Chapter 17
RACHEL
“Trav.” She pressed the length of her body to his, gripping the button-down cotton shirt.
To be honest, the kissing, and the chemistry, and the desire had already complicated everything. Even if she hadn’t wanted that to happen. She’d jumped off the diving board, and now was the time to swim.
She couldn’t get her mouth to form the words, because she wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted today.
“What do you say we take a conversation break and use our bodies to communicate?” he suggested.
“Because, Rach, your body has so much to say. Let today be what it’s going to be.”
Right. Yes. She could do that. That sounded nice. She nodded.
He took that as his cue to unbutton his shirt and pull it off in a swift motion that left his abs bare.
Of course, at the pool (and on the lake) she’d noted his fairly spectacular abdominal muscles, but now she got to touch them and play and…
She reached for his jaw with her palms, lifted on her toes, and pressed her mouth to his. Kissed, sucked, and pushed her fingers into his blond hair. She owned the kiss. Owned the moment. Owned the hope of what came next.
He let her. Let it be.
Until he didn’t.
As he took over the kiss, her mind released its hold on logic and let the pure feeling of the day pull her under.
Picking her up like she weighed nothing, he strode to the bed, their mouths barely separating through the movement. With gentleness like she couldn’t have dreamed, he laid her head on the pillows and straddled her knees—still clothed from the waist down.
Which was a real bummer.
“Too many clothes,” she said softly.
His pupils seemed to liquify, and he reached over to the nightstand, flicking on the lamp.
The lamp had warm white bulbs that cast a nice—dare she say, romantic—glow about the room.
But.
She hadn’t had sex with the lights on since the boys were born, so even though she was A-OK with getting the nice warm glow over his abs, hers were…well… “Shit,” she said—not in a whisper.
“What?” He stilled the kisses he pressed to her neck, his heated breath against the tender skin just under her earlobe.
Sonofabitch, she was wearing a spandex shaper that was not of the sexy variety. Not like the ones she’d seen at one of the shops downtown with the corset and the lace.
No, she was wearing the full coverage granny panty variety that were decidedly not sexy—unless covered by a kick-ass dress.
“I’m—” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “This is so embarrassing.”
Unfortunately, but also fortunately, he dismounted, lying on the mattress beside her, propping his head in his hand.
She should probably just give him a blow job or something for his trouble.
“Say again?” he asked, eyebrows totally furrowed.
“Say what?” She slid her gaze to him.
He didn’t look very happy, at all. “The blow thing.” Fuck a duck, had she said that out loud? Like out loud? Her cheeks immediately heated.
“Oh my God.” She pulled her hands down over her eyes.
“Rach.” He settled against her, his front to her side. His abs right freaking there, ready to touch. His…holy crap, he had a total hard-on happening, tenting his slacks and…
“I’m wearing a shaper thing. It’s not sexy. I’m totally unprepared. I don’t even have condoms in here and…I should just do the blow job thing. Then we can both go back to work.”
Now, that? That he didn’t seem to like. What with the way his eyes turned stormy, and he abruptly sat up.
“What do you think we’re doing here?” he asked, louder than she’d expected. “I think we’re in two entirely different mindsets. Because it felt like I wanted your body and you wanted my body, and we were going with that.”
“I don’t know,” she said, the truth tipping right out of her lips. “I don’t know what I’m doing. The lights are on and you’re”—she gestured to the tent pitched at his fly—“and I’m”—she gestured to herself.
“This is because you have a shaper? What the hell even is a shaper?” His forehead creased with clear confusion.
“It’s underwear that keeps me all…” She considered the best word for the situation. “Contained.”
He stared at her one, two, three, and then four beats, the creases growing deeper.
“I need to ask you a question. I need you to be honest with me.” He moved his palm to her neck, turning her head so their eyes met. “Can you be honest with me?”
“I just told you I’m wearing super unsexy underwear right now, so I’m being more honest than I’d like to be.” She sat up, her hair falling over her shoulder in a total wreck that was an echo of what the afternoon had become.
“Do you want to do this? With me?” he asked.
Yes, of course she did. She wanted to do this. Her body wanted it and even her mind was on board.
“I mean sex where we both…pop our toaster tarts,” he said seriously.
Well, yes, that would be ideal.
“We don’t have to plan the rest of it. Don’t give it too much weight. If you want, later, we can spend time together. When you’re ready, I’ll help you when you need help. Right now, though? It doesn’t have to be all of that.” He pointed to his bare chest. “It can be just this.”
She gulped, because she’d never known Travis to be sincere like that.
What did she want?
Did she want the whole package? Yes.
No question.
No questions with him.
She’d never even considered it until literally yesterday.
Still, she nodded. Not because she told her head to move. It seemed to do it all on its own. “I want that. This. I think I want to try for the whole thing.” Maybe this really, really was what she wanted. “I think…”
“You’re doin’ a lot of that.”
“Maybe I’m just off-limits. That’s why we’re here.” She gestured to the bed.
The storm in his eyes raged harder. “Did you ever think that maybe we’re here because I just needed the right reason?”
“What’s that?” And did she want to know?
“You, Rach.” The storm had passed, and his blue eyes settled on her and she knew whatever battle she’d wanted to wage, thought she had to wage, she’d lost. And she’d won. And nothing made sense. “The right reason is you.”
He extracted his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out three condoms—apparently, he had high hopes—and tossed the wallet to the nightstand.
“Lie down.” He watched, a new fire in his eyes this time.
One like she’d never seen before.
“How do you take off the shaper thing?” he asked,
settling the condoms on the pillow within arm’s reach but not intrusively in the way.
Travis was good at being prepared. Who knew?
“It’s just…like…” She wanted to hide her face behind her palm. She didn’t, because she had a feeling that would only ignite more of whatever was going on in his eyes. While that look excited her, it also scared the bejeezus out of her.
“Like?” he asked. “Like underwear.”
Just like that—lickety-split—his face hovered over hers. “And you’re wearing this underwear?”
“Yes?” She sort of asked and sort of answered.
“It’s covering you?” he asked. “Between your legs?”
“Yes?” The sort of asked, sort of answered thing was becoming habit with not-bickering Travis.
“Then, ma’am,” he said, leaning heavily on the accent.
“I guarantee this shaper thing is desirable, and sexy, and somethin’ I want to see.
Nothing you say will make it not.” He said the words, and he moved to pin her with his hips against her own, the impressive evidence of his arousal against her stomach, and then his mouth descended to meet hers.
Urgent, sweet, and a balm that made her not care what kind of underwear she wore, because pretty soon she’d be wearing none and that was perfectly awesome. Preferable, even.
“Lift for me.” His words against her mouth were gravel and crushed marble as he straddled her again, guiding her hips so she raised them, her heels pressing into the white duvet cover.
With her hips lifted, he pushed her dress up to her waist.
His hands touching everything along the way, skimming the skin of her thighs, brushing against spandex, until he got to the waistband nestled high above her belly button.
Then, Travis Frank surprised her, because he removed the shaper without any assistance. Like he was a spandex-shaper-remover professional.
This was impressive because it took her a solid three minutes to get the thing on and off, yet he rolled the material down, down, down, and tossed it off the bed like it wasn’t a big deal and she was still desirable and…yes, she was so going to put her mouth on that tent in his trousers. A lot.
A whole lot.
Later, though, because he needed to finish undressing her. And she was damp between her thighs and she had barely moved but was breathing heavily and it would probably take only two strokes from him and she’d come.
With tongue and lips and hands, he pressed butterfly kisses to the scar just above her pubic bone, around the side of her belly where silver stretch marks marred the skin.
He continued touching and kissing all the spots she’d never shown anyone except her doctor.
“Travis, you don’t have to…” she started to say but ended on an ahhhh, because his kisses had moved to between her thighs and this time they were of the French variety.
Using his thumbs to stroke her sensitive opening, he tongued her core, rolling his mouth over the center of her desire until she was clutching the bedspread. Panting, she was pretty much seeing all the stars that were ever in the night sky.
“I want to.” He raised his gaze. His eyes held hers, which was amazing but also not, because his mouth left the space between her thighs.
What did he want to do?
He should continue doing whatever it was he wanted to do.
She must’ve somehow broadcast this either telepathically or, more likely, with words she didn’t realize she was speaking, because he chuckled. Deep and low and she clenched the bedspread harder.
Seriously? Could a woman come when a man wasn’t even touching her?
“Let me see you.” He massaged the spot where her thighs met her torso with the pads of his thumbs.
She pinched her eyes shut. They’d come this far. He was into this. She was into this. He’d already seen most of it.