by Lauren Dane
Then there was quiet as she met his eyes and smiled, and Christ, he just sort of fell all the way into balls-out love for Ella Tipton.
“Now, coffee is ready.” She stood after a several long moments. “I’m going to make it and we’ll have pie and talk about other things for a while at least.”
The coffee was warm and good, what he needed along with the pie and her company. Even with the seriousness of the discussion, his attraction to her was undeniable. After being happily single for so very long, the utter certainty of how he felt about her fit him like a second skin. Each time they had these moments, he got to know her better, understood her more.
Something about her made him want to share. Christ, he found himself drawn to the way she just listened. He felt so quiet with her. Quiet so that he could enjoy the way she made him feel, the bloom of this new facet between them. Their chemistry was incredible, sensual, the tension between them growing in a way he’d never experienced before. So. Fucking. Good.
At the same time, it was all wrapped up with his need for her to know he was more than just that guy who’d flirted with her for years. With his concern that he’d rush her or hurt her unintentionally by pushing a button or acting like her ex for some reason.
“Thank you.”
Surprised, she smiled. “What for? Pie? I can’t take credit, it’s my mom. And I’d eat every last bit of it if I didn’t share it.”
“I’m always thankful for pie. You’re a good listener. Most people are good talkers. You’re a good listener.”
“Thank you for that. I figure if you can’t be there for your friends, who can you? I don’t want you to feel like you have to say anything to me at all about it. The last thing you need is more pressure. You’re here for pie and coffee. That’s all.”
“You’re not even going to try to kiss me good night?” He put his hand over his heart and pouted.
She blushed and then laughed so hard he had to lean forward and pat her back. More as an excuse to touch her than from alarm.
“Sometimes I don’t know how to respond to the stuff you say.” She rolled her eyes and sat back.
“That a good or bad thing?”
“It’s an entirely Cope experience.” She turned pink. “It’s good. Mostly.” She tried to look severe but failed.
“I do like that for some reason.” He relaxed, letting go of his hesitation. “I just feel this need to fix this, and I can’t. It’s miserable and there’s so much anger and I worry things have been said and done that can’t be taken back. My life seems very full of it at times. Sometimes, Ella, I wonder what’s wrong with people. I get so down about the things people do and say to each other.”
She tipped her head, and he reached out, sliding the edge of his thumb along her jawline. Her skin was so soft, pliant, and her lips parted in pleasured surprise as he stroked over the space just below her ear.
“And then you.” He smiled. “You and my family and friends. You all remind me that there’s so much more to life than the stupid shit people say and do. Thank you.”
She blushed so prettily all he could do was smile at her like a total moron. She made this night better, made knowing his father had said those horrible things to Ben sting a bit less.
“There have been times when I was sure I would break. And then someone reached out, just checked in on me, sent me a card, stopped by the café to see me, whatever, and I made it through another day. That’s all we have.”
His everything was turned inside out because she was this thing he’d never considered he’d ever deserve, and it bloomed before him.
“I need you, Ella. Can I have you?”
She put her coffee mug down and nodded, a serious look on her face. “It’s your turn.”
Now it was his turn to be surprised by something she said. “That so?”
“If I recall. Though the second time on Friday was sort of mutual, I’ll give you credit. Because it was a really lovely second time.”
“ ‘Let me, then, be what I am, wherever, and in whatever weather . . .’ ”
She stood, holding her hand out. “That’s lovely. What is it?”
He took it and let her draw him toward the bed.
“Neruda’s ‘It Means Shadows.’ You let me be Andrew. Not very many people see the difference.”
“I like Cope too, you know. But you can always be Andrew with me. And quote me lines of poetry. That’s a bonus. Don’t hide who you are with me. You don’t need to. Here and now, it’s just me and you.”
He drew in a shaky breath.
“I know. Thank you for that.”
She pulled her shirt up and over her head, surprising him with her boldness, pleasing him with the sight of her breasts and with the knowledge that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
“Don’t thank me, Andrew. I like who you are. I like how you are.”
His control was gone, sifted through his fingers like sand. In two steps he was against her body, his mouth seeking hers, his arms encircling her, holding her close while he plundered her mouth with his own.
Her taste, always Ella, tonight a bit of nutmeg and the creamy coffee she’d been sipping, sang through his system, smoothing the jagged parts, exciting his senses.
They tumbled to the bed, a tangle of arms and legs, clothes flying everywhere. He fell into her every time he touched her, but just then it was fast and hard, submerging himself, letting the shock of homecoming rush through him.
He groaned as her bare breasts slid against his chest, the heated silk of her skin, the hard points of her nipples. And again when her nails dug into his biceps as she urged him closer. Some primal thing deep inside roared to life. She wanted him as desperately as he did her. He’d pleasured her enough that she wanted more, trusted him to give it to her.
That was big.
So big he tucked it away to think on later.
He ducked out of her way when she reached for his zipper, wanting to put her first and knowing if his pants came off, he couldn’t resist being inside her. He had other plans just then.
Ella watched as he shimmied down her body, pulling her workout pants and underwear off. He paused at the socks, but then as he turned to look into her face, he drew them down her legs, first one, then the other.
He didn’t then pay any attention to the spot with the scars, instead lowering his head to kiss up her inner thighs and across her belly. He’d been wearing his beard scruffy over the last few weeks, and she loved the way it felt against her skin. Not scratchy at all.
Erin had told her that all the guys with beards used conditioner to keep them soft. She shivered at the mental image of Cope standing in a shower stall, head tipped back as water sluiced down his body, his arms raised to wash his hair so his biceps would be all bulgy.
She sighed, always sort of awed at how much power he had over her libido. The intensity was marvelous but a lot to process.
He chuckled against her skin, but when he spoke, his tone was rough and jagged. “I love that sound you make. Makes me all hard and needy for you.”
She made it again at his words and then he spread her wide and began to lick though the folds of her pussy, slow and torturous.
This Cope was more intense than the one she’d had sex with before. This was Andrew, mysterious and sensitive and pretty damned alpha male. She may not be at a place where she could admit it out loud, but it blew her socks off when he got like this.
Each time his tongue made it to her clit, he used a bit more pressure, building her pleasure relentlessly. Up and up he drove her as she clutched at the blankets. He held her hips, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. Her back bowed as he drew her clit into his mouth with just the right pressure, and she came so hard the neighbors would probably avoid her eyes at the mailboxes for a while.
Her body still humming with all that energy, she got to her knees and pushed him on his back. When she scrambled atop him, he smiled and put his arms above his head until she could barely tear her eyes from those damne
d biceps.
When she did, she wasn’t sorry as the warmth of his neck blanketed her face when she nuzzled at the place where it met his shoulder.
She took her time, exploring his neck, over the blade of his collarbone, across the hollow of his throat and the rise of his pecs. Exploring him slowly, she sampled his skin with kisses and licks. Learned just how much he not only loved it when she played with the nipple rings, but that he made that guttural growl when she licked and nibbled his nipples.
“These are so sexy.”
His sleepy eyes lost their haze and focused on hers. “You’re what’s sexy, Ella. God, look at you up here, driving me mad with kisses and caresses.”
She scooted farther down, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, pulling them from his body. “Boxer briefs today?”
He laughed. “I had on denim and I was going to be working out, so I didn’t want to, um, chafe.”
In one movement she’d taken his shorts, and two more yanks and his socks were gone.
“I can’t even believe this moment. You naked in my bed. My bed. Who knew?” Giddy, she kissed up his legs like he’d done with her. His thighs were as rock-hard as the rest of him.
The power of it warmed her insides. Confidence, yeah, that was the word she was looking for. It fit like she never left, but she pulled it tight around her, not willing to let it go.
The muscles in his abdomen jumped as she licked down over them.
“I don’t want this to go to your head or anything”—she looked up from where she’d just situated herself, right above his dick—“but your body is hot. I’ve never, ever seen a man who looked better.” And he was hers. At least for the next little while, because she knew as well as he did that they had some major chemistry.
“Too late,” he said, strain in his voice. “It’s already happened.” He rolled his hips, bringing the head of his cock to her lips, so she kissed it.
She prayed he didn’t notice what an utter novice she was but hoped she made up for her lack of prowess at blow jobs with enthusiasm. Something she had in great quantities when it came to him.
It wasn’t as if she had never done it before. Just not in six years.
Closing her eyes, she took him into her mouth slowly, listening to the sounds he made in response, listening to his body language as he arched into her or trembled. His taste was something she’d never forget for as long as she lived. It mixed with the salt of his skin, the scent of his body, into a potent cocktail that seemed to drive her mad with want for him.
He guided one of her hands to his balls, so she experimented, making a few mistakes, but it wasn’t brain surgery, after all, so it wasn’t too long before she found a rhythm and a few moves that seemed to really work for him.
Finally, he took her shoulders and pushed her back. “Wait. Red, wait. I want to fuck you. I need to be inside you.”
“Oh cripes, well, I hope you have a condom, because I just realized I don’t have any at all.” Wow was she a total dork. How could she forget?
Instead of anger, he just grinned at her, melting her spine until she collapsed onto the mattress beside him.
“I was an Eagle Scout, you know. I’m prepared for anything when I know I’m going to see you.” He hopped from the bed and walked over to his pants, digging through his pockets. While his back was to her, she admired the hell out of his ass.
His body was a delight to say the least. His inky black hair, just a tad too long, wide shoulders, strong, muscular back covered in a massive tattoo of his Chinese horned dragon. Narrow waist, spectacular ass, powerful thighs and calves. She wasn’t above being totally wowed by how gorgeous he was. He worked hard to keep himself fit; she knew that. But she also detected some wariness on his part when his looks came up. Oh sure, he flirted, but when a woman had been all about his looks, she’d noticed that he tended to keep them more at arm’s length.
Not that she’d watched him snag a million women, wishing she was one of them. Not her. Nuh-uh.
As if he’d sensed her mental lying, he turned, holding up the shiny packet. “Got it.” He had it open and rolled over his cock by the time he’d reached her again.
“Wow, that’s some skill.”
“All practice for you. I’m a very quick study when there’s something I want.”
He crawled over her, kissing all her best parts until he reached her mouth and settled in. She traced her fingers up his back, digging into that solid muscle to urge him closer, to urge him inside.
“You got a place to be?” he asked, teasing around her entrance with the head of his cock until she whimpered. “What’s your hurry?” At that, he slowly pressed inside her as if he had all the time in the world and wasn’t ready to explode like she was.
“My hurry? I’m going to die if you don’t just get in there and start moving. It’s really rather unfair of you to break my sex fast and introduce this diet of you and stuff, and then expect me to be patient about getting more.” She furrowed her brow, and he laughed, pushing all the way in at long last.
“Better?”
She squirmed and caught the strain on his face.
“Ha! You want it too.”
“Darlin’, of course I want it. It’s pretty much all I think about all day long, every day. Being in you, hearing your squeaks and squeals and the occasional sex sigh. I like those too. Now, let me do my work here.”
He began a slow, deep rhythm, his gaze locked on her face, her eyes.
“You feel so good. So hot and tight. Makes being in you like this totally torture, but the best kind. It feels so amazing it’s almost too much.”
It wasn’t enough. Just not quite enough. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and it adjusted her angle, getting him in deeper. That was enough.
It was even better when she noted the sweat on his forehead and the strain in his muscles. He was getting closer. She tightened herself around him, making him gasp, and she did it again a few more times for good measure.
He whispered in her ear. “Make yourself come around me.”
Now that was wanton.
She slid her hand between them, her gaze still locked with his. She’d never in her whole life done this in front of anyone else! But she wasn’t embarrassed, especially when he groaned once her fingers found her clit and began to circle it.
He hissed. “So good, so good ...”
She wasn’t long this way and when she hit her peak, he groaned her name, following her into climax.
Cope came back to her bed after cleaning up and smiled when he noted she’d crawled under her blankets. He’d never had such desire for anyone or anything in his whole life. He wanted her. Wanted her right then, tomorrow and the day after.
He burrowed under the bedding, sliding his body along hers and sighing contentedly when she snuggled into him.
“That was pretty awesome, Ella Tipton.”
“Thank you. The feeling is totally mutual, Andrew Copeland.” She yawned, and he toyed with her hair. “Will you stay?”
Nothing and no one could tear him away. Warmth that had nothing to do with the blankets stole through his insides at the shy yet offhand way she’d asked. How far they’d come in the time since he’d decided to finally make his move on her. “Perfect. Now I don’t have to move for hours and hours. I don’t have a damned thing to do until about nine.”
She snorted. “Lucky you. You may change your mind about staying when I tell you I have to be up at six thirty so I can be out of here by seven thirty at the latest. I have an appointment at just after eight.”
“Sounds like I’m on coffee duty tomorrow then.”
She smiled, her eyes drifting closed. “Sounds like heaven.”
15
When she checked her mailbox on Friday afternoon, it was stuffed with a fat manila envelope. Brow furrowed, she worried until she saw the return address and last name in the upper left corner. Cope.
Once inside her apartment, she opened the envelope and treasure after treasure slid from it.
Leaves pressed between wax paper.
An antique postcard from the Seattle World’s Fair. To someone’s Aunt Rose, from Josie. The handwriting was that of a young girl, enamored of the city, of the press and flow of traffic and people.
Three packets of tea, all described in some other language, the furls and pitch of which she was unfamiliar with. One was perfectly square and covered with a sort of parchment. The ink was deep purple. One deep sniff, and smoke met her nose. Spice and smoke. She’d have this one first.
He’d torn a page from a magazine. A feature on best breakfast places to go in Seattle. He’d written in Sharpie at the bottom: “We need to have waffles after a long walk in the morning mist. Then I can take you back to bed.”
Wow.
And then a small square of paper. Turning it over revealed a pen-and-ink drawing of a woman’s neck, collarbone and the upper curve of her breasts. From the freckles so accurately placed, he’d drawn her body.
She couldn’t tear her eyes away for the longest time. It was stunning. Simple. Elegant and sensual. All things she never considered herself. But there it was. Through his eyes, she was all those things.
The sketch was most likely the finest compliment she’d ever received.
At last the folded sheaf of paper. She held it, drawing out the unexpected pleasure he’d given her. The weight of the paper was substantial. It pleased her to think he’d chosen it specially for her. He may have kept a sheaf of writing paper for general reasons, but she preferred to think he’d done it for her.
Unfolding it, she realized what beautiful handwriting he had. Each new thing she discovered about him only made her like him more. She had no idea he was such a talented artist with pen and ink as well as wood. Who knew he’d have a fountain pen with ink the shade of a bright summer sky? Andrew Copeland was one complicated man. Something confirmed as she read his words.
The tea is to take you away from your desk, from your dreary day and off, far away. Warm breezes, time to simply drink and enjoy the sights, sounds and scents of the world. When you come to me here at my house, we can share a pot as we laze about on a cold and rainy evening.