Marriage, Bravo Style!

by Christine Rimmer

  Oh, yes. Exactly.

  Only better. Even better.

  His clever, slightly rough, wonderful fingers moved lower still, between the secret folds of her most private flesh—not entering her. Not yet. Just…touching her, discovering her, stroking her, where she was wet and hot and slick, yearning for him.

  Her whole body had gone electric and shimmery. A floating, glittery feeling. Like rays of sunlight flickering on the surface of a glassy pond. Her breasts ached in a wonderful, hungry way—the same as she ached in the slick, yearning place where he was touching her. An ache of pure pleasure, building. Gathering….

  So right, so good, the way he touched her. And she loved the feel of him, of his big, strong body behind her, supporting her.

  And teasing her, too, with the way he rubbed himself against her, with the simple proof of his wanting her—she could feel that also, feel the hard ridge of him through his boxers, through her jeans. It was pressing into her, making her ache even more deliciously, making her mindful of what was to come.

  And down where he touched her…

  Oh, that was something. She moaned deep in her throat as he went further, as he eased one clever finger inside. Her body tightened at that first small invasion.

  But then she sighed. And she realized how good it felt, how perfectly right and natural. Her body opened enough to ease the way.

  One finger…

  And then another.

  And then he was moving his hand, stroking her, doing impossible, lovely, stimulating things.

  She arched against him, sliding her hands behind her, under his arms and around him, so she could grasp his hard, muscular hips and pull him closer, tighter to her. So she could feel him more acutely, there at the small of her back, at the same time as his fingers worked their magic on her, stroking her, arousing her so completely.

  She was lost, oh yes.

  Lost in the most perfect, delicious way. Every cell in her body was vibrating, as she moved her hips against his stroking hand and she felt that shimmer of pleasure gathering into itself, tighter, more focused, building to something so perfect.

  And then he touched the little bud of flesh at the top of her sex. He rubbed it with his thumb.

  And that did it. That carried her up and over the crest. She shut her eyes, held his hips even tighter, closer against her. She tossed her head wildly on his shoulder, cried out his name.

  He stayed with her, stroking her with those knowing fingers of his, as the pleasure burst wide open and she shuddered and moaned.

  And then, as the wonder faded down to a golden glow, he skimmed off her jeans and her little panties, too. She stood there, dazed, in the lovely aftermath of pleasure, as he removed all the rest of her clothes.

  When she was naked, he took her shoulders, turned her around to him and pulled her close.

  His body to her body with nothing between them. She hadn’t noticed when he took off his boxers. But he had. They were gone.

  There was only his flesh, so firm and hot, only the strength in his arms, the thick muscles of his chest.

  It was a revelation. So exactly what she’d hungered for.

  She gazed up into his eyes, eyes as green as shamrocks, as new-cut grass. “Oh, Rogan…”

  He kissed his name off her eager lips.

  And then he guided her backwards until her knees met the edge of the mattress.

  “Lie down, Elena.” It was a tender command, but a command nonetheless.

  She obeyed him. She was his in that moment, utterly. Completely. There was nothing he could have asked of her that she would not willingly have done. She scooted up on the bed and stretched out on the pillows as he took one of the condoms from the nightstand, unwrapped it and rolled it down over himself.

  And then he came to her. He kissed her, so deeply. So thoroughly.

  He kissed her throat and her breasts, her belly. And lower.

  He kissed her everywhere.

  And when he finally eased her thighs apart and settled between them, she was ready, open. Eager for him.

  He was gentle with her.

  But still, she felt pressure that became pain as he eased himself into her, so slowly. With such care. The barrier against him stretched, burning.

  And then broke. She let out a sharp cry.

  “Elena…” He wove his hands with hers, pinned them back against the pillows.

  And he kissed her, his tongue stroking her, as below, he was so still.

  So still, waiting.

  For her body to give way to him, to accept him.

  To go easy and ready around him.

  It didn’t take too long. The pain slid away, leaving a slight sting. And then the sting faded, too.

  And there began to seem something right about the feel of him, filling her. Something good.

  Something exciting.

  She lifted her hips to him, just to see what it felt like to move—good.

  It felt good.

  She did it again.

  He stiffened above her, moaned.

  She smiled against his mouth, eased her hands from where he pinned them and wrapped her arms around his rib cage.

  He braced his forearms beside her head, caught her face between his palms, lifted his mouth from hers. “Elena?” He looked stunned. Transfixed. “Are you…?”

  “I am fine. Really. Better than fine.” She wrapped her legs around him, too. With a groan, she pushed up to him, took him in all the way.

  “Elena…” He said her name on a growl that time. “I can’t…”

  “Hold back? Then don’t.”

  And that was it. The permission he needed. With a low moan, he buried his head against her neck and surged within her.

  It hurt, a little, yes.

  But she didn’t care. There was wonder in it. Such tender, aching beauty.

  She held on tight. She pushed her hips up, opening her thighs all the wider, welcoming him.

  He pressed his mouth to the side of her throat, grazed her skin with his teeth, licked her, sucked hard enough that she thought he might leave a mark.

  She didn’t care. He was lost in her and she in him. She brought her hands inward, between them, and then caught his face, spearing her fingers into his close-cut hair, tugging him up to her, until he gave her his mouth again.

  A long kiss and a wild ride.

  He moved in her, so deeply. And when he withdrew it was only to come back to her, into her, so fully.

  He moved faster. Deeper. He pressed his face against her throat again. She tried to keep up with him, to go with him, into the sweet magic of another finish.

  But her untried body wasn’t ready for that, not ready to let go again. It was all too new, too overwhelming. For then, all she could do was hold on, so tight.

  And she found that it was enough, right then. To feel him within her, to know that he wanted her so much, he forgot himself, forgot his careful and expert seduction.

  That he gave himself up to her, surrendered himself. To her.

  Until he let out a low, guttural sound against her neck, until he pushed in so hard and she strained upward, toward him, giving him all of herself.

  Every hard muscle tight, he stilled deep inside her. And she felt him, felt the pulsing within her as he came.

  She made a low sound in her throat, turned and pressed her lips against his sweat-slick temple and then wrapped her arms even tighter around him than before.

  “Should have waited…” He groaned against her throat, panting a little as he caught his breath. “…for you.”

  “Don’t worry.” She laughed then, a low, husky sound. “There’s always the next time….”

  He rolled a little, pulling her with him, so he wasn’t putting all his weight on her. And they lay there, facing each other on their sides in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, her leg wrapped across his thigh.

  She still held him inside.

  That seemed terribly intimate and lovely to her. The two of them, lying there, staring into each
other’s eyes, both of them panting, catching their breath.

  Still connected.

  He frowned and gently smoothed her hair behind her ear. “I should have taken it easier, been more gentle. I guess I kind of lost it there at the end.”

  She brushed a kiss across his lips. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do—lose it?”

  “Only if you’re losing it, too.”

  She put her hand up between them, touched his lips with the tips of her fingers. They were so soft, so unlike the rest of him, which was wonderfully muscled and manly. She whispered, “Such a thoughtful guy.”

  “I try.”

  She thought about how she had lost it, before they even got in bed. And then she marveled that she’d finally made love. With a good man. The right man.

  She felt just great about her choice.

  He touched her cheek with the sides of his fingers, the caress featherlight. “You seem thoughtful.”

  “It’s been a scary, awful week in a lot of ways. But everything looks a lot brighter now. I feel…happy right now, Rogan. Just plain happy.”

  “That’s good.”

  “That’s excellent.” Lover, she thought. He is my lover. A little thrill shivered down her spine.

  He shifted a little and she felt him slip away from her. There was suddenly wetness on the inside of her thigh—a little too much of it.

  They both looked down.

  The condom had slid off.

  Chapter Eight

  Elena reached for a tissue from the box on the nightstand.

  Rogan shook his head as his lips curved in a rueful smile. “My fault. I should have been more careful. Good thing you’re on the pill.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed as she wiped away the dribble of wetness. “Good thing.” She wadded the tissue and tossed it into the wastebasket in the corner. Made it, too.

  And it wasn’t a big deal, she promised herself. She’d only messed up on that one pill, after all. And besides, it looked like the contents of the condom had spilled outside, not in.

  “I’ll be right back.” He planted a quick kiss on the tip of her chin and rolled away from her.

  When he returned from the bathroom, he reached for her hand. “All of a sudden, I’m starving.”

  “Me, too.”

  They got up, raided her freezer and stood in her kitchen naked eating Eskimo Pies. She laughed to think how quickly she was getting used to this, to being with him in this intimate way.

  After the Eskimo Pies, they shared a bath. Her tub wasn’t all that big, but they managed. He said it was cozy—and it certainly was.

  Eventually, they went back to bed and made love again.

  That second time was even better than the first. At the end, he rolled so she was on top. She folded her knees on either side of him and bent close, bracing her hands on the bed by his broad shoulders, letting her hair fall forward, a veil that hid them in their own secret world of sensation.

  “This is…liberating,” she whispered on a sharp hitch of breath.

  Rogan’s eyes were as soft as a swatch of green velvet. He reached up, threaded his fingers into her hair, brought her face down to within an inch of his. “You set the pace.” He captured her mouth.

  And she did set the pace. It was pure heaven. She never wanted it to end.

  Too soon, she felt her body rising to the peak. She went with it, up and over the edge of the world. He followed, taking hold of her hips, pressing her down firmly onto him.

  And that time, he was careful to withdraw soon after and to hold the base of the condom in place when he pulled away.

  She whispered, “Stay the night.”

  He kissed her, a brushing butterfly caress of a kiss. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  In the morning, he was so tender with her.

  When she confessed she was a little sore, he got right up—and made breakfast. French toast with bacon. It was excellent. He said that with three kids to raise, he either had to learn to cook or they all would have ended up living on Big Macs and Chicken McNuggets.

  “Not that I don’t love me a nice, juicy Big Mac,” he said. “But it never hurts to have a little variety in the menu.”

  After breakfast, they parted. He had to meet Cormac. She went to the hospital to see her dad—and her mom, too, since Luz hardly left his side.

  Javier was cranky. Even with no complications, recovering from a coronary and open heart surgery was not an easy job. He said his incision was driving him crazy and he was already sick of his hospital room.

  Luz was patient and sweet to him. And more than once, he almost forgot how miserable he was, he got so absorbed in gazing dreamily at his newly-regained wife.

  At around half past eleven, Elena said she had to get going.

  “Going where?” her mother and dad asked in unison.

  She told them that she had agreed to meet Davis for lunch.

  “Good,” said her father.

  “I’m glad,” said her mom.

  She didn’t mention that she would be with Rogan later. After all, it was her own private business, what she and Rogan shared. And since it had no potential to go anywhere beyond the week or two he remained in San Antonio, she’d decided to play it totally cool.

  If anyone asked, she’d say that she and Rogan were seeing each other casually, but it was nothing serious, that neither of them was interested in a long-distance relationship. She wasn’t even going to tell Mercy that she was sleeping with him, not until months from now, when he was out of her life and she could look back on this special time with tenderness and appreciation.

  Okay, the thought that it would end—and end so soon—made her feel a little sad. But she was not going to dwell on that tiny ache in her heart. She was going to enjoy herself thoroughly.

  She was not going to think about the end. She was going to live each moment to the fullest.

  Davis was already waiting at a table when she got to the restaurant. He jumped up at the sight of her—which seemed way out of character. He was such a big man with a truly commanding presence. He always wore expensive suits and people seemed to notice him wherever he went.

  The nervous smile he gave her touched her. He really did care. He wanted to make some kind of relationship with her.

  And she realized she was ready, at last, to form some kind of connection with him.

  He ushered her into the booth opposite him. The waitress came and took their order.

  Elena sipped iced tea as they waited for the food. He asked her about her school, her students. He wanted to know if she was happy with her life.

  “Yes,” she told him. “Very happy. Truly.”

  The food came. They ate and talked some more. Mostly surface stuff. It was kind of awkward. A lot of long silences—and then they would end up both starting to talk at the same time.

  “Go ahead,” he would say.

  “No. Really. You go ahead….”

  When the bill came, she glanced at her watch. Forty-five minutes she’d been sitting there, opposite him. It had seemed longer. But in time, she knew they would become more comfortable with each other.

  He walked her out to her car. “I hope we can have lunch again sometime.”

  She told him she would like that.

  He seemed to hesitate. So she took the lead, bending forward, brushing a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for the lunch.”

  “Ahem. Yes. I enjoyed it.”

  It was kind of cute, really, she thought. Big, overbearing Davis Bravo, clearing his throat and acting downright shy.

  She got in the car and he stood there on the walk in front of the restaurant, waving as she drove away.

  After that, there were errands to run. She bought groceries, took them home and put them away and was back at the hospital by four.

  Her dad was napping and her mom signaled her out into the hallway where she wanted to know how it went with Davis. Elena gave her a quick report and her mom got all dewy-eyed and said how proud she was of her.
<
br />   They went back in the room where her dad was still sleeping. She’d just taken the chair next to her mom and turned on her ebook reader when her phone started vibrating. It was Rogan.

  She slipped out to take the call.

  “Tonight,” he said, and a fine shiver of excitement went through her.

  “Seven. My house. I’ll cook.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  She said goodbye and went back in the hospital room. Her mom gave her the who was that? look. Elena shrugged, leaned close and whispered, “A friend.”

  “What friend?”

  “Just a friend.” Elena picked up her ebook reader again, sat down and read a few chapters of the mystery she’d started a few nights and a lifetime ago, before her dad’s heart attack.

  Javier woke up at around five. A nurse came in to check his tubes and incision site. After that, they were bringing dinner in.

  Elena kissed him, said she’d be back tomorrow and left him to her mom’s loving care.

  At home, she put a roast in the oven and set the table. Then she grabbed a quick shower before putting the potatoes on and cutting up the salad.

  Rogan arrived right on time, with an armful of daylilies and a bottle of wine. She managed to get the flowers into a vase of water before he started kissing her.

  And she kissed him back. Was there any activity on earth as satisfying as kissing Rogan?

  Only making love with Rogan.

  Which she did, before dinner. On the sofa in the living area. It was quick and thrilling—interrupted only by the necessity for her to run into the bedroom and grab a condom from the drawer by the bed.

  The roast turned out well, she thought. And the wine he’d brought was delicious.

  They went to bed early and made love for hours.

  In the morning, they went out to breakfast, parted and met again in the evening to spend the night in each other’s arms.

  The next week school was out, so Elena was free to be with Rogan often and also to spend lots of time with her dad and mom.

  Monday morning, over breakfast, she and Rogan decided they would keep their time together separate from any family gatherings. It was just better, easier, that way. Elena loved her family so much. But she didn’t need them all asking questions or developing…expectations. And if they saw her with Rogan, they were bound to get the picture that something really good was going on.