Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
D ella dove into Ward’s kiss and drowned.
His lips were hard, insistent, and greedy, and he held her so tight she couldn’t breathe. She had a brief second to wonder what had pushed Ward across the line to this head-spinning, soul-filling kiss, and then she was lost.
She wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him even closer. His mouth was hot, and his tongue was rough. His hands worked the muscles along her back and ignited flares that raced straight to her core and set it on fire.
Someone groaned. It might have been her.
“Say it again. Say my name. My real name.”
“Della.” His voice was low growl. He lifted her so that her toes barely dragged across the ground. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist and squeezed.
He drove her back against the wall and she gasped as the family photos bounced.
He was hot and hard against her thigh. The idea that he was clearly ready for her made her shudder with a need that demanded satisfaction. Now.
She dug her heels into his backside for encouragement.
He made a guttural, almost feral, noise and turned toward her bedroom.
“Don’t,” she whispered. She tilted her hips into him. “Here. Right here.”
“Not good enough.”
She giggled as he carried her down the hallway, then squealed as he threw her onto the bed. When he didn’t immediately follow her, she froze. Had he changed his mind? Was that a get-away-from-me toss?
She looked up at him.
The mask he usually wore was gone, replaced by a stare so hot and hungry it set her on fire.
She was really glad the lights were on. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost his towel.
She wanted to tattoo the image of him standing there gloriously, unselfconsciously naked onto her brain. He was solid, with muscles sculpted by years of hard work. He had the look of someone who knew what he wanted and planned on taking it.
But instead, he turned and walked toward the door.
“Hey, where…,” she started to protest.
“Shhh.” He reached the door, shut it, and locked it. “No more talking.”
His stare lit her on fire.
She shut her mouth.
He flicked off the lights.
It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. She felt more than saw Ward climb onto the bed. He climbed on top of her and straddled her, his knees near her hips. His hands traced the front of her flannel shirt to cup her breasts through the soft, worn fabric.
Moonlight played with his bare muscles, accentuating the shadows and making him look even more sculpted than he did in daylight. It was a scene right out of a Greek myth, the kind where the god appears in the night to seduce the mortal woman.
She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been the one dressed while the man was naked. They usually unwrapped her like a present and then stared at her. She always wondered, in those moments, who they were in bed with: her or the woman they thought they saw onstage.
Ward looked at her like he saw right through the stages, the spotlights, and the parties to the woman underneath. He looked at her like she was the only thing that would satisfy his hunger and he communicated it all without saying a single word.
This had to be the single most erotic moment she’d ever experienced.
It made her feel powerful, to have him so exposed and so obviously excited while she was covered up by something that could double as a tablecloth.
She delighted in the feel of his body pressed against hers and the sure, steady strength of his hands.
She moaned her encouragement.
He kneaded and caressed and massaged from her breasts to the top of her panties, pulling her shirt this way and that as he went. The sensation of fabric against her bare breasts made her want to crawl out of her skin and into his.
She arched into his hand.
In one sudden, uncontrolled movement, he found the edges of her shirt and ripped it open. Buttons flew off and pinged against the floor or the nightstand or the ceiling.
She sucked in a breath as a rush of cold air tickled her nipples. Tingles raced across her exposed skin in response.
Ward skimmed his lips over her breasts, then plucked the pendant off her chest and stroked it.
She could see hesitation in his eyes. She should have taken it off. It was a reminder of things she didn’t want him remembering.
She lifted his hand to her mouth, pendant and all, and gave it a lingering kiss.
His gaze flicked to her face and softened. He let the pendant drop gently to her chest, then cupped her face.
She wanted to tell him that she trusted him. That the rest of the world didn’t exist. Not tonight.
But how could she say all that without breaking the spell?
She turned her head into his palm and kissed it. At first it was a chaste, innocent thing. But she wanted more than that. Much more. She flicked his palm with her tongue and sucked.
He growled before he lowered his mouth to hers, and all the reasons why and why not vanished.
He worked his mouth over hers, seducing her with his lips and tongue while the spicy scent of his shower wrapped around her. His hands explored and kneaded and stroked and probed until her brain dissolved and she couldn’t think. She could only feel, feel, feel.
A slow smirk spread across his face.
She tried to roll her eyes at him, but then he lowered his mouth to her breast and teased with his tongue, hot and hungry and relentless until little fires of need burned so hot she couldn’t stand it.
She lifted her hips in a silent hint, but he shook his head. He worked his way down her body with a trail of slow, open-mouthed kisses. He kissed her lips, her neck, the space between her breasts.
It was torture. Pure, blissful, torture.
She worked his tongue with her body, urging him down, down, down.
Just a little more.
He increased the pressure to the side and around where she needed him most, but never exactly where she wanted it. Her panties were in the way. She whimpered and writhed and wished like hell that he’d rip the underwear off too.
His gaze locked on hers while his finger slid around the edge of gauze and into her. All she could see were those eyes, dark and serious but with a gleam of hunger and something else that made her want to get lost there forever.
His fingers softly teased the skin under her panties. The need to keep that delicious tension rising made her groan in frustration.
He worked her, faster and faster, still feathery light, still dancing around what she wanted most until the word spun and exploded. She gripped his arms and let out a guttural shout as the wave of pleasure broke over and through her.
For a few seconds, she saw stars.
“Breathe,” Ward whispered in her ear.
His hot breath sent shivers racing down her spine. She let the breath she’d been holding out in a long gasp that ended in a little giggle.
His hands traced a hot path around and over her breasts, her stomach and down.
The greedy light in Ward’s eyes revved her up again.
She shoved at him until he gave way and flopped over onto his back, and then she pounced on him. She had a moment to register the flare of fire in his eyes and the hot, hard length of him as he slid inside, and then there was nothing but stormy sensation.
His hands gripped her hips as she pumped. Tension built in her body until everything blurred together into a clashing crescendo of the best chorus of the best song ever to exist.
She screamed her release.
It wasn’t long before Ward shuddered and moaned with his own.
She rested there, with him inside her, until he stopped quivering and she stopped shaking and they were both still. She gave him a soft kiss, then rolled off him and collapsed into a sweaty heap beside him on the tangled sheets.
They lay side by side, breathing heavily, while around them the old house settled down for the night.
“Did that just happen?” Della whispered. She didn’t even want to look at Ward in case she saw regret in his eyes. “I have pretty vivid dreams. Are we awake?”
“Yes,” Ward said, his voice low and soft. “And yes.”
“That’s good.” She felt spent and sleepy and deliciously satiated. “I was so tired when we got home, I thought maybe I’d hallucinated.”
He grunted.
She eyed him with a sideways glance. “You too?”
“Something like that.” His lips twitched.
Della turned onto her side to face him. “What time is it?”
His hand lay warm and heavy and comforting on hers. “About five.”
“We have to be there by ten thirty?” Her laugh bordered on helpless hysteria. “Oh, that’s bad. I’m going to be so tired. I’ll be practically delusional.”
“Shhh.” He caressed her hand, his fingers working their way around hers in a rhythmic pattern that threatened to start a fire inside her all over again. “Sleep now. Panic later.”
His tone was rueful, like there was no way to avoid the oncoming train of consequences.
Did he wish they hadn’t?
She wanted to ask if this counted as getting personally involved with a client, but she didn’t want to break the spell. She was just a girl, cuddled up with a boy.
Tomorrow would take care of itself. It always did.
Della wiggled onto her other side and snuggled her back against his chest. Ward pulled the covers up and then put his arm around her.
She felt sheltered.
Secure.
Safe.
“Sleep,” he whispered against her hair.
She ran her hand along his arm. It felt so natural, and comfortable, and right to be laying in his arms. Like it was something they’d always done. Would always do. “Will you be here when I wake up?”
He kissed her hair and hugged her a little tighter. “Yes.”