Page 57 of Sexy as Sin
He’d have done it, but it would be so easy to go too far, so he forced himself to hold still and let her control things. He could have closed his eyes, but there was no way he wasn’t watching her hand. Teasing each breast in turn, giving him a perfect view, then sliding over her ribs, down her belly, over the soft, secret spots on her inner thighs.
“Spread your legs for me,” he managed to say. He let the crutch on his good side drop against the bed. He needed a hand, because it had to be on her cheek, holding her against him, feeling how hard she was working. “Show that to me, Willow. Come on, baby. Do it for me.” She did, and he appreciated the hell out of those pillows.
After that, she set in to please herself. Feet flat on the mattress, knees up, rocking on her pillows, playing as hard with herself as she was with him, her fingers slippery and busy and not one molecule of her embarrassed to show him everything. And all he had to do in the world was stand here, hold her head tight around him, balance on one leg, try to keep breathing, and watch.
It was a great view.
It was quite possibly going to kill him.
She’d had a bad day, and he’d been too wonderful and had slipped under every last one of her defenses. That was probably why she was so desperately turned on, she thought hazily. She hadn’t known if he’d like this. From how tightly he was holding her face, he was loving it. Then she forgot to think about that, because something shifted, she was letting him in deeper than she’d ever managed, he was letting out a strangled curse and trying to hold himself back, and she was going up like fireworks. Her legs straightening, then stiffening, her feet flexing hard, her body displayed for him, and every gasp pushing him deeper down her throat.
It was too much. He was too deep, and she was coming too hard. Spasming again and again, her hips slamming against the pillow, and Brett swearing, low and dirty and thrilling, and emptying himself into her.
She swallowed, and then she had to swallow again, because he was still going. And so was she. Up and over again, making more noise against him, while he held her face tight, his fingers nearly bruising her under her chin, and said, his voice as tortured as she felt, “Oh, God, Willow. I have to fuck you. I have to fuck you so hard.”
Happy Valentine’s Day.
He got himself onto the bed at last, pulled her up to lie with him, tucked her into his body, and asked, “All right? Too much?”
Her shoulders shook, and he got a stab of ice-cold fear right to the chest. He’d made her cry. And then she raised her head, kissed him on the mouth, letting him taste himself on her, and said, “Hell of a time to think of that, boy.”
He exhaled in relief, got a hand around the back of her neck, smiled a little sheepishly, and said, “It was an exciting position. Maybe too hard on you, though. And I’m a little bit of an, ah...”
“Bloody pushy bloke?” she asked, giving him another of those sweet kisses that got a man off track. “Alpha male? Well-endowed fella?”
Another grin. This kind of satisfaction went too deep for anything else. “Could be.”
“Mm. Could be I love all of it.”
He stroked her neck, keeping it as gentle as he hadn’t managed before. “Could be I saw that from the start. I saw something, that’s for sure. I could’ve bruised you here, though. I held you too hard.”
She was kissinghisneck now, and both her hands were in his hair. It felt great. “You could’ve, and I didn’t care. You excited the hell out of me, if I’m confessing, and it seems I am. You bring it out in me. Makes me wonder what you’d do with two legs.”
“Wonderful things.” He sent his hand down her back, just because he loved touching her, and he hadn’t had nearly enough of it. “With plenty of communication. We should’ve had a signal tonight, so you could let me know if it was too much. It was so hard not to make it too much. Next time. And slow can be sexy, too. That was supposed to be the idea of tonight. Valentine’s Day. I was going to be romantic, and go slow. You got in the way with your surprise, so I still owe you one. We could see exactly how excited I could make you. I’m guessing I could make it last a long, long time.”
She hummed again and said, “First day I met you, when I was taking my shower, trying not to get carried away and wanting to pull you in there with me, I thought of that thing people say, that never turns out to be true. Not even close.Love you all night long.And I thought—I’ll bet he could. I’ll bet hewould.”
“I would. And I could.” He petted her a little more, thought about what a lucky bastard he was, and finally said, “So when are you going to ask for my advice? Or does that take a spanking?”
It made her shudder, and not just in a sexy way.
First things first. She kissed his neck again, made her way up to his ear, and whispered, “That a promise?”
He was too easy. His hand closed around her bottom, his whole body went on alert, and he said, “Oh, yeah, it’s a promise. We’ll wait until you’ve had a better day, though. In fact—I’ll wait until you ask me for it. And stop turning me on so much, dirty girl. I’m being serious here, and I’m wounded.”
“Yeah.” She sighed and rolled onto her back. “This was definitely the best part of my day. The rest wasn’t so good. You’re also right that I don’t know what to do about it. How do you prove youdidn’tdo something?”
He flipped the switch from “sexy” to “serious” from one second to the next, and if all that controlled power was as exciting as every other part of him—well, she was pretty far gone. That wasn’t news. “Tell me,” he said. “The whole thing. Don’t leave anything out.”
So she did. She told him about the kitchen inspection that hadn’t turned up anything at all, about the trip up to Ben’s, and what Katherine had admitted when Willow had finally run her to ground.
“There weren’t any false chanterelles in what I took from Bankside’s house,” Katherine had said, “but who knows when he collected them. If he found out about the poisoning, the first thing he’d do, surely, is go out and find more that heknewwere right. He could even have mixed them on purpose, if he hadn’t been able to find enough for your needs. You must have ordered those in advance. If it wasn’t done accidentally, and you seem to think he wouldn’t have made the mistake, it must have been done deliberately. Not everyone knows that they’ll make some people ill. They probably don’t makehimill.”
“First,” Willow told Brett now, “There’s nothing Ben doesn’t know about mushrooms. I told her that before, though, and she didn’t believe it. And second, who was going to tell Ben people were ill? He lives up there alone with the chickens and the dogs, and he only has wifi in fits and starts. I see him at the farmers’ market, and that’s about all. He’s not ringing up all his mates to ask how his mushrooms went over at some dinner.”
Brett was frowning. “What did she say to that?”
“Not much she could say. There’s nothing to say about either Ben or me, I reckon, except that we made people ill and sent them to hospital. Which got said. You read the article. Damning stuff. It wasn’t just news, it was the front page. ‘Mushroom Poisoning at Anniversary Dinner Hospitalizes 14.’ And the gossip everywhere you find locals, I’m sure, which is too many places.”
