With a grace she didn’t know she possessed, Wanda popped each button open, spreading his shirt wide, planting her palms on the smooth skin of his chest, massaging his pecs, reveling in their firmness. She plucked at his nipple, gratified by the groan he moaned into her mouth. Her hands strayed to the crisp hair just below his belly button, tracing a pattern that went lower with each pass.
He dropped his hands from her waist, yanking off his belt, then lowering the zipper of his pants, letting them slide off his thighs, and catching them to throw them on the coffee table beside the couch. His shoes were next, kicked off in two thunks of muted sound.
Wanda became shy—suddenly and without warning. Hands that had roamed freely over Heath’s hard planes stilled. Lips that had met his hot, hard kiss, trembled.
She’d only been with one man her entire life, and he’d claimed she wasn’t winning any Kama Sutra contests.
Oh, this was a mistake.
Big, big, big.
“Wanda?” Heath said her name in the form of a question against her lips.
But she couldn’t answer.
“Say the word, and I’ll stop.”
Finally she found her voice. Weak and raw, but found. “There’s a word?”
He chuckled, his breathing ragged, his cock insistent and hard between her legs. “Yeah.You say, ‘Stop, Heath.’ ”
“That’s two words.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No—yes—no—it’s just that, well . . .”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “You weren’t one of the girls who had one of those lists you mentioned in high school.”
At least he knew she didn’t sleep around, and he’d even supplied an answer for this situation—an awkward one at best. Her eyes fixed on his collarbone. “Of all the lists I’ve made in my lifetime—that wasn’t one of them.”
Heath tipped her head upward with a finger, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Good.”
“Good?”
His lips curved into a smile. “Yeah, it means I might know a thing or two you don’t—which could be enlightening.”
A shiver slid along her spine as he stroked her cheek, relief sped down to her toes and back up again. She blew out a shaky breath. “Okay, then. Enlighten me.”
When his mouth found hers again, his lips were just as demanding, yet gentler at the same time. “Take my underwear off, Wanda,” he rasped, sipping at her lower lip, nipping the full flesh with lazy nibbles.
It was the last piece of his clothing that stood between her and his total nudity. She hooked her fingers in the band of his boxer briefs and slid them down along his hard thighs, feeling the crisp hair on them. Heath kicked the boxers aside, but kept a small amount of space between them. “Touch me, Wanda,” he demanded, low, husky, taking her hand from his forearm and putting it between them. Her fingers wisped tentatively over the sharp indentation along his hipbone, skimming it before delving shaky fingers into the pubic hair a few inches below his belly button.
When she wisped over his cock, hard, hot, pulsing with life, she took a startled breath. Unbidden came the conversations she’d had with her friends, and Nina and Marty hadn’t lied, but George had.
They did come in different sizes, and clasping Heath’s was definitely laying claim to the size matters theory.
She fumbled before she found the right grip, and what had in the past always been such an unsure act became surer as she stroked the satiny smooth skin. Each raspy groan Heath made emboldened her, each rush of his hips to meet the push of her hand left her empowered.
This sexy, hot, deliciously hard man enjoyed her touch, had asked for it with encouraging words, and moans of pleasure. She ran her finger over the swollen head of his shaft, lingering at the slick bead of pre-come.
Heath tugged at her panties, and Wanda found she no longer had any inhibitions about him seeing her naked.
She didn’t care about anything but being as close as humanly possible to him. She didn’t care that her hipbones were now painfully noticeable. She didn’t care that her ribs were probably more visible with each harsh breath she took. She didn’t care that her breasts weren’t what the old girls used to be ten years ago.
She didn’t care.
And that, unto itself, was sinfully freeing.
When Heath found the undersides of her breasts, caressing them with his index fingers, heat pooled between her legs, moist, hot. He circled each of her nipples with thumb and forefinger, bringing them to stiff peaks. Heath planted hot kisses along the side of her neck, dragging his lips down, down until his head rested between the two mounds of flesh. The first lick of his silky tongue made her jump, making her let go of his rigid shaft.White-hot heat flashed, sizzling in a wave of lust when he took her nipple into his mouth and tugged on it, enveloping it with the heated cavern of his mouth.
Her hands wound into his hair, thick and soft as she strained toward him. He flicked each nipple, cupping her breasts, pushing them upward, bringing tears to her eyes.
And then he was sliding her off the low arm of the couch and onto its soft cushions, kneeling between her legs, fanning the most intimate part of her with his hot breath. Her thighs trembled when he spread her soft, inner flesh, slick with need. She found herself clinging to the top of the couch with frantic fingers, her heels braced against his shoulders until he put her legs over them. He cupped her ass with his hands, kneading it, bringing her closer to his lips.
What he was about to do was foreign to her. Something Nina and Marty talked about with a bunch of oohing and ahhing and their eyes glazing over. Wanda could never participate in those conversations, because they teased her about being a virgin to all things oral.
And that all changed with the first lava-hot stroke of Heath’s tongue. The bolt of electricity that jolted her was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. It struck with a quick hand, leaving the most intense need Wanda had ever felt in its wake.
Heath’s fingers slid between the wet lips of her flesh, finding the swollen nub of her clit, before he lightly sucked it between his lips. Her hips rose, her chest tightened, flickering light danced behind her clenched eyelids, a whimper of carnal delight slipped from her throat.
A thick finger, deliciously calloused, slid into her with ease, the glide of it wet as Heath continued to lick her. Waves of tingling pleasure darted to all points intimate on her body, the slow burn that had begun with the first touch of Heath’s mouth increased, simmered, pushing her to find release.
A sweet, sharp sting began low in her belly, making her clench her thighs around his neck, seek the rounded muscle of his shoulders with fingers that dug into his skin. The sudden crest of climax made her muscles tighten like a bow preparing its launch; her teeth gritted; her breath, raspy and intermittent, sat heavy in her ears.
The hot rise drove her to seek fulfillment. Heath’s mouth flush against her clit suckled, his finger glided in and out of her passage, and the combination of the two tipped her over the edge to a place that swirled with no sound and myriad colors.
Wanda shuddered hard, clamping down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming, as her hips pumped against Heath’s lips, frantic and urgent. How long her orgasm lasted, she was unaware, she only knew it had come from somewhere deep within, yanking at the core of her and refusing to let go until it was ready.
Her harsh intakes of breath were soothed when Heath slid up along her body, kissing her belly and reaching toward the coffee table to drag his pants into his hand. She watched him from the slits her eyes had become, realizing he had a condom, and not caring even a little that he’d been presumptuous enough to bring one.
He held himself over her, pushing her back to cover the length of the couch, then settled once more between her legs.
His eyes held hers, they grew darker, more glazed when he positioned himself at her passage. His lightly tanned throat worked, the few veins there pulsing, the strong column bulging with what she pinpointed as restraint.
Just bef
ore Heath entered her, he used two fingers to brush aside her sweat-dampened hair.The gesture so intimate, so tender, Wanda couldn’t hold his gaze any longer, so she buried her head in his neck and hooked her legs around his waist once more.
His entry wasn’t in the least hurried, burying each inch of his shaft into her with slow, subtle increments. As he stretched her, filled her, Wanda took a deep breath to accommodate him, focusing on the widening of her legs.
Heath’s cock, finally imbedded deep within her, brought with it an uncomfortable pleasure. Uncomfortable because she hadn’t had any sexual activity in so long it was foreign, pleasurable because he remained almost still inside her, but for the grind of his hips against hers.
She felt his restraint in each corded muscle, reveled in their skin melded together, luxuriated in the crisp pubic hair that made a delicious friction against her clit. Heath didn’t drive into her, he ground against her, letting her adjust to his thick width.
He clasped her wrists together in one hand, pulling them from around his neck, and yanking them upward over her head, maximizing the press of their bodies, making her arch upward against him. Heath circled his hips instead of thrusting into her, the sensual rotation of their bodies so tightly wound together making her dig her heels into his lower back.
A white-hot pulse of heat threaded along her veins, beckoning her, leaving her fingers clenched in tight fists. Heath’s breathing became harsh, his bare chest scraping her nipples, taut and needy. When he finally lifted his hips up and away from hers, the cool air on her sweat-slickened body became a delicious whisper.
His first thrust, a slow glide of his cock, made her lungs inflate, filling them until they threatened to explode. Heath drew back once more, sliding into her with sure precision. He let her wrists go, giving her the opportunity to grip his shoulders, pull him to her until their bodies absorbed one another’s.
With each slick glide of his cock, steely within her, he brought her closer to orgasm. Thrust after silken thrust Heath pushed her. Her heart crashed against her ribs, her groin tightened with electric heat, his moans of pleasure as he sank deep within her were sinful, erotic to her ears.
The first wave of orgasm crept up on her with stealthy fingers, clinging to her, slithering along every muscle, every nerve ending until it consumed her, made her rock her hips upward to have all of Heath’s cock.
Her hands reached down to the hard globes of his ass, clenching them, pushing him hard against her, begging him silently to bring her to satisfaction. The aching, yearning need superseded everything else.
Heath seemed to know instinctively what she needed. His final plunge into her was heated and driven. But the strain of his muscles suggested he was holding back, until she lifted her hips a final time to milk his cock.
Wanda drove upward, her breath harsh against Heath’s ear, signaling her climax. She was suspended in a haze of breathtaking lust, and just as she reached the height of her orgasm, it enveloped her, left her shuddering, gulping for air. Raw waves of heat crashed against her skin, her stomach muscles tightened, the heated place between her thighs contracted, then let go, catapulting her over the edge.
Heath roared his release, the growl of it coming from deep in his throat, blotting out everything but the complete bliss Wanda experienced knowing she’d satisfied him.
Nestled beneath him, Wanda luxuriated in the command he’d taken, reveled in the stick of their skin and his heavy weight, sinking into her. Clenching her eyes shut, she fought the onslaught of what surely had to be the fuck-buddy syndrome.
How lovely.
Wanda clung to Heath’s neck while her thoughts swirled and her insecurities began to creep up on her. And goddamn it, why was she just now finding out sex could be so frickin’ amazing? She’d spent thirteen years of her life having mediocre sex with a podiatrist, when she could have been wonking a homeless guy that sold cosmetics who was red-hot. Jesus—how unfair.
And multiple orgasms really did exist. She’d just had two.
Two.
That was almost more than she’d had in an entire marriage to George.
Crazy that.
It was all like information overload.Thoughts of all those steamy passages in the romance novels she read came to mind. Heath was like Erik in The Highlander’s Lust and Esteban in Master of Ecstasy all rolled into one.
Wanda Schwartz had hit the sexual jackpot. Imagine that.
Bingo, bitch!
She was overwhelmed, breathless, confused. “I’m not sure what this all means.” The words escaped before she’d meant them to—if she’d meant them to at all. They should have remained a silent question.
Heath trailed a finger down to the tip of her nose, following it with a kiss. “It means we’ll take this slow and see what happens.”
That wasn’t what she’d meant at all. She meant she didn’t know why in the hell of all hells, whoever was in charge of all things living would choose now to bring her the man of her darkest sexual fantasies. After her divorce would have been plenty fine, thank you very much. Why now? It was grossly unfair. Wanda didn’t say anything more—it was too risky to respond at this point. She’d just had the best sex evah, as Nina called it, and that left a girl vulnerable. Never show your hand, Nina always said.
And really. Where would she be without all of the crap Nina’d fed her during their friendship? She and Nina were poles apart in how they defined what should be involved in a sexual encounter. She didn’t fuck just to fuck, there had to be more than just a physical attraction there—but in this instance, because her life was coming to a screeching halt, she couldn’t afford to show Heath her hand.
Or anything, for that matter.
As much as she wanted to understand what had just happened between them, as much as she wanted to tell him she felt selfish for letting him into her life without telling him he was doing an almost dead chick—she just couldn’t.
Or wouldn’t.
Heath dragged her mother’s afghan off the top of the couch, nestling them in it. Pulling the blanket to her chin, she burrowed underneath it, letting Heath cradle her from behind. Shutting up was the best thing she could do right now. She’d only find herself in too deep. She had to keep this as easygoing and unencumbered as she could. Even if she didn’t know the first damned thing about having a fuck buddy.
“Tomorrow we should talk, Wanda,” he whispered against the top of her head.
No. No talking. Talking led to involvement and somehow she had to convey where her intentions for this lie. Wherever they lay . . . lie . . . whatever. “About?”
His broad hand stroked the curve between her waist and hip. “I dunno. I thought maybe I’d give you some answers to some of those questions you have.”
Wanda’s gut clenched. Maybe she didn’t want those answers anymore. Because if he gave her answers, then she’d owe him some, too . . . “You don’t owe me any explanations.”
“Nope.”
“Okay, then, so no explanations.” Good. That was that.
“Tomorrow, Wanda,” he said, as though it was a command. When she didn’t push any further, he asked, “You wanna do dinner?”
Wait—didn’t Nina always say if you were going to remain emotionally unattached, you should never eat a meal with the guy you only planned to bag and tag? Nina, Nina, Nina, all up in her head. Her advice during the course of their friendship kept ringing in Wanda’s ears. She kept her response light. “You can’t afford dinner.”
“I thought maybe I’d cook. I’ll bring the stuff.”
And if eating with the guy was off-limits in emotional detachment, surely him cooking for her was waayyy off-limits, but the stir of her heart, warming to his words, made her ask, “You cook? Will it be scrambled eggs again? You didn’t even know what a Crock-Pot was.”
“And I still don’t. I’m no Iron Chef, but I can make a couple of things. So I’ll cook. How’s six tomorrow night?You can tell me what a Crock-Pot is.”
Tears stung her eyes. Just the though
t of sitting down and having dinner—like a real date—with Heath made her heart ache. That was normal—healthy—relationship-y shit she should be doing at this point in her life instead of making a list of things to do before she died.
Heath gave her a gentle nudge. “So dinner tomorrow?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Sure.”
He burrowed closer to her, letting his chin rest on her shoulder.
And it felt so good to be held.
It felt so nice to have Heath’s warm body close, his defined abdomen pressed to her back, his arm securely around her waist.
And it felt new, but at the same time like she’d been doing this with him for a lifetime.
And that shit had to stop.
CHAPTER 11
Heath knocked on her door at six sharp. She yelled that it was unlocked before turning back to her hall mirror to check her makeup. Like it would matter if her eyeliner was perfect when she told him they could either keep this strictly about the sex—or it was ovah.
Yeah.
Last night had been incredible, insightful, enlightening on levels she didn’t even know existed, but while Heath had held her long into the wee hours of the morning, she’d battled every possible scenario in her head—and they all led to the same conclusion.
She was going to kick the proverbial bucket.
Which made for major suckage.
How did you tell someone you just wanted to wonk? Uh, by the way, in case you were thinking you’re valuable to me for any other reason than your dangly bits—don’t be all full of yourself. If time were something she had, that’s not what she’d want at all. She’d want to do things the traditional way—the way her sappy, sentimental, old-fashioned heart always dreamed it would be if she ever found anyone she liked enough to date after her divorce.
What had happened last night wasn’t like the conservative Wanda she’d always been—the Wanda whose skin she was so comfortable in. This new Wanda was someone who was afraid not to take her one last chance at throwing caution to the wind—it was a desperate attempt to act without writing a list of pros and cons—without hemming and hawing until she’d turned it into something far bigger than it had to be. This was impetuous and unorganized—totally unplanned—and very, very scary.
The Accidental Human Page 17
