by Sarah Title
“Dammit, Gavin, yes!”
She grabbed his hips and tried to pull him forward, but he was determined to torture her, entering her by slow degrees, then withdrawing even slower. Finally, finally, he was seated all the way, his hips flush with hers.
He rested a sweaty brow on her forehead. “Jesus, Maureen. You feel amazing.”
She shifted her hips forward, trying to get a little more, and he growled, pulling back, then plunging into her. The feeling of delicious fullness had her arching her back and crying out. He pumped in and out, a relentless pace that she couldn’t keep up with no matter how she planted her feet and tried to match him. She gave up and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Yes, hold on to me,” he whispered against her neck, and she did. She tightened her legs around his waist and clamped her arms across his back, digging into the shifting muscles she felt there. She held tight to him everywhere as the tension built inside her. She had never felt anything like this before, this desperate spiraling upward. She was so close to the point, but it remained just out of reach as he gripped her and pumped into her, her breasts shaking in her bra. She raked his back with her nails and bit his shoulder and he groaned, shifted, and that was it. She was up and over, lost in an explosion of sparks, and it was all she could do to hold on and cry out.
Just as she was beginning to come back down to earth, she felt him pick up his pace again—how could he possibly go any faster?—and his shoulders tensed, his back arched and he let out his own wild cry and collapsed onto her.
They lay there, entwined, connected, gasping for air. She couldn’t help it; she let out a little helpless moan as an aftershock whispered through her core.
Gavin lifted himself up on shaky elbows and wiped her hair from her sweaty brow. His next breath came out on a little “whoa,” and she laughed and buried her face in his neck. She was embarrassed at the intimacy, of losing herself so completely in front of a virtual stranger, but then the feeling of exhausted satisfaction took over and she sighed, happily.
“Sorry, I’m crushing you,” he said after a minute.
“No,” she protested as he rolled over and left her empty. She heard his footsteps leave the room and he was back a minute later, condom disposed of.
He swatted her playfully on the leg. “Come on, move over.”
Well, she thought miserably, there was that dream over. Was he not even going to let her sleep in his bed? “Covers,” he said, pulling the comforter and sheet from underneath her. Wow, they hadn’t even turned down the covers.
He crawled into bed. Maureen wasn’t sure what the etiquette was in this situation, so she rolled over to one side and tried to make herself as unobtrusive as possible.
“Where are you going?” Gavin said, and pulled her next to him, snuggling her under his arm.
In about five seconds, they were both asleep.
Chapter 8
Maureen woke up groggy and confused with a strange arm around her shoulders. She’d spent weeks getting used to sleeping alone and now . . . Dave? She rolled away from the warm chest and looked at the alarm clock. No alarm clock. Where the hell was she?
Her eyes adjusted to the slight pink light of sunrise. Not Dave.
Gavin.
He slept on his back with his mouth open a little, his deep breathing the only sound in the room. She lightly traced her finger over his strong nose and around those gentle lips. Not always gentle, she remembered.
She decided if she ever saw that strange little woman again, she would kiss her right on that tacky, lipsticked mouth. Fucking Dave out of her system was the best advice she had ever taken, probably in her life. She had never, ever felt the way Gavin made her feel last night. She felt sexy. And powerful, knowing that she made him feel the same way.
Also, a little sore.
But that’s what you get for fucking that bastard out of your system, she supposed.
Although.
Maureen realized that she had, in fact, woken up thinking of Dave. That was not how it was supposed to work. She was supposed to have mind-blowing sex (check) and then never think of her no-good ex-boyfriend ever again.
Hmm, she thought, tracing her finger around Gavin’s ear. Maybe they needed to try again. Could he do that? Dave was a once-a-night kind of guy.
But there he was again. Dave! Dammit. This was getting desperate. Time to take matters into her own hands.
She slid her hand under the sheets, and proceeded to forget all about what’s-his-name.
Gavin was having the strangest dream. It was winter, and snowing, but he was in the ocean, being rocked gently by warm water. And there was a mermaid, her green, shiny tail flicking back and forth as she teased him, swimming closer, then when he reached for her, swimming quickly away. Her curls floated around her head like a crown and her eyes teased him to reach for her again. Then she was the water itself, gentle waves rolling up and down his body, tickling the hair on his thighs, caressing his . . .
He woke with a jerk. Not a mermaid: Maureen. And it wasn’t waves caressing him, it was her—her hands and her mouth. She lifted her eyes to his and gave him a crooked smile.
“Morning,” she said.
“Morning yourself,” he said, pushing the hair back from her forehead.
“Did I wake you?”
“I’m not sure. Am I awake?”
“Let’s see,” and she bent her mouth to him.
Yes, he was definitely awake. She had a beautiful mouth; he knew that from the way she’d kissed him yesterday. And if he wasn’t mistaken, the way she’d bitten his shoulder. He shivered as she gently used her teeth now. Her teeth, her tongue. He could feel her breasts making slow movements against his thighs as she raised herself up and down over him. He remembered that bra, all silky and see-through, and suddenly he had to know if she still wore it.
He reached down to her head, gently guiding her up to his face so he could kiss her.
“But what about—” she protested.
“I want this,” he said, kissing her. She was excited, he could tell, and opened for him enthusiastically. But he’d gone too fast last night. This morning he wanted to taste all of her. So he broke the kiss, moved his lips gently to her cheek, her jaw, her neck. He remembered that pulse point at the base of her neck that was so sensitive, so he spent a little time there and was rewarded with her gasp and an arch of her spine. He ran his hands up her back, stopping only long enough to unclasp the bra she still wore.
She sat up, straddling his thighs, and pulled the straps over her shoulders. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. The bra was pretty, but nothing compared to Maureen in all her glory. He reached up to hold the firm weight of her, running his thumbs over her nipples, then pulled her down for a taste. She was sweet and soft and the little moans she made got him so hot, he tasted the other breast. This time she made sort of a moan-gasp sound and tugged her fingers through his hair.
Gavin wondered what other sounds she could make.
He ran his fingers along her spine, down over the soft globes of her ass. He reached around and eased one finger inside of her. This time it was just a straight-up gasp, high and shocked in his ear. He added another finger and watched her bite her lip. “No,” he said, and let go of her breasts long enough to kiss her. He moved his fingers in her where she was wet and hot until she was breathless and panting over him. Her arms were shaking with the effort of holding herself up, but he wasn’t done. He moved his hand—a little mew of complaint, but he would fix that—and hitched her thighs further up so she was straddling his waist. He had better access to those gorgeous breasts, and he took advantage of it, using his mouth and his teeth like she had on him. She let out a shaky “Oh my God” and he felt inspired. So he hitched her further up his chest, then pushed her ass forward.
“What are you—” she started, and then her hands grabbed the headboard as his mouth found her. He held her over his face as he licked and sucked her, his hands molding the gorgeous flesh of her ass. She let out short little shouts of pleasure, but wh
en his tongue entered her, it was a full-fledged “Oh, fuck!” and he held her still as he plunged into her. He used his fingers and his tongue and his lips until she was whimpering, legs shaking with the effort of holding still. So he was merciful and found her with his tongue, sucking and licking in quick little strokes until he felt the spasms around his lips as she came with a yell.
Her head lolled forward as she numbly scooted back, gazing down at him with dark, satisfied eyes.
“Good morning,” he said again. She let out a breathless laugh and collapsed next to him. She looked beautiful, lush and warm and happy. He could look at her all morning.
But she had other ideas, and she pulled him over her so he covered her like a blanket. “Good morning,” she said, and spread her legs and took him inside of her, and he found he had his own sounds to make.
Chapter 9
Maureen decided the man deserved breakfast. She found his plaid bathrobe hanging behind the bathroom door and threw it on before leaving Gavin gently snoring on the bed. She vaguely remembered him saying that the kitchen was downstairs before . . . well, before he ravaged her. She giggled. She had been ravaged! And now she was giggling!
She passed what used to be the living room but was now clearly his office, with two long desks facing opposite walls and a small round conference table in the center. She paused a moment, admiring the original brickwork on the fireplace and imagining cuddling up in front of a roaring fire with Gavin, just the two of them, wrapped in nothing but blankets.
She shook her head. She was just getting out of one relationship. She didn’t need to hop right into another one, no matter how tempting it might seem. Besides, she hardly knew Gavin, so who knew if he was even the relationship type? She wasn’t. Not anymore. Nope, she was the love ’em and leave ’em type, starting now.
Well, starting after breakfast. It was the least she could do after he’d tired himself out up there, and all for her benefit. She surveyed the small, modern kitchen. It had new-looking chrome appliances and very clean granite countertops. He probably didn’t use it much. Typical. But it was neat, and in no time she found the coffee filters and had a pot brewing. What to eat? Something fast, because she had to be at work soon. She looked at the microwave clock, but was distracted by the view from the window. Ugh, it was still gray and snowy outside. She was not looking forward to driving if it was still snowing.
But then she took another look, confused, until she realized—holy shit—the snow was up to the windows. Panicking, she leaned over the sink and peeked out. This wasn’t just a blanket of snow—this was fifteen down comforters and a polar bear rug of snow. It wasn’t supposed to snow this much in Kentucky! What was the point of living below the Mason-Dixon line if stupid climate change was going to ruin everything?
She couldn’t see where the street ended and the yard began. The wind had blown the snow in strange formations, so even though it nearly covered the window, it only seemed to be a few feet up the tree outside. But a few feet was a few feet. In Kentucky! A few feet of snow! At least the library would be closed. She found her purse, then her cell phone, and listened to a message from her boss saying just that. Good, Maureen thought. A real snow day.
At least Gavin seemed pretty well stocked with food. She noted lots of take-out containers, but also eggs, milk, bread. Maybe an omelet? But she was feeling like something sweet.
“Did you make coffee?”
She turned, shutting the fridge door guiltily. “Sorry. I thought I would make breakfast.”
“Great. Thanks!” Gavin said, and reached for her waist to pull her in for a kiss. He looked mussed and adorable in well-worn gray sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. He tugged the string of his bathrobe appreciatively. “You look cute in that. You don’t have to make breakfast, though. I’ll do it.”
He stood in front of the refrigerator.
“What are you going to make?” she asked.
“Um,” he looked out the window. “Holy crap. Too much snow for a drive-thru, huh?”
She leveled her gaze at him. “I was thinking French toast.”
Gavin was not too proud to admit when he was bested. “Have at it. That sounds great.”
As Maureen got to work whisking eggs and milk, Gavin leaned on the counter, admiring her. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
“Make French toast? Everybody knows how to make French toast.”
“I don’t.”
“Well, I’ll show you.” She handed him the whisk. “Do you have any cinnamon?”
“I think there’s a spice thing in that cabinet,” he said, indicating with his elbow.
“Oh!” she said, coming out with a jar of chocolate hazelnut spread. “Can we?”
“Sure. Oh, what about this?” He reached into the freezer for a bag of frozen strawberries. “Can you use these?”
Strawberries simmering, they worked in companionable silence, dipping the bread in the cinnamon-y mixture and placing the slices on the griddle Gavin unearthed from under the stove. Maureen put herself in charge of flipping after Gavin got too distracted kissing her and burned the first few pieces.
They ate in a little breakfast nook, with napkins and everything. Gavin couldn’t remember the last time he ate a proper breakfast and he was glad that Maureen had taken the initiative. He liked that she felt comfortable in his house. Not that she had any choice—one look out the window told him they wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. He lived far enough off the main road that the county didn’t plow him out until late, and that was during a normal snowfall. This was some Pennsylvania-level stuff, and Hollow Bend had Kentucky-level snow removal equipment.
They were definitely in for the day. His mind started to wander with possibilities. She looked pretty cute in his bathrobe, but he knew what was underneath it. Maybe he could persuade her to take a shower . . .
His reverie was interrupted by his office phone ringing. He looked at the clock—almost ten. They had been sitting there—eating, touching, laughing—for longer than he realized.
“I should get that,” he said. “One of the downfalls of working from home.”
It was a client, reminding him that their proposal was due in a week and he wanted a draft that afternoon. Gavin had it pretty well started, but there was still a lot of work to be done. So much for the shower. Maybe if he worked fast . . .
When he came back to the kitchen with a sheepish look on his face, Maureen said, “Don’t worry, I can entertain myself.”
“I’m sorry. If I could get out of this, I would.”
“I understand. I wasn’t really on your schedule.”
He pulled her closer by the string of the robe. “You’re an excellent distraction.”
She blushed and pushed back at him. “Go to work. I saw some books upstairs. Is there somewhere I can wash my clothes?”
“You’re not getting dressed, are you?”
She laughed. “Eventually. And I only have one pair of underwear.”
“Hmm. Maybe you should go without.”
“You know, the sooner you’re done with work, the sooner we can play.”
He turned, whiplash-fast, and headed into his office.
Maureen admired his departing view, then turned toward the stairs. How could a man look good even in sweatpants? Although her sweatpants seemed to have some appeal for him, she recalled. This could revolutionize the fashion industry: abandon your skinny jeans—what they really want is sweatpants!
She took some comfort in the fact that he couldn’t cook. It was further evidence that she was wrong in her initial assessment of him and that he was not, in fact, perfect. His flaws, so far, were: can’t cook (not a problem since she loved it, but still); snores (just a little)—that was it so far. Maybe she should riffle through his drawers looking for deviant sex videos.
She paused in his bedroom doorway. No, if he had deviant sex videos, she’d rather not know about it. As soon as they plowed the street, she’d be gone and leave him to his snoring and take-out and
pervy appetites.
Maureen sighed. She could pretend Gavin was a psychotic sex pervert—and there was still a chance he was—but her work with the public at the library had made her a pretty good judge of character. Not necessarily a great judge of relationship material, but since the goal here wasn’t a relationship, that didn’t matter.
Confident that she would not get trussed up and erotically axe-murdered, Maureen started exploring upstairs. She had seen his bedroom—sort of—but now she took in the high bed with the dark wood headboard and the dinged-up dressers. She didn’t know anything about antiques, but these looked too well-used to be really valuable—maybe family pieces? She remembered what he’d said at dinner last night, about his parents dying. Her imagination immediately concocted a story about a teenage Gavin fighting off hordes of garage salers to protect his family legacy.
Well, wherever they came from, they suited the room, giving the high-ceilinged space a lived-in feeling. That was the sense she got from the whole house—it was old but well-maintained, restored but not museum-stuffy. Gorgeous and comfortable. Sort of like Gavin.
But there was no fireplace in the bedroom. Ha, another flaw. She heard office sounds coming from downstairs: technology firing up, telephone ringing, chair scraping. Her heart went out to him, having to work on a snow day. She wanted to get in the kitchen and bake him cookies. She wanted to spoil him, to reward him for working so hard. Instead, she nosed around some more, noting the giant claw-foot tub in the bathroom—some definite possibilities there—a spare bedroom that seemed to double as storage for sport equipment.
Then she got to a room that made her list of imperfections fly out the snow-covered window. The tile masonry around the fireplace—a fireplace!—looked original, as did the built-in shelves that covered three walls of the room. But her cold librarian heart melted as she took in the books crammed onto those shelves—old hardback biographies, well-used science fiction paperbacks. Was he a nerd? Her heart sputtered in glee, which developed into a full-blown happy heart attack when she saw a Jane Austen. With a broken spine. He read Jane Austen.
