips and fixed brows and the dark hair that wouldn’t stay tidily swept back from his forehead.
He was so damned amazing.
His eyes followed her hands as she lowered them down her torso and reached for the tie of her skirt. She’d never have splurged on the garment if Gill hadn’t planted a raunchy image of Dillon unwrapping her from it, ‘like a sex present,’ that proved irresistible. And it seemed she was right. Instead of simply loosing the tie, she tightened the knot, and Dillon's flared nostrils gave away his impatience as much as his slight growl.
Arching her eyebrow at him, she stepped close enough to hand him one end of the sash. Her look told him not to move, and although he was clearly chafing at the inaction, he obeyed. Serena just loved playing with him. He was always intense, but ready to explore. He let her lead or went galloping ahead as she ran to keep up, but no matter how slow or adventurous or playful they were, he was always Dillon. He was always tender, always joyful, always as aware of her as of himself. Passionate. Hard and sexy and raw, and so into her.
Serena lifted her arms to pile her hair atop her head, just to let him watch her bare breasts shift. It was one of his favorite things. Then, arms still raised, she slowly twirled away from him. The sash anchored in his hand countered her motion, and for a moment the skirt just rotated around her waist. It finally caught up to her intent, though, and unwound from her hips, leaving her in sandals, jewelry, and thong, facing Dillon but closer to the bedroom door than to him.
She turned on one heel and glanced over her shoulder at him. “Coming?” she asked, then added a deliberate sway to her hips as she sauntered away.
Before her fine ass had disappeared through the doorframe, Dillon had dropped the bewitching skirt and gotten his hands on Serena’s flesh. The woman was torture. She was every fucking fantasy he had come true. And not just the fantasies about fucking, though he had not one single complaint in that regard. Well, maybe that she had never worn a skirt like that before, but he felt sure he could persuade her to repeat the experience.
The Grotta Azzurra bedroom was all hardwoods and hues of blue. She must have left the blue-shaded bedside lamps on earlier, casting their subdued light across the soft expanse of the pillow-laden bed.
Dillon shoved most of the pillows to the floor and spread-eagled the two of them flat to the mattress. Bare limbs pressed together, he reveled in the feel of so much of their skin connecting. He devoured her mouth for a while, hard fierce kisses to make up for the silent torture in the other room. Not that her cunning spin move with the skirt hadn’t been enough to make up for it. A removal method he’d not thought of, but of which he approved most heartily.
But they’d been kissing since dinner. He liked the kissing. He liked the kissing a lot. He had missed the kissing during their week of steamroller silence. He had missed the nudity. But he’d had kissing at dinner, and nudity in the parlor. Everything he thought he needed most, when he got it, he just needed something else more. And now he needed more touching. More access to her breasts, her navel, her inner thigh.
Dillon crouched up on all fours above Serena, and considered where to go first. Well, his hand seemed to have decided on its own, as it was already thumbing her nipple, but the rest of him was still considering. So many interesting, delectable options.
Nodding, he sat back on his heels straddling her thighs. Dillon moved Serena so her head was on the only remaining pillow, removing her long necklaces as he positioned her. She was circling his nipples with her nails when he pinioned her wrists together and wrapped the necklaces in a vise around them, draping her arms above her head.
“Hey, I like those beads.”
“Don’t struggle against your restraints, then, or you might break them.”
“Wow. Smug. That’s how you’re going to play this?”
“And you put this thong on to, what, elicit no response from me?” he plucked at the waistband of the garment, such as it was.
“It matched the bra.”
“Now who’s smug?”
“Are you saying you don’t like it?”
“That’s what you heard from me?” Dillon couldn’t stop the grin. She was such fun to spar with, always so certain she knew best but ready enough to be surprised by his point of view. He flicked both her nipples at the same time and she twisted her torso, driving her hips up at him. “I like the thong. I liked the bra. I love the skirt. It’s my new Number One in the List of Serena’s Skirts. You enchant me, head to toe. Satisfied?”
She shook her head at him. “Not entirely. My new necklaces are going to break and this thong is getting really wet.”
“Oh, dear, how dreadful.” He scooted back and lowered his head so he could lick the trail from her clavicle down to her navel. As if to prove her point, he could smell her arousal, and each breath he took made him harder. The sweet thing about a thong was that the thin stretches of fabric were very easy to grasp with his teeth to pull from her pelvis. As soon as humanly possible, he anchored each of her thighs with a tender hand and paused above her clitoris, gazing with the possessive fervor of a dragon guarding his treasure. Gently, gently he blew on Serena’s clit, and she twisted against his hold, moaning his name. Dillon felt magnificent. He would laugh if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied with licking and probing and sucking.
Through some magic or witchery, Serena had slipped off the sandals and kicked them to the floor, leaving her entirely, thoroughly nude below him. She took advantage of her clever feet to snag his boxers and wrest them half-off, despite his refusing to budge from the kneeling position that gave him such a magnificent view.
“Come on,” she urged him, “I want your cock already.”
“You come first, then we’ll talk.”
“Driving a hard bargain?” she tried to tease, but she was panting.
“Mmm,” he said, because the hardness and the driving would happen, and soon, they both knew. She could play coy, but her breasts were clearly happy in his palms, and her clit was pulsing with each drag of his tongue.
“Dillon!”
“Mmm?” Lick.
“Dillon!” She refused stillness.
“Mmm?” Skim nipples. Lick.
“I...Dillon, Dillon, I want, I. Oh. Oh. Dillon.”
“Mm-mmm?” Pinch. Lick, taste. Thumbs, press, circle. Flick. Suck.
“I. Oh!” And the rest was lost as they rode her orgasm together, exhilarated.
And then, at last, because now he needed it more than he’d ever needed anything, the hard bargain really began. Serena was still moaning softly and pulsing her hips, but Dillon was on the move. He stood to get rid of his boxers and find a condom, and when he came back to the bed he was struck by the intriguing height of the antique. Dillon sheathed himself quickly and reached out to drag Serena towards the edge of the mattress. He ached to be inside her, and standing there, throbbing with desire, her sultry smile just added oil to his fire.
She tilted her pelvis at him and dropped her legs open to either side of his hips, but he wanted more, even, than she offered. Dillon took her ankles and drew them up to his shoulders, then grasped her ass to hold her steady as he thrust quick and deep into her. Serena’s gasp went straight to his groin, and he drew back to play the head of his cock at her entrance a moment before driving up again, deeper than before, and again, deeper still. Her ankles tightened to his neck and he looked down at the feast of Serena spread before him. Her graceful legs and the curve of her hips. Her torso arching towards him as her breasts moved sensually with each of his thrusts. Her nipples tightening to peaks he would taste, soon, but not yet, because from this height he could see everything, a high-def sensual feast. His hard cock disappearing into her damp curls, her swollen clit angled to meet his pubic bone each time he sank into her.
Her body. The sheen on her collarbone and her delicious neck, arms still obligingly crossed above her head. Her mouth parted as she licked her bottom lip and he had to thrust deeper again, no more playing; it was time for unrelenting action. Her eyes, clear on his, the look in them as she called his name again and again, as he swiveled his hips slightly to vary the motion and she lost the connected syllables, and then he played his thumbs along the edge of her curls while he withdrew just to her entrance again, the shallow rocking that had her arching further to cling as long as possible to the desperate tip of his shaft. She lost her consonants and was all long vowels and tremors when he bent his knees slightly for one more fast, fierce lunge that kept them united even as she dropped her legs and he fell forward onto her chest and they came with shouts neither was able to muffle in the least.
Without a word, without pausing for more pillows or a glass of water for her parched throat, as instantly as possible, Serena shifted them around so that Dillon was spooning her, enfolding her entirety. Her head was cradled on his arm and his heartbeat thudded into her spine and she pulled a sheet up over them and curled into a ball in his arms.
She’d never felt such an urge to cry after sex. Her limbs shook, part emotion and part aftershock and she wasn’t going to analyze the percentages. She held his arms tight to her chest, burrowing down. He was speaking softly, but her head was too far away, the blood pounding in her ears too much of a barrier, and he didn’t seem to mind, really. He squeezed her to him, a furnace and an anchor and, somehow, terrifying but completely essential.
And she didn’t cry. There may have been a couple of random tears, but he couldn’t see them. He finished untangling the necklaces that had fallen loose earlier, and reached over to set them on the bedside table and turn off that lamp. Serena began to relax her limbs as he stroked her hair, except for where she held his other arm tight, a security blanket, a teddy bear, a best friend through a scary night. Dillon was still murmuring, but coherence was beyond her—did he say ‘steamroller’ again?—and she sighed deeply, and was asleep.
Chapter Fifty-One
High lace-covered windows didn’t stop the spill of sunlight across the oak floors, but it did leave their bed in cool shadows. Serena nuzzled her nose into the warm space between Dillon's neck and collarbone, inhaling the morning scent of his skin. They were, of course, naked. He must have gotten up at some point to shut off the other lights and fireplace, but she’d been in a happy oblivion un
til dawn’s early light changed the visual temperature beyond her eyelids.
Before long, he’d changed the temperature of the room, too, and of her increasingly heated body. Then her skin cooled, then heated, then cooled and heated again. Eventually, Serena scooted out from under Dillon, and moved to straddle his back. “The other day, when you were playing basketball—I like the shirtless thing, by the way—I realized how remiss I had been.”
“Oh?” He folded his arms under his head and closed his eyes as her hands swept over his shoulders.
“Very remiss. I spend so much time feeling your back muscles, but I never take the time to look at them.”
“And you like looking at them?”
“Mmm,” she agreed. “Very much. Your back is one of the many sexy parts of your body.”
“Do you think I don’t feel how you’re grinding your clit against me back there?”
“Hush. I’m giving you a back rub and a compliment. If I want to get off a little at the same time, you shouldn’t complain.”
“Five times. I haven’t even brushed my teeth this morning, and I’ve made you come five times.”
“Not yet you haven’t.”
He reached back and ran one thumb along her inner thigh, and her grip on his shoulders intensified. “That’s what I thought,” he said, grinning.
“Shut up,” she said, pressing her clit into his spine. She leaned down so that her nipples were brushing his upper back with each of her gentle rocking moves, and her tongue swept up his neck to his ear.
“So easy,” he muttered, as if his optimistic groin wasn’t twitching in response. He arched his lower back and she nestled back against his ass, riding him faster and faster until the entire bed shook beneath the force of her climax. Fifth climax. For the record. While she collapsed on him, panting, he said, “This has got to be the best back rub ever.”
“You,” she drew in a lungful of air, “are so smug.”
Rocket Man Page 37
