Sea Glass Sunrise

by Donna Kauffman

  She held her breath, feeling his, so warm, on her sensitive damp skin, feeling his fingertips press more firmly into her hips as the trembling need shaking her legs took hold in earnest. She gasped when he nipped her shoulder, moaned as his fingers dug more deeply still in an instant response to the sound, and was a split second away from reaching down and gripping his thighs for support.

  “Hannah,” he breathed, the word a rough rasp that was almost as devastating to her senses as his touch, his kiss. “This . . . us—”

  “Don’t,” she said, forcing out the word, not wanting to chance that something—anything—he might say, would bring her back to sanity and end this perfect, erotic interlude. She felt him go still behind her, and realized he’d misunderstood her. It was his instant response to her request, his very ability to not push her, even though she knew he wanted it every bit as much as she did, that shoved her past any hope of reclaiming rational judgment. “Don’t stop, Calder,” she gasped. She reached down, back, grabbed the sides of his thighs, sank her fingers in, and was rewarded with a low, guttural groan that exactly expressed the ripping need she felt for him. “That’s what I meant. Don’t stop.”

  She felt him press his forehead against the back of her head, and thought for a split second he was going to pull away anyway. And she would have let him. She would, but she might have sobbed immediately afterward. Only this time it would have absolutely nothing to do with any aspect of her life that had existed outside these blazing-hot moments with Calder Blue. There was nothing else in her thoughts except the pooling heat, the feel of his hands on her, and his warm breath on the bare skin of her neck.

  She slid her hands around to the backs of his thighs just as his mouth came down on the curve of skin between her neck and her shoulder. She moaned, a long, almost keening sound of want and need, as he growled when her hands grabbed the bottom corners of those perfectly snug back pockets of his jeans and tugged him mercifully, blessedly, finally forward, so their bodies met . . . and fit, in perfect, exquisite torture.

  Instead of assuaging her needs, the feel of him, so rigid, so hard, pressing into the soft curve of her backside, only served to ramp them up to a fever pitch she hadn’t been aware existed until that moment. He was kissing, biting, then soothing with his tongue, along her neck and shoulder, shoving aside the collar of her sleeveless sundress to get at more bare skin. For her part, she was, God help her, pushing back against him, moving her hips into the cradle of his, groaning fiercely when he relented and thrust back.

  “Calder,” she panted. “Please.”

  “Please what?” he asked, though it came out as more of a demand. “Tell me what you want.”

  “Your hands,” she said, then gasped when his grip on her hips tightened and his fingers slid a dangerous inch or two forward, the tips of them curling over her hip bones. “On me. Touch me.” She was begging now, only she felt absolutely no shame in it. If his uneven breath, the urgency in the way he was nipping at her earlobe, all but devouring the side of her neck with hot, damp, kisses, wasn’t enough of a confirmation that he was in this every bit as deeply as she was, she could feel him jerk and throb against her every time she moved against him.

  “Stop,” he told her, his voice tight. He gripped her hips fully now, keeping her from moving them, even while holding her body in full contact with every ramrod hard inch of his. “You’re driving me crazy. I won’t last. And I want to make this last. I want—”

  He broke off and tugged her back fully into his arms, cradling her, then slowly slid his fingers around the front of her, until she thought she might go mad and jump straight out of her skin as he drew closer to the apex of her thighs. They were both fully clothed and that mattered not one shred of anything, because she knew the moment he moved those big, strong fingers of his over her—

  “I want to feel you fall apart for me,” he growled against the shell of her ear and her body shook with the promise that he would make her do exactly that. He slid the fingertips of one hand very deliberately, with the most perfect, delicious precision, over and between her legs, as the other traveled, flat palm, over her belly, then higher, until he found first one nipple, and rolled it, then the other, just as he pressed the tips of his other fingers right on the exact—

  She cried out and shook hard as she came instantly, even with layers of cotton and silk between her throbbing body parts and his wicked, wicked fingertips. Wave after wave of intense, blazing pleasure rocked through her core and radiated outward as he continued to play with her nipples, continued to claim the nape of her neck. She shouldn’t be able to even tolerate his touch, she was so hypersensitive. Instead . . . she climbed straight back up again.

  “Oh,” she gasped, shocked and more turned on than she’d ever been in her life. “Calder.” She gripped his thighs hard as she shuddered and gasped through another climax. She was surprised the force of it didn’t topple them both straight to the ground.

  He’d planted his legs apart and held steady, like the wall of solid muscle that he was, taking her weight completely against him, wrapping her up in him, and taking her straight to the stars . . . and keeping her there. How did he keep her there? She held on to his thighs still, dug her fingers into his backside, and—she couldn’t help it, had no say in it—ground her hips back against him, and came again as he continued to play with her body and growl against her skin, his own body bucking, but not giving in, not yet.

  She might have been whimpering—okay she was absolutely whimpering. She only knew she wanted the part of him she could feel pressing against her, thrusting deep inside of her. Now, immediately, do not pass go, no more delaying the inevitable. Because that’s what it felt like, had felt like, she admitted, since he’d first spoken to her in the seconds after the crash. She’d wanted him just like this, to be taken just like this. She simply hadn’t understood that, the power of it, the very existence of that kind of need, until now.

  “Calder, please—”

  To her shock, he chuckled against her ear, and it was the sexiest, earthiest thing she’d ever heard.

  “Greedy,” he said, sounding pleased, his voice a deep, ragged whisper. “More please,” he said, in a mock British accent, and she was gasping, laughing, and almost crying with need, all at the same time. Only Calder could quote Oliver Twist at a time like this, and make it sound carnal and wicked.

  “You,” she managed. “I want more—of you.”

  She felt the shudder that ran through him, right out to his fingertips, and then he was turning her in his arms, pulling her against him, into him as he buried his hand under the waterfall of her hair, and cupped the back of her neck so he could bring her mouth fully up to his . . . and sink himself into it.

  They both groaned and she tried to move even closer, wanting, needing, for the hypersensitized parts he’d brought so screamingly to life to come into contact with any part of him. Then he was growling, running his hands down her sides, her back, cupping the curve of her backside, until she growled too as he tucked her against the rigid, oh-so-beautifully hard length of him. It still wasn’t enough and he must have thought so too, because he gripped her hips and said, “Hold on.” He lifted her up. “Wrap your legs around me, Hannah.”

  Just hearing the need in his voice, so thick, so deep, vibrating over her as delectably as his fingertips had, made her go a little wild. He slid her sundress up past her knees as she wrapped her legs around his waist, his hands sliding underneath, up her thighs, until he cupped her cheeks through the silk of her panties, her soaked panties, his fingers so close, so close again.

  “Calder,” she whispered raggedly, then buried her face against the side of his neck, reveling in the heat of his skin, the thump of his pulse, the smell of him, crying out as he touched her, stroked her. “Oh!” she cried, “yes!” Whatever she had thought passion could be before was shattered to smithereens now, because this? Was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

  He turned them toward the truck, until her back met the
door, and with that support, she could pull him in more tightly between her legs. She let out a soft cry of disappointment when his hands slid down her thighs again, only to cry out again when he hitched her legs higher, so he could move even more snugly against her.

  “This isn’t—we’re—too many clothes,” was all she could get out as he started those devastating nibbles and kisses along the side of her neck again. She was panting and could hear his labored breathing as well. It was primal, and raw, and—and still not enough. “Calder, I want . . . more.”

  He shifted and she shivered in anticipation as she felt him all but rip open the button of his jeans, wrenching the zipper down.

  Then he froze. “Dammit, Hannah. I don’t have—I’ve got nothing, no protection.” His voice was a rough, sexy growl that made her shudder with need. “I wasn’t planning this.” He lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes having gone from rich honey to deep whiskey gold. “I wasn’t planning on you.”

  She felt ensnared there, in his gaze, and realized that while they’d been all but clawing at each other, this was the first moment their eyes had met. She felt a split second of panic that looking at each other would make it somehow too real, and she didn’t want to think, didn’t want to be rational or safe or smart. She just wanted this, wanted him, and every other last thing in her entire world could simply wait until she’d gotten it.

  “I’m protected,” she said, her voice a rasp, her breathing still hard and thick. “I—IUD,” she stammered. “I still have—I never had it taken—I’m—”

  He cupped her face, and even in the blazing, animal heat, with the hardest part of him pressing so intimately against the softest part of her, his fingers were gentle on the still-tender bruised skin of her face. “Are you sure, Hannah? I’m—you don’t have to worry about me, I’m safe, but—”

  “Me, either. After I found out—after—I got tested. I didn’t know who, or what he’d—I’m okay.” She was stumbling and stammering, but her tongue was as tied up in the need for him as every other part of her.

  The way he looked at her had robbed her of her voice. Her throat was thick with an unnamed emotion as the truth of what she’d thought she’d had with Tim was shattered into a million tiny, shallow, superficial little shards. Calder didn’t look at her as if she were some precious object he’d delightedly discovered he could possess, or something perfect and porcelain to be stroked and worshipped and made love to as if it were some kind of beautiful reward, some kind of special prize—which she now realized was exactly how Tim had always taken her. At the time, it had made her feel loved, cherished, but she knew now he’d just wanted what he thought he couldn’t have, delighting in getting to have her, in making her want him in return.

  Calder looked at her like a man who wanted her for who she truly was, just as she was, busted nose, skinny body, shattered life, and all. A woman who had maybe made him laugh, made him think, made him want again. It was heady stuff, but in a completely different way. This felt real. It felt honest and normal and earthy. And the truth was, he was all of those things to her. Honest, open, flawed. Real.

  There was no worshipping here, no claiming of a prize. It was equal want to equal want, partner to partner, man to woman, basic, honest.

  “You need to be sure,” he said. “It’s been two years for me, longer. Not since my divorce. I—”

  She silenced him with a kiss. Something about the combustion of how their intimate parts felt—all but fused together below—contrasted with the softness of her kiss—the way she took his mouth, claimed his mouth, slid her tongue between his lips, and this time seduced him back between hers. It made her heart swell to almost bursting.

  He broke the kiss, panting hard. “Jesus, I want you. I’ve wanted you since I laid eyes on you, I—”

  “Then take what you want,” Hannah told him, turning his mouth back to hers, until their gazes clashed and caught again. “Because I want you, too.” She leaned in and kissed him again, keeping her gaze on his until the last possible second, then letting her eyes drift shut as his hands slid down and gripped her. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her bottom as he jerked her against him, pushed against her. “I’m sure,” she whispered against his mouth. “So very, very sure.”

  And though some part of her was well aware she might be anything but sure later on, in that moment, it was the God’s honest truth. And what happened later mattered not at all.

  He groaned in acceptance, and took her mouth, growling, “Hold on tight.” Then he was wrenching at his jeans and reaching under her dress to tear the lace straight across the front of her delicate panties, so the silky panel between her thighs dropped away.

  That act alone drove her straight back to the edge, and she knew he’d find her wet—no, drenched—as she finally felt the heat of him, velvety smooth and deliciously hot, against her finally bared skin. “Yes,” she cried as he teased her. “Please.”

  “I swear to God, you’re going to kill me,” he ground out, then took her mouth as he gripped her hips. He pulled them down and surged inside of her in one, deep thrust.

  She cried out, and when he instinctively began to pull out, she dug her heels into his buttocks and locked him in. “No,” she said, raggedly, then pressed her cheek against his neck before biting his ear and growling, “More please,” in guttural, Brit-inflected English.

  “Why yes, Miz Scarlett,” he said, laughing and groaning at the same time. “I believe I shall.”

  And how it was that they could be almost insane with lust and desire for each other, and laughing at the same time, she had absolutely no idea, but it felt . . . gloriously freeing. And good. And strong. And . . . real. She’d never laughed in moments like this. Actually . . . she’d never laughed with Tim even in moments not like this. Not that she and Tim had ever had moments anything like this. And then Calder thrust into her again, and that was the last time she’d allow Tim Underwood into her thoughts, no matter the moment, ever again.

  Calder kissed the side of her mouth. “You feel . . . like—”

  “Home,” she finished, not knowing where the word even came from, only knowing it was right. She shifted so he could sink even more deeply inside of her, and they both moaned.

  He took her again, and again, and she rode him every slick, sliding thrust of the way, moaning, gasping, alternately crying out and grinning like a loon at the insanity of the pleasure they were able to give each other. “Yes!” she cried, her hands fisted in his hair as he drove her up to the edge yet again. She pulled his mouth back to hers as he picked up speed. “Yes, yes, yes,” she murmured between kisses. Then she took his tongue and sucked on it in matching rhythm to his strokes until he shuddered against her, his growl deep in his chest as his climax ripped through him. It made her feel exultant and all powerful and more intensely female and desirable than she’d ever felt in her life . . . and that took her over the edge right after him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Calder held on to Hannah with one arm and braced the other against the side of his truck. His breath was labored to the point of wheezing, and his legs were shaking. He’d never had—that was, he didn’t know it could be—because it never had been . . . damn.

  “I’d stay inside you for the rest of my—but I don’t think I can—” He slid out of her and she unwrapped her legs from around his waist and let her feet and the hem of her dress drop down as he rolled to his back against the truck. He kept her tight against him, wrapped up in his arms, holding them both up as they panted and laughed through their gasping breaths.

  “I don’t know what that was,” Hannah said, sounding as stunned as he felt. “But I know I’ll never make myself believe it was real. And I was there.”

  He slid his hand up her spine and sank his fingers into her hair, which wasn’t a sleek, shiny waterfall now. It was wild and tousled, and he loved that he’d mussed her up a little. “Scarlett, that was about as real as it gets. I don’t know how we’re still upright.”

  She giggled
at that, and he thought it was the very best sound he’d ever heard. “I think saying we’re standing is more a technicality due to the position of your truck than an accurate assessment of our current abilities.”

  He let his head loll back against the door frame and let out a wheezing snort. “Indeed, Counselor, I do believe you have a point.”

  She rocked against him and snickered. “Well, one good point deserves another.”

  He thought he might choke on the laugh that swelled up in his chest. “You never cease to surprise me,” he managed.

  She lifted her head and said, “I’m not sure how to take that,” but the affront in her voice was cancelled out entirely by the wicked gleam in her beautiful, storm-blue eyes.

  “Oh, in a good way. In a very good way.” He thought about how he’d initially assessed her, and though he’d discovered within minutes of that assessment just how flawed it was, she continued to be nothing like he’d assumed she’d be, or maybe, more accurately, how he’d been afraid she’d be.

  She’d struck a spark in him from the moment he’d opened the door to her ruined little sports car, and denying that, or worrying that it was a mistake to give in to it, had clearly gotten him nowhere. Except right here. Where you wanted to be all along.

  He closed his eyes and kept her bundled against his chest as he let that truth sink in. And now that he was there? Now what?

  He didn’t know. Had no idea. The only thing he knew was that holding on to her, laughing with her, talking with her, even arguing with her, were the parts of his days, of his life, the ones he held on to, the ones he thought about, the ones that made him smile.

  “You need oil for those gears,” she murmured against his chest.

  “What?” he said. He emerged slowly from his thoughts, and realized they were no longer clinging to each other for support. Their breathing had steadied, evened out. They were wrapped up in each other now because . . . because that’s where they still wanted to be.