Rulebreaker

by Cathy Pegau

  I compounded the lie of who and what I was by speaking two little words of from-the-bottom-of-my-heart truth. “Me too.”

  She squeezed my hand and opened the door to her bedroom. Two large windows admitted the soft, distant artificial lights of the city.

  “Light level two,” she said.

  The room lights came up to reveal the furnishings and muted colors. A large bed with white coverings and several decorative pillows sat against the opposite wall. What looked like a hand-carved wood armoire and a table topped with a variety of bottles and small boxes flanked the door. Closed doors on either end of the room led to, I assumed, a master lav and a closet.

  Zia brought me to her bed, and I sat on the edge of the mattress. My knees demurely together, we stared at each other for several moments. My height advantage—if there’d been one—was gone. She smiled then kneeled in front of me as graceful as a dancer.

  “Let’s get rid of these.” She slid her hands along my booted right leg. Grasping the heel with one hand, she gave the boot a tug as I pointed my toes. The faux leather slipped off. She kept one hand on my calf while she set the boot aside. She repeated the oddly sensuous ritual with my left leg. Still kneeling before me, she looked up through her thick eyelashes. “Better?”

  I wiggled my toes against the carpet and smiled. “Much. Thank you.”

  Zia sat on the bed, her body half-turned toward me. Then she whispered the same words I’d said to her minutes ago. “Touch me.”

  I raised my trembling hand and quickly closed it to stop the shaking. I felt like a fifteen-year-old boy about to get his first chance at touching a woman.

  “Relax.” Taking my hand, she massaged the tension out of my fingers. “I promise it won’t hurt.”

  Physically? No. But otherwise? I closed my eyes and forced such thoughts out of my head. When I opened them again, Zia was watching me, patient, but with a question in her eyes. Did I want to stop?

  In response to her silent query, I eased my hand from hers and placed it on her waist. Her muscles twitched beneath the silk. I slid the material up and skimmed my hand over the smooth skin of her side, her ribs. Zia’s breath came faster as I reached the bottom of her breast and spread my hand around its full softness. With the silk shirt brushing the back of my hand, my fingers and palm grazing her skin, tendrils of delight coursed through my arm to my own breasts.

  “More,” she said.

  Gently, I kneaded her flesh as I sought her nipple. Finding it already taut, I circled it with the pad of my thumb.

  Eyes closed, Zia sucked in a breath and raised her hand to the V of her neckline. She stayed like that for a few moments then unbuttoned the top and let it slip off her shoulders to the floor. The gold necklace glinted in the low light, and a gold ring threaded on the chain dangled between two perfect breasts.

  I stared at the hand on her breast, the fingers at the dark brown peak. My hand. My fingers. I flicked a glance to her face. Like a child caught taking a cookie before dinner, I almost expected her to smack me away.

  But she didn’t. The smile on her parted lips told me my touch was welcome.

  She cupped my cheeks in her hands and drew me closer for a kiss. While our lips and tongues teased and tasted I attended to her other nipple and caressed her hip with my other hand.

  Zia reached around to the back of my neck, tracing my hairline with her fingertips, and worked the closure of the halter top. Before she could lower it herself, I covered her hands with mine.

  “Let me,” I said against her mouth.

  Holding the dress in place, I rose. My hands skimmed my breasts as the silk flowed down my body. She moistened her lips, her eyes filled with desire. The thrill of having that effect on someone was addictive. I let the dress puddle at my feet.

  Zia’s gaze sent shivers of anticipation through me as she drank in every semi-naked centi, lingered on the lace panties then meandered back to my face.

  “Beautiful,” she whispered as she took my hand. She drew me to the bed and kissed me. We laid down together, me on my back and she on her side. She twirled the hair above my ear with one finger while the other hand caressed my breasts and stomach. Each stroke sent delight skittering across my skin like water on a hot pan as she came closer and closer to the lace.

  With an arm beneath her waist, I could only reach her hip and the pajama bottoms, but my other hand was free to wander up and down her body as we kissed. I traced her breasts and sides, down the plane of her stomach. My fingertip caught and tugged on something. Zia gave a moan that sounded of half pleasure and half pain.

  Startled, I broke the kiss and glanced down. A gold ring, similar to the one on the chain around her neck, pierced the skin at the edge of her navel. They were the only two pieces of jewelry she wore. I’d never seen any others on her.

  Zia covered my hand with hers and eased my arm up over my head. She touched her lips to mine and said, “Don’t worry.”

  Or something similar. I didn’t ask what I wasn’t supposed to worry about—my accidental tug on the ring, perhaps?—because she released my hand, skimmed hers down my arm to my breast and across my stomach. I lost focus. The heat of her palm sank through the front of my panties. Her fingers curled against me and I gasped a breath.

  “So beautiful,” she said, kissing her way down my throat. She shifted beside me, her hair curtaining her face. Her dark tresses and the gold ring tickled across my skin. She kissed her way across my chest, capturing each nipple in turn and laving it with her tongue. A delicious ache bloomed in my breasts, intensified as it reached the juncture between my legs. I grasped the bed covering and dug my heels into the mattress. The fingers poised over my mons began moving back and forth as Zia kissed my stomach. She pressed the damp lace against me, and my hips twitched.

  She slipped her other hand under the waistband. Her tongue flicked against my navel as she eased the garment off. Loving the slow torture but at the same time anxious to have her hurry, I raised my hips to aid the process. Zia didn’t move her hand, and I sucked in another sharp breath as her fingers delved almost but not quite inside me.

  “Oh, God,” I rasped as my muscles clenched, wanting to draw her in deeper. “Please.”

  With the palm of her hand she eased me back down. “Soon,” she whispered, her breath warm on the skin between my bellybutton and mons. “Very—” she kissed lower, “—very—” lower, “—soon.”

  Her tongue flicked against me, and I raised my hips to meet her mouth. Her lips and tongue sent erratic pulses of electricity deep into my core. She slid her fingers inside, zeroing in on that spot some found difficult to locate. I lost sense of everything except the sensation of her hands and mouth caressing and licking, tickling and sucking, creating the fiercest buildup I could ever remember having.

  My fists twisted in the covers; a whimper escaped my throat as my hips rocked against her.

  “Let go, Liv,” she said, her voice partly muffled by my flesh, hot between my legs. She trailed her fingernails along the underside of my thigh. “It’s all right.”

  It was better than all right. She was amazing, and I wanted to be amazing with her.

  She swirled her tongue, and I let go. My back arched. Air whooshed into my lungs then exploded back out while euphoria cascaded through me. Muscles pulsing around her fingers, she kept perfect time with the needs of my body as I rode the wave.

  Breathing hard, I started to lower my hips, only to involuntarily thrust them up again and give a startled gasp when Zia gave me a final deep stroke and suckle. I sighed and closed my eyes as the orgasm subsided to twitchy aftershocks. She withdrew her hand and placed slow kisses along my body as she made her way up to lie beside me. The heat of her skin against mine was better than a blanket.

  Contentment settled into my muscles and bones like rain on parched soil. I’d had great sex before, but it was rare to be so completely comfortable and satisfied. I wanted to curl up beside her and stay that way forever, but at the same time I wondered what Zia tasted l
ike. Wondered if I could please her the way she had pleased me.

  Zia brushed hair back behind my ear. Her warm lips touched the corner of my eye. “Oh, Liv.” She almost sounded sad. “Don’t cry.”

  Don’t what?

  “I’m not crying.” My eyes flew open and I blinked up at her. Cooling tears ran toward my ears.

  She kissed the corner of my eye again while her hand skimmed the same place on the other side of my face. She held up damp fingertips as evidence against my denial.

  Okay, I was crying. But not because I was upset with what had just happened. I didn’t regret any of it.

  But you will and should regret it, said the cruel voice in my head. And so will she.

  I slammed the mental airlock on the voice and gave Zia a shaky smile. “It’s just a physical thing,” I assured her.

  Wasn’t it?

  She cocked one lovely eyebrow at me.

  To prove it to her—and to myself—I drew her down for a kiss. Her lips parted, and I tasted the light musky, salty flavor of “me” and my tears on her mouth and tongue. I eased her onto her back then straddled her hips and brushed my breasts against hers. My nipples tingled.

  “Tell me if I do something wrong,” I said as I slid my body along hers, slick skin against slick skin, and kissed my way down her throat.

  “I’m sure you’ll be just—ah…” She drew in a sharp breath when I closed my mouth over her nipple. Holding it between my lips I flicked it with my tongue, learning how her skin felt and tasted—like an apple that had been dipped in the ocean. Her nipple tightened, and I mouthed the other while my thumb toyed with the first.

  My other hand strayed to the waist of her pajamas. I pushed the silk pants down her hips and reached beneath her to get them past her buttocks, taking advantage of my position to caress her there. With my hand resting on her thigh, she kicked the pants to the floor.

  I lifted my upper body so I could look at her. Her lithe form stretched out before me. Golden-brown skin against white coverings, hair in a loose cloud and arms wantonly extended over her head, Zia Talbot looked every bit the goddess from old Earth mythologies.

  Her jasmine perfume mingled with the scent that was hers alone. A deep, ragged breath filled my lungs with it. I closed my eyes, letting my senses become infused.

  She shifted beside me. “Liv? If you don’t want to, it’s okay. I understand.”

  I opened my eyes. She was up on her elbows. Concern in her eyes warred with the desire there. I kissed her, lightly at first then with more intensity. Zia responded in kind, moaning as I eased her back on the bed.

  “I want to, more than you know.” Kneeling between her legs, I caressed her sides as we kissed. I ran my fingers then my mouth over her breasts, over the gold necklace and ring that were warm from her body. Down her sternum to her stomach and navel. I flicked the gold bellybutton ring with my tongue and gently tugged on it with my teeth.

  Her hands threaded through my hair, and she writhed beneath me. “Liv…”

  Her voice trailed off as my kisses dropped lower, the scent of her strong and erotic, raising my excitement, as well. With my hands on her hips I brought my mouth closer to her mons, brushing my lips and nose across the soft skin below her navel.

  What if I didn’t like it? I certainly didn’t want to insult her by balking. Besides, the rest of her smelled, felt and tasted too good to resist.

  I parted her with one hand and tentatively flicked my tongue against her. The same salty apple flavor, but more intense and underscored by the scent-taste of what was Zia. Her essence filled my mouth and nose, and I wanted more.

  Her grip tightened in my hair. I tongued her again and she twitched her hips. “Yes, there,” she said.

  I was no stranger to female anatomy, but my perspective was usually a little different.

  “Um, like this?” I mimicked the circular tongue movement she’d used on me. She moaned and nodded.

  Her response was encouraging. Feeling surer of myself, I varied motion and pressure, lightly stroked and nipped then slid my finger inside her. She was warm and wet, her muscles tight but accommodating. Carefully I slipped another finger in.

  Zia combed her fingers through my hair. “You sure you’ve never done this?”

  I smiled then licked and stroked her before answering. “Never, but I’m a fast learner.”

  “I’ll say.”

  I adjusted my hand or mouth to her liking, taking the time to learn every contour, every fold of delicate skin. I marveled as each touch or breath made her moan or gasp. I was surprised how her response heightened the awareness of my own body, my own enjoyment, like I’d never felt before. It pleased me to please her, and I wondered if she’d felt the same.

  “Oh, Liv. Liv.”

  I smiled at the way she said my name, quiet and breathless, as she quivered beneath me.

  Suddenly her back arched, and she pressed herself into my mouth. Her vaginal walls pulsed around my fingers. My own inner muscles convulsed in a miniature response that made me shiver.

  As she had with me, I kept pace as she rode out her orgasm, slowing as her thrusts lessened. When she settled back on the bed I withdrew my hand and raised my head. She smiled at me across her body, contentment in her eyes. Her hands still in my hair, she guided me up until I was beside her.

  We lay face to face, each of us pillowing our heads with bent arms, inhaling our mingled scents. I trailed my hand along her hip and side as we kissed, the taste of “us” on our lips.

  “Thank you.”

  I leaned back to look at her. “For what?” No one had ever thanked me after sex before. I figured mutual satisfaction was thanks enough.

  She caressed my cheek with the backs of her fingers, the same expression of wonder on her face that she’d had in the office earlier today. “For letting me be your first,” she said softly. “I’m glad you trusted me, that we can trust each other.”

  A sudden ache lanced through my chest, and I had to clench my jaws to keep from reacting to the pain. She trusted me. I’d given her something she thought of as special, and she trusted I’d do the same.

  But I wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

  My fantasy shattered like crystal under a steel boot, the jagged shards reminding me why I was really here. It felt like my heart cracked in two. Tears burning behind my eyes, I quickly pulled Zia into a hug, burying my face in her fragrant hair.

  “Of course,” I lied, hoping she wouldn’t detect the hitch in my voice. “Always.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Zia rolled onto her back, taking me with her to stretch out along her body. She wrapped one leg around mine and pressed her other thigh between my legs. Her foot traced the curve of my calf. She kissed my eyes, my cheeks, my lips while her hands took a slow tour of my back and buttocks.

  Despite the heat and friction between us, guilt killed my ability to do more than return her kisses, and even that was proving difficult to continue. I felt like I’d lost something. If I believed in such things I’d say my soul had drained out of my body, damning me for what I’d done, what I was going to do. But I was as religious as I was law-abiding. So if it wasn’t my soul, what had I lost?

  I couldn’t bring myself to feign arousal with her. Not after experiencing the real thing with her moments ago. I could lie about why I’d come to her flat, but not deceive her in that way. Not now. It was a warped sense of honesty, and the more she touched me the worse the pain in my chest grew.

  I swallowed the ache and rolled off her.

  Zia rose to lean on one elbow. “What’s wrong?”

  Concern lined her beautiful face, and I wanted to tell her everything. I would have told her everything if I didn’t think she’d hate me for it.

  Selfish coward that I was, I gave her a sheepish grin. “I need to use the lav.”

  Doubt flickered in her eyes; she gestured toward the door behind me. “Over there.”

  I padded to the lav, acutely aware of her watching my naked body as I crossed the room. Wi
thout looking back, I went in and shut the door. The lights automatically rose to a soft glow, enough to see without burning the retinas of a sleepy user. I slumped onto the covered commode, elbows on knees, and cradled my head in my hands.

  Double damn the void.

  I had to get this over with. I had to get the files if they were here, and get the hell out. The more time I spent with Zia—in or out of bed—the harder it was going to be to leave her. I’d wait until she fell asleep and then do the deed. That was risky if she woke up and found me, but what choice did I have?

  I stood, pressed the evac button on the commode and ran some water in the sink to splash over my face. The distinct whiff of sex rose from my skin. As I reached for a thick towel I caught my reflection in the mirror. Mussed hair and flushed cheeks, I was a woman who appeared to be quite satisfied as long as you didn’t look at the eyes. They were tired, too old for the face and body they lived in. Too guilt-ridden for this job.

  I dried off and rehung the towel as neatly as I’d found it, returning to the bedroom.

  Zia had slipped under the covers while I was hiding in the lav. She folded back the corner of the blankets. “Come here.”

  Cursing my luck, my life and my weak resolve, I climbed back into bed. She flipped the blanket over me and leaned in for a kiss. Her breast rubbed against mine, and I drew in a shaky breath. “Zia—”

  “You’re trembling.”

  Damn it.

  Before I could offer an explanation, not that I had one, she settled beside me.

  “Lights off,” she ordered. The system complied, leaving only the glow from the city to bleed into the room.

  Zia laid her arm across my stomach, and her leg curled over mine. Despite the possessive position the warm weight of her limbs was comforting, protective. Her face was barely discernible in the nearly lightless room, but I felt her eyes on me. I stared up at the ceiling, unable to meet her gaze even in the dark.