A Date with Desire

by Heather McGovern

Tugging the sheets on either side, it took every ounce of her control not to jerk them off the bed completely.

  Devlin wedged in closer, moaning greedily as he licked at her, touching her with fingers that were just rough enough to rub every nerve the right way, then soothing her stimulated flesh with his tongue.

  He kept on and on until, like he’d promised, she was a wriggling mess, helpless beneath him. Switching back and forth, with his touch and his tongue, he kept her orgasm right out of reach. Right on the brink.

  It danced there, within her grasp, but he was going to make her say it. Or ask for it.

  She arched into his mouth. “I’m so close.”

  “I know.”

  A moan stuck in her throat—god, she was so close.

  “You want me to help you come?” The purr in his voice as satisfied as it was needy. “I want you to. I want you to come with my tongue on you. I want to feel you.”

  She choked back a cry, the first wave of her orgasm building.

  Devlin’s dark head between her thighs, he growled against her, working the flat of his tongue at the cleft of her sex, until that wave built. Her muscles tensed, her body sang, and her climax hit her. She squeezed her thighs against Dev’s shoulders, trying to hold on.

  Moving against his mouth, she soaked up every bit of ecstasy he offered.

  Ever since Devlin had given her that innocent-as-the-devil look in the lobby of the inn, she was addicted. Addicted to the blue of his eyes, the line of his jaw, the purr in his voice when he was up to no-good, the touch of his hands, the length of his hair, the way he made her feel—everything.

  This feeling, the thrill and relief, she rode the high of it until she lost direction. Until she didn’t know up from down.

  When she finally opened her eyes, Dev lay beside her. Flopped over onto his back, a grin of pure satisfaction on his face.

  His erection stood up, almost brushing his stomach, and she wanted to touch him again. Feel the smooth skin over the hard length. So she did.

  With hands that trembled so slightly only she would know, she skimmed her fingers up the back of his cock.

  He sucked in a breath, his body tight beneath her touch as his gaze clashed with hers. She ran her fingers back down and over his sac, and he clenched his thighs, shifting around.

  “Anna.” Her name was barely a breath, and when she wrapped her fingers around him, leaning down to flick her tongue against the head, he gasped her name again.

  She covered the tip with her lips, then took the length of him into her mouth.

  “Damn.” Devlin grabbed at the sheets too.

  She slid back, lifting her gaze to meet his, but his eyes were squeezed shut. She did it again, his breath raspy as he said her name again.

  His back arched and she kept going, using her hand to stroke his cock until his hips moved in time with her.

  She put her lips back around the tip, kissing him there, and Dev almost came up off the bed.

  “That—” He sat up, and dragged her in, taking her mouth in a rough kiss.

  He licked his way inside her mouth and she opened to him, needy. Shameless.

  “I want to be inside you.” He kissed his way to her ear.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to be on top?” he asked when he broke away.

  “I . . . I don’t know.” Being on top she was so . . . there.

  More than anything though, she wanted this. More, and Devlin, and yes, but she’d never told a lover what she wanted, much less taken control and been on top. She followed, and sometimes even enjoyed, but she never made the call.

  Her eyes had to be as wide as the moon, and he licked his lips, completely unashamed. “You can tell me. Tell me how you want me. I guarantee you it’s a win-win, no matter what.”

  “I . . .” The realization stunned her.

  She did want to be on top. She wanted to set the tempo and remember what she’d felt like being in his lap in the car, her hands on his thick shoulders, fingers splayed across his chest. His hands on her hips, making that possessive sound deep in his throat.

  “Because I want you on top,” Dev said, somehow knowing what she couldn’t put into words. “I want to see you, and touch you. Watch you above me when you come again, and then roll over and pin you down—”

  An embarrassing whimper escaped her lips. Holy crap, all of that sounded—yes.

  “On top.” Her voice shook. “I want to be on top.”

  * * *

  He grinned, energy coursing through his body. The need in her shaky voice went straight to his cock. “Give me one second.”

  He leapt off the bed and bolted down the stairs. In seconds flat, he was back, foil square in his hand. “Wallet was still in our pile of clothes.”

  As soon as he was back on the bed, she kissed his chest, over his shoulder, grazing the skin with her teeth.

  “Hell yes.” He dragged a finger over his chest and toward his collar bone. “Do that again.”

  She did, running the tips of her teeth against the tendon, making his blood sing.

  He threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her there. “Again?”

  After she did, his mouth was on hers, tongues tangling, until he couldn’t tell whose kiss was more desperate, or who was closer to losing control.

  He managed to get the condom on and leaned back, bringing her with him to straddle his lap.

  She eased up, positioning herself, and as she sank down on him, slick and hot and tight, her hair fell into his face. Soft and wet, silky, so similar to how she felt, clenched around him.

  He almost came right then.

  She slowly eased up and Dev held his breath.

  This was her rhythm to set. She was free to do whatever felt good, take her pleasure and give more, however she wanted.

  Every bit of them being together was bliss for him. What mattered was Anna. For reasons he wasn’t ready to examine, this needed to be extraordinary for her. More than memorable, he wanted it etched into their brains and on their skin. Something they’d always have. Something they’d share.

  He steadied her with his hands on her hips. Once she settled, her legs straddling him, he caressed her sides, her breasts.

  They’d never made it a secret that they wanted each other. From early on, the mutual desire was clear. Only the situation staved them off. But knowing was nothing like doing something about it. From her greedy looks, to the flick of his tongue against hers, to the place where he throbbed deep inside her, he knew this one time—no matter how extraordinary—would never be enough.

  He rocked his hips into her, moving his hand to brush his thumb over her clit.

  “You . . .” She caught her breath. “Do that again?”

  He did it again, and she moved her hips, until they found the right rhythm.

  When they did, he let go, freeing his hands to touch and rub, press and caress, until Anna finally let go too.

  She stopped holding back. With both hands planted on his shoulders, she rode him, and the passion in her eyes was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.

  Her face set, that look in her eyes as she chased her pleasure with every ounce of her being. The same persistence with which she did everything else.

  Dev pressed his thumb over her clit again, rubbing in circles.

  She clenched around him. “Yes.”

  He kept going, and when her rhythm got lost to her pleasure, he took over, thrusting into her, faster and faster, until Anna squeezed her eyes shut.

  She clenched around him again, her mouth falling open as her whole body tensed.

  He was about to explode too.

  Spending all day with Anna and having her now—he’d ridden the edge of coming for what felt like an hour, but still he wouldn’t.

  He rolled them over, keeping her legs wrapped around his waist.

  He’d teased her earlier, saying he wanted to hear what she sounded like when she came for the third time, but his taunt was the truth. He wanted to make her come again
. When she thought she couldn’t, but one more orgasm really can be pulled out, with a raspy cry or a moan.

  He wanted to swallow that sweet keening sound down with a kiss. Lock it inside where he could keep it forever. Even after she left.

  Hair tossed and wavy, eyes glazed and so dark they looked black, Anna gazed up at him. “My legs won’t stop shaking,” she said, and broke into a grin that thumped at his chest.

  Her thighs trembled and he smoothed his hands down the inside, back up the outside. “You’re okay though?”

  The smile on her face went impossibly bigger. “I’m . . . more than okay. Not . . . not used to that kind of workout.”

  “Mmm.” He leaned over and kissed her knee, then the top of her thigh, a little freckle near her hip that made her flinch, her stomach, in between her breasts, and finally her cheek. “We’re not done.”

  She smiled, her eyes glazed, and he pushed himself inside of her, easy, in case she was oversensitized. But the only sound she made was a soft cry of pleasure. He eased out and did it again, rocking into her until their breathing increased.

  Anna lifted one leg, rubbing up the outside of his thigh, before hooking it over his hips to encourage him.

  He thrust into her, still not too fast, for her as much as him. There was a tempo to sex, and he’d had enough to know you didn’t rush to the finale if you wanted it to be grand.

  Once she relaxed, her grip on his arms tight but the tension in her legs loose, he thrust harder, faster. The way he liked it, but wasn’t about to attempt until she was ready.

  “Oh god, yes,” she cried out.

  The feeling was like nothing else. Burning attraction and need, and Anna looking better than he dreamed with tossed hair and the flicker of another orgasm making little tension lines between her eyebrows.

  “I . . . you . . .” She gasped for breath, her next word barely a whisper. So faint he could’ve imagined it. “Harder.”

  He wanted harder. Wanted to feel her everywhere, wanted to be stiff in glorious places tomorrow, wanted to feel the stinging pull in the backs of his legs later and know why. But not everyone was into that.

  When he wanted down and dirty, some women took it as an insult, but the exact opposite was true.

  He could get off no matter how he got sex, but he enjoyed sex the most when unfiltered, unchecked. Raw-edged, and honest. And he wanted that with Anna.

  Something that whenever she thought about it, she’d get that delicious flush to her neck, and he’d have to shift in his seat and adjust himself, because the memory alone was enough to bring it back to life.

  “You want it harder?” He whispered against her ear, certain he’d heard her right, but damn if he didn’t want to hear the words again anyway.

  “Yes.” Her answer was a hiss on the air.

  And he gave her exactly what she wanted. What they both wanted.

  Dev shifted, pushing her farther up the bed. He pressed her thighs a little higher, angling her hips to his, just so. With one hand he held the headboard, the other grasped her hip.

  He thrust into her hard, sparks flashing across his closed lids.

  Beneath him, she gasped and moaned with pleasure. He didn’t let up, mesmerized by the play of pleasure across her face.

  His orgasm rushed toward him with the increased speed and friction, and she clenched around him, the fingers of her free hand digging into his side where she held on.

  “I . . . I’m going to come,” she said, wonder and confusion filling the words.

  “Me too. You feel so good.”

  Her nails bit into his back, and she let out a throaty, desperate noise as she came.

  That was his undoing.

  He folded over, his spine bowed, and he cried out, the build of waiting and holding off making his orgasm bowl him over. His temple pounded and his body throbbed, a heady rush that tightened his whole body. A high that made the room spin and flip.

  And the last thought that flew through his mind, in that perfect euphoria, was he hoped he didn’t fall on top of her again.

  Chapter 17

  By the time she woke up the next morning, the cabin was full of light, the loft bright, her bed warm and rumpled.

  Anna rolled over to find an indention in the pillow where Dev had slept, but no Dev.

  Some banging and a muffled curse downstairs meant he was either trying to make coffee or make it to the bathroom.

  Snuggling further down into the covers, she let the edge of sleep creep over her. She was comfortable and cozy, and for the first time in years, she’d slept through the night.

  Rested and content, a soft soreness between her legs reminding her of all the reasons she’d slept well.

  Devlin.

  His desire for her, his acceptance of who she was, no matter the situation, and his gentle—or not so gentle—nudges forward.

  The morning felt fresh. She was somehow . . . different.

  She blinked open her eyes, forcing the last of sleep away. Her heart was lighter, the air not so heavy.

  Anna sat up, her pulse jumping. Colors were brighter, everything shifted subtly but enough for the truth to reverberate down to her bones.

  Happiness.

  Still, today, she was happy. A buoyant bubbliness inside, and glowing warmth all over. The emotion chased her all day yesterday, from their success with the businesses in Windamere, down that river, right back to this cabin.

  And it’d caught her.

  She was happy.

  Tears filled her eyes and a few slipped free, sliding down her cheek.

  She’d been so certain she’d never know real happiness. Not the kind that came in brief flashes, but the solid strength of the kind of happiness she felt in her bones.

  Yet here she was, and she was grateful.

  And so very, very unworthy.

  The tears began to sting and she pinched her eyes closed, but they kept coming. The waterfall that she’d held back for so long, thinking if she didn’t look at her grief, name or acknowledge it, maybe the sadness would dry up and go away.

  Her tears rushed forward and she was powerless to stop them.

  What right did she have to happiness? Her father was dead and she hadn’t been there for him.

  She wasn’t supposed to be happy. She was supposed to be grieving. This trip was meant for her to grieve, to deal with her life, because she couldn’t before, and now she had the nerve to be happy?

  Her father had done everything for her. With all that he had, he raised her, trying to create enough love for two parents. Then he was robbed of his life, and she hadn’t even been there for him in his last hours.

  Guilt clogged her throat.

  She really was selfish. Exactly like her mother said.

  Her days at Honeywilde were supposed to be spent in reflection and reading all of that crap her therapist had given her, trying to get a handle on life and loss.

  For crying out loud, she hadn’t even been to see her mother yet, and she had to face her, but instead she was off having a grand time with the most gorgeous man, having bone-melting sex. She’d done none of the things she’d set out to do.

  None of it.

  Because she was awful. A horrible, awful person.

  She drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them and burying her face in the blanket.

  The scent of coffee reached her first, then Devlin’s rumbling morning voice. “I made coff—what’s wrong?” In an instant, he was right beside her, the clunk of two coffee cups being set on the bedside table before he wrapped his arm around her. “What happened?”

  “It’s . . .” She choked back a sob, uselessly swiping at her face. “It’s not you . . . I’m okay . . .”

  He rubbed her back in slow circles. “You’re obviously not.”

  The truth came spilling out of her again, his concern a sledgehammer that slammed right through every blockade she’d carefully constructed for months. “My father died.”

  His arm tightened around her. “Oh god. Did someon
e call you? Anna, I’m so—”

  “No, no.” He’d misunderstood, which, given the circumstances, made sense. “Not now. Not recently. Almost seven months ago. I should’ve said something the other day when I told you about my breakdown, but . . .” She shook her head, unsure how to explain.

  The plan was never to tell him any of this. This wasn’t his burden to carry. He said his lack of good advice made him a good listener, but taking on her grief, shouldering the mess that was her life, was not part of their agreement.

  “I’m sorry.” She swiped at her face again. “I was so happy when I woke up, and then I felt horrible for being happy. Guilty and selfish, and I didn’t mean to start bawling, but . . .”

  “Shhh.” More slow circles rubbed into her back, helping her breathe. “It’s okay to be upset. Your dad died.”

  Fresh tears erupted at his words. Tears that should’ve been shed months ago, but no one else had ever said the words aloud around her. She’d heard he passed or he’s no longer with us. Coded truth that didn’t deal with the reality of what happened.

  Her dad was dead.

  At the funeral, she’d stood stoic next to her mother, who’d been twice as stone-faced as Anna. If Anna had shed one tear, mourned openly, it would’ve caused holy war later on. Not at the funeral, of course. Never around people, that simply wasn’t proper, but at home her mother would’ve ripped into her for making a scene. For making the funeral all about her.

  Anna turned her face into Dev’s chest, his T-shirt warm and dry at her cheek, smelling of him. “This might be the first time I’ve cried.”

  “Then you’re due.”

  Hadn’t she already been here with him? Confessing all the crap about her job. The last thing she wanted was to dump her problems on him, but problems were hard to hide when you got caught blubbering into a blanket.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Dev’s deep voice rumbled against her.

  Did she? Deep inside, she knew she should. Her therapist’s voice echoed in her mind, telling her about the stages, and how accepting the damage and loss in our lives meant talking about it. Ignoring things really didn’t make them go away.

  “He had a massive stroke, from a blood clot.” She sniffed, her nose stopped up, eyes puffy, no doubt looking like hell. “He was going to turn sixty this year. He lived for a little over a week after. I went to see him, but I had to go back to work. I wasn’t there when he . . .” With a shake of her head, she bit at her lips. She’d managed to say it once, and that’s all she could do. “It’s the other reason I came up here. I should’ve dealt with this better.”