by Dawn Atkins
His mouth was so close that she could feel his breath on her lips. “Me, too.”
“Nice to know that we’re on the same page,” he murmured as he framed her face with his hands and urged her up onto her toes. Even then, he only pressed his mouth lightly against hers before he withdrew. But he followed with another kiss, lingering longer before he broke it. “I’ve been wondering about the fit.”
As far as she could tell, the fit was very good. Each new angle that he tried seemed to get better. And his taste—the wonderful male flavor was as good as chocolate. When his tongue finally touched hers, she had to reach out and grab his waist to steady herself. This time when he drew away, she slid her hands up and grabbed his shoulders to pull him closer. “More.”
“Yes.” Finally, he deepened the kiss. But he was still gentle, still tasting her as if he had all the time in the world and intended to take it. Pleasure streamed through her with an intensity that she’d never felt before. She could smell the heat of the day, the earthy scent of the trees and ground, and the sea. But she could also smell Jed—a mixture of soap and sun and man. She was so aware of that firm yet gentle mouth and the warmth and strength of the hands that framed her face—she felt the pressure of each finger. She was melting, floating, and he wasn’t even touching her. Not really. When he nipped her bottom lip with his teeth, the sharp stab of desire took her by surprise. She pushed against him.
When he drew back, she said, “I think it’s time to get into the hammock.”
He drew a thumb over her bottom lip. “Not yet.”
She pressed her hands more firmly against his chest. “Why not?”
“Once we get in there, foreplay becomes problematic. Besides, I’ve never been a fan of the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of sex. I want you ready.”
“I am.” For heaven’s sake, she was pretty sure she’d been ready the first time she’d seen him.
He moved his mouth to her earlobe and gave it a quick nip. “Maybe I’m not. I’ve wanted to be inside you since the first time I saw you. I want you wet and slick.”
The whispered words, the warmth of his breath, had a tremor moving through her. She managed to take in enough air to say, “I’m practically melting.”
His gaze returned to hers, and he smiled that slow, easy grin. She was very much aware that his mouth was only a breath away from hers.
“Are you always in such a big hurry?” he asked.
Heat rose in her cheeks. She’d never thought about it before. “I guess.” But perhaps her sexual experience had been limited to men who’d always been in a hurry.
“Sugar, anticipation is half the fun. But in the interests of compromise, I think we can proceed to step two.”
Before she could react or even think, he spanned her waist with his hands, lifted her and carried her toward the hammock. Then, to her surprise, she found herself on her feet again with her back against one of the trees.
“Why don’t we step up the pace just a bit?” His mouth covered hers again, and this time he probed more deeply with his tongue. His hands weren’t quite gentle as he moved them up her sides and then slid them to cover her breasts. The heat that shot through her was even more intense than what she’d felt before. Her toes curled into the cool grass.
But still he moved slowly as if he had all the time in the world—as if he wanted as much time as he could get. Sensations streamed through her in a series of contrasts: the coolness of the breeze off the water and the furnacelike heat radiating from his body; the strength of those hands stroking down her arms, up her sides, yet the restraint in the patient, thorough exploration of her skin; the hammering race of his heart against the palms of her hands and the slow, gentle movement of his thumbs over her nipples. She felt as if she were sinking and floating at the same time.
When he lifted his mouth from hers, she whispered, “Please.” But she wasn’t sure if she was pleading with him to stop or to go on. And on.
His mouth was poised above hers. “Have I convinced you yet of the benefits of foreplay?”
He was teasing her. Again. She lifted her chin and met his eyes. “Maybe.”
“I guess I’ll just have to try harder,” he said. “You’re a research scientist, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then you probably run experiments all the time.”
Her brows drew together. “No. I mostly gather and analyze data.”
“That’ll work. I’m just going to gather a little data on what you like. We’ll start with this.” Leaning down, he ran a string of nibbling kisses along her shoulder until he reached her throat. Then he nipped at the ligament just where her shoulder joined her neck. She felt her body go limp as a sharp streak of pleasure shot through her.
“Better?” he asked.
“Mmm.” Even her lips had grown weak. She couldn’t seem to form a coherent word.
His chuckle was a rumble that started deep in his chest and vibrated against her fingers. He began to feather kisses along her jaw, down her throat, all around that spot where he’d bitten her before. When would he do it again? Desire coiled and tightened inside her. “Do it again.”
“Sure thing, sugar.”
But it was his tongue she felt first, hot and wet. And the bite was sharper this time. So was the pleasure. Her skin felt icy cold and hot at the same time, and desire tightened into an ache. Suddenly, she had to touch him. She ran her hands up his chest. The hair felt soft, the skin smooth. Both sensations provided a delicious contrast to the rock-hard muscles she felt beneath.
“Yes,” he murmured as he began to nibble again along the line of her throat. “Touch me.”
Encouraged, she ran her palms down his sides and lower over his narrow waist and sharp hip bones, absorbing the hard planes and angles. Each little response he made—a sharp intake of breath when she tried to span his waist, a groan when she moved lower to his thighs—spurred her on. She’d never before received so much enjoyment from merely touching a man. The more she did it, the more she wanted to continue.
To her surprise, her hands seemed to be developing a mind of their own as they moved down and up his thighs, then around to grip his buttocks. And squeeze.
“You’re good,” he said, gripping her waist and pulling her close so that she felt the hard length of his penis press into her stomach.
This time, her groan mixed with his, and the ache inside of her twisted into a pain. Then he set her back against the tree. “Touch me.”
Her hands followed his command and closed around the hard length of him. Once again she marveled at the contrasts—steel hardness covered in velvet. Fascinated, she stroked her hand down, then up. She was about to do it again when he gripped her wrist.
“Am I doing it wrong?” she asked.
For the first time, he wasn’t smiling and the look she saw in his eyes wasn’t amusement. It was something else, something that shot a little shock wave of heat through her.
“Sugar, you’re doing it just right, and if you keep doing it, we won’t make it to the hammock.”
That would have been perfectly fine with her, but she didn’t protest when he drew her hand away and placed it on his waist. “You’re really attached to your fantasies, aren’t you?”
Now his lips curved just the barest fraction. “You got that right. And I haven’t nearly finished collecting data.”
She was absolutely sure that her heart skipped a beat as he slowly lowered his mouth again. His lips brushed hers briefly, then retreated until they were barely a breath away. “Let me see. Where was I?”
Before she could think of an answer, he angled his head and pressed his mouth to the base of her throat. Then using both lips and tongue he journeyed lower inch by inch until he reached the valley between her breasts. Then he lingered there as if some flavor had captured him. Tension coiled inside of her again.
His hands lay at the sides of her breasts and his thumbs were still stroking gently, steadily over her nipples. At any moment she expected him to remove one
of his thumbs and replace it with his mouth. Just the thought had her nipples growing harder. She was anticipating the way his mouth would feel, but when he finally moved again it was to brush his lips lower. And Lower. Each lick of his tongue, each press of his mouth sent shivers along her nerve endings.
She shuddered and cried out when he pushed his tongue deep into her navel and pinched her nipples at the same instant. She’d never experienced pleasure so sharp or a need so consuming.
“You’re so responsive,” he murmured as he nipped at her waist. “Better than I ever dreamed.”
The words brought their own kind of pleasure. She felt as if she should respond, but her thoughts were focused on what he was doing with his mouth and where he was headed. At least, she thought she knew where he was headed as he released her breasts, lowered to his knees and drew her legs apart. Anticipation streamed through her, and for the second time she was willing to believe that it was half the fun. But she wanted the rest of it, and she wanted it now.
Her voice was a rasp when she said, “I’m ready.”
“In a minute. I’m really getting into this data collection.”
She wanted to hit him, but she couldn’t seem to lift her arms.
And still he took his time, making her wait, making her want, until the tension building inside of her was almost unbearable. She thought she knew what was coming, what it would feel like when his mouth finally reached its destination, but the quick lick of his tongue shot through her like electricity.
She cried out, arching as her arms shot back to grip the bark of the tree.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured as he gripped her thighs to steady her. Then he pulled her closer for a deeper taste, probing first with his tongue and then more deeply with his fingers. The pleasure grew more intense as he penetrated her again and again in a slow, steady motion. But every time she thought she was close to climaxing, he drew away to trail a line of kisses down her thigh. And then he would start the process all over again.
She wanted to scream but she couldn’t find the breath. She wanted him to go on almost as much as she wanted to end the torture he was putting her through.
When he finally stood up and drew her toward the hammock, she would have done anything he wanted. On the way, he grabbed his shorts, removed a condom, and managed to get it on.
“Getting in is always a bit tricky. Turn around.”
As soon as she did, he slipped an arm around her waist and positioned her back against his chest. “When I sit, I’m going to pull you into my lap and then we’ll tumble in together.”
Her legs felt like jelly. If he hadn’t had a strong grip on her, Zoë was sure she would have landed fanny first on the ground. As it was, they made it into the hammock without a mishap. He’d been right about the close quarters, she decided. They were lying on their sides, pressed together tight like spoons in a silverware drawer. She should have been uncomfortable, yet she wasn’t. He was a solid wall behind her. Their legs were tangled; one of his lay between hers. One of his arms was trapped beneath her, and his free hand was stroking over her hip. She was very aware of his erection pressing hard against her backside, fanning the fire that he’d started inside of her.
“You okay?” he asked.
“No,” she said, suddenly annoyed. “I’m not going to be okay until you’re inside of me. No more data collecting.” But when she tried to turn, intending to get on top of him, he held her still.
“So help me,” she fumed. “You’re going to pay for this.”
His chuckle rumbled again. “I sure hope so, sugar. But trust me. I’ve got a plan.”
“It better be faster than—” She broke off, distracted when he shifted slightly, lifting the leg that was between hers. “Did I mention that getting in is always a bit tricky?” Then he pushed into her in one long, slow stroke.
“Better?” he murmured against her ear.
She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure she could breathe. He was filling her and the pressure was huge. She drew air in. Maybe. “Yes.”
“You don’t sound positive. We could try something else.”
But when he started to withdraw, she reached behind and clamped a hand on his butt. “No.” She didn’t think she could stand it if he withdrew. “This is fine.”
“Fine isn’t what I’m after,” he murmured. “Let’s try this.”
He moved his left hand to cover her breast and slid his right one lower until one finger was between her folds and pressing against her clitoris. At the same moment, he withdrew and then pushed in again. The fierce lash of pleasure made her cry out.
“Shh,” he murmured, holding her still until she steadied. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she managed. “Yes. Do it again.”
He did, slowly for the first few strokes as if he were waiting for her to get used to him. When her nails dug into his butt again, he steadily increased his rhythm. The pleasure streaming through her grew more intense with every stroke. She knew her climax was close, but he still wasn’t moving fast enough, hard enough. She’d never had release build this slowly, this agonizingly. She’d never known a hunger like this. Was this what he’d meant about anticipation?
Desperate, she dug her nails one more time into his butt. “Please. I need—”
He used his mouth on her neck, biting hard on that spot that he’d located before. Then he began to move faster and faster until her orgasm finally erupted in a violent explosion of pleasure.
Even then, he didn’t slow the rhythm, and when he cried out with his own release, she climaxed again.
Afterward, he held her close for a long time until the trembling that she couldn’t seem to control stopped.
And she let him hold her. There was pleasure, a totally different kind, in lying there in the hammock with his arms holding her tight.
That one small piece of data told her that she was in deep trouble.
5
“WE NEED TO TALK,” Jed said.
Ryder turned from the railing of the houseboat where he’d been watching what he could see of Sierra’s car disappear up the dirt road in a cloud of dust. The early-morning sky was pale gray with a sliver of silver moon still visible in the sky. “Right now? What time is it?”
“Six o’clock.” Jed tried to keep the impatience out of his voice. He’d wanted to talk to Ryder since Zoë had left the afternoon before. Since his friend had been occupied with Sierra, he’d bided his time. But the sense that his time was running out had been growing more urgent since Zoë had left. And he knew from experience to trust his instincts. He handed Ryder one of the mugs of coffee he was holding.
“Thanks. You read my mind.” Ryder took a tentative sip, then a long swallow before he narrowed his eyes and studied his friend. “You’re up early.”
“Didn’t sleep much.”
Ryder made a grunt that Jed interpreted as sympathy, then took another long swallow of the coffee. “Give me a minute here. Need the caffeine.”
Jed could appreciate that. He was on his second cup. He didn’t suppose his old friend had gotten much sleep all weekend. Jed himself hadn’t slept much because his thoughts had been filled with Zoë.
It hadn’t been merely the lovemaking that had filled his mind whenever he’d closed his eyes and tried to drift off. Although he’d thought about that. A lot. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake loose the memory of what she’d tasted like, what she’d felt like—that silky, smooth skin, that slender, athletic body.
Also on his mind had been what had happened afterward when he’d held her…and hadn’t wanted to let her go. Even now his body was recalling the pleasure he’d felt simply lying there holding her close. He’d drifted off then, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d slept. But when Zoë had awakened him, she’d been all business, all tightly wound nerves.
He hadn’t been able to resist the urge to loosen her up again. He’d wanted to experience once more what it felt like to make her come. Unfortunately, his attempt had tumbled them both out of the ham
mock.
She’d laughed. They both had, like idiots. And strangely enough it had been the image of Zoë McNamara, sitting next to him on the ground and laughing that had most persistently haunted his thoughts during the night.
He’d never heard her laugh before and he wanted to hear that rich, delightful sound again almost as much as he wanted to make love to her again.
But he couldn’t follow up on either desire. Jed took a long swallow of coffee, and this time he tasted the bitterness. It suited his current mood. Pursuing any kind of further relationship with Zoë McNamara was impossible as long as he was a “dead” man.
If the gut feeling he’d been experiencing that Bailey Montgomery had spotted him at that big D.C. party hadn’t been enough to spur him to action, the time he’d spent with Zoë certainly had.
“Shit,” Ryder said. “This coffee sucks. It’s been—what?—ten years since we shared an apartment in college, and your coffee hasn’t improved?”
Turning, Jed raised an eyebrow as he studied his friend. “Well, your taste buds are functioning. Are the brain cells up and running yet?”
Ryder ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, glaring down at the mug in his hand. “Making a decent cup of coffee isn’t rocket science. I don’t know anyone who’s a better shot with a rifle than you are.” He waved his free hand. “Except for me, there’s no one who can match you at finessing the information highway to find out anything you want to know, whether it’s classified or not. You know Shakespeare’s plays like the back of your hand. My God, you’re even a brilliant tactical fisherman. If you ever want to give up government work, you can probably get your own show on the fishing channel. I can’t see how you can screw up fixing a simple cup of coffee day after day.”
“Consistency is one of my finer qualities,” Jed said with a grin. “And if you’re through with your rant, I’d like to get down to business. I’ve been imposing on your hospitality for two weeks now, and I know that you’ve put in a good many hours but so far we haven’t even gotten the scent of who framed me for Frank Medici’s murder.”
