by Kris Pearson
“No I haven’t. Not...there.”
Anton grabbed her hand and pressed it to his groin before he got any harder. “No great mystery,” he said, as Jetta gasped and tried to pull her hand away. “Just flesh,” he added, releasing her before she could feel the full extent of his rapidly rising erection. “So shall we start in the bath?” he repeated. “I bought some candles to soften the light in the bedroom, but they’ll work as well in the bathroom?”
She tilted her head and sighed. “Are you sure we won’t be breaking the law? I so want to do this, Anton, but…you know…what if we find it’s out of bounds?”
He slid an arm around her shoulders and walked her toward the house. “You’re not my sister—that’s for sure. My mother had no other children. Your mother had no other children. And if I was the result of your Dad sowing any wild oats I’d be Anton Rivers, not Haviland.” He bent and kissed her brow. “I’ve looked at it every way I can, so I reckon we’re safe, don’t you? Even if we were first cousins—and we’re not—it’d still be fine.”
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the old brass handle and pushed the door open. Fragrant steam drifted in the air. Candles flickered on the window ledge, on the edge of the old pedestal basin, and on the corner shelf at the shower end of the bath. Anton had transformed the unlovely bathroom into a magical grotto.
Maybe I can do this after all.
He’d preceded her into the bedroom, quickly stripped off, and departed for the bathroom in his white toweling robe, leaving her to undress in privacy while he ran the bath, arranged the candles, and set soft music playing.
She’d searched the laundry for anything clean and concealing; her favorite wrap had been burned in the fire. Eventually she settled for a long-tailed shirt, and slipped it on over the lacy cobweb-grey thong. Surely he hadn’t expected her to walk in there naked?
She stood for a moment until her eyes adjusted to the near darkness. Anton’s tall silhouette threw a menacing shadow on the opposite wall. To Jetta, who was barefoot, he looked enormous.
Or maybe I don’t dare?
Her pulse pounded...her blood rushed double speed. She raised her hands to her face. Pressed her fingers against suddenly sensitive lips. Glanced at him with eyes that couldn’t hold his for longer than a second.
No— this is utterly mad—I can’t do it!
Anton sensed her panic and crossed the room in two long strides before she could turn and bolt. He tipped her chin up with one finger and gazed down at her woebegone face.
God—I’m all psyched up for this and now she’s lost her nerve.
“We can stop any time you want,” he murmured.
Although it will probably kill me...
She nodded, but it was only the barest of nods.
Forcing himself to move slowly, he placed his hands on the collar of her shirt and then ran them down past the buttonholes and buttons until he was level with her breasts. He did a button up. “You can let go that death-grip now,” he said, glancing down to where her arms hugged the shirt close around her body.
“But...”
“I’m not going to rip it off you. I’m not even going to lift it up.”
“But...”
He sank to his haunches until he was squatting in front of her. Lower. Subservient. Less frightening, he hoped. “I’m going to explore you through it. Get to know all your beautiful curves and hollows.”
He watched as her lips parted and an expression of profound relief crept across her face. Her grip relaxed a little. “I’d better kneel,” he added. “I’ll fall over like this.” He steadied himself with a hand on either side of her waist and knelt, but kept his hands right where he’d deliberately placed them.
He trailed his fingers out over her hips and back in to her waist. Out again. In again.
“Perfect,” he murmured, lowering his face to her belly and kissing her through the shirt. He laid his cheek against her and closed his eyes, continuing the gentle caresses over her sides. Jetta’s hands crept up to touch his hair. Softly at first, and then with more confidence.
His tightly strung nerves loosened a fraction. Maybe he could make it happen for her.
“Are you wearing something pretty under this?” he queried, touching the narrow side-strap of her thong through the shirt, and running a finger backward and forward along it.
“It was a present,” she said. “Bren and Hallie bought me some gorgeous panties for a goodbye gift, but they gave them to me early because of the fire.”
His hands descended a little until he could brush his fingers down her thighs, then up and down again in a hypnotic rhythm. To distract her from what he was doing, he turned his head and kissed her belly again—this time finding a sliver of bare skin now her hands were occupied in his hair. Her indrawn breath told him she’d noticed.
He inhaled long and slow, drawing her scent deep into his lungs.
“You have no idea how lovely you are,” he whispered, nudging her shirt aside and laying his face against her skin. He smoothed his cheek to and fro, then glanced up, checking for any sign of alarm.
She’d closed her eyes, but her fingers continued to play in his hair. His traveled up her thighs, and in under the shirt tails until he was high enough to stroke her curvy butt.
“Still fine?” he murmured.
She made a tiny noise that could have meant anything. One hand left his hair and began to wrestle with the shirt button he’d done up.
Elation roared through him as the two sides of the shirt fell apart. The curve of a beautiful breast peeped out. His mouth watered. He imagined his lips closing around the still-hidden nipple. Ruthlessly he suppressed his desire and continued the soft kisses over her belly.
This is for her. Keep it for her until she’s begging.
His hands cupped her butt, stroking and kneading. Did she trust him yet? Hoping she did, he slid his thumbs under the side straps of her thong.
Stealthily he pushed upwards, dragging the front panel tight against her so he could lower his face, lick over the sheer fabric, and set her nerves on fire.
Jetta lurched in his arms and gave a ragged cry—a soft scream that sent thrills rocketing through him. Maybe that would help break through her long held dark inhibitions and show her the intensity of the pleasure he could bring.
He kissed her there, holding the fabric taut, feeling her tremble. She tried to wriggle away, but with no real conviction. He buried his mouth against the lace, searching with the tip of his tongue until he felt the little nub of her clit. He sucked, released, sucked again.
“No…”
“Let me,” he growled, raising his head for a moment. Her eyes blazed huge and dark in the candlelight. She panted, breasts rising and falling between the open shirt-fronts. “You’ve missed out for years and years. Let me. Let me make up for some of that time.”
Jetta floated somewhere in the swirling steam. Her bones had melted. Her knees no longer wanted to hold her up. Everywhere Anton’s lips made contact, her skin sparkled and flickered with out-of-this-world sensitivity.
Deep in her belly, the insistent throb had almost reached the point of pain. She writhed in his arms, trying to get even closer to him...to it... to whatever huge sensation wanted to break free from her body.
Then he stopped. “Bath time,” he murmured.
“What?” she gasped, not noticing he’d slid the concealing shirt from her shoulders until it was too late to grab it back.
He cradled her breasts, brushing his thumbs over her bullet-hard nipples. “Look at you,” he said, dipping his head to give each a hot, wet kiss. Bolts of delight ricocheted around her body and she stared at him, astounded. He smiled and hooked his thumbs into her tiny panties. In a trice, they were around her ankles, and she stood before him naked, embarrassed, ready to run, but desperate to stay.
He rose to his feet and offered her his hand. She grabbed it for support, found enough courage to stay, and stepped into the deep bath. She sank into the concealing bubbles, a
stounded she’d come this far without losing her nerve.
“You’re still all covered up,” she objected, heart hammering because it seemed she really, really might be able to hold her nerves in check.
“Not for much longer,” he murmured, loosening the tie of his robe. “Shuffle forward.”
As she concentrated on that, Anton arrived behind her—big and warm, and definitely now wearing nothing but skin.
“Cuddle up,” he said, looping his long legs around her waist and pulling her backward against him. A tanned arm reach out for the container of body wash. His lips glided down her neck. He’d cocooned her in a haze of warmth and shadowy darkness and slippery sensation.
He lathered his hands and smoothed them up her arms and over her shoulders, massaging and caressing, pushing with his thumbs until the knots of tension melted away. “Bend over,” he whispered, and she swayed forward so he could progress down her back and around her ribs until he cradled her breasts again. He teased her nipples with slippery fingers. Nothing seemed hurried or urgent. Nothing felt grabby or grasping. She stretched voluptuously, and sighed.
Much later, she murmured, “I want to turn around.”
To her amazement, Anton grasped her around the ribs and flipped her so she sat on his thighs—higher out of the water than before.
His eyes zeroed in on her nipples, just visible through the lacy foam when she looked down. “I knew you’d be beautiful,” he said, voice husky as he splashed warm water over her to wash the bubbles away.
He cupped one breast, bent forward, and suckled. Arrows of purest pleasure shot straight down to her womb. The urgent throbbing there intensified, and spread out in circles of need and frustration until she groaned aloud and cradled his head in her hands to hold him close. “I never thought,” she gasped, “that it would be like this.”
“It’ll be like everything you’ve ever wanted,” he murmured a little later as he strung tiny kisses up over her collarbone to her neck, and finally her lips.
She met him kiss for kiss.
Anton grumbled as Jetta pushed him back against the sloping end of the big old bath.
“No—it’s my turn,” she said, levering herself further forward.
The nearest candle flames danced in the moving air. Shadows changed their shapes on the walls.
“We’ve been here so long we need more hot water,” she added, swiveling to turn on the tap, slippery and rosy, her back arching to tilt her delicious breasts further into the light.
He smiled to himself. Getting assertive, was she?
Then his smile faded. He no longer had any concerns about the ultimate success of his seduction, but somehow she was halfway to seducing him in return. Saying goodbye would be hell.
Jetta turned toward him again, reached for the body wash, and lathered her hands up the way he’d done. She leaned over him, an expression of sexy intent on her face as her palms traveled across his chest—kneading, sliding, appreciating. “You’re lovely,” she whispered. “Every time you’ve taken your shirt off I’ve wanted to touch you. And now I can without asking.”
Her hands rose higher—out over his shoulders in a slippery caress, then down his arms until she linked her fingers into his. She gazed into his eyes, her expression shuttered, intense, and thrilling. “When you kissed me in bed last night I nearly made a terrible fool of myself,” she added. “I thought I wanted you. I did want you, but I bet I would have got spooked and wrecked everything.” She bent and kissed his mouth again softly. “I didn’t know how much deeper wanting could be. Now my whole body wants you, so much that I’m aching inside, and if we don’t do this soon I’ll probably die.”
Anton slipped a hand from hers and drew her down for a much more serious kiss.
“You promise to be gentle with me?” he teased a little later as he reached for a nearby towel.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
He made a game of it—kissing every piece of her as he dried it, dragging his lips down over her hipbone, nipping her delicious butt, sucking her fingers and having to dry them all over again. Jetta had objected to him covering himself, but had he ever been harder? He thanked God for the flickering dimness. When he glanced down, he couldn’t believe the big ridge under the towel wasn’t spooking her.
They carried the candles back to the bedroom and set them safely on his desk. The unlovely old room hardly had the atmosphere he would have chosen, but here they were, and Jetta’s big eyes were full of anticipation—and maybe trepidation too.
He peeled off the shirt she’d worn in lieu of a robe, trailing his fingers over her shoulders as he pushed the fabric away. “You feel like silk,” he murmured, tossing it aside and bending to kiss her yet again. The candles flickered in the disturbed air, and shadows swayed on the walls. Her breasts pressed soft and warm against him as he kissed her brow.
She raised a hand and explored the hair on his chest. “You feel tickly,” she countered. “But you’re very silky underneath.” Her nails scraped gently over his skin.
He smiled and took her hand, pulling her onto the wide expanse of his bed. Sitting beside her, he stroked her hair and kissed the side of her face until he reached the sensitive pulse-point on her neck. “Lie down for me.”
“Already?”
He heard the slight tremor in her voice as he settled her back against the pillows, and felt the tension increase in the muscles of her arms. A tiny twitch flickered at the corner of one of her eyes.
Not so relaxed then. Damn.
He shook his head. “No—not yet. I want to explore you first.” He pushed himself further down the bed to give her time to regain her courage. Ran a hand along a thigh toned to perfection. Heard the tiny catch of her indrawn breath.
“What kind of dancing do you do?” He smoothed his fingers up toward her hip, down again, up again.
“Latin. Samba…rumba…jive. Oh!” She jumped as he strayed higher.
“I bet you’re a fantastic dancer. A natural.” He stroked her curls; waiting to see what her response would be. Vanilla fragrance drifted in the air from the candles. But far more enticing was the faint scent of warm woman rising from those dark curls. He breathed her in, and a wave of wanting jolted through his groin. He leaned lower, laid his cheek on her belly, turned to kiss the soft skin there.
“Anton…”
“You liked it when I kissed you in the bathroom.”
“But that was through my panties…”
He nuzzled at her, trying to ease her legs apart, loving her fresh female musk, desperate to taste. A tentative hand touched his hair. “This is the rumba,” he whispered. “A sensuous dance between two people. Yes?” He pressed a kiss lower, lower, swiped with his tongue. “Pretend we’re dancing.”
Jetta’s thighs tensed. “Oh God—it’s like the book!”
He raised his head. Ran his eyes all the way up her curvy body until he locked onto her astounded gaze. “What book?”
“Um. Oh. Just a book.” She clasped a hand across her mouth so only her big guilty eyes were visible. The fingers of her other hand stilled in his hair.
He sent her a teasing grin. “Have you been reading sexy books, Jetta Rivers?”
“No,” she insisted. “Not really.” She swallowed.
Total giveaway honey!
He dipped his head and licked again, keeping his eyes on hers. Her mouth dropped open, but no sound emerged. “What book?” he murmured. “No more of this until you tell me.” He licked once more to show her what she’d be missing, and her thighs relaxed a little.
“Just…um…’The Joy of Sex’.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “I found it…ooohhh….” She let loose a soft groan and her eyes shot wide open again as he turned his head and rasped his chin across her thigh. “Um…I found it when I was clearing out Gran’s wardrobe. It was very dusty.”
“Not been used for a few years then? And you checked inside it?”
“No! No—not really. Just a bit.”
Anton ducked his head and grinned to himsel
f before he looked up again. “Which bit?”
She closed her eyes, shutting him out, surely blushing in the darkness. “Um…this bit in reverse.”
The pulse in his groin picked up speed. “The woman bringing the man off?”
“Uh-huh. I think so. I couldn’t look.”
“Why not?”
“It was rude.” She opened her eyes again and he smiled at her horrified expression.
“It’s not rude. Does this feel rude to you?” He ran his tongue over her again, exploring until he found her clitoris.
She jerked against him, and her thighs parted a little more. “It feels like a secret,” she murmured. Her nails dug into his scalp and then scraped pleasurably down the back of his head. Soon her fingers kneaded his neck in time with the strokes from his tongue.
He laved her slowly, enjoying her fractured breathing, her soft moans. With infinite care, he pushed a finger up into her slippery heat.
“Anton…” A horrified whisper.
He withdrew the finger.
“Oh! No…um…”
He pushed it home again, pleased by her grudging encouragement. He kept his tongue moving dreamily and added a second finger, teasing her open by degrees, backward and forward in a lazy sensual invasion. Small murmurs of pleasure rewarded him. A little later, her hands slid out to clench on his shoulders and her nails bit into his flesh.
You’re getting there. Wet as hell. Wound up tight. Let it go, baby…
He’d no sooner willed her to come than her hips bucked, her pelvic muscles convulsed, she gave an astounded cry, and tried to wriggle free.
He held her down with an arm across her belly. The magic contractions grabbed at his fingers, and she gasped and groaned as she thrashed beneath him. Purest male triumph rocketed from his scalp to his toes. “Go for it, honey,” he urged between tender strokes. “That’s what you’ve been missing. That’s what you need lots more of.”
Once she became quieter, he rested his chin on her pubic bone and grinned up at her wide eyes. “All good?” he asked, reaching up to touch her face with his free hand.
