Chapter 3
Chapter Three
If Dean had been thinking with the right head, he would have politely found a way to tell Vivian no. Or at the very least, spent a few minutes talking to her about her request, before grabbing hold of her like she was the last life jacket on a sinking ship.
And Vivian wasn’t helping him pull himself together, because there wasn’t a damn thing shy or hesitant about the way she was kissing him back.
He’d spent the entire night trying to remind himself that this was Vivian, Victor’s much adored little sister. A widow still grieving for the love of her life. A caring, attentive single mother.
Vivian Kelly wasn’t the type of woman a man picked up in a bar and simply fucked. She was the kind of woman a man dated and wooed slowly, the type who deserved romance and flowers and goddamn poetry.
Dean was no poet.
Hell, at the moment, he was nothing but helpless. Completely and utterly helpless to pull away, to stop kissing her, to resist the need to…
He shifted until he was looming over her, caging her beneath him. His hands drifted under the hem of her pajama top, seeking out the bare skin of her midriff.
Vivian moaned, the deep sound only encouraging him to continue his explorations. She huffed out a quick burst of air when his fingers tickled her stomach, but it wasn’t enough to push them apart.
He deepened the kiss, stealing a taste of the tantalizing blend of minty toothpaste and the red wine she’d drunk at dinner, their tongues dancing together.
His hand slid slowly upward. She’d kept her bra on, something he tried not to notice when she’d stepped out of the bathroom earlier. Obviously, she’d been opting for modesty, or perhaps she’d been trying to convince herself that behaving was in their best interest.
If so, she hadn’t been any more successful than he had. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have issued that invitation.
God. He still couldn’t believe she’d been the one to initiate this. He’d been lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, determined to prove that he was stronger than his lust.
Ha fucking ha.
Dean cupped Vivian’s breasts, the lacy bra not much of a deterrent.
Her tits were perfection. Big and full and definitely more than a mouthful.
Not that he didn’t intend to give it the old college try.
The idea of sucking those tight nipples of hers into his mouth, of spending hours worshipping her breasts, appealed greatly.
Vivian was systematically destroying his powers of resistance. Every time she moaned or purred or arched her back, forcing more of her tits into his hands, he lost sight of no.
He should say it, should list all those reasons he’d been compiling since dinner about why this was a bad idea. Truth was, he’d compiled a pretty decent list.
Dean wasn’t looking for a relationship. At forty-four, he’d long ago accepted that marriage wasn’t in the cards for him. For one thing, he was wholly committed to his career, determined to prove himself as a head coach after so many years playing second fiddle as a mere assistant in Vancouver.
On top of that, his dating track record basically proved he was a bad risk.
His longest relationship—if he could call it that—had been the whopping thirteen months he’d spent with a flight attendant, Janine.
And the only reason that lasted as long as it did was because their time together had been severely limited by their jobs.
She was on the road as much as he was, which had made the commitment easy and untested…
until they’d decided to take a long weekend trip to Olympic National Park.
Renting a cabin had sounded like a great idea until they’d been cooped up alone together. That was when they realized the only thing they had in common was great sex and nothing else. They’d cut the trip short and called it quits the second they made it back home to Vancouver.
And if those reasons weren’t enough to convince him to keep his hands to himself, the fact that Vivian had a kid—a five-year-old daughter—definitely should do the trick. Dean might be a father himself, but he’d missed every damn year between birth and eighteen.
Then Vivian’s fingers slid through his hair, closing around it as she gave him another one of those sexy sounds of hers.
His resolve to do the right thing dissolved then and there.
He broke off the kiss. Not because he planned to stop.
God, he couldn’t if he tried. Vivian was one hell of a beautiful woman, with lots and lots of very kissable places.
His lips slid along her soft pink cheek, traveling to just behind her ear, before they slipped down the side of her slender neck.
Vivian wasn’t a passive player in any of this, planting her own sweet kisses on his face, her hands in constant motion, gripping his shoulders, cupping his jaw, clenching tight to the sides of his waist. He wished she would follow his lead and dip them beneath his T-shirt. He needed her hands on him. Everywhere.
Time lost all meaning as the kisses and touches lingered, growing bolder and hungrier.
Dean pushed his hand around her back, seeking the hooks on her bra. Vivian helped him, lifting herself to make the task easier, even as she nipped his lower lip enough to hurt but not break the skin.
He pulled away, eyes narrowed, until her impish grin grew wider and those dark eyes of hers twinkled even in the dim lighting.
“Bad girl,” he murmured under his breath.
She huffed out an unrepentant laugh that was cut short when he found success with her bra. Once it was unfastened, he wasted no time slipping his fingers beneath the lace, applying the same biting pressure as he pinched her nipples.
Vivian gasped, but the fact her back was arched—an unspoken demand for more—ensured that he didn’t relent. Especially when paired with her hissed, breathless, “Yes.”
Dean was practically panting himself. Especially when Vivian lifted her legs, crossing her ankles at the base of his back to press her pussy against his cock.
There were too many damn clothes between them. But changing that fact would take them from point A to Z way too fucking fast—and Dean was still determined to talk to her before they went too far.
Jesus. As if they hadn’t already.
Dean forced himself to break the kiss, to find the words to slow—no, stop this. Because of the reason that was the real number one on his list.
“Vivian,” he said. “Have you been with anyone since—”
Vivian’s fingers pressed hard against his lips, unwilling to hear his question.
Once she silenced him, she took things a step further, gripping the back of his neck, pulling him down on top of her roughly. Her legs tightened around him as she slammed her lips back against his in a kiss so passionate, he felt light-headed.
If her goal had been distraction, she’d hit the bullseye.
Dean returned the kiss with interest, suddenly struggling to remember his own name, let alone a bunch of bullshit reasons about why this wasn’t the best fucking idea ever.
They kissed until the air ran out, until they had to part to draw in deep breaths or suffocate.
Dean gazed into her eyes, searching for…
something, though he wasn’t entirely sure what.
If he’d seen any speck of doubt or confusion, he would have found the ability to get out of this bed, but instead, her expression mirrored what he was certain he’d see on his own face if he was standing in front of a mirror.
Pure, unbridled need.
Her eyes held his, and it was as if they’d each found the ability to speak without words. That was the only answer he could come up with when Vivian pressed on his shoulder, and he knew without her adding directions exactly what she wanted.
He pushed himself up, kneeling between her outstretched thighs, reaching down to gently pull her upright as well.
With one hand, he gripped the back neck of his T-shirt, pulling it over his head as Vivian mimicked his movements, drawing off her shirt and bra in one smooth, quick move.
They paused for a moment, neither of them bothering to play coy. He devoured her with his gaze, and she did the same, soaking in every part of him she could see.
He’d been wrong about her breasts. They weren’t just spectacular, they were a goddamn masterpiece, her areolas large and dark, her nipples mouthwateringly hard. He could see the slightest marks of his fingers from his earlier pinches, and something feral inside him awoke.
No. It didn’t just wake up. It broke free after a lifetime spent in a cage.
Dean cupped her breasts again, taking one in each hand, pushing them upward as he lowered his head. She was a feast, and he was a starving man.
Vivian’s fingers threaded through his hair as she leaned back, offering him everything he wanted and more.
She held him tight to her chest. It almost felt as if she was afraid he would stop, and she needed to keep him there.
The idea of him pulling away was so laughable, he almost did just that. However, he couldn’t spare the breath.
“These tits,” he murmured against her. Mercifully, Vivian wasn’t one of those rail-thin women, more bones and angles than substance. She was soft and fluffy, the perfect hourglass, with a small waist providing the break between her large breasts and wide hips and firm, round ass.
He forced thoughts of her ass away because the second he thought about it, he was overwhelmed by the desire to rip her pajama pants down and spank it.
There was nothing Dean liked more than painting a beautiful woman’s ass red before kissing and licking the sting away.
His desire for rougher sex was an innate thing, a need that had always been there.
He wasn’t a Dom, didn’t wear leather chaps or go to sex clubs or wield whips. His tastes weren’t quite that extreme, but that didn’t mean he didn’t get seriously fucking turned on by spanking a woman, or tying her to his bed, or pulling her hair until she cried out.
Just the thought of doing those things to Vivian had his cock, which was already nearly bursting, growing even harder.