I did the right thing every single time. And now? I was ready to do a few things that weren’t so perfect.
He was in the sitting room, staring out the back doors at the dark garden. It gave me hope, thinking that maybe he was thinking about what’d happened between us out there. I knew I was.
“Have you ever wanted to do something dangerous? Something that you knew could get you into worse trouble than anything you’ve ever known before? Have you ever wanted to step over the cliff’s edge even though you know how badly it will hurt when you finally land?”
I could see his shoulders stiffen. He turned, his eyes unreadable as they moved over my face.
My heart was pounding in my chest, my hands shaking at my sides. I’d only felt this way once before. But even that one time was nothing like this. This…it felt real in a way that never did.
“I’m a good girl,” I said, emotion ripping at my throat. “I’ve never done anything I didn’t think my mom would be proud of. I’ve always walked the straight line. But…I know I’m never going to meet another man who makes me feel the way you did out there.”
He made a sound deep in his chest, but he didn’t move. His eyes moved over the length of me, lingering over my lower belly, my breasts, but they were still unreadable.
“Elliott,” I said, more as a moan than an actual utterance. “I…I’m nearly twenty-three years old and that was the first passionate kiss I’ve ever experienced. I read all these damn romance novels, but I’ve never actually felt a man’s hands on my body. I just…I want to know what that’s like before…before he…”
Hot tears began to roll slowly down my cheeks. Finally, there was some emotion in his eyes. Surprise. Anger. Disbelief. And then he was crossing the room, pushing me back with a single hand on my throat until I was pressed against the thick boarder of the high arch that allowed access into this room.
“Don’t lie to me, Brooks,” he said, his voice made deeper by whatever it was that created the tremor in his hand. “You can’t possibly be a virgin.”
“You’d be surprised. Daddy didn’t allow me out much when I was in high school, and no one wanted to date the girl who could be their toughest competition in the kitchen.”
“But Juan. You’re married for God’s sake!”
I bit my lip, trying to hold in the bitter laughter that was frightening even to me. I rose up on my toes a little, trying to feel a little less small in front of Elliott.
“I’m not really his type. He only married me to squash rumors that weren’t really rumors.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied my face. His hand was still pressed to my throat, but there was barely any pressure at all. And then his fingers started to dance over my flesh, moving slowly up to the underside of my jaw and then further, slipping over my jaw to touch my ear, my chin, my lips. His thumb slipped over my nose and down to my bottom lip, his breathing growing rough as he moved closer against me. He had to bend significantly to touch his lips to mine, but he didn’t seem to care. I lifted my face to his, taking him in without hesitation. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he lifted me up, catching me between his body and the arch.
We kissed for what seemed like seconds and an eternity all at the same time. I wrapped my legs around his waist and his hands moved over them, his palms pressed against my ass. I groaned softly against his mouth, loving the feel of him inside of me, the taste of him filling me up until I forgot what my own mouth tasted like without him in it. I thought nothing could feel better than this, but then his lips created a hot trail over my chin and down the center of my throat and my eyes rolled back in my head as waves of pleasure rolled through my body, awakening nerve endings I’d never known I had.
His hands slipped up over my ass, sneaking under my t-shirt. The heat of his hands and the rough calluses were so exciting against my skin. I wanted to feel those hands everywhere all at once. Instead, he pulled back, stepping away from the wall. I lay my head on his shoulder, a little afraid he was about to tell me I was a fool and a liar, that I was a cheater of the worst kind. But he didn’t. He carried me toward the stairs, thinking straight enough to remember to flip the lights off as he went. He didn’t let me go until we were in my bedroom, my abandoned bed just waiting for my return.
He kicked off his shoes and fell into bed beside me, his hands slipping under my shirt as his mouth found mine again. His kiss was gentler now, less demanding, but just as passionate as before. I really wasn’t sure how I was supposed to respond, what I should be doing with my hands. But instinct drove me to stroke the side of his face, to touch a fingertip to the hair that covered his chin. And then that fingertip moved down his throat to the space at the top of his shirt where just the slightest bit of fine hair peeked out. Then my palm got into the act, pressing itself against the center of his chest, feeling the hard pounding of his heart. I don’t know why it surprised me, but that pounding heart was so filled with excitement, so eager, so full of life. So exotic to my naive touch.
He pressed his hips to my thigh as his mouth moved over my throat again, his hand slowly pushing my t-shirt up until most of my belly was exposed. I could feel his arousal. I could feel the steel in his manhood, as he pressed it almost roughly against me. It took my breath away. I wasn’t completely naïve. I’d seen Playgirl magazines under the cover of darkness in my best friend’s bedroom. I knew what a man had and what he could do with it. But to feel one against my thigh was a whole different thing. Especially on a man who made my heart twist itself into knots and hide in my throat.
I was afraid and excited all at the same time. I wanted this. I wanted to know what this was like. But I was also so afraid, the memory of all the horror stories my friends and I had whispered under the bleachers in high school suddenly coming back to me. I knew that the human race could not have thrived for billions of years if it was that difficult for a woman, but there was still that little bit of fear that I would be the odd one out.
And then his mouth was moving over my breasts. At first, it was just his lips on the soft mounds pushed up by my bra. But then my t-shirt was pushed aside—or maybe it just developed a mind of its own—and his teeth were nibbling at my nipples through the soft cotton of my bra. I groaned, arching my back as he snuck one hand under the bottom edge of the cup, pulling as much of my full breast into his palm as he could. The feel of his rough hand against my sensitive nipple? Indescribable.
I bit my lip, my eyes sliding closed, as he used his tongue to tease my nipple into a higher degree of hard than it had ever experienced. And then he nibbled again, and I couldn’t keep the sounds that were building in my throat from flying between my lips. Was there anything that could feel as good as this? This was heaven! Better than ice cream or the perfect soufflé. Better than praise from the head chef. I thought I had experienced all the great pleasures I would ever know in my short, little life. But this topped them all.
And then it got better.
He studied my eyes as he urged me to sit up. He tugged the shirt from my arms, slipped the bra from my back. I’d never been topless in front of a man before. The closest I came was the peignoir I wore on my wedding night, sitting alone in the honeymoon suite, waiting for a husband who never showed up. But if this was what I was waiting for that night, I was infinitely glad he didn’t show.
I couldn’t imagine Juan could ever make me feel the way Elliott did.
My instinct was to hide my bare breasts with my arms, but I resisted the urge. I wanted him to see me, for those perfect green eyes to move slowly over me and to love everything he saw. But his eyes lingered on my face for so long I was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong, if he’d changed his mind. But then he ran a finger slowly over my ribs, touching the bruises that were faded and healing just below my left breast.
I thought he would ask about them, demand to know who and why. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed them, his lips warm and cool all at the same time. I ran my fingers through the curls tussled over the top of his head, su
rprised by how silky they felt. He lay back again, taking my hand in his and tugging me toward him. We kissed for a long moment, his hands slipping over my back and down along the waist of my jeans, his fingers dipping inside momentarily.
I pressed my hand under his shirt, touching his hard abs, his impressive pecs. I could feel his heart pounding, as I played with the thin hairs scattered along his breastbone and over each pec. He buried his fingers under my braid and pulled me back, again studying my face as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he said even as he drew me closer to him, as he began to work the snap on my jeans. “You’re not mine. This isn’t my right.”
“Tonight, I’m yours.”
He groaned, clearly fighting something deep inside himself. He tugged my head again, maneuvering my head around so that he could steal another kiss. I opened to him most willingly, until his fingers made their way down inside the slowly unzipping front of my jeans, his touch brushing against that place that held so much power over most mortal men. But it was he who held the power in this moment, he who made me rear back and cry out as his knowledgeable touch moved from one intense spot to the next. I could feel him watching me. Shame fought with the pleasure that burned deep in the base of my spine. Pleasure won out.
I moved my hips by instinct, encouraging his touch to remain on those places that sent shivers over my entire nervous system. He sat up a little, his mouth moving over my bare breast, catching my nipple between his teeth. He kissed lower still, his lips sliding over my ribs, my navel. And then he was capturing my lips just before he briefly removed his hand to strip his shirt from his body. Then he pushed me to my feet, shoving my jeans down my thighs to get the message through my fevered brain what he wanted. I stripped, no longer concerned with modesty, dropping my jeans and my sensible cotton panties in a heap on the floor. He watched, need so clearly burning on his face that even I could recognize it.
He lifted me back into his lap, his hands everywhere all at once, his mouth on mine. He pulled me close to him, moving his hips now so that the steel bulge still hidden by his jeans pressed against my moist cunt. It was almost as good as the feel of his fingers, but not quite. I needed something else, something inside. I don’t know how to explain it, but there was this ache deep inside, sort of like an itch you just can’t quite reach. And this ache was just begging to be relieved.
He reached between us, and my heart leapt into my throat again, expecting the feel of his fingers against those lovely places again. Instead, he began to unbuckle his jeans, freeing himself from that denim cage. A little fear gripped my heart. But that ache was so much stronger than the fear old horror stories and simple naivety could create.
“I want you,” he whispered roughly against my ear. “But I want you to be in control. I want you to control how fast or how slow…”
“I don’t…I don’t know what to do.”
He sighed roughly against my ear. “I’ll show you, baby.”
He touched me then, sliding his hand between my legs and doing something incredible. His mouth was hot on me. You couldn’t really call what we were doing kissing, but it was very close. And it was…it was so good!
I felt his hardness against me, and I moved away from him for a second. But then his hand was on the small of my back, and he was touching me and the fear suddenly evaporated. I just wanted that ache to get what it needed and I wanted him to touch me again and I wanted to feel this pleasure all night. I wanted him in ways I’d never known a woman could want a man.
He pressed himself against me again and his cock slowly began to slide inside of me. I closed my eyes, pressing my hands hard into his shoulders. I expected explosions of pain, gushing blood, and all the other horrors my friends had warned me of in high school, but there really wasn’t any of that. Discomfort, yes. But the pleasure far outweighed that. He held my hips as hard as I held his shoulders, but he didn’t try to manipulate me. The weight of his body pushed him deeper inside of me, nothing else. And that…it was enough.
He pushed his face into my chest, his breathing heavy, his breath hot against my skin. I ran my hands over the top of his head, tugging him tighter to me. After a few moments, he pulled my hips forward, then back, showing me what came next. I was perfectly happy just allowing my body to adjust to this invasion, to the feel of him touching places that had never been touched. But then my nerve endings exploded with this new movement, with this friction that added a new element to the whole event. That was good.
He wrapped his arms around me and cradled me to him as we began to rock together. My own breath began to come in quick gasps, intense pleasure dancing up and down my spine. I read this book once about a guy who had this special talent of making a woman’s first time orgasmic, which I suppose is incredibly rare. The only difference between him and the other men who offered this particular service was that he was more attentive to the woman’s needs, that he was kinder. I’d always kind of assumed that a man like that was even rarer than an orgasm during a woman’s first time. But now I was beginning to wonder if it was more about the mental state of the woman than the actions of the man.
I knew this was a one-time only deal. I knew that when Juan got back from Mexico, Elliott would be gone and everything would go back to the status quo. And I knew that would be my life for as long as Juan was afraid I could hurt him with the things I knew. Which meant I’d likely never experience a moment like this again.
Maybe it was that thought all on its own. Maybe it was the power that came with seeing the absolute pleasure written all over Elliott’s face. Maybe it was the kindness of his touch and the attention he paid to my body.
Whatever it was…it was incredible.
Chapter 8
Elliott
She was so quiet for so long, I thought she might have fallen asleep. I traced patterns on her skin with the tip of my finger, traced the line of her spine, traced the green edges of her bruises. Then I tugged the elastic from the bottom of her braid and carefully untwisted her hair, running my fingers through it until it fell smoothly across her shoulders and over my arm.
“I should cut it.”
“Why?” I asked, leaning close to press my lips to her shoulder. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s a nuisance in the kitchen.”
“Then you wear one of those stylish hairnets.”
She laughed, rolling onto her back so that she could see my face. “You have an answer for everything.”
“Do I?”
She ran her hand over my chin, tugging lightly at my goatee. “Why not a full beard?”
“I used to wear a full beard when I first got out of the service, but it was a lot of work to take care of.”
“This is easier?”
“Much.”
She ran her hand over my cheeks, her finger over my nose. “I wonder what you look like without it.”
“The same. Just less hairy.”
She smiled, but there was sadness to her smile. I pressed my lips to her throat, kissed her gently.
“Tell me the truth. Is your marriage really a sham?”
She groaned, throwing herself fully onto her back and tossing an arm over her eyes. She looked like a child having a tantrum except for her intensely erotic body, those full breasts bouncing with her movements, the nipples staring straight up at the ceiling, her bare hips screaming for my touch, her shapely thighs just begging to be spread. I had to tear my eyes away from her, stare out the window for a moment to keep from doing something I might regret later. Or regret not doing later.
“I told you, I’d been working in his restaurant for nearly three years when he suddenly took notice of me. He called me out by name one morning when he stopped by unannounced and asked me if I’d have dinner with him in front of the entire kitchen staff. I was mortified, but thrilled all at the same time. I was naïve to think I had a crush on the guy.”
“Did you?”
She peeked at me from under her arm. �
�A little.” She giggled softly. “Okay, so we all had a crush on him. Why should I be an exception?”
“Good question.”
“It was slightly more than a year after Jimmy’s accident. I was working my ass off at the restaurant and trying to take care of him on my own. Going out was…it was insane. I didn’t have time for a man in my life. But I went because he was Juan Teran Maximillian Alvarez. No one said no to him.”
“Now you’re making me jealous,” I said, kissing her shoulder again.
There was a slight blush on her cheeks when she peeked at me this time.
“And it was romantic, I suppose. He took me to this Italian place across town. But he spent so much time greeting business associates who just happened to walk into the restaurant that we never really had a chance to talk. It was like that all four times we went out.”
“Four times?”
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