by Leanne Banks
She was so warm, so sexy, so ready. He felt the fringe of her desperation ripple through him. She caught him off guard when she tugged his shirt free from his jeans. Her hands on his belly were a welcome surprise.
He slid his hands lower to cup her sweet bottom as they moved against each other. He grew harder with each movement, each stolen breath she took. Unable to resist the temptation of her bare skin, he slipped one of his hands up under the hem of her dress, higher, finding her naked derriere. She was wearing the damn thong.
He broke into a sweat. The image of her naked bottom jerked him into third gear. He slid his fingers over the silky rounded contours. She undulated against him, as hot and bothered as he was. He could ditch this little scrap of silk and slide inside her right now. She wasn’t at all cognizant of their proximity to the public bar, and he barely was.
He should stop, show some sanity, but oh—she felt so good, and she was wiggling against him like she couldn’t get close enough. He wanted just a little more. Just a little more, he thought, as he slid his fingers between her legs and found her warm and wet.
“Oh, you feel so good,” he muttered.
She moaned into his mouth and he stroked her, finding her bead of femininity swollen. He rubbed her with his thumb and plunged his finger inside her. The pitch of her voice changed, higher, more desperate. More than anything, he wanted to take care of the need he felt and heard coming from inside her.
He French-kissed her as he stroked her sweet spot and she opened her mouth gasping. He felt her contract intimately in his hand. “I—I—ohhhhhh.” He covered her mouth with his to conceal the volume, drinking in her cry of pleasure.
“Oh my G—” She broke off and gasped for air, clinging to him. She ducked her head in his shoulder. “I don’t know whether to die from embarrassment or just thank you,” she finally managed in a husky breath.
“Why embarrassment?” he asked, trying unsuccessfully to nudge her head upward. “Embarrassment,” he muttered, still hard as a brick. “Do you have any idea how sexy you were?”
“Yeah, right,” she said in disbelief. “Sexy like a cat in heat. Screaming and mewing. Did I leave claw marks?”
“No,” he said and chuckled. “But the evening’s young.”
She slowly lifted her head, her eyes full of pleasure and shimmering with the beginning of desire. “I’ve never done that—” she cleared her throat self-consciously “—on the—”
“Beach. There’s a drink called Sex on the Beach. I take it you’ve never had it.”
She shook her head. “I never had body slammers, either.”
“Looks like I’m leading you down the road to perdition. Are you sure you wanna go?”
Her eyes darkened. “Race ya,” she said. “Can we go to your place?”
Nine
Marine Lingo Translation
Mattress pressing: Sleeping.
Brock drove them to his condo. Callie didn’t say a word, but he could practically hear her emotions rattling inside her with the force of a hurricane.
He was still aroused, raring to go, ready in every way. He took a deep breath and worked at putting out the fire, or at least bringing it under control.
She’d lost her nerve. He felt a sinking disappointment, and something deeper, and shook it off. Maybe it was for the best.
He pulled into a spot in front of his condo and shifted into a Park. Sighing, he turned to her. “Hey, I can take you home. It’s no problem.”
“Why?” she asked.
Confused by the note of surprise in her voice, he looked at her. “You haven’t said anything. You’re having second thoughts. I understand.”
“I’m not having second thoughts,” she said.
Growing impatient, he rolled his eyes. “Callie, you’ve been completely silent.”
“Well, excuse me, but maybe I’m a little nervous. It’s been a while for me. And you’re, well, you’re different,” she said in a huffy voice. “What if you end up thinking I’m a dud in bed and—”
He couldn’t hold back a chuckle.
“And now you’re laughing at me. Maybe I am having second thoughts,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
Laughing again in some crazy combination of relief and frustration, he pulled her against him. “Don’t worry about being a dud.”
“Easy for you to say, Mr. Romeo.”
He pressed his forehead against hers. “I told you I’m no Romeo. I didn’t have to work that hard. Romeo had to try harder.”
“That’s right. The women fall into your hands like water from the faucet. I’m just like the rest of them, Brock.”
“No you’re not,” he said. “No—”
She lifted her finger to his lips to stop his words. “I’m just like the rest of them. I need to be just like the rest of them.”
She wasn’t, but he wasn’t going to argue with her about it. Not right now, anyway. This was one freakin’ weird situation, but Brock had the odd feeling that he needed to let Callie see what a woman she was—in every sense of the word.
He kissed her and her response was warm and inviting. His banked arousal flared again. “Let’s go inside,” he murmured.
He led her inside and into the den. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“That would be nice,” she said.
He pulled out a bottle of white wine he’d bought a week ago and poured two glasses. The wine wasn’t going to do a damn thing to dampen his libido. He figured he would need to be run over by a truck in order to lose this edgy gotta-have-her feeling. Maybe not even then.
He found her on his balcony, enjoying the ocean breeze, and offered her a glass of wine.
“You have a great view,” she said, accepting the glass and taking a long sip.
“I do,” he said, looking at her.
She caught his gaze and smiled, shaking her head. “I meant the ocean.”
“It’s okay. I like what I’m looking at better.”
“You’re a flatterer,” she chided, taking another sip.
“Not me. Just call ’em like I see ’em.” He stepped closer to her, inhaling her scent as he slid his arm around the front of her and drew her against him.
“Hmm. You’re warm,” she murmured.
“You cold?”
“Not really. But your warmth feels good.”
He planned to make her feel a helluva lot more than good.
“Have you ever made love on a balcony?” she asked.
Surprised by her question, he grinned in the darkness. “No. Why?”
“Just curious. I imagine you’ve had sex in more interesting places than I have.”
Setting down his glass of wine, he turned her to face him. “Do you wanna make love on the balcony?”
“Maybe,” she said a little defensively. “What if I do?”
He felt his grin grow. “Then we’ll make love on the balcony.”
She bit her lip. “Or maybe I’d like to sometime.”
Bold, then timid. She was going to kill him. Ah, but what a way to go. Backing against the wall, he pulled her with him. “I’ll make a note to check the security of the railing,” he said, lowering his mouth and French-kissing her. She tasted of wine and sweetness.
He pulled the wineglass from her hand and put it on the small wrought-iron table beside them. Her lips and tongue chased his, and with every little stroke of her tongue, he grew hotter and harder.
He ran his hands down her back to her bottom. “You feel so good,” he muttered.
“You do, too,” she said, her body flush with his.
He continued to dally with her lips, driving himself a little more crazy. He could feel her warming up, growing hotter and more restless. Her fingers squeezed his biceps then slid up to his shoulders. She rubbed against him and he could feel the hard tips of her breasts even through her clothing. He wanted to rip off those clothes and plunge inside her.
Slow, he coached himself. It’s been a while for her.
It’ll be bette
r if it’s slow.
She made a sound of frustration and tugged at the buttons of his shirt. He heard the sound of one click ing on the concrete floor as it fell.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
“No problem,” he managed in a voice that sounded hoarse to his own ears.
“I like your chest,” she whispered, her hands float ing over his bare skin like a breeze. She buried her face in his chest then slid her tongue over his throat.
“I like the way you taste.”
Brock swallowed an oath at the surge of arousal that pumped through him. He was supposed to be the experienced one, the one in control.
She tugged her straps down and pressed her small, bare breasts against his chest and sighed as if in relief. “Sorry, I just needed to feel you.”
“No apologies necessary,” he said, thinking she was hotter than a firecracker and he wanted all her heat and fire. He lifted his hands and slid his fingers between them to touch the hard tips of her breasts.
She moaned against his throat. Sensitive, he thought, a rush of delight running through him. He played with her nipples and kissed her until her gasps made him sweat. Blindly, he groped for a chair and sank down onto it, pulling her onto his lap.
He sucked her hard nipple into his mouth and she made a sexy, keening sound of pleasure. She pressed her breast against him and he gently nipped the tip and laved it with his tongue.
Each sound she made was like another intimate stroke. He slid one of his hands between her legs and found her wet and warm. “I want to be inside you, Callie. As deep as I can get.”
Shuddering, she gave him an openmouthed kiss that made him feel as if he were going to explode. Pushed to the edge of his restraint, he stood and carried her to his bedroom. He put her down on his bed and shucked his jeans, then reached to his bedside table for the condoms he’d bought last week. He tore one open and put it on, then followed her down onto the bed.
He wanted to plunge inside her this second, but he wanted to make sure she was ready for him. He found her swollen nubbin of femininity and rubbed it with his thumb. She arched against him.
“Brock.”
She said his name in a hot, restless, needy whisper that felt like a drug flowing through his veins. He wanted to consume every inch of her. He stripped off her thong and buried his face between her legs, kissing her intimately, licking and sucking her hot spot.
He felt her come apart, and her climax was the biggest turn-on he’d ever experienced. Rising, he spread her legs farther apart and plunged inside her.
He distantly heard her barely audible sound of relief mingle with his. She paused a moment, her eyes widening as if his size was more than she’d expected.
Then she undulated beneath him.
Brock swore at the tight sensation. Her hair scattered over his bedspread like wild red-gold ribbons, her mouth swollen from his kisses, her eyes dark with arousal, her small breasts and tight nipples all a picture of the darkest, most forbidden fantasy he’d conjured.
She moved again in invitation.
“Take me,” she said.
And he did, plunging into a rhythm that stretched and caressed. When she wrapped her legs around his waist, he felt something inside him tear at the sexy display of trust, and his orgasm ripped through him like buckshot.
Several moments passed before he could breathe or think. His heart still pounding as if he’d run a race, he rolled onto his back beside Callie. He swore.
“Is that bad or good?” she asked.
He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “Great. Amazing.”
“Do you think it was so intense because it’s been so long for both of us?”
“It could have been part of it,” he said, but he knew that wasn’t all. The dark, driving need he felt for her wasn’t just because he’d been abstinent for a long while. He turned onto his side and looked at her. “There’s one way to find out.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “Really? You could do it again tonight?”
Her question made him wonder what her love life with Rob had been like, but he didn’t want to go near the subject—not with his mind, certainly not with their conversation.
“Yeah, we can go again. If you want…” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it.
She slid her hand over his jaw and the combination of how sexy she looked and how sweetly she touched him undid something inside him. “I think I want,” she said and urged his mouth down to hers.
Hours later, after they’d made love more times than he’d thought possible, he looked up to find her sitting at the bottom of his bed with her arms holding her knees close to her chest. He suddenly felt a distance between them and a painful sensation tightened his gut. Regret. She regretted being with him. He could practically taste it.
“I think I should go home now.”
He wanted to ask why, but he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, so he didn’t. “Okay. Let me pull on my clothes.”
He got dressed and she did the same, her eyes never meeting his as she stepped into her thong and zipped her dress. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair and winced.
“You want a brush?”
“No, I’ll just wait until I get home.”
They’d been as close as a man and woman could get, yet she wouldn’t look at him. He felt oddly snubbed, irritated.
They walked to his car and he noticed how careful she was not to brush up against him. That irritated him more. He started the engine and drove the short distance to her cottage. He cut the engine and they sat in silence for a full moment.
“Thank you for bringing me home,” she said in a small, stilted voice.
Brock clenched his jaw. An hour ago, she’d been crying out his name, begging him to come inside her. “No problem. I’m at your service.”
She must have heard the slight edge to his voice. She looked at him. “I’ve never had an affair. I’m not exactly sure how to do this. What do I do now?”
He relaxed a millimeter. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. I feel weird.”
He nodded, thinking in all the times he’d been intimate with a woman, the evening had never ended like this. But then, he’d never been with Callie before.
He leaned closer to her and lowered his head, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t try to figure it all out tonight.”
“It would give me a headache.”
He chuckled. “I’m flattered.”
She looked at him blankly then her eyes widened. “Oh, I’m probably supposed to tell you that you were great in bed, aren’t I?”
He lifted his hand. “No, not necessary at all. It’s just if you’re gonna get the headache complaints, they’re usually before.”
“Well you were very good.” She looked away then back at him as if something was troubling her. “Maybe too good. Thank you for the evening. G’night,” she said and slipped out of the car.
As he watched her walk into her house, he wanted to go after her and ask her what she’d meant by too good. How could a man be too good in bed? She hadn’t said it in a complimentary way.
Brock frowned and started the car, jerking it into gear. By the time he arrived back at his condo, every other word flying through his mind was an oath. What a kooky, weird woman. Too good, my ass, he thought. She hadn’t been exactly shabby herself.
Stomping into his house, he headed for the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of wine. He swore again. After the amount of sex he’d had tonight, he should be dead on his feet, ready for a coma. Instead, he was irritated, wondering what her problem was. He knew she’d wanted him, she’d matched his eagerness. He hadn’t misread her.
Scowling, he paced the den. He collected their abandoned glasses from the balcony and tried not to focus on how she had felt in his arms, how she had tasted. Pulling the patio door shut, he turned on the television to a late-night infomercial. He needed to fill up his brain with something besides Callie.
Ta
king a gulp of his wine, he paced from one end of the den to the other. He paced to the bedroom and came to a stop. The bed mocked him. He smelled her scent and she was there—her hair splayed out on his bedcover, her legs tangled with his, her voice urging him on.
Damn her. He stripped the bed and put on fresh sheets, but before he tossed the sheets into the washer, he couldn’t resist inhaling another draft of her. She had told him she wanted to be just like all the other women he had known. He’d never had any problem putting a woman behind him.
He’d better not start now with her.
The next morning, after another restless night, he grimly refocused and reminded himself that he was trying to help Callie recover from her grief. It was her prerogative to act strangely. He needed, however, to keep her on track. Last night had been about healing and want.
It sure as hell hadn’t been pity sex, his brain screamed at him with the same lack of pity he would expect from a drill instructor. He had relished every minute of it and would have gone back for more if…
He swore. He needed to stop thinking about it. After taking an early morning run, he waited awhile and decided to get Callie moving. One of the keys to getting her out of a rut was keeping her moving, even if that meant a run on the beach.
He pounded on the door and waited. Several moments later, she appeared at the door in a robe, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun.
“Why are you here now?”
“Time for your run.” He pointed at his watch. “I gave you an extra hour.”
She groaned, covering her face. “I don’t feel like running today.” She held the door open for a half-second then turned back into the house.
Brock caught the screen door just before it slammed shut and followed her inside. “You’ll feel better once you get moving.”
“No, I won’t. I drank some of that nasty tequila you left here.”
He lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “Why?”
“So I wouldn’t think and so I would sleep. My head feels like someone is slamming it with a hammer.”
