Page 43 of Sexy as Sin
He felt her shiver start somewhere down deep, like the electric feeling in the air before an earthquake, and while it was happening, he flicked open the front of her bra, got his fingers on a peak that hardened instantly, and squeezed.
He thought she was going to come right there. She let out a cry, stiffened against him, and shuddered. “Brett.” It was a plea. It sounded great. “Please. I need you to do that.”
Holding himself back was torture, and it was necessary. First, because he needed to make her come before he did anything else, and second, because he wasn’t exactly mobile. He said, “Inside,” set her away from him, and reached for his crutches with hands that wanted to shake. “Bring the wine. And the candles.”
He didn’t say “Please,” and she didn’t ask him to. She grabbed the tray she’d used to bring out the dishes, shoved the wine bottle and both glasses onto it, added the candles, and headed inside behind him.
That’s good, anyway,he told himself as he crutched his way through the dim house ahead of her.Give her a chance to catch her breath and decide whether she wants this, because you know she’s had mixed feelings.He wasn’t doing such a hot job of convincing himself, though. His logical, modern-man brain knew it was right, but the primitive part of him wanted to put his hands all over her, set his mouth to her, and feel her orgasm under him like she was coming apart, her arms up beside her head and her mouth open in helpless surrender. After that, it was what he’d told her. He wanted to fuck her. He wanted to be on top of her when he did it, too. Starting out slow and easy, and then turning her over and putting her on her knees, grabbing her hips and pulling them back. He wanted that so badly, he could taste it. It wasn’t going to happen, though, so he was going to have to use his ingenuity.
The walk didn’t do anything at all for his patience level, but when she followed him into the bedroom and stood, hesitating, in the doorway holding her tray, something in him shifted. The candles she held showed him her face, and there was more than desire on it. He saw uncertainty, as clearly as if she’d said it, and that wasn’t one bit OK. She set down the tray on the nightstand and stood again, and he wished once again that his arms and legs were free. They weren’t, so he set one crutch carefully against the wall and said, “Willow. Come here.”
She took a step, then another one, and he put a hand out, cupped her cheek, and said, “Hey. We’re only doing what you want. If you need to go home, go on and do it. We can do this later, or we can do it never. I’m being an impatient asshole.” He tried to smile. “Could be I want you too much.”
An intake of breath, as ragged as he’d imagined it, and she said, “So do I. I’m being stupid.”
He kept his hand on her face, kissed her, keeping it gentle, and said, “No. Maybe it feels like it matters. Nothing wrong with that. I’ll tell you what. We’ll go slow, and we’ll focus on you for a while. How’s that?”
“That would...” she said, then seemed to lose her train of thought. Maybe because she was looking into his eyes, and that was as distracting to her as it was to him. “That’d be... good.”
“Mm.” He would have smiled, but he couldn’t. “You’re going to have to help me out, since I’m not too mobile right now. I could be bossing you around some. That work for you?”
Her breathing was faster now, more shallow. A pulse jumped in her jaw, and the veins showed blue in the fragile skin at her temple as his hand brushed the curls away. He kissed her there, keeping his touch gentle, and said, “I think that could be a ‘yes.’ The idea’s doing a whole lot for me, too. Suppose you get on your back for me. I could kiss you for a while, unbutton that dress as slowly as I can do it, and take a good, long look at your pretty body. And then we’ll see how many times I can make you come.”
This time, he heard her sharp intake of breath. He’d said what he had to. She knew she could leave, that the line was hers to draw. Now, it was his job to thrill her.
She’d kicked off her sandals out there on the porch. As he watched, she sat down on the edge of the white bed, picked up a glass of wine from the tray, and scooted her way over to the center. Then she looked up at him, smiled with all the wickedness a redhead could command, and said, “That’s a lot of promises, Hunter. You just going to stand there? Or are you going to do something about it?”
He laughed. He was as turned on as he’d ever been in his life, the dark blood roaring in his ears, and still, she made him laugh. He said, “I’m going to do something about it,” set down his crutch, got himself onto the bed, watched her take a sip of wine and swallow it down, took the glass from her, and kissed her mouth.
Spice and smoke, black fruit, tobacco, and sweetness, and her arm curving around him, her hand in his hair. He reached behind him and set the glass down, then focused on kissing her better, now that he wasn’t hampered by his leg. He was still kissing her when he pulled her down diagonally onto the bed, so he’d have the room he needed. You could say he’d given some thought to how to make this work. It didn’t take much effort at all, either, to roll onto his right side so he could touch her better. The candles cast dancing shadows on the white walls, stirring in the warm breeze coming through the open windows, and he drew a slow finger down along the neckline of Willow’s dress, then unfastened a button, parted the fabric, and put his palm right there as he kissed her neck. Holding her there.
Her head was back, and her eyes were already closed when he unfastened the second button. Her bra was still unfastened, and when he sent a slow, questing palm across her breast, then circled his fingers around the nipple, she tensed. He reached his hand out for the glass of wine, dipped his fingers into it, painted her with the ruby liquid, then dipped his head and tasted.
Small and hard and pink, and when he sucked at her, her back arched and she called out.Oh, yeah,he thought in some dim recess of his mind, and kept on doing it. Giving everything he had to one breast, until his hand replaced his mouth, and his lips took a meandering path across her body to the other. He worked at her until she was rocking and panting, and then he unfastened another button, drew his hand down her pale body, and unfastened one more.
He was going to make thislast.
This was probably going to kill her. She didn’t care.
She had just enough self-possession left to get her hands under his T-shirt, and once she did, she had to sigh. Just as good as she’d imagined, all hard muscle and coiled strength. Her hands were all over him, greedy for him, and she wanted to look, too, but she couldn’t, not with his mouth at her breast making her gasp and squirm, until he finally recognized her tugging, reached down with an impatient hand, and yanked the T-shirt over his head.
Exactly as good as she’d imagined. His arms cut like stone, and all that broad, firm chest. She was touching, rubbing her hands over his shoulders, his upper back, feeling those wonderful dips and bulges. He’d never feel like anything but a man, and it thrilled her to the bone. His skin burned hot as fever, and his hair brushed against her belly, alien and exciting. His tongue was in her navel, and then his lips were trailing on down, and she tightened her grip on his shoulders and tensed.
She couldn’t believe he’d start here, whatever he’d said. He had to be aching at least as much as she was, and she wanted him inside her almost as much as she wanted him to do what he’d promised. To eat her up, because she was delicious.
His hand teased at the next button.Only a few left,she thought hazily, and she wanted them gone. He abandoned it, though, and rolled to his side again, and she opened her eyes and said, “Brett. What?”
She’d decided. She definitely wanted his mouth first. His mouth, and his hand. But, bloody hell, did he look good over her. She wanted him on his back, too, and she wanted to be the one kissinghim.But maybe not yet.
“Don’t stop,” she said. “Brett. Comeon.”
He smiled, picked up the glass of wine from the headboard, and took a sip. “I’m not going to stop,” he promised. All the intensity he normally hid behind his social mask was right there to see. “I’ve imagined this for a long time, though, and I need to be looking at you when it happens.”
“Imagined... what? I wish you’d stop talking.”
This time, he laughed. His hand teased at the bottom button, halfway up her thighs, and flicked it open. He had his hand around her thigh, just above the knee, and as she waited, he drew his hand slowly up, shoving her skirt higher. One more button, then another, and her dress fell open.
He sighed. Exactly the way she’d imagined it, that first morning at her house. He sighed because he loved what he saw, because she was exactly what he wanted most to see. For the first time in her life, she lay naked under a man, watched him look at her, and felt perfect.
