Wordless

by Sabrina Stark

  I gave her a long, lingering look, drinking in the sight of her. Her lips were parted, and her eyes were bright.

  She wanted this just as much as I did. And given how much I wanted her, that was saying something. Still, if I had my way, she'd soon be wanting it ten times as much.

  I flicked my head toward the nearby sofa. "First, let's sit a minute."

  She gave the sofa a puzzled glance. "Oh. Okay."

  In her white cropped pants and little yellow T-shirt, she looked too sweet and too innocent by half. And the look suited her, because judging from her demeanor, she wasn't quite sure how to begin.

  That was fine by me.

  I knew enough for the both of us.

  As she settled herself onto the sofa, I made my way to the stocked mini bar and opened up the small fridge under the counter. I pulled out a miniature bottle of wine and gave it a quick look. It was a cabernet, and the brand was nothing special.

  But that didn't matter. Becka was no snob, and when it came to wine, it was all the same to me. And besides, I wasn't thirsty.

  I pulled out two wine glasses and emptied the bottle into them. I returned to the sofa and handed Becka a glass.

  As she took it, she frowned. "But you gave me like twice as much as you gave yourself."

  "So?"

  "So I feel a little guilty, like I'm cheating you or something."

  "Don't worry," I said. "There's plenty more where that came from."

  "Are you sure?'

  "Trust me. If I want another bottle, I know where to get it."

  "Oh." She gave me a tentative smile. "Well that's good."

  The truth was, I wasn't in the mood for wine or any other drink. I was in the mood for her.

  But no one liked drinking alone, and I'd poured the wine to help her relax, not to give her something else to think about.

  As she took her first sip, I took a drink of my own, mostly for show. Afterward, I set my glass on the side table and said, "You are a trouble-maker, you know that?"

  She laughed. "Oh, am I now?"

  "You know it."

  "And why is that?"

  I gave her a long, appreciative look. "Because you've been distracting the hell out of me."

  Her lips twitched like she wanted to smile. "When?"

  "Always."

  "Oh, stop it," she laughed.

  "You think I'm lying?"

  "Well…" She took another drink, this one longer than the first. When she finished, she said, "If you're not lying, you're at least exaggerating."

  "I don't lie," I said. "And it's no exaggeration."

  She gave me a dubious look. "Is that so?"

  "It is," I said. "You wanna hear a secret?"

  "Sure."

  "When I'm signing those books and catch sight of you, it makes it hard for me to remember people's names."

  And now she was laughing again. "Oh come on."

  "No lie." I lowered my voice. "You wanna know what I was thinking today?"

  "Sure. If you want to tell me."

  "All right. You remember what you were wearing?"

  She paused to think. "A black skirt and a pink top?"

  "Right," I said. "That top? It had a lot of buttons, little pearl things right down the front."

  She took another sip of her wine. "Yeah, I guess it did."

  "I was thinking…" I leaned closer. "…how much I'd enjoy popping those buttons, one by one."

  Her breath caught. "You were not."

  "I was," I said. "In my mind, I was doing it nice and slow, so you could feel every pop, and the cool air creeping in."

  "Oh." She gave a hard swallow. "Really?"

  I glanced down to her chest. "That book store…it was colder than you liked."

  "Yeah." Her chest was rising and falling now with every breath. "A little."

  "So tell me," I said. "Were your nipples hard? They looked hard."

  She gave another swallow. "Did they?" Her breaths were coming faster now.

  Good. I wanted her breathless and quivering. "So…were they?"

  "Actually, I don't know. But …" She gave a little shiver. "They're kind of hard now."

  My tone grew teasing. "Are they?"

  "I think they are. I mean, they feel like they are."

  And now she was blushing again. Even in the dim light, the flush of her cheeks was deep and alluring, and I leaned slowly toward her. In a low voice, I offered, "If you want, I'll check."

  She sucked in a breath. "Oh. Yeah. You definitely should. For research purposes. I know that writing and research – it goes hand in hand, right?"

  I knew where my hands wanted to be. And now I smiled. Even when she was so adorably flustered, she had a certain way about her. She was warm and funny, and so sexy, she took my breath away.

  I reached out with the back of my index finger and stroked her nipple through her shirt. Her back arched, and she made a little sound.

  At the sound and sight of her, I almost groaned out loud.

  She wanted more. And so did I.

  But I was on a mission.

  I was going to make her crave it – crave me and everything I wanted to do to her – until her mind shut off and her body took over.

  With the back of my finger, I stroked her again, barely skimming the hardened nob. When she made that same sound, I felt like I'd bust out of my pants.

  Breathlessly, she asked, "Isn't it kind of hard to tell through the shirt?"

  I smiled. "Maybe."

  "Oh, it is," she breathed. "I'm sure of it."

  If that wasn't a hint, I didn't know what was.

  But first, there was something I'd been wanting to do for far too long. Her wine was nearly gone now. I reached for her glass and pulled it gently from her fingers.

  I set it on the coffee table next to mine and turned once again to face her. I pulled her close and kissed her long and hard, enjoying the feel of her tongue and the taste of her lips.

  When she gave a muffled moan against me, I wanted to take her right then and there.

  Not yet, I reminded myself.

  Instead, I deepened the kiss and reached under the hem of her shirt, savoring the feel of her smooth stomach as I slid my hand deliberately upward, heading toward her breasts.

  Her bra – thin and lacy – was the kind that fastened in front. It was a good thing, too, because my fingers were already there. With one practiced motion, I popped the clip and felt the lacy fabric fall aside.

  Finally.

  Her shirt was still on, but the bra was no longer between us. Slowly, deliberately, I cupped her breast upward, loving the weight of it in my hand and the soft sounds she made against my lips.

  When my fingers found her nipple, she arched her back as if begging for more. She was so responsive, so perfect, and so genuine, that in the back of my mind, I couldn't help but wonder where she'd been my whole life.

  I didn't know. But she was here now, and that's all that mattered.

  I pulled back and said, "Do you know how many times I've thought of this?"

  In a near-whisper, she replied, "It can't be more than I have."

  "Wanna bet?"

  She shook her head. "No way."

  "Why not?" I teased.

  "Because there's something else I want more. A lot more."

  "Oh yeah? What's that?"

  "You."

  I grinned. "I know."

  She laughed. "Hey!"

  "And guess what?"

  "What?"

  "You're gonna get it." And with that, I dove forward and gathered her up in my arms. It wasn't what I'd been planning to do, but it felt so right that I didn't even try to stop myself.

  She was warm and willing, and I'd been craving her for weeks. I felt younger than I had in forever as I threw her over my shoulder and turned toward the bedroom.

  She was still laughing. "Hey, that's not fair!"

  I kept on going. "Why not?"

  "I don't know," she laughed. "It just isn't."

  "Nice try," I said
and propelled us through the open doorway of the bedroom. With a few long strides, I reached the side of the bed and tossed to her onto it. She landed in a laughing heap, and I reached for her ankles.

  I yanked her downward, enjoying her mock protest as she squealed, "But I'm still wearing my shoes!"

  "Not for long," I said and yanked them off one by one.

  I tossed them aside, and reached for the button of her pants. My fingers worked fast, and soon the pants were unbuttoned, unzipped, and ready to go. I pulled back and reached for the bottom hem of each pantleg. With both hands, I gave a hard yank and tossed the pants aside.

  And then, I took a nice, long look.

  Her panties were small and lacy. Her hips were rising and falling. And when I looked to her face, her eyes were warm, and her lips were parted.

  I swear I fell in love right then and there – or maybe I'd loved her for a while now, and hadn't been willing to believe it. Either way, it was a new sensation, and it shook me to the core.

  Until tonight, I'd barely kissed her. But she'd brought something new into my life, something that I hadn't known was missing.

  And now, I was going to make her mine.

  I lowered my head and kissed her pelvis, loving the feel of her warm skin through the lacy fabric.

  Breathlessly, she said, "You know, you should get undressed, too." She made a move to sit up. "Wait, let me do it."

  "Not yet."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I’m not done."

  "With what?"

  "This." I gave her panties a gentle tug, lowering them just an inch or two, enough for me to kiss her right where she wanted, even if she hadn't said so.

  When she fell back with a soft moan, I smiled against her skin. She was wet and sweet, and warm under my mouth – and I'd only just begun.

  I took her clit into my mouth and sucked it lightly at first, and then harder, loving the sounds she made as I kept going. I pulled back and let my tongue dance across her hardened nub until she was a quivering, moaning mess.

  Oh yeah. She wasn't thinking now.

  She was feeling.

  And so was I.

  It was a new sensation, and I let myself get lost to everything except the taste of her, the sound of her, and the feel of her.

  When I stroked her opening with my finger and then slid it slowly inside, the walls of her body closed around me, warm and tight, and so damn welcoming.

  If she felt this tight now, I could just imagine how she'd feel later, when I fully claimed her. At the mere thought of it, my heart pulsed, and my erection throbbed.

  Again, I reminded myself, not yet.

  From the bed, she breathed, "I want you. We should get you undressed and–"

  I added a second finger to the first, loving the movement of her hips and the sounds she made, even as she said in mock protest, "I think that's cheating."

  I lifted my head only long enough to smile up at her. "I know."

  And then, I lowered my head once again, letting my mouth and fingers do the talking until Becka became wordless herself, except for her soft moans and whimpers as she ran her fingers through my hair and writhed on the bed.

  Soon, she shuddered so hard against me that I thought I'd climax too from the sound and feel of her.

  But I wasn't done, and neither was she. Soon, we were both naked in the sheets, ready, willing, and so eager we were trembling. When I slid my length into her depths for the very first time, it felt like I'd died and gone to heaven.

  She was so slick, and so tight, I had to ask, "Are you all right?"

  She nodded against me. "Oh yeah. More than all right. I'm wonderful."

  Yes. She was.

  Finally, I let myself go, driving into her sweet warmth until the sheets were tangled, and we were warm and damp from the heat of our bodies and the motions of our hips.

  We climaxed at nearly the same time, almost like it was planned, or more likely, like we were custom-made only for each other.

  It sure as hell felt that way.

  As the few precious hours slipped away, we kissed and talked, and held each other tight until I felt like I'd known Becka forever.

  I wasn't one to believe in past lives or soul mates. But if I were, I knew exactly what I'd believe.

  She was made for me. And I was made for her.

  When she fell asleep in my arms, I drifted off myself, satisfied like I'd never been before.

  And we might've stayed like that forever, if only I hadn't forgotten to do one simple thing – send one quick message to the guy who'd be pissed as hell if he knew what I'd just done.

  Chapter 52

  Jack

  I woke to the sound of buzzing from somewhere on the floor. My phone.

  Shit.

  Becka was curled naked in my arms, and I had no intention of dislodging her. Ignoring the phone, I cradled her close and savored the feel of her naked skin against mine.

  Last night – it had been more than sex. It had been a real connection – precious and rare, especially in my world. I was a loner by nature and by necessity. But Becka – somehow she'd burrowed her way past all of that.

  And I liked it.

  No. I loved it.

  Screw the phone. Screw everything.

  It was a good plan until the phone buzzed again. I didn't want to wake her, so as gently as I could, I pulled away and fumbled beside the bed until the phone, still vibrating, was within my grip.

  When I saw the display, I frowned. Bad timing. And that was an understatement.

  I hit "ignore" and climbed out of bed. With the phone still in my hand, I made my way into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. The phone buzzed again within thirty seconds. No surprise there.

  I answered with a curt, "What?"

  On the other end of phone, Flynn said, "What's going on?"

  I looked toward the bed. Through the bathroom wall, I couldn’t see it. But the image was clear in my mind. His future little sister was lying naked in the sheets.

  Flynn didn't know.

  Of this, I was certain. I replied, "You tell me. You're the one who called." Under my breath, I added, "Three fucking times."

  "Yeah? Well maybe if you'd answer, I wouldn’t keep dialing. You were supposed to check in at six, remember?"

  I did. But there was a reason I hadn't. And the reason was lying naked in the next room.

  Flynn and I had a system. He was my backup, the guy I'd call if things went South. They never did. Not yet.

  Still, as part of my routine, I texted him on a schedule that I provided in advance. If he didn't get a text, that meant I was in trouble, which meant that it was time for Plan B.

  And now I was being a dick about it.

  I didn't want to be.

  I thought of Becka in the next room. She was naked and sweet. The sooner I finished with Flynn, the sooner I could return. Envisioning her in my arms, I explained, "Sorry, I got tied up."

  "Fuck."

  "What?"

  "Just tell me."

  I frowned. "Tell you what?"

  "First, where the hell is she?"

  I didn't ask who he meant. It would've been an insult to his intelligence and mine. I replied, "In the hotel."

  It wasn't a lie. But the full truth? It was better left unsaid, at least for now.

  "Whose room?" Flynn's voice hardened. "Hers? Or yours?"

  It was a dangerous question.

  We had a code, and I'd broken it. I wasn't sorry, even if I should've been. Still, I wasn't going to mess things up for Becka if she didn't want her sister to know.

  Technically the hotel room wasn't hers or mine. It was ours. And I liked it that way. I replied, "Don't ask."

  He groaned. "Fuck."

  I didn't bother telling him that he was repeating himself. In fact, I didn't bother saying anything at all. Really, what could I say?

  On the phone, he gave a hard scoff. "So I was right? Dude, what the hell?"

  Dude? It sounded funny, but I wasn't laughing
. "It's not what you think."

  "Oh yeah? So you didn't fuck her?"

  My grip tightened on the phone. I didn't like that word, not in this context. "No." I paused. "Not the way you make it sound."

  "Call it whatever you want," he said, "I'll take that as a yes."

  I could deny it, but why bother? And now I was curious. "How'd you know?"

  "When you said you were tied up, you were fucking smiling. I could hear it."

  Shit. I didn't remember smiling, but his answer made sense. Becka had that effect on me. She made me smile when I shouldn't, like when I was talking to a justifiably pissed-off friend.

  I made a mental note. From now on, watch the voice.

  But first, it was time for damage-control. "Listen, this stays between us, all right?"

  "So I'm supposed to lie to Anna? That's what you're telling me?"

  "No. I'm saying keep quiet until you hear otherwise. This doesn't have to be a problem."

  He was silent for a beat before saying, "Anna was worried about that, you know."

  According to Becka, Anna worried too much. Whether that was true or not, I couldn’t say for certain. But I did know that some things had definitely slipped through the cracks.

  I told Flynn, "Yeah, well maybe Anna should've spent the time worrying about something else."

  "Meaning?"

  "Tell me, you ever meet her roommate?"

  He paused as if thinking. "You mean Tara?"

  "No. Some pill-popping loser. A guy named Nick."

  Flynn was silent for another long moment. And when he spoke, he didn't sound happy. "You're joking, right?"

  "No joke. So let me throw it back at you. Dude, what the hell?"

  "Is that supposed to be funny?"

  "No. It's supposed to make you think. Did you realize, she was worried about money?"

  "Becka?" He sounded surprised. "No."

  "Yeah." My jaw clenched. "So, what the hell were you doing?"

  "You know what?" His voice rose. "For someone who fucked my fiance's little sister, you might want to lay off the lectures."

  "Why?" I said. "Because I’m wrong? Or because you were doing a sorry job of looking out for her?"

  I hadn't meant to say it. But now that it was out there, I was determined to get to the bottom of this. I asked, "Just what the hell were you doing, anyway?"