“Whatcha doing?” she asked, her voice husky.
Rather than struggling in his hold, her arms twined around his neck and her legs around his hips.
“It’s my turn to test this kissing hypothesis,” he told her as he carried her through the living room.
Her head pulled back. Dark eyes laughed up at him. “It doesn’t work when you kiss yourself.”
He snorted out a laugh.
“Trust me.” He nuzzled the side of her neck, then nipped. Turnabout was fair play after all. Smiling at the quiver that shook her, he stroked the sting away with his tongue. “I won’t be kissing myself.”
“But I’m not the one in pain,” she reminded him, her fingers playing with the hair along his neck.
Hell, even that caress, slight as it was, tightened his scalp and sent chills crashing down his spine. It was time to get her as revved up as he was.
“That’s because you have too many clothes on.” Once he got her naked, he’d make her burn.
He walked through her bedroom door and glanced around, his gaze zeroing in on the bed. He’d showered in the guest bathroom, so he hadn’t seen what she’d done with this room. But it didn’t surprise him that a quilt covered her bed. Or that the quilt was pink—each square a varying shade, so together they made a pink rainbow of sorts.
Pink shadowed the walls too, although it was a more subtle, soothing color.
“You sure like pink,” he observed, dropping her on the bed.
She squealed slightly in surprise as she bounced on the mattress, her eyes widening and promising retaliation. But they started to shimmer with heat as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. He bent to grab her ankles and dragged her to the edge of the bed. By the time he straightened after slipping off her shoes, she’d already removed her shirt and her fingers were on the front clasp of her bra.
“Let me,” he said, his voice husky. “It’ll be better than Christmas.”
“Sounds like you’ve had some pretty shitty Christmases, then.” While her laugh might have been light, the words wobbled slightly.
“I’ve just never been given anything so damn perfect before,” he said in a rough voice.
The deep, thick pressure rising in his chest interfered with his speech, his breathing, and quite possibly his heart.
He dropped to his knees in front of her and set the condom on the carpet, then reached for her bra. The clasp separated easily—thank Christ—and he pushed the straps down her bare, fragile shoulders until it slipped off her arms.
Jesus, she was absolutely gorgeous sitting there. Her hair tousled, the pink spikes matching the color blooming in her cheeks. Her breasts were small tight globes, the nipples peaked and rosy, a perfect fit for the palms of his hands. He cupped them, squeezing gently, and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the hollow of her throat. Slowly, oh so slowly, he trailed kisses down her chest to her right breast and took her nipple in his mouth. As he suckled one breast, he played with the other—squeezing the soft, round globe, pinching and releasing her nipple.
Her breathing grew rougher, her heartbeat erratic. His followed suit when one of her hands slipped between their bodies to cradle his balls. She mimicked his attention to her breasts, with her hand on his boys, until his cock throbbed like a son of a bitch.
Groaning, he pulled back. His hands shook as they dove for the button of her jeans, but by God he had them, along with her wet panties, off in record time. To her credit, she fell back and lifted her hips to help him along. Her legs were silky smooth and went on forever, but he was more interested in what was between them.
Draping her legs over his shoulders, he trailed kisses along the silky, soft skin of her inner thighs. The first nip sent a quake through her body, so he did it again, and soothed the slight red spot with more kisses. From the moan that whispered through the silent room, his kisses were having the same effect on her as hers had on him.
He wanted to grin, but the hunger was burning too strong, building too fast. From the tingle creeping along his spine, he wasn’t going to be able to keep this up much longer. Abandoning the silky skin of her thighs for the even silkier moist flesh between her legs, he gently parted her sex and pressed a kiss against her wet opening.
Jesus, she tasted perfect. Sweet and salty against his tongue.
She jolted, a choked scream breaking from her.
Pressing closer, sucking on her, he felt her legs clamp around his neck, the muscles rigid and trembling. Her hips thrashed and a keening wail echoed through the room.
She was close, so damn close, just one more nudge…he thrust his tongue into her…once…twice.
Screaming, she went rigid against him, her legs so tight around his neck they came close to cutting off the oxygen to his brain. Ripples swept her, and then her thighs went slack. Unwinding her legs from around his neck, he grabbed the condom, ripped it open and rolled the rubber into place. His hands shook as he guided his penis into her.
He entered her with one hard thrust, pulled back, and thrust again, and then again. Her legs rose to curl around his waist as her hips rose to meet each thrust. He hammered into her repeatedly, straining above her, his gaze locked on the dark, liquid glaze of her eyes. The scent of roses swirled through his head. Her taste was still on his tongue, and the certainty that he had lost something and gained something and would never be the same rose within him.
And then she came again, the wet, tight flesh of her sex milking him, stroking him, driving him insane, and dragging him into the maelstrom—to shatter there inside her.
Chapter Nine
Demi returned to consciousness slowly, vaguely aware of a hot, damp weight pressing her into the mattress. Somewhere above her, someone groaned. A rough, deep, chesty kind of groan. A sound of utter exhaustion. The weight settled more heavily on top of her.
She thought about protesting, Aiden outweighed her two to one, after all, and the pressure against her chest did make breathing difficult. But it felt so good to have him there, on top of her, inside of her, driving her into the mattress. She’d been dreaming about this for months—hell, if she were honest, for years.
Sighing, she ran her hands down his back, reveling in the feel of sweaty, hard muscles beneath her palms. His body was such a textural delight—steel sheathed in satin. Hot satin...as though his big body held some internal forge that constantly radiated heat. He’d be all the blanket a woman would need on a cold, snowy day.
She smiled dreamily; they’d have to find some backwoods ski resort to test that hypothesis. Hole up in a cabin for some night time gymnastics after hitting the slopes all day. He skied, as did she; they could grab a weekend getaway sometime in the coming winter and—the daydream came to a screeching stop.
The winter?
Winter was a good six months off…in the future. This hookup had an expiration date; it wasn’t supposed to have a future.
Unconsciously, her arms tightened around Aidan’s waist. They’d agreed they were only scratching an itch, and once that itch was eased, they’d move on. She frowned, her palms slowly skating up and down Aiden’s back. She didn’t want to move on. Not yet, anyway. She was still itchy.
But then, they hadn’t set an end date, had they? Why couldn’t they continue seeing each other for a while longer? They were both single, unencumbered adults. There was no reason they couldn’t continue this sex-buddy relationship as long as it worked for them both.
“What’s wrong?” Aiden asked in a raspy, sleepy voice. He turned his head to press a kiss to the hollow between her shoulder and neck.
“I was just thinking.” She tilted her head to give him better access and quivered as he nipped her neck lightly. She may have created a monster with all that nibbling she’d done on him before. But damn, he’d tasted good.
“Thinking’s overrated,” he told her huskily. He trailed kisses up to her ear and drew the lobe into his mouth to suckle it. His hand slipped between her thighs, stroking the sensitive, swollen folds protecting her sex. “It’s
best to feel…”
Oh yeah, she felt fantastic… Her legs fell open, silently encouraging deeper exploration. But those earlier worries continued buzzing through her mind, distracting her.
“So.” She cleared a sudden rash of nerves from her throat. She might as well nail down a timeframe. That might silence the uncertainty. “How long are you expecting this thing to continue?”
He froze for a minute and then lifted his head, staring down at her with absolute stillness on his face and shutters in his eyes. “Why? You ready to move on?”
“God no!” Unbidden, the words burst from her, while absently her arms tightened around his waist as though to hold him in place.
Something flickered in his eyes, and his face softened.
She didn’t want to scare him off by turning needy; guys hated that, so she smiled up at him and forced a flirty tone into her voice. “After the performance you gave, I thought I’d keep you around for a while.” She paused, struggling to maintain the lightness. “I mean, if you want to stick around…”
It wasn’t until the muscles of his back relaxed beneath her fingers that she realized how tense he’d become.
“Well, it would hardly be fair to split on you now,” he drawled, his mouth dropping back to her neck. He pushed a finger inside of her and lightly scraped the wall of her sex. “We’ve barely gotten started.”
Her hips arched beneath a rush of wet heat. Gasping, she pressed herself against his touch and struggled to draw breath. “We haven’t?”
“Hell no.” He scraped her clit with his thumb and slowly pumped a finger in and out of her.
Demi bit back a shriek, her muscles drawing tight around him, her arms turning into a vice and refusing to let him go. Dimly, she heard him laugh, a rough, velvety sound full of male satisfaction. That thick tension had seized her again, was cinching tighter and tighter with each stroke of his fingers and suckle of his lips against her neck, until it exploded, hurling her into the abyss.
This time, when she returned to awareness and opened her eyes, she found Aiden staring down, watching her. She flushed, suddenly self-conscious. “What?”
Stroking the back of his knuckles down her cheek, he simply shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than you, when you come. You glow, and your eyes get so wide, bright, and liquid—” He broke off, flushing slightly. Apparently the self-consciousness was catching. Clearing his throat, he grinned. “You also come faster than any woman I’ve known.”
Known? As in the biblical sense? The two interested Barbies from the parking lot flashed through her mind, and jealousy stung. How many women had he known? She barely snatched the question back before it hit the air.
None of your business, Demi. Besides, do you really want to know?
She forced her mind past that particular road block and tried to resume the teasing tone they’d fallen into throughout the day. “These past five hours have been non-stop foreplay. Let’s just say the pump was primed.”
“Or I’m damn good.” To illustrate his point, his hand went to work between her legs again. Only this time he worked two fingers inside her.
She groaned, helplessly trembling beneath the dual caress of his thumb and fingers. Happy to give credit where it was due, she cleared her throat. “Let’s call it fifty-fifty.”
He chuckled, a dark chocolate rasp of a sound. “I don’t think so.”
Waves of tingling swept through her. Liquid fire pooled between her legs.
“You get so wet for me,” he said.
Well, that would have been an embarrassing revelation if he hadn’t sounded so full of wonder and satisfaction.
Kissing the side of her neck, he withdrew his hand and lifted her hips slightly, groaning as her legs rose to wrap around his hips. And then he was inside of her—the hot, thick length of him filling her to the core. She arched into his thrusts, riding him as much as he was riding her, faster and faster, while the heat built and pressure increased and the only thing left in the world was the man locked in her arms.
When she roused after her third trip to the sun, he was sound asleep beside her. At some point he’d pulled out and collapsed alongside her on the bed, although a heavy arm was draped over her waist, holding her in place. Which was a damn good thing, since she was crowded along the very edge of the mattress, and in danger of tumbling off without the support of his arm.
She sighed, the contentment so thick it had weight and volume, filling her completely. Lifting herself, she braced her elbow on the mattress and her head in her hand and stared at him. He was so big, he took up most the bed, even though she had a queen sized mattress.
“I can feel you thinking,” he said, his voice still rough around the edges, his eyes still closed.
A smile touched the corner of his mouth, which was—she peered intently—barely swollen at all anymore. Demi sighed, stroking a finger down his lips, grinning when he caught it gently with his teeth.
“We should send your sister a thank you gift,” she announced, “After all, none of this”—her hand slid down to his penis and stroked it back to attention—“would be possible without her healing.”
He grunted sleepily. She shifted her weight over her hip to ease the pressure on her elbow and almost fell off the bed. Would have fallen, if his arm hadn’t tightened around her and dragged her on top of his big body.
“I think I need a bigger bed.”
“Don’t bother.” He finally opened his eyes and pinned her with a glittering look. “You’ll be under me most of the time.”
She grinned down at him. “Or on top of you.”
He slid his fingers through hair and leaned up to kiss her nose. “I’m always open to compromise.”
That was good to hear. She hesitated, then shrugged. “I think that while we’re…” She chose her words with care, not wanting to give him the wrong impression or scare him off. “Sleeping together, we should be exclusive to each other.”
She drew a deep breath, ready to argue her case and explain why it didn’t really change the nature of their earlier agreement.
“I can live with that,” he said, with the strangest combination of satisfaction and amusement.
Frowning down at him, she studied his expression. The smugness was stamped across his face, too, like he’d just won some kind of battle or prize. She thought back, but couldn’t see any reason for that complacency. Regardless, she needed to deflate some of that self-satisfaction, and she knew exactly how to do it. Straightening, she climbed off him and slid from the bed.
“Hey.” He sat straight up in protest, pure sensual promise glittering in his heated gaze. “I wasn’t finished with you yet. I’m about to prove once and for all that a real SEAL in your bed is a thousand times more satisfying than those books you and my sister devour by the sacksful.”
She almost passed out from anticipation—but, first things first.
“I want to try an experiment,” she announced, glee bubbling inside her.
His gaze narrowed, and he looked suspicious. At least for a second, before he noticed that she was naked. The suspicion shifted to hunger and his gaze dropped to her breasts. “What experiment?”
“Oh, it’s just something I saw on the science channel the other night,” she told him with an airy wave of her hand. “About how men react to the color red.”
“So what’s the experiment?” he asked, back to looking suspicious.
“I’m going to put on something red, and see how you react.”
He swept her naked body with hot, hungry eyes. “Trust me, baby, nothing you wear is going to crank my engine like what you’re wearing right now.”
She grinned. They’d see about that. “Close your eyes. No peeking.”
He groaned, but fell back on the mattress with his eyes closed. She collected the fuck-me-now ensemble from the night before and headed for the bathroom. It seemed to take forever to struggle into the outfit, and force her feet back into those punishing four-inch stilettos—which she though
t was due to anticipation, at least until he shouted at her from the other side of the door.
“How much longer you gonna be, sweetheart? I’ve got some experiments of my own we can try.”
She paused at the sultry promise in his voice before adjusting the neckline of her sweater for maximum boob spillage. “Almost done. Close your eyes.” She listened to an onslaught of grumbling and choked back a laugh. “Are your eyes closed?”
“Yes.” There was a definite bad tempered snap to his voice.
Apparently the man was used to instant obedience. She’d have to break him of that expectation. She opened the bathroom door and peeked around the edge to make sure his eyes were closed—then strode out in her, as Brett Taggert had put it, military grade weaponry.
“Okay, you can look.” She posed at the foot of the bed with one hip jutted out for impact.
Sighing loudly, with a long-suffering expression on his face, he opened his eyes and lifted his head. His gaze locked on her face, before he did one of those up and down sweeps from the night before. For a split second his eyes widened in pure shock, and then a blast of arousal swept the room. He jackknifed up and off the bed.
“What the hell?” A thundercloud closed over his face. “You wore that to the Bottoms Up?” Horrified disbelief lifted his voice into a shout. “Are you crazy?”
Okay, that wasn’t the reaction she’d been going for. Scowling, her hands dropped from her hips. “What’s wrong? You don’t like it?”
“Hell, yeah, I like it.” He stalked toward her, his naked body powerfully beautiful in the filtered sunlight streaming through the skylights ringing her bedroom’s A-framed ceiling. “As long as it’s a private show, in a private place where the clothes can come off.”
She stared at him, barely hearing the qualifications, mesmerized by the lean masculine grace of his stride and the play of muscles down his thick thighs and calves. To her disbelief, heat stirred again, a slow, languid slide through her belly and into her chest. The previous ravenous hunger had quieted, sated by their three—she did a double take as the number echoed through her mind.
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