Chapter 26
26
W ith the curtains closed and only the beside lamp on, Dean lay on his bed, still dressed after he’d returned from the bar. He’d showered before going down and pulled on cargo shorts and a button-down shirt.
And now he waited.
The softest snick of the lock told him she was here. He’d been afraid she wouldn’t come after the incessant ping of those texts on her phone. But she was here, silhouetted in the door until she closed it. And even then, she stood a long moment in the dark hallway.
Like a primal beast, he raised his nose in the air and scented her. Lavender. Woman. Sexy.
As she stepped into the pool of light, he sat up on the bed. “What have you got there?”
She held up a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries, its bed of dry ice no longer steaming. “Goodies for us to enjoy.”
She’d been busy with more than just her bath.
Heading around the bed, she set the offering on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Beside it, she opened the bag she’d also brought, pulling out a bottle of champagne and two frosty glasses. Finally, she closed the curtains over the sliding glass door.
He followed her, like a lion scenting his mate. “You do know how to treat a man right.”
She handed him the bottle. “I’m perfectly capable of popping the champagne cork myself. But I’d like you to do the honors.” After folding the bag and setting it on the sofa cushion, she looked at him. “I can’t say I did this.” She held a breath. “Conrad sent me a gift basket and the chocolate-covered strawberries. I thought about not telling you that.” She tipped her head to the side. “As if you’d be angry and not want to eat them.”
He had to admit the thought of these gifts coming from Conrad raised his blood pressure.
“But then I thought—” She smiled. “—that being a thrifty accountant and all, there was no point in wasting all this. And I love both champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries.”
He wondered if she also thought it was wicked and sexy to seduce one man with another man’s gifts. And maybe it didn’t matter to him. Maybe it made her even sexier. He said with a wicked smile, “I have no problem letting you seduce me with champagne and chocolate.”
Then he popped the cork. And damn but it was sexy, as he sat beside her on the couch, lifted a strawberry from the cold plate, and held it to her lips. “Bite this.”
Sinking her teeth into the fruit and chocolate, she closed her eyes, moaning in pleasure.
“I want to hear you make those sounds when I’m inside you.”
A devilish glint flashed in her eyes. “I want to hear you make those sounds when I take you in my mouth.”
He wanted it now. But he liked her teasing even more. They drank champagne, fed each other the chocolaty fruit, teased with words and heavy-lidded looks and sexy little touches.
She wore a sheath dress held up only by thin straps, its neckline dipping low between her breasts. He ran a chocolate strawberry from that deep vee up over the swell of her breast, then licked away the chocolate trail. She unbuttoned his shirt, teased him with a strawberry against his nipple, and sucked the chocolate. The groan she elicited shocked even him. He’d never known his nipples could be so sensitive.
But maybe it was just her. Maybe everything was all deliciously her.
He drew the chocolate strawberry across the seam of her lips, then kissed her to lick her mouth clean. Christ, she couldn’t know what she did to him. Taking her hand, he placed it over his heart. “You can’t even guess how fast you make my heart race.”
She squeezed his nipple between two fingers. “Is that better or worse?”
“Now you’re making me so hard that I want your mouth on me.”
She kissed each nipple, then sat back. “There. My lips were on you.”
He chuckled. “I was thinking of somewhere else.”
She dropped her hand to his cargo shorts. “You mean here?” she asked oh-so innocently.
He licked his lips, nodded. “Yeah. There.”
And she whispered, “Tonight is my night.”
Pushing the table back, she knelt between his legs. The smile she turned up to him was utterly sinful, like the succubus he’d asked if she was. “I want what I want,” she murmured.
Holding his gaze, she unbuttoned his shorts. He sucked in a breath when she reached into his briefs, squeezed him, stroked him.
“This will taste even better than a chocolate-covered strawberry.” Fingers wrapped around him, she dipped down to take him in her mouth.
It was crazy how fast he shot into the stratosphere. Between gritted teeth, he groaned. “Damn, you are so good at that.”
She stroked him, sucked him, blew his mind. And just when he was about to pop, she backed off. Wagging her finger, she tucked him back in his cargo shorts. “Oh no. Not yet.”
Standing, she reached down to grab her short, flirty dress, tugged it over her hips, then higher, until she pulled it over her head and tossed it aside. In silky panties and lacy bra, she was a goddess.
“I like your boldness.” He grinned though he wanted to groan. “Even if you did just tease me almost beyond my limits.”
“It’s only a tease if I don’t follow through.”
“Oh, but I do like how you tease.” He let his gaze rake over her body, and with just a look, her nipples hardened.
Before him, with her legs spread, she plumped her breasts in her hands.
“You have an absolutely perfect body,” he told her.
She shook her head. “I have a middle-aged body. A little bump here, a little wrinkle there, but still…” She ran her hands over her slightly rounded belly. “I know how to use it.” She put her hand between her legs, palming herself.
She made him crazy with that little move. His desire so strong his vision blurred, he said in a guttural whisper, “I need to see you touch yourself.”
“As long as you touch me later.” She raised her hands to her breasts, thumbed her nipples.
And he begged. “Undo the bra. Let me see you do it flesh to flesh.” He’d never been particularly adventurous in his sex life, but she made him want things he’d never dreamed of.
She unclasped the bra, letting the cups slip to the side, her fingers circling her nipples, pinching, making them stand out perfect and proud. “Does that make you hot?” she asked.
“I’m burning up. Does it make you wet?”
She licked her lips. “I am so wet for you right now.”
He’d never realized how important words were. Or how important just a look could be. He was hard and almost ready to come just watching her, saying these things to her and having her repeat them back to him. “Have you ever touched yourself for a man before?”
She shook her head, her hair glossy in the lamplight. “I only touch myself for me.”
“Would you do it for me now? Because I need it?”
After wriggling out of her bra, she trailed her fingers down her sides, then hooked her thumbs in her panties. And stopped. “How bad do you want it?” she tortured him.
“I want it so bad that I might go crazy if I don’t get it.”
“Well,” she said with a sultry voice that strummed his nerve endings. “We wouldn’t want you to go crazy.”
Slowly, teasingly, temptingly, she slipped her panties over her hips. For a moment, they clung to her dampness, showing him just how wet she was. Then the silky confection slid down her thighs, her calves, dropping to the floor, and she kicked it aside.
He swore. “You are so gorgeous.”
How often had she stood naked like this in front of a man, so unselfconscious? He had a feeling—maybe it was a hope—that he was her first.
Then she put her hand between her legs, and he went up in flames.
She’d never let a man watch. Never even wanted a man to watch. But Dean’s gaze on her was like a physical touch.
And she was wet, so wet.
She loved the way his eyes widened and his nostrils flared as he watched her. That made her even hotter. Wetter. Crazier. She knew how to take care of her own needs, but this was more. This was double the sensation. This was his gaze, her fingers, their combustion.
“I’ll remember the sight of you for the rest of my whole damn life.”
This—his words, his guttural voice, the strained lines of his face and neck, the hot glint in his eyes—this was what she’d always needed. Something that declared he wanted only her. She wanted to be crazy with him. And the touch on her own body took her there.
“Lie on the bed,” he told her.
She didn’t know how much longer she could stand anyway, and she lay down for him.
“Spread your legs and let me see.”
She would have done anything he asked, and she let him watch as she brought herself over. She let him drive her wild with his eyes, his words, his sounds, groans of pleasure that she, only she, could give him. As she writhed with pleasure, he was suddenly there, potently naked.
And she whispered, “Now.”
He filled her, hard, fast, deep. His body against hers made her come forever. When she felt herself falling off the high, he slowed his pace, stroking her on the inside, so slow and sweet that she was rising all over again. But this time, he rose with her. She knew in her head, her body, her heart, that it had never been like this with anyone. It had never been an earthquake. A tsunami. A cataclysm.
When the massive wave crested over her, the throb of him inside her driving her higher, she screamed her pleasure as they plummeted together over the edge.
Her breath was warm against his chest, their bodies slick, plastered together.
“Thank you,” he whispered into her hair.
“And thank you. That was so good.”
“I mean, thank you for doing that for me. No one ever has. And it was…” It was so much, he had no words to express it.
She tipped her head to look at him. “You liked it that much?”
He placed her hand over his semi-erection. “I liked it that much. And I’m not done.”
“It never feels that good on my own.”
“Nothing ever does.”
He’d been divorced for five years, and there hadn’t been that many women. So yeah, he knew it was never as good on your own. But there’d been no one like her.
Her chuckle vibrated through him. “I might get hooked on getting kinky.”
He wanted to beg. Only do it with me . But of course he couldn’t. He didn’t want to make a promise. Yet there was a part of him, with her, only her, that wanted to make promises.
She squeezed him lightly in her hand. “I don’t know how you can still be like this .” Another gentle squeeze for emphasis. And he grew harder. “After that .”
“That’s what you do to me.” He dropped a kiss on her hair. “I always want more.” He was suddenly afraid he always would.
What the hell was he supposed to do with that?
“That’s good. Because I’m not done yet either.”
He laid his hand over hers, helped her stroke him. “I am so far from done with you.” Then he rolled her to her back and kissed his way down her body, lingering on her breasts, on the nipples she’d touched for him.
He followed the path her hands had taken down her abdomen, over her belly, each lick, each taste unique. Then he pushed her legs apart and drank in her taste.
Her body trembled beneath him, and she curled her fingers in his hair, her moans of pleasure like music. He didn’t consider himself a selfish lover, but nor had he ever needed only a woman’s climax and nothing more. Her climax. Her quiet cries of pleasure bathed him in sweetness, so sweet that he never truly let her come down, starting once more with his tongue to take her there again. And again.
How much could you want a woman? This much. With everything in him. With abandon. As if nothing else mattered.
When she tugged on his hair, pulled him up, begging, “Please, I want you inside me. I need it,” he gave her exactly what she craved. What he craved. And when she pleaded, “Harder, faster,” he gave her that too.
Until there was nothing but her and him and the agony of pleasure.