Caught Up in the Touch: Sweet Home Alabama

by Trentham, Laura

  His arms tightened around her, and his chest vibrated with soft laughter. “Well, since you asked so nicely . . .”

  He pulled her panties to the side, bent his knees, and pushed inside of her inch by slow inch. He was thick and stretched her, filled her. Her body quivered, and she dropped her forehead to her hands, gripping the rail. The motion shifted her hips up, offering him another inch.

  Her orgasm hit like the sudden thunderstorm. It circled through her body without his moving or touching her, just from the feel of him inside of her, bare and hot. Sometime during the chaos of her bucking hips and writhes, he started taking short stabs. She moaned and touched herself, setting off either another orgasm or intense aftershocks.

  She said things in a hoarse voice that would mortify her later. Things about how good he felt inside of her, how sexy he was, how she’d dreamed of him fucking her like this.

  She had no idea how long it went on. The combination of darkness and rain shrouded them from reality and linear time. He thrust harder. His fingers bit into her shoulders, forcing her body to bow up and pushing her hips against the rail. He grunted and pulsed inside of her. She’d never felt a man’s orgasm.

  Of course, she’d never had sex without a condom before either. Oh. My. God. Not only that, but she’d never had sex outside or without even taking her panties off. And she begged him to . . . No, she couldn’t go there again, not even in her head. At least she’d asked him politely. Her mother would be so pleased.

  A giggle, half-hysterical, half-disbelieving popped out. He slid out of her. She readjusted her panties, yanked the hem of her skirt down, and rebuttoned her shirt, her fingers shaking. When she straightened, his sperm soaked through the thin satin of her panties, the clammy mess stamping out any lingering aftershocks of pleasure.

  Cold fingers of panic trailed up her back and tightened around her throat. She couldn’t even do a walk of shame to her car. The only option was to ask for a ride. There was no easy escape.

  Her ankles turned weak in her heels, and she wasn’t sure she would even make it down the porch stairs to his truck without help. She clutched the rail, a splinter cutting into her palm. The rain turned misty, punctuated by an occasional shot of lightning and diminishing thunder. The storm was over.

  The sound of his zipper closing was unnaturally loud. He circled his arms around her, binding her arms to her sides in a tight, bear hug. He kissed the curve of her neck where it met her collarbone. “That was so fucking hot I’m surprised the house isn’t a smoldering pile of rubble.”

  He let her go, and she swayed on her feet before finding her balance and sidestepping to the porch steps. He weaved their fingers together and pulled her in the opposite direction than her momentum carried her. She stumbled into his arm, the hard muscle of his biceps pressing between her breasts. The coward in her told her keep her gaze at their feet, but pride forced her head up.

  “I’ll need a ride.” The words stumbled out.

  “Sure thing. I’ll drive you back to town. Later.”

  “L-Later?” The questioning hesitancy in her voice never happened either. Except around him.

  “I told you I was taking you to bed, and I like keeping to the fine print of my promises. Although taking you from behind in those sexy heels fulfilled a particularly naughty fantasy of mine.” He pulled her inside to a small foyer. Mail was stacked on a small side table, and he dug his truck keys out of his pocket and dropped them in a green-tinted glass bowl.

  Her mind whirled on the possible implications. Were they actually going to have sex again? His unbuckled belt jangled on his quick step up the stairs. He didn’t loosen his grip on her hand, and she allowed him to guide her down a narrow hallway. He backed into the last room, grabbing up her other hand and pulling her forward.

  A dark-stained four-poster king bed dominated the room. The bedding was an unembellished dark blue as were the drapes. The only light came from the hallway.

  He circled his hand around her neck, his thumb caressing her cheekbone. His gaze stripped away any protection she’d managed to cobble together in the five minutes since he’d been inside of her, the caress of his eyes more intimate than the sex.

  She stared at a button on his shirt, blocking out his intense inspection. “I need to clean up.”

  “Bathroom’s back out in the hall to the left.”

  Her butt-bone hit the old-fashioned glass doorknob on her shuffling retreat. She whirled away and locked herself inside the bathroom. Bracing her hands on either side of the porcelain sink, she met the eyes of the woman in the mirror, barely recognizing herself.

  Her hair was mussed, her cheeks flushed, and her lips swollen. Red splotches on her neck brought back a weakening wave of memory—his teeth nipping and his beard stubble scraping her delicate skin.

  Her shirt was askew where she’d rebuttoned it incorrectly, making her look even more disheveled and shameless. She fixed the alignment and then pulled her skirt up, her panties down, and plopped on the toilet to do her business. Covering her face with both hands, she leaned over and rested against her knees. Should she insist he take her home? Or should she see how this played out? What did she want? What did he want?

  She kicked her shoes off and rubbed her feet on the blue fuzzy mat. Her panties fell to her ankles, and she slipped her feet free. After stuffing the damp cloth into the toe of her shoe, she flushed the toilet and smoothed her clothes down, hyperaware of her pantyless state. With every step, the stirred air caressed her sensitive skin.

  She approached the cracked door on tiptoes. Pushing it open, she poked her head around the doorjamb. The drapes had been opened. The night sky had cleared and a shaft of moonlight illuminated Logan as if some Hollywood director had staged the scene.

  He was propped against pillows on the bed, bare feet crossed at the ankles. His jeans were still on, his zipper halfway down, his boxer briefs standing out like a red flag to a bull. His shirt was puddled on the floor at the side of the bed, his torso dark against the stark white pillows.

  Sweet Lord, his chest. Dark hair dusted over his pecs, continuing in a sparse trail south of his belly button. His chest was thick, muscled, sexy as hell.

  A picture flashed of him tied him up spread eagle on the bed. She would drive him slowly crazy. The urge to straddle him and lick from his flat stomach up to his nipples and back to between his legs had her shuffling forward a few feet into the room, a shoe clutched in each hand to her chest.

  She cut her legs together in an attempt to alleviate the throbbing, but sans underwear, the motion only emphasized her growing arousal. She had zero self-control around him. None. Zip. In fact, she might have veered into negative territory.

  His gaze was like a physical touch, and she shifted her shoes to hide her pebbled nipples. The atmosphere thickened and grew electric as if the storm had moved inside. His voice rumbled like thunder between them. “Come here, Jessie.”

  The sexy-sweet sound ran like honey through her body. She loved when he called her Jessie. It made her feel like a different person and helped justify her very un-Jessica-like actions. Her shoes clattered to the floor.

  Slowly, like prey unable to resist the bait of a trap, she shuffled to his side of the bed. He released the buttons of her shirt, this time slowly, drawing out the moment. Her breathing rate increased with each button that slid free, baring another sliver of her skin. He pushed the shirt over her shoulders, and it fluttered to the floor to lay beside his. Before she could say anything, he pulled her across his chest and rolled them to the middle of the bed, his weight pressing her down.

  He held himself over her on one elbow and brushed her hair back from her forehead, but made no move to kiss her. One of her arms was trapped against the heated skin of his side. Her other hand fluttered from lying flat on the bed to fisted on her stomach.

  “Damn, you’re beautiful.” He stared at her breasts, spilling out of her too tight bra.

  She covered the top swells as if she were some medieval maiden trying to
hide her goodies. “I need to lose a little weight.”

  Laughing, he popped to his knees and found the side zipper of her skirt. “Not a very subtle way to fish for a compliment.”

  “I wasn’t . . .” She turned her cheek into the thick down of his comforter at a loss for words.

  “You were serious?” His voice registered disbelief. She didn’t know how to answer. He straddled her hips and pushed both her wrists by her head. “Look at me.”

  Biting the inside of her mouth, she took a deep breath and looked straight in his eyes. They were almost nose to nose. “You are the sexiest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You’ve got to know that. Your hair, your curves, your legs. I’ve been dreaming about getting my hands on you, and your legs around me since the day you walked into Adaline’s, all proper and fierce.”

  Considering where she lay, his lip service wasn’t to get her into bed. Warmth flooded into a dark emptiness she hadn’t even recognized she’d lived with from the first comparison with her sister, so young she couldn’t even remember.

  Her arms trapped, she lifted her head, pressed her mouth against his and whispered, “Thank you.”

  His lips curved against hers before he slipped his tongue inside her mouth. Gently, sweetly, sensually. He rolled to his side, pulling her with him. Working her skirt down, he shifted to pull it off. The clasp of her bra released, and he drew it off. Like a white flag of surrender, it disappeared into the darkness.

  She was naked, but it was dark and the worry over him discovering her scars fading into nothingness. She relaxed into the sensation of his body and hands and mouth. The seams of his jeans abraded her legs, and the hair on his chest tickled her breasts.

  He kissed her, flicking his tongue against her lower lip, the corners of her mouth, sucking her bottom lip between his. She arched her back, her body seeking his. He danced his fingertips across her collarbone and down her arm, his hand landing under her breast, almost cupping it.

  “Why do you insist on torturing me?” Her husky voice was unrecognizable to her ears.

  With a sighing laugh, he lifted her breast high, his thumb flicking over her peaked nipple, giving her just enough to torment her.

  He pushed her to her back, but before she could protest, he said gruffly, “Get your hands over your head.”

  She obeyed, once again under his spell. While he squeezed and played with one breast, his mouth dropped to the other. His tongue circled her peaked nipple before drawing the tip into his mouth, the gentle suction matching the pulse of need between her legs.

  The brink of another orgasm hovered close without him even touching her where she throbbed. The balance between pleasure and frustration was precarious. She slipped her hand between her legs to relieve the tension.

  In past relationships, she had never demanded anything in bed. She took control of her pleasure, knowing exactly what she wanted and needed. More often than not, her boyfriends had been more of a hindrance than a help.

  Her fingers had just made skimming contact when he grabbed her wrist and pulled it a few inches away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Touching myself?”

  He hummed and brought her wrist to his mouth. He nipped at the delicate skin before laying a kiss over her pulse point. He pushed her hand back over her head and clamped her wrists in one hand. “While someday soon I’d love to watch you, tonight the pleasure of making you come will be mine. Understood?”

  Never had a man talked to her like this in bed. Commands, promises, dirty talk. She squirmed, at once incredibly turned on but vaguely realizing she was entering uncharted territory.

  Her relationships tended to be more businesslike than romantic. Having a boyfriend was convenient for required social engagements, but the sex had been like going to the gym. Good for her mind and body, but a chore.

  “Don’t move.” Logan rose and stood at the side of the bed, tugging his jeans and underwear down and kicking them off.

  His erection jutted out from short pubic hair. The urge to put her mouth around him was strong. And surprising, considering blowjobs weren’t her forte. She rolled over, pushed up on her hands and knees, and crawled over, her focus entirely on his erection.

  “I told you not to move.”

  She glanced up to gauge his reaction. A corner of his mouth was drawn back, and his half-lidded eyes were teasing. He made her feel bold and adventurous. “You’re not the boss of me in bed, Logan Wilde.”

  Dropping to her stomach, she grabbed the base of his erection and licked across the tip. He cursed and let his head fall back, the tendons on his neck taut. Vibrating tension in his body erased his casual tease.

  She closed her mouth over him. His hips bucked and drove his erection toward her throat. He tasted salty and sweet. A combination of them? She hummed and wiggled her hips, the erotic recognition nearly undoing her.

  He pulled out of her mouth. She was breathing hard, her heart pumping like an Olympic sprinter. As if she weighed nothing, he pulled her up under her arms and flipped her to her back, crossways over the bed.

  “I’d planned to take my time.” He ran his hands up her inner thighs, the rasping caress forcing her legs wide and baring her to his gaze. The old Jessica wanted to cover herself and close her eyes, but a growing part of her fed on the frenzied need churning between them. “You are a gorgeous creature, Jessie.”

  He kneeled between her legs and rubbed the end of his erection against her clit. In an embarrassingly short amount of time, white static filled her ears, muffling the voice chanting his name and begging him to press inside of her.

  His long, slow thrusts prolonged her orgasm. As the pulsing ripples slowed, she lay boneless under him. He dropped over her, chest to chest, and she weaved her hands through his hair, laying kisses along his damp neck.

  He convulsed against her, his throaty groan reverberating through her body. He stilled, his weight pressing her into the bed. She felt anchored and safe. While he recovered, she wrapped her legs around his hips and traced her nails down his back. He shivered, and his hips jerked.

  The inevitable moment came. He pushed up on his hands, dropped a perfunctory kiss on her lips, and rolled to his back.

  The ceiling fan moved air over her body, leaving her chilled in the aftermath. Without his body to reassure her, awkwardness crept into the gaping holes he’d left in her defenses. What now? Make a run for her clothes and hide in the bathroom again?

  As he moved toward the pillows, she looked to the door, a mere ten feet away. The comforter rustled.

  “Come here, woman. You plumb wore me out.” His exaggerated yawn went on so long she could help but turn to look. He crossed his arms behind his head and wore a sleepy, affectionate smile. The covers settled a few inches below his waist. He looked sexy and adorable and irresistible.

  As quickly and gracefully as she could manage, she scampered up the bed and under the covers, wondering how to position herself. He took decision out of her hands. As soon as she got close, he turned her to her side and snuggled behind her, the hair on his legs and chest tickling her. He pressed so close, the cadence of his heart thrummed against her, slow and steady. Her heart sought the same rhythm.

  With his elbow settled in the dip of her waist, he cupped her breast, idly playing with her nipple, which didn’t seem to understand she’d more than met her quota with two mind-blowing orgasms. It peaked and sent electric signals to between her legs.

  She covered his hand with hers. “You’ve got to stop.”

  “Getting feisty again? I don’t think I could get it up even if the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders pranced through here buck naked and high-kicking, but I’d be happy to take care of you again.” His hand drifted to where her legs were pressed together.

  “Three times? I don’t think that’s even possible.” She pushed his hand away, and he settled it on her waist with a husky laugh.

  “We’re going to test that theory later, but for now, I’ll be a good boy and keep my hands to myself.”<
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  Ten minutes passed. His breathing grew slower, the arm across her waist lax and heavy. She twisted her neck around to see his face. The shadows were deep, the moon having risen above the windows, but the man was definitely asleep.

  Which meant he’d planned on—wanted—her to stay the night in his bed and in his arms? She shifted to her back and shook his shoulder.

  Without opening his eyes, he said, “You’re insatiable, woman. I need to rest.”

  “Good grief, I’m not—were you planning to take me home?”

  “I thought that’s what I did.” His voice was sleepy and vague.

  “I meant are you going to take me back to Lilliana’s?”

  He made a sound somewhere between a hum and a grunt, rolled to his back, and settled her against his side, her head on his shoulder, his arm pressing her tight against him. That must be Mountain Man for “No way.”

  She smiled and relaxed against him, weaving her leg between his. Contentment blanketed her as her hold on reality fuzzed toward sleep.

  16

  Wakefulness stole over her slowly, her dreams fading behind a thickening fog until she could no longer grasp the threads. Her senses catalogued her environment one observation at a time.

  Muted light shone behind her eyelids. She took a deep breath, the tang of sex and the warmth of a man at her back fired a primal awareness in her belly. The cottony soft sheet moved down her body, exposing her breasts. Her nipples tightened with a combination arousal and cool morning air. A hand, big and warm, caressed down her leg, over her hip, through the dip in her waist, and up her arm.

  Her eyes fluttered open. A narrow strip of sunlight slashed across the bed, illuminating floating dust motes. The effect was hypnotic, and she didn’t move.

  Vaguely she recalled their shifting positions throughout the night, but he’d always kept her close, and they’d ended up tucked together like spoons. She closed her eyes and focused on the feel of him behind her. The hard planes of his chest against her back, his erection tucked against her bottom, the rasp of his leg hair against her smooth skin. She ached for him and arched her back in invitation.