Page 9 of When the Woods Go Silent

“Blueberry?” I guess as he holds it out to me. His eyes are almost colorless in the bright kitchen.

“And lemon. A few unexpected ingredients. Trade secrets.” The corner of his lips edge up in a dare.

Of course, I take it, letting him rest the spoon on my tongue after it cools. My eyes slide closed in pleasure as the sauce pools in my mouth, rich and spicy, sweet and swirled with sour. Immediately, I want another taste.

“Wow,” I breathe, wondering if I should be embarrassed by the intensity of my reaction to something as simple as blueberrysauce. But this man has a way with flavor that deserves this kind of appreciation.

“I love your reactions,” Arlo says softly, touching his mouth to the spoon where my lips just were. My eyes widen as he seems to read my mind. “It’s powerful, you know. To let others see your pleasure.”

I swallow hard at the rasp in his voice, already imagining the moans I could pull from that throat. “It’s powerful to be able to create that pleasure.” I nod at the stove, but we both know we’ve stopped talking about food. His eyes hold mine, something between a question and a dare sparking there. A shadow of the sauce coats his bottom lip, and I reach up to wipe it clean.

He catches my wrist in mid-air, my breath stalling out as he strokes the inside of my wrist with his thumb. I was anticipating a little more teasing conversation, looking forward to the subtle power play of flirting with a stranger. But it’s been too long since I took a man home, and my body is already clamoring to skip the games.

“Rose, I certainly don’t expect anything... physical... between us. Not so soon. But...” He lets the idea hang in the space between us, giving me the match to light the fire if I want to.

And I absolutely want to, even if it only burns for a night.

“Is this where you say, ‘here for a good time, not a long time’?” I tease, sliding a few inches closer while I pretend to waver.

“Time is on my side, Rose, and it’s always good.” He holds my gaze for a long moment before letting his pale eyes drift slowly down to my lips, then lower. His gaze snags on the swell of my breasts, and his body sways gently toward mine, barely a hand’s width between us now.

I ignore the familiar twist of disappointment that comes from being right about a guy’s intentions, reminding myself that I don’t need a long time from any guy. Choosing to live in themoment instead, I close the distance between us and cup my hand around Arlo’s neck, pulling our bodies together as I gaze up at him.

His eyes flash brighter under my touch, like summer heat lightning, before his lips crash down over mine, wasting no time at all on the gentle parts.

Fuck, he’s a good kisser, even without the teasing buildup that I usually prefer first.

Our tongues tangle as his hands slide down my arms, settling at my hips and squeezing. I loop both wrists around his neck, my fingers tangling in his soft blond waves as he tugs me tight against his body. He pivots us to press me against the counter, and his mouth wanders as he nuzzles my chin to the side. I think he breathes my name into my neck, but I don’t have a chance to answer before his lips seal over mine again.

It’s as though he’s starving, and I’m the first thing he’s tasted in years.

I’m seeing his power to create pleasure, close and personal. Letting a moan rumble in my throat as I grind against him, I let him see the power he requested from me. I show him how much I’m enjoying this, and it opens a new frenzy of need between us.

“Your body... fuck, your taste,” he hisses, and a grin spreads across my lips at the way I’ve made such a gorgeous man so weak for me. Of course, men are always weak for sex and a sure thing.

But Arlo has a wild spark in his eye, and his jerky, hurried movements betray his need. In this moment, my power trumps his.

I’ve slept with men who spoke plenty of pretty words but seemed to be doing a workout routine in their minds when it came to fucking - memorized movements designed to get a specific result for themselves, not for me.

This is not like that. He is desperate for me, and I feel like a goddess being worshiped.

Yet... even as he tugs me into the empty dining area, where lounges and low tables are nothing more than bulky shadows beneath darkly glittering chandeliers... the sudden, exaggerated sensuality of it all feels a little unreal, like I’ve had too much wine and jumped to the middle of one of my romance novels. It feels more like a story we’re both telling, rather than a reality we’re living.

There’s something oddly false about it all, and the fact that I can even think this clearly shows me where my head is. Damn it, I hope I’m not outgrowing the fling phase.

Then Arlo backs me into a low chaise, pressing me onto my back and kneeling between my knees like a supplicant before a queen. I tell my head to clear every one of those thoughts - I’m determined to let this be fun.

“Let me see this pretty Rose open for me,” he says, his hands gripping my knees and pulling them apart. It’s kind of a cheesy line, and I bite my lip to keep from giggling. He should have to work harder than this, right? But then he cups my pussy over the denim of my jeans, rubbing along the seam as he lifts my shirt and kisses his way up to my breasts.

“You’re goddamn beautiful,” he murmurs, just before sinking his teeth gently into the soft underside of my breast, teasing me through the lacy fabric.

I arch under the sensation, suddenly feeling way too much fabric in the way. Who cares about his words - I came here for something else. Arlo begins to undo my jeans and I shimmy my hips to help. I don’t care if this leads to anything more than a single night. I’m here, and it’s clear he knows what he’s doing. I want these orgasms.

“I’d say I don’t usually do things like this, but I refuse to lie and let you get too cocky.” I grin up at him as my jeans drop to the floor, and he leans in to taste my neck. “Don’t assume you’re special.”

“Challenge accepted.” He fixes me in his icy blue gaze, one eyebrow quirked. A beat of silence builds the tension between us, then he dips his head and sucks one nipple back into his mouth, his teeth grazing the tight bud.

“More,” I demand, needing it immediately. We haven’t signed up for slow burn. His hands roam freely over my body, cupping my thighs, squeezing my ass, measuring the fullness of my breasts. I tug at his hair and explore his toned arms and the dips of his abs beneath his thin t-shirt.

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