Chapter 15
EREDINE
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I muttered to myself for the millionth time as I lowered my e-reader and glared out my living room window.
It was after six, and between the lunch I’d forced down with Arran and the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, the thought of preparing dinner nauseated me.
I’d tried to read the latest Fern Michaels novel, but the conversation with Arran kept going around and around in my head. Obsessively.
I couldn’t believe I’d walked into the restaurant and blurted that to him.
What had I been thinking?
You were thinking you were sick of people seeing you a certain way. Tired of your monotonous life, you embraced impulsivity.
“And look where that got you,” I said, feeling the telltale sting in my nose warning of tears.
What if I’d chased Arran away? There had been something off about his reaction. Like … he was disappointed in me for asking.
“What have I done?” I groaned and threw my head back on the couch. I had to think of a way to fix it. Maybe call him and ask if I could take it back? But could you take something like that back?
My phone vibrating on the coffee table drew my head back up, and I reached over, my heart leaping toward my throat when I saw it was Arran.
He was calling me. That was a good sign, right?
Blood rushing in my ears, I took a deep breath, trying to calm down before I answered and hit speaker. “Hey.”
“Hi.” His deep, warm voice soothed something in me. “So I’ve thought about it.”
My pulse raced. “Yeah?”
“Aye.” Arran’s words sounded thick, smoky, when he continued, “I want a night with you too.”
Oh.
Oh, okay.
What?
“You do?” I practically squeaked.
“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
“No,” I answered a little too eagerly.
“Good. I’ll be over in an hour.”
Surprise launched me off my couch. “You’re … I mean … what … we’re … tonight?”
He chuckled. “Well, you put the thought in my head, and now I can’t stop thinking about you, so if you’re on board, I want you tonight.”
I’d need to shower and make sure my sheets were clean and that there was nothing lying around that would prick his curiosity about my past and I needed to shave. Yes, shave. I needed to shave. “An hour?” I calculated whether that was enough time. “Can we make it ninety minutes?”
Arran laughed softly again. “Ninety minutes. I’ll see you soon.”
He hung up before I could respond.
I stared stupefied around the house.
Arran was coming here in ninety minutes to have sex with me.
Sex with me.
Something low and deep clenched in my belly, and the excitement overwhelmed my shy nerves. I wanted this. It was out of character and impulsive, but I wanted it.
I wanted him.
One night only.
“Oh, Lordy.” I let out a little laugh of surprise and then dashed toward my bedroom to shower.
For a second, I could only gawk at Arran standing on my porch.
He looked delicious in a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, his hair freshly washed, the scent of something spicy with a hint of citrus lingering in the air around him. I wanted to nuzzle my face in his throat and inhale.
Instead, I got locked in his azure eyes, heartbeat thudding loudly.
“You look gorgeous,” he said sincerely.
I hadn’t known whether to wear regular clothes or something sexy that could be easily taken off, so I’d decided to go for it. It got hot in my lodge on summer nights because there was no AC, and I usually slept in silk nighties to keep cool.
I’d put on my nicest one, deciding against artifice with Arran.
I wanted to have sex with him, and I was dressed for that occasion.
His fiery gaze lowered down my body, lingering on my bare (and freshly shaved) legs. The way he studied me, the way his jaw clenched as desire flashed across his features, made my thighs squeeze. He noted it, his eyes flying back to meet mine. “Will you ask me inside?”
I smiled at his word choice. “I think I already did.”
Surprise lit his eyes, and he chuckled. “That’s very true.”
We grinned at each other as I stepped back to let him in, and I realized, to my shock, that there was no awkwardness.
Closing and locking the door, I then reached for Arran’s hand. “This way.”
He slid his fingers through mine, and I shivered at the rough texture of his fingertips and palm against my skin. Holding his hand felt too good. Ignoring a brief flash of panic in the back of my mind, I squeezed his hand and led him into my small bedroom.
I let go and turned to face him by the end of the bed.
Arran’s gaze was searching, and the intensity of his focus made my breath come sharp and fast.
He stepped toward me, and I trembled.
“You ready to do this?” Arran asked quietly, his brow pinched with concern as his hands settled on my waist.
A million thoughts raced through my head about this being a possible mistake, but my body throbbed with need.
I zeroed in on that. Yes, this was happening really fast. But for once, I didn’t want to be cautious or smart.
I trusted Arran enough to share a moment of risk, of passion over sense. “Yes.”
Arran’s grip on my waist tightened as the heat in his blue eyes flamed brighter. He gave me what felt like a reassuring squeeze before his hands coasted down my hips and slipped under my nightie. I shivered at the soft caress of his fingertips on my belly.
“You have the softest skin,” he whispered hoarsely. When he caressed a little higher, across my ribs, goose bumps prickled over my breasts, and they felt tight, desperately ready for his hands, his mouth.
“Arran …”
He tickled his fingertips down my torso and down, down until his thumbs dug into the waistband of my underwear.
He held my stare as he slowly tugged the lightweight lace over my hips.
Then he guided them down, lowering to his haunches.
I felt his hot breath on the silk of the nightie between my legs, and I shivered, the pulsing throb growing more insistent.
Bracing a hand on his strong shoulder, I lifted one foot after the other so he could remove my panties.
When he curled his hands around my calves, looked up into my eyes, and caressed the backs of my legs, I swayed with absolute want. I knew it had been a long time since I’d been with a man, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt this strong a pull toward anyone before.
A tugging sensation deep in my womb caused another rush of wet between my legs, and Arran’s attention lowered there. His hands climbed higher before smoothing around my upper thighs. Gliding his thumbs toward my inner thighs, he pressed gently, and I automatically parted my legs for him.
My breathing grew louder, shallower, as Arran gently slid two thick fingers inside me. I gasped at the fullness.
“Ery,” he groaned and rested his forehead against my right thigh. “You’re so wet.”
I flushed with embarrassment because I guessed that was what eight years of loneliness did to you. Or maybe it was just the Arran Adair effect.
Easing his fingers from me, Arran pushed my nightie up. “Hold it for me.”
I clasped the fabric to my belly. And then Arran lifted my left leg over his shoulder, and I moaned as I realized his intent. Resting my free hand on his opposite shoulder for balance, I arched my back into him, and he made a guttural noise of desire seconds before his tongue touched my clit.
Need slammed through me, and I undulated against his mouth. His fingers dug into my thigh, and his groan vibrated through my core.
“Arran. Arran,” I moaned.
He suckled my clit, pulling on it hard, and I panted as tension built deep inside, coiling like a spring. His tongue circled and then slid down in a voracious lick before pushing inside me.
“Yes!” I cried, thrusting against his mouth as I climbed higher and higher toward breaking apart completely. All my inhibitions had well and truly flown out the window as I gave myself over to feeling.
As if he felt how close I was, Arran returned to my clit and gently pushed two fingers inside me.
The tension was unbearable, and then suddenly it shattered, the release so epic and pleasurable, I shuddered against Arran’s mouth for what seemed like forever.
He lowered my trembling leg, and I swayed against him as he stood. And it wasn’t enough. As amazing as the orgasm was, it felt like I had a hundred more still locked inside. I wasn’t done.
A thrilling feeling of power overwhelmed me as our eyes held. He smoldered, and his jaw set with a fierce need. I lifted my arms to help him pull my nightie over my head.
My chest heaved with my labored, excited breaths as Arran threw the silk to the floor and brought his hands to my shoulders.
His eyes followed his fingertips as they trailed with excruciating slowness across my collarbone and down toward the rise of my breasts.
I rarely wore a bra with the nightie, but something wicked in me had wanted to tease him, so I’d donned one of my sexiest white-lace bras.
My breasts were small and perky, and I’d grown to like them, but when I was younger, I’d been insecure about their size when an ex-boyfriend suggested a boob job. That was what living in LA brought you.
I had no insecurities about how Arran felt about my body, though, because he looked at me with a reverence no one ever had.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, as if to prove my point, and goose bumps prickled in the wake of his touch. My nipples peaked against my bra with anticipation.
“Arran …” My tone practically begged.
In answer to my needy plea, he gripped my hips and pulled me tight to him so I could feel his erection against my bare stomach.
Gently, he cupped my face in his hands. “Is kissing allowed?” he asked gruffly.
“You’ve already kissed me,” I reminded him saucily.
He grinned. “Well, now, I feel like I kind of jumped the gun. I should have kissed you on the mouth first, and I’d really like to do that now.”
I swear my lips plumped at the thought. “Then kiss me.”