The Best Next Thing

by Natasha Anders

“I-I’ll just put this…” She ventured into his room, her movements slow and tentative. A few tiny steps took her to the bed.

  “You said that you usually wait until I take Stormy for her walk before bringing the loot back.” He recalled, and she froze in the act of replacing the sock beside its mate. Her hand tightened fractionally around the tube, but she kept her gaze averted while her flush deepened.

  “I thought you would need…”

  “Why are you really here?” he interrupted her, his voice hoarse with suppressed desire. He wanted her to admit that this was a ruse, that she had known he would be in the shower, that she had hoped to catch him in nothing but a towel…Jesus, he wanted her to admit it so damned badly. Because then they could finally do something about this growing sexual tension between them.

  She licked her lips, and he shuddered at the sight of that pink tongue, gooseflesh breaking out on his wet, naked skin. His dick responded, tenting the towel knotted around his waist.

  She appeared to be aware of the movement beneath the towel, and her eyes darted down nervously before leaping back up to remain fixed on his Adam’s apple. The outstretched hand still clutching the sock began to tremble violently.

  “Do you want to touch me, Charity?” he asked in a barely audible whisper, and she swallowed, the click of her throat as loud as a gunshot in the quiet room.

  Her gaze met his: large, liquid, and filled with longing.

  Her head moved. A barely perceptible nod.

  “Say it, please.” He could hear the strain in his voice as the air in his lungs thickened. The deep, heavy saw of his breath came faster as he fought to remain composed.

  “I want to touch you…Miles,” she admitted, and he swallowed back a groan as his cock swelled to painful proportions.

  “Come here,” he invited, holding out a trembling hand to her, and she closed the gap between them with agonizing slowness. She reached out and the sock tumbled—forgotten—from her hand as it opened to take his.

  That first touch was like a jolt of electricity through his entire body. He sizzled with awareness of her. Of her closeness, of her soft skin against his, of the flowery scent of her ruthlessly bound hair.

  He guided her captive hand to his chest, certain she could feel the frantic, heavy beat of his heart as it tried to hammer its way right into her palm.

  “I’m all yours.”

  Three words. Small, uncomplicated words.

  I’m all yours.

  Tiny words that promised complete sovereignty over the hot, smooth skin beneath her palm, and ownership of his magnificent body.

  It was a freedom that Charity had never dreamed he would afford her. A privilege which hadn’t been offered to her in so long that she wasn’t certain what to do with it now…all she could do was act on instinct, desire, and need.

  Her hand smoothed its way over the still damp expanse of his chest. Silky hair attractively dusted across his pecs, darkened and thickened as it followed a trail down the center of his chest, along the shallow valley between his abs and then spread to his flat stomach around his indented belly button.

  His muscles spasmed and bunched beneath her tentative touch, and he bit back an anguished groan when she swept her hand back up, just missing his tight nipple on the way to his shoulder, where she wrapped her palm around that hard, muscled curve and squeezed gently.

  He felt so wonderful. All smooth, tensile, and repressed strength.

  She shifted closer until they were almost chest to chest; an echo of their pseudo-embrace that night at the pool…So close that she could feel the warmth of her own breath as it bloomed against the skin of his throat. All she had to do was be brave and bridge the virtually non-existent gap between them.

  But she wasn’t certain she had any courage left. Not after the day she’d had. Joining him on his trip to Klein Bekkie, kissing him on the beach, and even telling him about Blaine. And now this; coming to his room, when she had known that it would lead to so much more.

  Be brave. Her new mantra. Her prayer. Her wish…

  She could be brave. She was brave.

  Her lips touched his clean, damp, hot skin. Softened and blossomed against it.

  He groaned and the soft, deep rumble reverberated through her chest and trembled down her spine until her legs liquefied, and her free hand moved up to his other shoulder for support.

  Her lips trailed up beneath the firm ledge of his jaw, and she was both disappointed and gratified to find that he had shaved. She missed the pirate, but she welcomed back the attractive, urbane man she had initially found herself drawn to.

  He still hadn’t moved, and she wasn’t quite sure what she would do if—when—he did. Bravery was one thing when it wasn’t tested…but the moment he took the initiative from her; she would find herself tested. Still, expecting him not to move while she had her wicked way with him wasn’t practical, and it wasn’t what she wanted.

  But what she wanted terrified her.

  She—very slowly, as if she were handling a wild animal—wrapped her arms around his neck and finally found his mouth. For the first time since he had so generously offered his body to her, he moved; bending his neck to allow her easy access to his mouth. She traced the outline of those sensuous, wicked lips with her tongue, before softly planting her mouth on his.

  This kiss was as timid as the one on the beach and, while she was eager to deepen it, to explore him more fully, she was petrified of unleashing something in him. Something wild and uncontrollable. It was an unfair and unfounded fear. She knew that…

  Miles was not Blaine.

  She had never met a more controlled man than Miles. And the iron clad command he appeared to have over his emotions and his responses, should make her feel safe. But self-governance was one thing when you were dealing with your family, your staff, or business. However, things could get messy when sex was involved.

  “Get out of your head, Charity. Stay in this moment. With me.” His gruff voice startled her. She opened her eyes and tilted back her head to stare at him. His gray eyes were warm and accepting. She was startled to realize that she had frozen with her arms still wrapped around his neck. The kiss that she had initiated now dead on their lips, while she wallowed in self-pity and fear.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, hearing despair quivering in the words.

  “Don’t be,” he said. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Do you want to stop?”

  She reflected on the question. Then considered how wonderful it felt to be plastered against his hot, hard body. Contemplated how glorious his erection felt cradled against her subtly rocking pelvis.

  She brought her hands to his face, palming his lean cheeks, and smiled at him.

  Did she want to stop?

  She planted her open mouth over his and proceeded to show him exactly how much—no, how little—the thought of stopping and backing away from him appealed to her.

  At last he moved, his arms wrapped around her back, and he held her close as he deepened the kiss. Adding the dimension that was missing before. This was no longer a solo endeavor, he was fully on board and very capably demonstrating how much better a kiss could be when both participants shared equal amounts of themselves.

  His tongue welcomed hers into his mouth, before following it back into hers. The thrust and parry, the heat and intensity of the kiss set her nerve endings aflame, and Charity moaned as she pushed herself even closer to him.

  She wanted more.

  She hadn’t expected to want so much more, in so short a time.

  One of his hands swept over her back to the nape of her neck, and he tenderly smoothed his palm over the bare skin he found there. Charity shuddered at the contact, but his hand moved on all too quickly. He clearly had a goal in mind, and when he found the bun secured at the back of her head, she knew exactly what he wanted. She left him to explore there while she did a little of her own stroking and petting.

  One of her hands found the hard curve of his butt while the other discovered t
he drying silk of his thick hair.

  Her breasts felt swollen and tight in their confining bra, and she ached for him to release them, to touch them and fondle them. She longed to feel his hot, wet mouth on the swollen peaks. She released her grip on his tight behind, and groped for the hand he had on her back. It felt large and capable in hers, and she shuddered in anticipation as she imagined how that rough skin would feel on her nipples.

  His breath snagged when she moved his touch to her torso, and he understood what she needed from him. With his mouth still on hers, and his other hand busily tugging pins from her hair, he yanked her blouse out of her skirt’s waistband. She made an embarrassingly throaty sound of pleasure at the first touch of that roughened palm on her naked, sensitive skin and he chuckled.

  The masculine sound was laden with satisfaction and a little smugness. But she found she didn’t mind it, not when he was violently trembling in her arms, and certainly not when he was so insistently and helplessly thrusting himself against her.

  No. She felt more than a little smug herself.

  He finally achieved the goal he had been working toward for so long as the tightly anchored bun at the nape of her neck loosened and tumbled. Taking her inhibitions along with it. His towel was gone, fallen to the floor after she had tugged it away. Now he stood, naked and magnificent before her. She shifted her mouth from his to stare at all that glorious nudity…taking a moment to catch her breath and revel in the perfection of his sinewy, beautiful body.

  His penis arched and throbbed against his flat belly, and she stared at it in fascination, part of her wanting it desperately, and the other part wanting to flee from him in irrational terror. He hadn’t done a single thing to make her fear him. That was her own baggage weighing down the moment.

  His hand slid out from beneath her blouse and he cupped her face, lifting her head until she was looking at him.

  “You still okay?” he asked, his voice calm and level…despite his breathlessness.

  “What if I’m not?”

  “Then you’re not and we stop.”

  “I want…I want…” she paused and frowned, not entirely certain what she wanted.

  “Tell me. And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you get it.”

  Her eyes misted, and she blinked rapidly, determined not to cry. But it was hard not to in the face of such a selfless and sweet comment.

  “Can you—”

  His eyes were patient as he waited for her to complete the sentence. Because of that patience, and since the face she was staring into was so gorgeous in its stark severity and nothing at all like the monstrously beautiful face she had once so desperately feared, she sucked in a breath and gave him the selfish truth. Because she knew he would not punish her for it.

  “Can you make me come? I want an orgasm.”

  Despite the trust she had placed in him in that moment, she still braced herself…fearing the worst, expecting the best. And she was rewarded with a rusty chuckle.

  “Can I? Sweetheart, next time make it a real challenge.”

  She laughed, her relief effervescing through the sound. “Arrogant.”

  “Indubitably,” he agreed with a grin and dipped his head to kiss her.

  Hard, hot, fast…before he gentled the caress and worshipped her with his mouth and tongue. He led her to the bed, sat, and tugged her down beside him to continue his sensual onslaught. His hands busily unbuttoned her blouse and shoved it aside. The sexy sound of satisfaction he made when he first spotted the delicate lacy bra, sent gooseflesh rippling along her arms.

  “Lovely,” he muttered, his mouth dropping to one of the small mounds and planting kisses along the scalloped edge of the bra. His teeth gently closed around the hard, straining bud and he gave her a nip through the lace but closed his hot mouth over the aching peak before she could even register the sting.

  Her back arched as she attempted to push herself nearer to him, so close to coming from just this touch that she wasn’t sure how long she would last. He dragged the cup down with his teeth and suckled her again with a hungry groan of pleasure.

  Charity’s breath caught and released on a long moan. Her fingers were fisted in his hair as she held him close.

  He turned his attention to the other peak, gifting it with the same lavish treatment. She was dimly aware of being shifted to her back while he worked at her breasts. By the time he finally lifted his head, he was cradled between her spread thighs, her blouse was completely undone, and her skirt was hiked up around her hips. His position allowed him to saw the ridge of his erection against her furrow through the damp silk of her panties.

  His weight on top of her felt…confining, and while Charity fought to stay in the moment, she began to feel claustrophobic. Her quickening breath had nothing to do with the desire she had relished moments before and everything to do with how trapped she now felt.

  He lifted his head from her breasts with a smile, and his eyes darkened when he appeared to recognize that she was no longer enjoying herself.

  “Not a fan of missionary, I take it,” he muttered, his voice cracking as he attempted to regulate his breathing. Before she could respond, or descend into a full-fledged panic attack. Before she could so much as blink…he reversed their positions until she was straddling him with her breasts spilling over the top of her bra and into his waiting hands. Her mound was now resting on top of his big, bold cock.

  She sucked in a shocked breath, and her hands dropped to his chest for balance. Her hair tumbled around them, a dark curtain cutting them off from the world.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice reverent.

  “So are you.” She heard the reverence echoed in her shaky voice.

  His hands went to play with her breasts and he lifted his head to kiss her again. He bent his knees and thrust up against her, the tip of his penis stimulating her overly sensitive clit and she whimpered helplessly at the sensation.

  To her eternal regret, one of his hands slid away from her breasts, but that regret was fleeting when he felt his way down to her hip. His deft fingers slid beneath the waistband of her panties before circling around to grab a generous handful of her butt. He squeezed her flesh for a moment and guided her movements until she found the rhythm she needed. His intrepid hand glided farther down until it found the tight, slick entrance to her clenching channel. Charity shuddered when he slid one, long thick finger inside and she lost her rhythm for a second.

  “Keep going, sweetheart,” he urged, his voice strained.

  A second finger found its way into her spasming pussy, and Charity sobbed. She couldn’t remember anything feeling so all-consumingly good before.

  She felt wonderful. Alive…vibrant, young, whole, and so powerful.

  “Oh. Oh. Oh my God!” She was dimly aware of her nails digging into his chest as she thrust against him. Grinding on his cock, impaling herself on his fingers and finally…finally coming. Hard. Almost painfully.

  And so damned spectacularly.

  She was dimly aware of his voice.

  Miles.

  He was speaking quietly, articulating gentle assurances. Stroking her and guiding her back to the present with him.

  He pulled her to his chest and wrapped his long, hard arms around her. She immediately felt warm and secure.

  And cherished.

  He planted sweet kisses on her damp forehead, and his hands burrowed beneath her blouse to caress her back—sweeping up and down the sweat dampened expanse in soothing strokes.

  “You’re still hard,” she observed after a few minutes, and his penis jerked, apparently happy to be acknowledged.

  “You asked for an orgasm, I believe that’s exactly what I delivered.”

  “But I thought that we would both…” Her voice trailed off in confusion.

  “I’m fine. This was about what you needed.”

  “Thank you,” she mumbled. A little staggered by his incredible unselfishness. She hadn’t expected him to deny his own gratif
ication.

  “Oh, Christ. It was my definite pleasure, Charity. Anytime you need an encore, I’ll be right here.”

  She didn’t reply. Instead, she snuggled even closer, loving the way he smelled. Warm and woodsy after his shower, with the musk of sex adding that extra layer of delicious sensuality.

  She must have dozed because when she startled awake what felt like seconds later, the room was oppressively dark. And she couldn’t move. Her arms were confined, her legs were entangled in something. Not the bedsheets; this was heavier, warmer...

  Alive.

  A man’s legs.

  She stifled a scream and kicked at the legs as she frenetically fought her way out of his hold.

  She irrationally wondered how he had found her when he was dead.

  Was she dead too? Had he killed her in those final, frantic moments? Was she doomed to forever be hunted by him in the afterlife?

  “Charity, it’s okay. It’s Miles. You’re fine. You’re safe…”

  The words registered and the voice—curt, controlled…concerned—registered. But she could not defeat the asphyxiating anxiety until she was out of his hold and off the bed. She wriggled away from him until she ran out of mattress and tumbled; landing on the hardwood floor with a thump.

  The room flooded with light seconds later.

  “Fuck. Are you okay?” Miles’s head appeared over the edge of the mattress, and Charity blinked up at him in shocked confusion and dawning mortification.

  “I-I’m sorry. I had a…”

  “It’s okay.” The ice was gone from his voice. Instead, he sounded almost eerily calm.

  The laugh that burst from her lips had a hysterical edge to it.

  “You’re always saying that,” she pointed out. “Telling me it’s okay.”

  She shoved her stupidly long hair out of her face, irritated when she tried to push herself to her feet only to trap her hair beneath her hands.

  “It’s not okay. It’s not. I’m not.” She fought her way through the dark, all-encompassing veil of her hair and surged to her feet, belatedly recognizing that her blouse was undone and her bra was sagging and she was in all kinds of disarray.