by Radclyffe
You know what you want, why are you fighting it? Why are you fighting us?
“No,” Adrian murmured, caught in the depths of hungry green eyes. “Not this way.”
Warm lips glided over hers, an insistent tongue demanded entrance, and between her legs, a hot mouth coaxed her to climb onto the pyre and burn. She couldn’t remember why she shouldn’t surrender. She wanted to come, needed to come. Back arched, she offered her breasts to the silky fingers that teased and twisted her painfully engorged nipples.
Remember how it felt when you came in her mouth. How the ecstasy flooded through you and all you felt was mindless bliss.
She fought to hold back, breasts throbbing, distended clitoris aching. Her stomach contracted and she bowed in the arms of the woman plundering her mouth. An unexpectedly tender hand caressed her face and cradled her head against lush, full breasts. She moaned, lifting to the lips that kissed her sex, the tongue that licked her.
“I can’t…”
Look down, darling. See how she takes you with her mouth. Let her make you come. Watch her drink your passion. You know how much you want it.
Rooke’s hands, holding her open, exposing her. Dark eyes so fathomless she could sink beneath their surface and drown in the endless pleasure. She whimpered, impaled on twin spikes of arousal, devoured by emerald and obsidian eyes. She couldn’t hold back, didn’t want to hold back. Never had surrender felt so sweet.
My hands, her mouth…say yes. Let her have your passion. Let me drink yours.
Wrong, wrong somehow. Not what she wanted. But oh God, she needed—
“What?” Adrian gasped, jerking upright on the sofa. Flat gray winter light suffused the room and Rooke knelt on the floor beside her. Adrian pulled the blanket close around her. She was naked—when had she taken her clothes off? “What happened…Rooke?”
“Adrian,” Rooke whispered. “I’m sorry, I thought I heard…”
Oh my God, Adrian thought, her face flushing with embarrassment. Oh God, please tell me she didn’t hear any of that. She hadn’t climaxed, and for that she was grateful. Strangely, she felt the grip of the dream arousal receding faster than it ever had. But then, she’d never awakened with Rooke beside her. Impulsively, she gripped Rooke’s bare arm below the sleeve of her T-shirt and blessed calm infused her. That had never happened before either. Hoping she sounded somewhat normal, she asked, “Did I wake you? Was I talking in my sleep?”
“No,” Rooke replied, looking perplexed. “I was asleep, at least I think I was. And I thought I heard you call my name. I thought you…needed me.”
Adrian tried to smile, but she knew she was shaking and probably couldn’t pull it off. “Thank you for coming, then.”
“I’m sorry I woke you for nothing.”
“Oh no,” Adrian said almost breathlessly. “Not for nothing. It’s definitely time for me to get up.”
“I don’t think so.” Rooke leaned closer and cupped Adrian’s chin, tilting her face until the pale light illuminated it. “The shadows under your eyes are darker. You didn’t sleep well.”
“Remember what I told you about commenting on a woman’s appearance when she’s not at her best,” Adrian said.
“I remember, and what I said is still true. You’re beautiful.” Rooke skated her thumb over the arch of Adrian’s cheekbone. “But something’s wrong. What can I do?”
“Would you believe you’re doing it just by being here?”
“It seems there should be more.” Rooke slid onto the sofa where Adrian had sat the night before and guided Adrian’s head into her lap. She smoothed her fingertips over the golden brows. “Relax for a few more minutes.”
“What would you be doing if I weren’t here right now?” Adrian asked, luxuriating in the slow, gentle tempo of Rooke’s fingers tracing the bones in her face. She always avoided casual touch, even with the women she’d slept with, because other than at the peak of passion, when pleasure eclipsed all other sensation, she was too defenseless. But now, she basked in a rare moment of feeling completely safe.
“I’d probably be sculpting.”
Rooke sounded far away and Adrian didn’t want to lose her. Reaching back, she curled her arm around Rooke’s thigh. Hard muscles vibrated beneath her fingers. “Do you want to go to work?”
“No. I want to stay here, just like this.”
“Mmm,” Adrian murmured, half aroused, half asleep. “Can I see them?”
Rooke’s hand stilled for a second, then resumed the tender caresses. “Yes.”
“Good.” Adrian gazed up at Rooke. She was so tired, and the dreams weighed so heavily on her soul. She couldn’t keep fighting, not every second. “Would you lie down here with me for a few minutes?”
“Yes.”
Rooke lay down beside her, the blanket still between them, covering her nakedness. Adrian rested her head in the curve of Rooke’s shoulder and settled one knee a little way between Rooke’s legs. As she drifted, she registered how perfectly their bodies fit together, and how Rooke’s arm around her waist felt just exactly right.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rooke was content to lie quietly, Adrian’s breath wafting lightly against her throat, as the weak winter sun slowly brightened the room. She judged it to be close to eight and wondered why Pops hadn’t called as he usually did by seven thirty, inquiring about breakfast. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to disturb her because Adrian was here. She’d never had anyone stay overnight before, and he knew that. They rarely talked about personal things unless there was a need, and she’d never needed to talk to him about her sexuality. She’d always assumed when there was a reason, she would, and he would understand. As she stroked the curve of Adrian’s bare shoulder, she thought maybe the time had come.
Adrian, who’d been sleeping soundly for several hours, murmured and snuggled closer. She nestled tightly against Rooke’s chest, her leg sliding higher until her thigh settled firmly in the notch between Rooke’s legs. Rooke couldn’t help but become aroused, and she found the torture exquisitely pleasant. Adrian, slowly awakening, pressed her mouth to Rooke’s throat, her hips gently undulating in the curve of Rooke’s pelvis. Adrian hummed in pleasure and threaded her arm around Rooke’s neck, knocking the blanket askew and exposing her breast. Rooke’s hand inadvertently grazed the firm curvature and the sensual shock was so swift and so deep she moaned.
“Oh God,” Adrian whispered in Rooke’s ear, growing suddenly still, “I’m doing it again, aren’t I.”
“Sleeping?” Rooke asked, her throat dry.
Adrian inched away until her head rested in the curve of Rooke’s arm, but their bodies were no longer so intimately touching. After hitching the blanket up until her breasts were covered, she smoothed her palm back and forth over Rooke’s chest. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to maul you when you couldn’t defend yourself.”
Rooke smiled. “I’m not complaining. How did you sleep?”
“Wonderfully.” Adrian frowned. “Really wonderfully. I didn’t have a single dream. I think it’s the first time I’ve slept without dreaming since I’ve been here.”
“Bad dreams?” Rooke skimmed her fingers up and down Adrian’s back as they talked, enjoying the heat against her fingertips.
Adrian laughed wryly. “Let’s just say they’ve been vivid and disturbing, and I am grateful to you for keeping them at bay for a while.”
“Anytime.”
“Careful,” Adrian murmured, “I might take you up on that.”
“Okay.” Rooke kissed her.
Adrian let herself enjoy the soft seduction of Rooke’s mouth for longer than she should have, and she shifted closer again. She loved the hardness of Rooke’s body against her breasts, her belly, her thighs. She loved her heat, she loved the strength in her hands, and she loved the way she kissed—thoroughly, with gentle demand and clear, unquestioning possession. She loved the way kissing her made her want Rooke inside. And that was when she knew it was time to stop. With a little groan of pleasure and regret, she for
ced herself to break the kiss.
“What time is Melinda’s car arriving?” Adrian asked breathlessly.
“Three.” Rooke kissed the pulse shimmering in Adrian’s throat.
“I heard you tell her you had things to do.” Adrian was rapidly losing her train of thought as Rooke’s mouth explored her neck. She needed to go home and pack. She needed to talk with her grandmother about the house. She needed…she needed not to end up begging Rooke to make love to her again. She’d asked for time, and maybe it was out of fear and she hated being a coward, but whatever was happening between them was powerful and profound and she didn’t want to rush. She didn’t want to make a mistake and she didn’t want to run away, and God help her, part of her wanted to run. The part that never wanted Rooke to stop touching her.
As if sensing her reluctance, Rooke lifted her head and eased away a fraction. “I have to go over the orders I just finished with Pops and make sure the work is okay. Melinda wanted photographs of the rest of my sculptures—the ones she didn’t see.” Rooke paused. “Maybe when I show you, we could take them.”
Adrian’s heart leapt. Rooke was offering to share a piece of herself, a critical piece of herself, and Adrian wanted that more than she could ever remember wanting anything. Even more than she wanted Rooke to touch her.
“I can’t wait to see them.” Adrian kissed Rooke, putting every bit of tenderness into the glide of her mouth over Rooke’s that she could. “Thank you.”
Rooke shook her head, her eyes dark and serious. “You don’t have to thank me. I’ve been waiting to show you.”
Wordlessly, Adrian nodded, humbled by Rooke’s trust and selfishly pleased that she was the one with whom Rooke had chosen to share her creations. She stood, the blanket haphazardly draped over her shoulders. She thrilled to Rooke’s appreciative expression as her gaze swept Adrian’s half-nude body. “I’ll get dressed, then.”
For a second, she thought Rooke was going to grab her and pull her back down to the sofa, and no matter what good sense might dictate, she would have let her. But after a long moment in which the very air around them seemed to tremble with desire, Adrian broke the tension, scooped up her clothes, and started for the bathroom.
“Breakfast first,” Rooke called after her.
“Good, I’m hungry,” Adrian called back. How hungry, you’ll never know.
*
“So you’re headed to New York this afternoon,” Pops said, dishing omelettes onto plain white stoneware plates that he’d set in front of Adrian and Rooke.
“Uh-huh,” Rooke said, passing Adrian a green plastic basket lined with a napkin and piled high with toast.
“Thanks,” Adrian said, feeling just a little bit self-conscious showing up for breakfast in a pair of Rooke’s jeans and one of her T-shirts, both of which were too tight. Not so tight as to be uncomfortable, but showing off her rear and her breasts a bit more than she ordinarily would, especially in front of Rooke’s grandfather. Most especially not after having spent the night in Rooke’s arms, even though he wouldn’t know that. Then again, he might, considering that every time she looked at Rooke her libido skyrocketed and every erotic point on her body throbbed.
As if Rooke had read her mind, she glanced up halfway through the process of buttering her toast and smiled at Adrian. Her smile was completely unguarded and her eyes shone with that deep dark sexy glint that made Adrian shiver, as if Rooke had caressed her. Her heart fluttered and her thighs tingled and she definitely wasn’t hungry for food now. How had she gotten in so deep, so fast? And why oh why did it feel so good?
“Charlie Phelps thinks the contract looks okay,” Pops remarked, as if Adrian and Rooke weren’t spilling pheromones all over the kitchen. “He says he doesn’t know if the percentage is fair, but all the legal bits look right.”
“So I’ll sign it,” Rooke said matter-of-factly.
Adrian glanced at Pops. His expression seemed to invite a comment. “I don’t have any experience with art dealers per se, but I know something about entertainment law, and I have friends who know more. I don’t mind getting some information for you, if you’d like.”
“You don’t trust Melinda?” Rooke asked.
Not for one single second. Adrian wanted to be fair, because Melinda’s representation was likely to be very important to Rooke’s future, and Rooke deserved every advantage. “Everything I’ve heard about her says that she’s a complete professional and the expert she claims to be. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get the best deal possible.”
Rooke lifted her shoulder. “I’m not about to quibble over a few dollars one way or the other. If it weren’t for Melinda, I wouldn’t be doing this at all.”
“Fair enough.” Adrian disliked the possibility that Rooke might feel any sense of obligation to Melinda, but admired her loyalty. “Then let me make a few phone calls to see if her figures are in the ballpark—if they are and your attorney thinks the contract is reasonable, then we’ll call it a day.”
“Sounds good.” Rooke set down her coffee cup and squeezed Adrian’s hand. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Adrian automatically threaded her fingers through Rooke’s before she realized what she was doing. Then she quickly released her hand, but not before she caught the interested expression on Pops’s face.
Rooke pushed back from the table. “I’ll grab the contract for you. I need to get the camera anyhow. Be back in a minute.”
Adrian swiveled to watch her walk away. Rooke’s black jeans fit her completely differently than they did Adrian, filling out just enough over her narrow, tight ass to invite squeezing. Her hands shook with the memory of sliding her hands over that ass, gripping the hard muscles as they bunched each time Rooke pumped between her thighs, almost making her come. Quickly, she averted her gaze. She just could not look at Rooke in front of Pops.
“Appreciate you looking after her yesterday,” Pops said, seeming to be fascinated by something in the depths of his coffee cup.
“Of course. There’s no need for thanks.”
Pops lifted his gaze to hers. “This trip…there’s nothing she can’t do, but New York City is a lot different than here.”
“I agree with you completely,” Adrian said gently. “There’s nothing she can’t do. But she’s staying with me, so if there’s anything she needs or has a question about, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”
“That’s fine, then.” Pops leaned back, apparently relieved, and regarded her contemplatively. “Ms. Singer seems to like Rooke quite a bit. I imagine she’ll do all right by her.”
Adrian’s vision went red before she got the quick blast of temper under control. “Melinda Singer is a very well-respected art dealer.”
Pops flashed a wisp of a smile. “That’s what I understand.” He rose and began proficiently clearing the table. “It’s nice that Rooke brought a lady friend to breakfast. I’m glad you could join us again.”
“Thank you,” Adrian said softly, quite liking the idea of being Rooke’s lady friend. And she intended to make it very plain to Rooke and Pops that Melinda Singer was not.
*
Rooke unlocked the door to her shop and pushed it open for Adrian. “So, just have a look around while I take some photographs.”
Adrian took a deep breath and crossed the threshold. “Thanks. I will.”
She purposely didn’t rush to look at the sculptures that sat on the floor and shelves, but took her time absorbing the spirit of Rooke’s space. This was Rooke’s most private place, where she revealed her heart. Adrian guessed from the tight set of Rooke’s shoulders as she turned away, ostensibly to take pictures, that she was nervous. Knowing that Rooke felt anxious, probably exposed, made her want to go to her immediately and put her arms around her. But she didn’t. Rooke had given her a gift, and she wanted to honor it.
The room was much bigger than she expected, extending back from the front portion of the garage for a good sixty feet. A series of big bay doors ran down one side, probabl
y used at one time to admit large machinery. A forklift was tucked into a corner at the far end of the room and she could easily envision Rooke maneuvering the machine into the room with huge blocks of stone balanced on its extended metal arms. Closer, she identified tanks with dangling black hoses—air compressors. She’d read that most stone carvers used power tools now, but she remembered Dominic saying that Rooke didn’t.
“What do you do with the power drill?” Adrian asked.
“I use it to cut up the big stones before I carve them,” Rooke said over her shoulder.
Adrian approached the closest sculpture, a nude figure of a woman standing, her arms entwined and curved above her head as if she had just risen from bed to stretch after a long sleep. As she studied the nearly four-foot-tall figure, she became aware that the woman had not just risen from sleep, but was luxuriating in the aftermath of spent passion. Her back was subtly arched, her breasts high, her nipples tight, her slightly rounded stomach almost undulating with the last shivers of pleasure.
“She’s beautiful,” Adrian breathed, extending her hand toward the figure. She caught herself and stopped.
“You can touch her,” Rooke murmured.
Tentatively, Adrian stroked the outside of the woman’s arm, over her shoulder and along her flank. She caught her breath and stared at Rooke. “She’s warm.”
Rooke’s eyes lit up. “You feel it?”
“Oh yes.” Adrian nodded vigorously. “Why is that?”
“Because she lives for you the way she does for me.”
Adrian caught her lip between her teeth to keep it from quivering. Through eyes slightly blurred with unshed tears, she scanned the other figures, all women—all radiant, vibrant, heartbreakingly beautiful women. “They’re wonderful.”
“Thank you.”
“No, I mean, they’re wonderful.” Adrian hesitated, but could not keep the truth from Rooke. Rooke deserved only truths. “Melinda was right to search for you, and she’s right about your work. You are remarkable. Your sculptures are amazing. I’m glad Melinda is arranging a showing.”
