Up In Flames

by Lori Foster

  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 raging 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.

  His only realization in that turbulent moment of rioting sensation was that no other man would ever touch her; she was his, and he intended to keep her.

  * * *

  Mick didn’t sleep long this time, probably no more than an hour, but he awoke half-frozen. The air conditioner, on the highest setting, hummed loudly, and the ceiling fan whirled overhead. He felt his hair blowing, felt his skin prickle with goose bumps.

  He’d passed out just as she’d left him, half propped against the headboard, his legs now limp, his shoulder cushioned by a soft pillow. At least she’d pulled the spread up to his waist, he thought, a bit disgruntled.

  He felt like an idiot as he looked around and realized the room was empty. He cursed. Then cursed again when he pushed the spread away and became racked with chills. It was like sleeping on the wing of an airplane, for crying out loud!

  He swung his legs to the floor, stood—and nearly fell. Weakness had invaded every muscle. The pain pills had no effect on his aches, not after that mind-grinding orgasm, where every muscle in his body, clear down to the soles of his feet, had knotted in pulsating pleasure. She’d wrung him out—no doubt that had been her intent.

  He grunted, unable to believe what she’d done, and unwilling to accept that after she’d done it, he’d had the gall to fall asleep.

  If the room hadn’t felt like a meat locker, he’d probably have been hot with embarrassment.

  He glanced down at his boxers, still around his thighs, and shook his head. It was too much, far too much.

  He straightened his underwear, whipped the spread off the bed and around his shoulders to ward off the cold, then went to the window to turn the unit down. The air conditioner sputtered and died with a sigh.

  Forcing himself forward on shaky limbs, Mick left the bedroom. The apartment was quiet, other than the rattling of pans in the kitchen area. On his way down the hall, he decided to take the offense. Delilah knew he’d wanted to make love to her, but she’d taken the choice away from him. How she’d taken it away had been beyond incredible, but still, she needed to know that he wouldn’t be so easily manipulated. Not ever again.

  He was appalled that he’d proved so easy this time. But then, maybe that’s why she’d given him the pills, to weaken his resolve. He’d be sure to ask her that.

  When he reached the arched kitchen doorway, she had her back to him, stirring a pan of something on the stove. Whatever she was cooking smelled good, as did the coffee in the coffeemaker. She’d pulled her tank top back on, but not her jeans, and the sight of her bottom in the silky panties did a lot to obliterate his other concerns.

  Before he got distracted, he asked, “Did you talk me into the pain pills so you could keep us from having sex?”

  She yelped, dropped her stirring spoon and jerked around to face him. Their gazes locked.

  The sight of her face made his mind go blank, his heart trip. She’d been crying.

  “Delilah?” he asked around a sudden lump of emotion. Damn, that bothered him. He didn’t get lumps of emotion. In his job, he saw the worst life had to offer and he handled it dispassionately, with a distance that could be applauded. Always, from the time he’d been a young boy, he’d kept his emotions in check.

  But God, she looked like hell with her eyes swollen and wet, her cheeks blotchy, her nose red. Seeing her made his heart thump.

  She bit her bottom lip and turned to the stove again. He heard her sniff. “Yes.”

  Mick shook his head. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her. Yet she’d turned her back on him. “Yes what?”

  “Yes, I gave you the pills so you wouldn’t complain when I...eased you. It was the only thing I could think of. I didn’t want you to strain yourself, and the doctor said it was too soon for you to have sex.”

  Talking with Delilah was like wading through syrup. He kept getting stuck, but damn, it was sweet. He cleared his throat, forcing the emotion away so he could think and react clearly. He slowly approached her and stood at her back, close enough to breathe in her sexy scent and see the enormous pot of spaghetti sauce she stirred. “You spoke with the doctor about us having sex?” Her initiative amazed him—and aroused him.

  “Yes. Right after I bought the condoms.”

  Mick paused. Bought the condoms? Before he could ask, she said, “I snuck them into the bedroom, in the nightstand drawer, just in case you didn’t go to sleep after you came.”

  She spoke as bl
untly as any man, but then, she’d done that from the first, speaking her mind with candor. Unlike other women he knew, she didn’t measure her words. She was so female she made him crazy, yet she didn’t always act female. Damn if that didn’t arouse him, too.

  Hell, everything she did aroused him. Just moments before he’d thought himself fully satisfied, but now... “The hospital sells rubbers?”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder, and he watched one fat tear track down her cheek. “Yeah, of course they do. It’s a hospital, and they understand about unnecessary risks.”

  She’d managed to distract him, after all.

  Mick shook his head and wrapped one arm around her waist. Resting his chin on top of her head, he asked, “Why are you crying, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?”

  “Of course not.” She leaned into him, then pushed back with a frown. “You’re shivering.” Twisting, she put her hand to his forehead in a maternal gesture of concern. “Are you sick?”

  “Just cold.” He turned her back around and laced his hands over her middle. Her bottom pressed into his groin. “The room was like ice.”

  She nodded. “I figured you’d like it cold. Most men get warmer than women, right?”

  He had no idea, but he doubted any man would relish the igloo accommodations she’d provided him. She’d obviously had some sexual experience, and she was comfortable with her body, with her sexuality. But she was far from knowledgeable about the opposite sex. Mick shook his head at the added contradictions. “Why are you crying?”

  She shrugged and leaned back against him. “I’m just a little sad. I’m sorry you have to see me like this. I’m a terrible crier. Very ugly. The news just took me by surprise.”

  “What news?” He rubbed his chin against her hair, spread his hand over her belly. He loved the feel of her, her softness, her sleekness. She was so feminine, but not in a frail way.

  “A guy I know died. I just read it in the paper.”

  Mick stiffened, caught between conflicting reactions. He wanted to comfort her from any upset, and he wanted to jealously demand information about the guy who’d made her cry. He must have been important to her to bring on the tears.