by Lori Foster
Any clothes he would have put on would just be coming off again, so he hadn’t bothered with them, either. By look and deed she’d made her willingness, her own desire, clear. It didn’t matter that he hardly knew her, not when everything about her felt so right.
He braced his feet apart and let her look her fill.
Her eyes widened and then traveled the length of him. Twice. She touched her throat. “If I looked as good as you, I’d have skipped the boxers.”
Though he appreciated the sentiment, Mick was too far gone with lust to manage a grin. “Want me to take them off?”
She shook her head and said, “Yes. But not yet. If you were naked now, I’d forget you’re hurt and do something I’d regret.”
“Like what?” She continued to stand there, her gaze returning again and again to his straining hard-on, which the snug cotton boxers did nothing to hide.
“Like throwing you down on the floor and having my way with you.”
He did grin this time. “The bed is right around the corner. Why don’t we go there now?”
Just that easily, he saw her resolve form, harden. He may have only known her a day, but he already knew that look.
“You need to take your medicine. Good as you look, I can see that you hurt.”
The pain in his shoulder and head were nothing, certainly not enough to make him want to wait another day to have her. “I’ll take a pill after I’ve sated myself with you.”
Her gaze locked on his. “Oh boy, you don’t pull any punches, do you?”
“From what I remember last night in the hospital, neither do you.” And to encourage her, he added, “But I like it when you speak your mind.”
She nodded. “Okay, yes, I want you to sate yourself with me. I want to sate myself with you, too.” Her expression was one of worry, regret. “But I figure that’d probably take me hours, maybe even days, so we should maybe put it off until you’re not likely to die on me.”
Damn, her brazen words mixed with the sweetness of her expression and the obvious worry she felt for him was an aphrodisiac that fired his blood. She was a mix of contradictions, always unique, sometimes pushy and too stubborn. Mick took two long steps toward her, ignored the continual throbbing in his shoulder and head, and gathered her close.
He wasn’t prepared for her stiffened arms, which carefully pushed him back again. Shakily, she said, “We have to make a deal.”
The need stalled, replaced by innate suspicion. What possible deal could she need to make at this moment? Thoughts flew through his head as he remembered numerous deals offered to him by prostitutes, drug dealers, gamblers, people from his youth and the people he now came into contact with every day of his life.
He also thought about the robbery, about her uncom-mon interest in the jewelry store, her interest in him, her willingness to bring a near stranger into her home and have sex with him.
By nature, he was overly cautious. From his upbringing, and then working undercover, he’d become suspicious of almost everyone and everything.
Because of his background, he often doubted the sincerity of women in general.
Dropping his hands so he wouldn’t accidentally hurt her with his anger, Mick growled, “What kind of deal?”
She blinked, confused by his temper. Carefully, her words no more than a whisper of sound, she explained, “I can’t stand seeing you in pain. I want you to take your medicine first, then we’ll go to bed.”
Mick made sure no reaction showed on his face, but once again she’d managed to take him off guard. Her deal was for him, not for her. “The medicine makes me too groggy.”
“Not for fifteen minutes or more. I’ve watched you after you take it. It doesn’t kick in right away, and you only go to sleep when you let yourself.”
Still not touching her, he said, “What I have in mind will take more than fifteen minutes.”
She inhaled sharply at his words, then touched him, her hand opening on his chest, her fingers splayed, sifting through his body hair. The reflexive clench of his muscles brought a sharp ache to his temples, his shoulder.
“You’re welcome to stay here until you’re completely recovered,” she said, still stroking him with what seemed like acute awe, probably attempting to soothe him, when in fact each glide of her delicate fingers over his muscles wound him that much tighter. “There’ll be plenty of time for both of us to indulge ourselves.”
He didn’t answer right away, trying to figure her out in the middle of an intense arousal that kept rational thought just out of reach.
“Please,” she added, both hands now sliding up to his shoulders. One edged the bandage that came over his shoulder from the back. “I won’t be able to enjoy myself for fear of hurting you.”
He didn’t want that. He fully intended for her to experience more than mere enjoyment. He wanted her ripe with pleasure, numb with it. He wanted to give her the kind of explosive release she’d have only with him.
Yet, she was right. In his present condition, it wasn’t likely to happen. With her insistence, she was probably helping him to save face.
Mick brought her close and said against her hair, “I’m sorry. I’m not used to wanting a woman quite this much.” He wasn’t used to wanting to trust a woman, either. But he wanted to trust Delilah. He wanted to involve himself with every aspect of her life. He needed to tie her to him in some way.
Nodding, she said, “I know the feeling. You blow my socks off.”
He tilted her back so he could see her face. Her honesty humbled him, and pleased him.
“We haven’t discussed it,” he said, thinking now was as good a time as any, “but I want you to know the nurse was right, I come with a clean bill of health—in all ways. Not only have I always been discriminating, but I’m very cautious, too.”
That brought a beautiful smile to her face. “Same here. I can’t claim to have been a recluse, but I haven’t met many men that I wanted to get involved with. Not like this, not enough to let them interrupt my life. And men take exception to that. They don’t like to be neatly compartmentalized.”
“Is that right?”
She nodded. “You may not have noticed, but I get really wrapped up in my work, and most of the time I’m not even aware of men around me. At least, not for long.”
Mick grinned. “I noticed. At first I wondered if maybe you were a lesbian.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. She frowned at him, her pale blue eyes burning bright. “I’m not.”
His grin widened. “I noticed that, too.”
Still scowling, she said, “Not that there’s anything wrong with—”
“Of course not. But I have to tell you how glad I am that you’re interested in men.”
“I’m interested in you.”
He appreciated her clarification. “Which means I’m one lucky bastard.”
She snorted. “If you were so lucky, you wouldn’t have gotten shot.” She turned and grabbed up the pills. “Take these.”
He downed them in one gulp, washing the bitter taste away with sweetened tea.
“Are you hungry? You really didn’t eat that much yesterday, and you hardly touched your breakfast.”
He’d been too caught up in his thoughts, in mentally organizing all the things that had to be done that day, to concern himself with breakfast. And the truth was, he felt hollow down to his toes. He could probably eat two meals, but not yet. “No. I just want you. And now that I’ve swallowed the damn pills, time’s wasting.”
Her eyes warmed, the vivid blue darkening. She took his hand and turned to lead him down the hall. Without looking at him, she said, “Let me see if I can help you to sleep soundly for a few hours.”
It took a great deal of resolve not to turn her against the wall and enter her right there, standing up, without the benefit
of a soft mattress. At twenty-six, he’d known lust, but he’d never known anything like this, an all-encompassing need to devour a particular woman.
Her bedroom was small, holding a bed that would barely accommodate his size. The beige spread was tossed half off the bottom of the mattress, pooling on the floor and showing matching beige sheets. Across from it sat a triple dresser with a mirror, the top cluttered with papers and candles and receipts.
A wooden rocker sat in front of one window. The other window held an air conditioner, softly humming on low, keeping the room pleasantly cool. Over the bed a ceiling fan slowly whirled, barely stirring the air but making the room comfortable.
The building didn’t have central air, of course. None of the buildings on her street did. Some of them didn’t have heat, either. Thankfully, Delilah’s apartment building was kept up, just as Mick kept up his building next door. And she wasn’t on the first floor, so she could open her windows without fear of intruders.
Her bedroom wasn’t what you’d call neat, not with laundry piled on the chair and shoes tossed haphazardly over her closet floor, but it was orderly. He had the distinct impression Delilah could walk into this room and find anything she needed without effort.
She went straight to the bed and propped up the pillows. “Sit here.”
Bemused, Mick allowed her to take control. She always seemed less reserved when she was the aggressor, as if taking control gave her more confidence. He wanted her without inhibitions, so he gladly let her lead.
He settled himself, easing his injured shoulder back against the headboard. Delilah stood in front of him and unsnapped her jeans. The sound of her zipper sliding down nearly stopped his heart. Transfixed, he watched her disrobing in front of him. There was no false modesty, no timidity, but no real brazenness, either. She revealed her body with a no-nonsense acceptance that touched his heart; she wouldn’t flaunt, but neither would she cower. Mick tightened his fists in the bottom sheet and held himself still.
He’d been half-afraid he was rushing her, moving too fast. But judging by her willingness now, she was finally as ready as him.
But then, he’d been ready from the first moment he saw her.
CHAPTER FIVE
Delilah’s jeans dropped, and she smiled at him as she stepped away from them, using one foot to nudge them aside. “I’m not as perfect as you,” she stated, again with that simple acceptance of her own perceptions, “but somehow I have a feeling that won’t bother you.”
Oh, he was plenty bothered, on the point of going insane. Her comments weren’t geared toward gaining compliments, but he could only give her the truth. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
Her mouth twitched and then she laughed. “Yeah, right. With small boobs and a straight waist and gangly limbs?”
He wanted to correct her, to point out everything he found enticing, yet when she caught the hem of her tank top and tugged it over her head, he went mute. His heart struck his rib cage, his breath caught.
The bra she wore had no shoulder straps, and the cups only half covered her. When she flipped her hair back, he could have sworn he saw the edge of a mauve nipple.
He swallowed hard. “This is insane. Come here.”
“In a minute. Don’t you want me naked?” she teased.
“God, yes.” He shifted his legs. He was uncomfortable, drawn tight, ready to come from just the sight of her. “I want to touch you, too.” And taste you and bury myself deep.
Reaching behind her back, she unhooked her bra and let it drop. Her breasts were round and firm, with small, tightly puckered nipples now darkened with desire.
She left her miniscule panties on and walked toward him, her gait long and sure and purposeful. Without reserve, she climbed into the bed and straddled his lap. Mick groaned as her rounded bottom nestled on his thighs and her breasts came even with his face. He reached for her.
“Shh,” she said, catching his right arm and holding it still. “Let me. You just sit back and relax.”
Blood rushed through his head. He gritted his teeth and nodded. He didn’t tell her that relaxing was out of the question.
“Tell me what you want.” As she spoke, she looked at him and touched him, and his vision narrowed to only her.
“I want to taste you.”
Her eyes smoldered, encouraging him even as her hands attempted to ease him. It was a wasted effort. Each soft stroke of her hands—over his chest, his uninjured shoulder, his waist, his throat—inflamed him.
He saw the pulse fluttering in her throat when she asked huskily, “Where?”
“Everywhere, but for now, I want your nipples.”
Her thighs tightened around his, giving her away. She wasn’t nearly as detached or in control as she pretended. He didn’t quite understand her forceful determination, but he knew at least part of it was inspired by reciprocal lust.
She drew a shaky breath and slowly, so slowly the anticipation damn near killed him, she leaned forward.
Mick struggled to stay calm. He couldn’t stop himself from bending his knees, forcing her farther forward, couldn’t stop the flexing of his cock against her tantalizing ass. But he made certain to gently kiss the rounded softness of her breasts, to nuzzle against her until she moaned. He teased her, licking close to her nipple but not quite letting his tongue touch it.
She twisted, attempting to hurry him, but Mick held himself in check. She needed to catch up to him—if that was possible.
With a rough, impatient sound, she finally murmured, “Mick, please...”
He placed a wet, soft kiss directly over her nipple, briefly drawing her into the heat of his mouth with a gentle suction, and then releasing her. It wasn’t easy, considering he wanted to feast on her.
She moved against him, one small jerk on his thighs before she stopped herself. Panting, she said, “I like that.”
“I thought you would.” He did it again, then again and again until she gasped for breath, until her hands settled in his hair and her nipples were tight wet peaks. Likely with more force than she realized, she brought his mouth to her breast, saying without words that she now needed more.
And he suckled her, strong and deep and long.
The combined sensations rocked him: the taste and feel of her on his tongue as his mouth tugged at her, the heat of her sex pressing insistently against his abdomen, her scent and softness and her unique determination.
The physical bombardment on his senses was enough, leaving him confused and wild with need. But the emotional storm also overwhelmed him. He wanted to consume her savagely, brand her as his own, hear her cries and feel the bite of her nails. And he wanted to hold her gently to his heart, to let her feel protected and know that he’d take care of her. Basic, elemental instincts rolled through him in a way he’d never felt before.
As he continued to tongue and suck, her back arched and she released a ragged moan. Then she moved against his thighs, a riding motion that rubbed the damp silk of her panties along the length of his shaft.
He replaced his mouth with his fingers and said harshly, “Kiss me, Delilah.”
She did, stealing his breath as her tongue licked in to tease his. As wild and out of control as he felt, she was more so.
“Let’s get these panties off you,” he murmured, knowing he couldn’t last much longer.
She pulled away, trembling, gasping for breath. Her head dropped forward. After a moment, she dipped down and kissed his throat, her mouth open and hot and wet. Mick wanted to protest, but he loved the feel of her mouth on him.
The pills had muddled his mind some and it took more effort than he could dredge up to stop her as she sank lower, biting at his chest, hotly licking his own nipples, tasting and teasing him.
His arm hurt like a son of a bitch and his head continued to throb dully, but rag
ing lust and crushing need overrode it all. Using his good arm, he tangled his fingers in her silky hair, letting it slide over his chest and then his abdomen as she moved lower and lower down the length of his body.
When her tongue dipped into his navel, he nearly shouted with the pleasure of it. “God, Delilah,” he managed to rasp, “baby, you have to stop.”
She ignored him. Her hand crept up his tensed thigh, higher and higher until she cuddled his testicles for a brief, heart-stopping moment before grasping his erection and slowly stroking.
He stiffened, all sensation, hot and thick, rushing into his groin. Her mouth, still gentle but hungry, kissed him through the cotton boxers, and the pleasure-pain was so excruciating it blocked everything else.
He cursed, feeling himself sinking, out of control. He had to stop her, but he didn’t want to. He wanted her to—
As if she’d read his mind, she eased the boxers down.
“No,” Mick protested with a long groan, knowing he sounded less than convincing. The damn pills had melted away his determination, made him forget all his plans. He could only focus on Delilah, on what she did, how she touched him.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she breathed.
He opened his eyes, needing to watch. The look on her face mirrored his own emotions of fire, need, possession. She watched her hand driving him to distraction, her grip firm, her thumb curling over the end of his erection with each long stroke, pushing him closer and closer....
Mick felt a surge of release and desperately fought it off, but she saw the drop of fluid at the head of his penis and leaned forward.
He shuddered, cursed, held his breath—then shouted in reaction when her mouth closed over him, not tentatively, as he’d expected, but sliding wetly down the length of him, taking all of him in, sucking.
Maybe if he hadn’t taken the damn pills, maybe if it had been any woman other than her, he could have controlled himself.
But from the moment he’d seen her he’d wanted her, and he couldn’t hold back, couldn’t stop himself from coming. His fingers knotted in her hair and he held her head to him, not that it was necessary because she didn’t pull away. She drew him deeper and made a low sound of pleasure that he felt in his soul. He tightened, surged, and experienced the strongest release of his entire life. He growled with the force of it, his body taut, arching, his mind going blank.
