by Amelia Hart
She liked it too. She liked him. Too much for her purposes but maybe the right amount for a lover. Could one even be intimate like that with someone one did not like? Perhaps others could do it. She had never had the experience. Perhaps she would someday.
She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the thought. Though the idea of the wildness and unpredictability of exploring her sexuality with other partners had held brief appeal, she found the impulse had slackened. This was just so much . . . nicer. Maybe she would go back to the other idea afterward. She sighed, and felt Luke's slight shift in response, though he slept on. Alright, so she was useless at leading at a wild and hedonistic life. She just could not hang loose and let go. But sexual frustration must have been a big part of that restlessness because so much of the itch was gone, now.
All that was left was her instinct to nail down the parameters of what she and Luke were sharing, label it neatly, categorized to her satisfaction, and put an expiry date on it. She wondered if she would end it or he would. It was on her mind that it might be awhile before she wanted it to be over, it was so . . . restorative to be ravished so well. Ravished was not quite the right word either but he did certainly have a way of sweeping her off her feet.
She had promised to enjoy that and not do this: think too much about it all.
As a distraction she rolled over in little shifts – all she could manage with his arms tight around her, legs tangled in hers – to face him, and by the time she got there he was awake.
"Good morning, sweetheart," he said.
"You shouldn't call me that, you know," she said calmly, finding it peculiar to have her naked body next to his like this and talk. She was not used to such intimacy.
He shrugged, lifted his brows and smiled. "Your heart is sweet. It's the accurate term." He put a kiss on her forehead.
"I don't think I've been very sweet to you."
"You've really been up against it, haven't you? I've been an ass. You've done your best."
She gurgled a little laugh against his chest, charmed by the unique perspective. "I hadn't thought of it like that. Okay, I'll take full credit. Sweetheart it is," she added the last recklessly, feeling like indulging him in some small way, he who amused her. She felt the twitch and rise of his penis against her thighs and scolded, "None of that. You don't have time for it."
"I know. But he's ever-hopeful. You can't blame him. Early morning, gorgeous woman snuggled up close, under those circumstances of course he's going to try to get some action."
"But not you?"
"Oh no, not me. I'm too much of a gentleman. Besides you need some time to recover. I don't want to chafe you up so badly you shut me out when I come back tonight."
"Tonight, is it? I don't recall inviting you."
"That was the point of the good loving," he said, stretched his arms over his head and enjoyed a joint-popping stretch, then put his arms back around her. "It's supposed to lure you into wanting more."
"So you're saying that's not your normal self?" She raised her eyebrows. "I can expect standards to slip in the future?"
"No, no, don't you go putting words in my mouth again. You're too clever for your own good. Not at all. What you are getting is gold-plated, five-star servicing. Nothing less."
"You have a standards system?"
"I think we're going to stop this conversation before I get another attack of foot-in-mouth. Damn, woman, you are dangerous. Let's change the subject. What time is it?"
"I've no idea. My watch is on the night-stand though, if you want to have a look."
He rolled away, the drape of the bed linen giving her an interesting view of the sweep from broad shoulders down to narrow waist and such taut buttocks she could not help but stare. As soon as she saw them she wanted to put her hands on them. She was eying him hungrily when he turned back with the watch, frowning down at the small, ornate face with its pretty but hard-to-read dial, even less decipherable in the dim light.
"Is that . . . no it can't be . . . aw hell!" he tossed it down, vaulted from the bed and gathered up an armful of his discarded clothes, threw them on the rumpled covers and started to get them on as fast as he could. She watched the reverse striptease a little wistfully. She was not that sore, not really sore at all, and it was sad to see all that masculine loveliness unused.
Still, he obviously needed to get to work more than he needed a diversion right now, so she rolled to the other side of the bed and got out, looking for her robe. As she picked it up she realized the frantic rustling of clothes had stopped and she turned to see him standing staring at her with a dazed expression.
She slid her arms into the robe then paused, let it hang open. "Hmmm?" she asked in innocent enquiry.
He came across the room in quick strides, swooped her up and came down on the bed with her, pants still unbuttoned, morning erection surging from the top in an effort to be freed. She put her legs around his waist and he rubbed up against the core of her, a slow, intense grind, eyes half-lidded, nostrils flared. "Damn, how can a man ever think straight when you look like that, all pink and rumpled and sexy straight out of his bed?"
"My bed," she murmured provocatively, arching up to him.
His fingers went down to touch her and came away damp. "My God, how can you be so wet already?" he asked. "I just want to lick you and suck you and slide inside you and I haven't got time."
"Put a condom on," she told him and he pulled one out of his pocket immediately, ripped it open and crammed it on with frantic fingers.
"So slide inside me then," she challenged him, and he came down on one knee on the edge of the bed, erection in one hand, and lowered himself to fit it to her, eyes on her face. "Gently," she said, closing her eyes, smiling a little, and he moved an inch at a time, thrusting and withdrawing, a tugging intensified by the extra friction. It might be tender later but it felt good right now so she shifted her angle to draw him in, her heels coming to press on his buttocks, urge him further into her body.
One of his hands was bearing his weight, the other underneath her bottom, and as she became more aroused he slid deeper into her, faster, urging hoarsely, "Come with me sweetheart. Come with me."
"I don't think I can," she said dreamily, not caring, just enjoying the hasty rawness of it all, the power to pull him from his duties, his day, and bring him to her, all lustful ardor.
Then he put a hand on her breast, rolled her sensitive nipple between his fingers, and the bolt of electricity that shot through her at that touch made her cry out, shuddering and coming in a startling burst. "Oh," she said in surprise.
"Good girl," he said, approving and relieved, and shoved into her full length, the moisture and relaxation of her climax letting her take him fully. Oh it was good, so hasty and primal, and when moments later he reached his own orgasm she smiled in triumph, feeling it a small victory over rational judgment and sensible timetables. She cracked an eye open to watch him recover, breathing heavily and leaning on one elbow, body still joined to hers.
"So, you're running late?" she reminded him, and he nodded and grinned like the devil and withdrew then kissed her passionately, hands coming up to cup her face.
"You are some kind of wonderful," he told her fervently, kissed her again and backed away to survey her laid out on the bed, tumbled and satisfied. "I am going to be picturing you like that all day. I'm going to be crazy waiting to get back to you. And you better believe the instant I get inside this house I'm going down on you till I make you as crazy as me."
She breathed out through her nose in a little huff of amusement, failing to find any objection to this plan. "Okay." He grinned at her, radiating delight, and ran off down the hall. "Shoes!" she called out after him and he came back, kissed her again, collected them and went a second time.
She lay back on the bed, flung her arms over her head and stretched, gloriously used. Well, that was quite a way to wake up. She could certainly get used to that, she smiled, and shook her head at herself, foolishly, gloriously lustful and s
atisfied.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Saturday he left for an away game on Sunday, but on Monday night he came to her door again. He just showed up, and though she told him a little crossly if he did not phone ahead he might find her out for an evening work appointment, he only shrugged and grinned at her.
"Don't you have a home to go to?" she asked him.
"I sure do, but it's not as nice as yours because it doesn't have you in it," he said unanswerably.
He had all Tuesday off, and that morning he was exuberantly energetic, rolling out of bed and leaving her dazed and relaxed under the covers.
"Breakfast," he declared. "I'm making it. Anything in particular you like?"
"You don't have to do that. I'll cook."
"Not a chance. You stay there, all pink and pretty and rumpled. No, don't get up. Don't move. Don't even blink."
"Okay," she said doubtfully. A man who cooked was out of her realm of experience. She kept very good, very expensive ingredients in her fridge and pantry, and was not sure she wanted him messing with them.
"Don't look so worried." He bent and put a kiss on her nose. "I'll be right back."
But he was gone half an hour, and although she read the novel she had on her night stand, she could feel uneasiness mounting inside her, a combination of protectiveness about her kitchen, and a well-honed tendency to serve.
Don't be pathetic. It's every woman's dream to have a hunky man cook her breakfast. Try and enjoy it.
But she was not at ease until he returned with a tray fully laden. She inspected it for signs of mauled foodstuffs and found he had done a creditable job with the eggs, bacon, fried tomatoes and mushrooms.
"I didn't make toast because I couldn't find bread," he said, setting it down next to her on the bed
"I don't usually buy it for myself. Wheat is bad for the digestive system."
"Not for my digestive system. It's solid as a rock."
"I'm sure. You know, I don't usually eat breakfast in bed."
"It's great to try new experiences."
"I don't want to get a mess on the sheets."
"A dainty, polite little thing like you? I bet you couldn't make a mess if you tried. If you're worried I can feed you."
Being spoonfed was too much for her dignity, let alone the tender overtones of it. And it would hardly be tidier. "Thank you but no, I'll manage." She shifted her plate into her lap and started to eat, while he pulled the night table over to the Queen Anne chair to put his plate on. When he looked up and found her watching him he confided:
"I won't take a chance eating on your nice white sheets. They feel expensive."
"Egyptian cotton. Sky-high thread count."
"I thought it was something like that. Savage creature like me better steer clear. I'll just eat over here."
"Perhaps you feel a little cold." When he just raised his eyebrows at her she said a little more pointedly, "Perhaps you'd like to put some clothes on."
"Oh," he grinned at her in sudden comprehension. "You mean rather than put my naked ass on your fancy chair."
"Yes, that," she said.
"Sure thing. I don't know where my pants are, though."
"I think they're in the living room," she murmured.
"Right. Right. You eat your breakfast before it gets cold."
He returned a moment later, only half naked, and set to devour his stacked plateful of food with a will. She ate more slowly, and found that while it was not perfect, the breakfast was decent and there was a thread of pleasure in her to have someone else tend to her needs.
This was why other people liked it so much.
"So," he said, already finished, put his cutlery down and rubbed his hands together. "What shall we do today? I have the whole day free."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't know what you're doing, but I have appointments from ten through five. My schedule is very busy today."
"That's unlucky. Ah well." He stood and wandered to the window. The master bedroom and ensuite were in a separate small wing that showed the front of the house from the windows on one side, and a jumbled mass of foliage out the other. He looked at the foliage.
"Hey, this is a nice silky sassafras you have here. It needs more light, though." He opened the window, leaned out and took a deep breath. "Mmm, smell that. That's beautiful. How attached are you to this cluster of redcedars?"
"Redcedars?" She set her plate to one side and looked around for her robe, put it on and came to his side. A spicy smell hung around him from the open window, mixed with the sharpness of the conifers that stood around the tree his was looking at, shutting out its light. The air was sharply cold. She shivered and wrapped her robe tighter, and wondered how he could stand there with his chest bare as if it was nothing.
"Juniperus virginiana. Common as dirt. But this sassafras is great. You could take the redcedars out and it would be a feature tree. You'd get a lot more light into this room, as well."
"I hadn't thought about it."
"You should think about it. Come on, let's go outside and have a look."
"I can't. We can't. It's cold out there."
"So put some clothes on."
"I need to have a shower first."
"Have a shower, put some clothes on and let's go see." He was patient.
She eyed him. "What's all this about? Frustrated longing for a garden? You want to get your hands on my dirt?"
"Hell yeah. Sounds like fun. The perfect way to spend a day off."
"And what? You're just going to nip out there and uproot those big trees with your bare hands?"
"I'd need some tools, of course. But that's okay. I can buy those. So long as I can store them in your garage-"
"I don't know. I could just hire someone to chop them down-"
"For sure, if you want. But we should look at it all first, make a plan. Then if you want other stuff taken out at the same time you can have that done. Or I get the tools and I can just do a bit at a time."
"All right." She gave in. "I'll have a shower and we'll look at the garden."
"Sure thing. But I'll use your other shower, or I'll never get out of there with you sauntering around all naked and wet."
"I do not saunter."
"Looks like sauntering to me. Don't take long." He went out, a definite spring to his step, and she sighed. The garden was fine the way it was, with its expanses of lawn and mature trees. She weeded and planted annuals when she was in the mood, mostly at the front of the house to keep the place looking reasonable, and other than that it was left to grow as it wanted. Still, if he wanted to get in there and thrash around – and would enjoy the task – then that was harmless enough as long as he did not disturb the privacy the trees gave her from the neighbors.
She said as much as they stood together looking back at the house from the bottom of the garden.
"Oh yeah," he replied. "Privacy, no question. But there's heaps of space to work with even if those big fellows around the edge stay. You could have some different levels of shrubbery, and some more evergreens so you don't lose that effect in winter like you do over there and there." He indicated the gaps in the foliage where nearby houses were visible. "I think that's probably what the previous owners tried achieve when they planted the cedars and those balsam fir. Looks like they've had some die off, though. At least I assume it was the previous owners and not you who planted them."
"Not me. We haven't- I haven't been here that long." Eight years. Not long enough to have those trees grow to maturity. "When I moved in the plan was to have kids and turn the garden into a great place to play. Other than that I don't really know what to do with it, so I've just left it." She said it steadily, refusing to acknowledge her feelings about it. Besides, the doctor had said she was fertile. This garden would have its children.
"Do you want a vegetable patch out here?" he asked. "It could be hidden behind those trees over there if you don't want to look at it, and still get the sun."
"Too much work. The fresh
produce would be nice but I don't want to keep up with all the weeding."
"So how do you use the garden? What do you like to do out here?"
"I read out here, in the summer. Host picnics and dinner parties. I have a wooden table that can be hauled out of the garage and left under that tree there."
He strode over to stand in the spot she indicated, scuffed the dirt underfoot and surveyed the house. "You like the casualness of the bare dirt? Or would you prefer a solid base, a patio or something?"
"A patio would be good, I guess. More approachable. I could always set the table further out again if I wanted the dirt occasionally."
"You could have a barbecue area over this way, with seating around it for company while you're cooking, flowing on to the dining area here. If you like the shade you don't have to lose it just because you're away from the tree. An arbor with wisteria or a grapevine would keep it covered in summer and in winter the sun could come through."
"I don't really need a barbecue area. I don't use one."
"That's a crying shame. An entertainer needs a barbecue. It's a marriage made in heaven. All that grill space, and plenty of room for everyone to gather around and keep you company-"
"You're obviously a fan of barbecues."
"I know my way around a six-burner. That's how I like to entertain. And then you could have a path that winds its way down around those trees and disappears. It'll draw your eye down there, make the space look as big as it really is. And if you do it as a solid surface it would make a mean cycle track for kids on trikes. Have it come back over there in a big loop and they'll go round and round on it for hours."
