Chapter Fifteen #3
He was slower to undress, as if overcome by a sudden bout of awkwardness.
But she was too tired to be embarrassed, and so she just stared at him, waiting for him to come to her.
Eventually he shrugged and pulled his sweater over his head, dumping it on the floor at the foot of the bed.
Something unexpected happened then. All the tiredness washed out of her body as she watched him undress.
She couldn’t remember having seen a finer specimen of a man.
Not up close and personal like this, at least. And she suddenly wanted to run her fingers all over those bumps and contours, and feel the muscles flex beneath them.
When they’d been intimate earlier today, they’d been wrapped up in a cocoon, and she hadn’t been able to see him fully, only parts of him as she explored the length of his body.
Now that she could see him in his entirety, it did something strange to her body.
Something like a slow flip of her stomach, and then a rush of heat, pooling between her legs.
She lifted the covers and welcomed him into the bed, which she had now warmed with her body heat. At first, he did as she had requested, wrapping his arms around her in a most nonsexual way.
“Is this okay?” he queried, but she had other ideas.
“It’s okay,” she agreed. “But it would be better if we were closer, like this.” She tugged him in, wrapping her long legs around his, and pushing her breasts into his chest, while letting one hand wander down over his washboard stomach to the waistband of his boxer shorts.
“But I thought…”
“A woman can change her mind, can’t she?”
“Hell yeah,” he replied with a grin that lit up his whole face.
Then they stopped talking altogether.
His skin was hot and silky, with the spring of toned muscles beneath her fingertips as she explored every inch of him.
He flipped her over, so he was on top, then scraped his teeth across the swell of her breasts, and her belly turned to molten heat.
Looking deep into her eyes, he brushed both breasts with his tongue and rolled the nipples between two fingers.
Her eyelids fluttered closed as she gasped at the blast of desire that shot through her.
He let one hand trace a meandering path through the soft curls between her legs, and she thought she might die from the pure sensations he was causing.
She needed him inside her. And this time she had a condom handy.
“In the drawer in the left side table,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Yep,” he breathed. Not removing his hand from between her legs, he reached over in the direction she had pointed, and felt around until he gave a cry of triumph.
Then his hand was suddenly gone, and she let out a sigh of deprivation.
But quicker than she thought possible, he was back, this time hovering over her body, his thighs resting on hers, his chest grazing her breasts, his cock rock hard and waiting for her consent.
Which she gave by arching her hips toward him, almost begging him to enter her.
And when he slid inside slowly, tenderly, she was transported.
While his tongue had been magical, this was so, so much better.
They moved together in the age-old rhythm of love, and her climax built quickly; she was so close to the edge, but she didn’t want to go without him.
“Jiro, I...” She never finished her sentence, her words ripped away along with any coherent thought as she surged over the edge, finding an orgasm quicker and more intense than she’d ever felt before.
He wasn’t far behind her. She was still breathing his name when he cried out, his body jerking reflexively as he climaxed as well.
They collapsed together, Jiro taking the time to remove the condom and wrap it in a tissue.
Then they snuggled beneath the warm doona, foreheads resting together, arms draped over each other.
He was asleep within seconds, and while Aurora wanted to do the same thing, she found her eyes remained stubbornly open.
The bedside lamp was still lit, and so she carefully propped herself on one elbow so she could study his face.
Relaxed in sleep, his serious persona turned to boyish vulnerability.
It was funny; she’d always assumed she would marry another Swedish man one day.
Had never considered she might be drawn to someone from another culture.
And while Jiro was definitely American in his mannerisms and speech, his looks were more exotic because of his Japanese heritage.
She traced the line of his straight nose, and up to the curve of his almond-shaped eyes.
Then up to his high forehead and thick, luscious hair, which now curled enticingly, hanging down over his dark eyebrows.
He was so delicious; she wanted to kiss him again and again, but didn’t want to wake him, so refrained. Just.
She’d known him for less than three days—they barely knew each other really—but already she felt so connected to him.
Aurora was always the sensible one; she made decisions based on fact and lots of consideration.
She rarely jumped into things feet first, especially not romance.
She was a perfectionist at work, but that didn’t necessarily translate into her love life.
Although she made considered decisions about the men she dated, her men always turned out to be a safe bet, but not necessarily good for her.
Which was why she’d never been in love before.
But with Jiro, things were different. She hadn’t considered him as dating material, because he’d started out as a victim who needed her help.
So he’d crept up on her, filling her senses so she could no longer think straight when he was around, and dazzling her with his sexy charisma.
She’d crossed an invisible line she’d drawn for herself in the sand, not to date anyone she met as a witness or victim of crime through the job.
It was distasteful, and slightly abhorrent in her eyes.
And now…she didn’t know what to think about him or how to feel.
All she knew was that when he was around she buzzed with a strange kind of energy, and she wanted to kiss him all the time, wanted his body as close to hers as was humanly possible.
What should she call this thing they had between them?
Lust—definitely. Desire—hell, yes. Aching need—yep.
A spark—unquestionably. But were they compatible?
Were they actually good together? She had no idea how to answer that.
And there would be no time to find out, either.
They couldn’t start a relationship with all this uncertainty swirling around Jiro.
Taro was a major thread in the tangled web of Jiro’s life; the longer he remained missing, the more Aurora feared for his life.
Would he ever be found, though? The possibilities were slim.
If his brother remained missing, but his father recovered—she crossed all her fingers and toes that he would be fine—Jiro would most likely take him home to America; they couldn’t stay here forever. And that would be that.