“This is very strange foreplay.”
“Ah, but can you think of a more arousing way for us to get to know each other’s worlds?”
She wrinkled her nose, in spite of the tightness in her chest. He wanted to know about her world and he wanted her to know more about his. What did that mean for the future? Hope flared, but it was scary, so she strangled it.
“Really,” she said, giving him an out if he wanted to take it. “That’s not necessary.”
“What’s not necessary? Foreplay? ’Cause in my playbook it’s absolutely essential.”
“Getting to know each other’s worlds.”
“C’mon. Indulge me.” He tugged the zipper on her dress, slowly inching down.
Warm air touched her bare skin. “All right,” she agreed, removing his cummerbund.
“I’ll go first. Naked.”
“Not yet, but we’re working on it.” She reached up to unbutton his tuxedo shirt.
“It’s my word.”
“What word?”
“The football word.”
“That’s not a legitimate football term.” She undid the second button and got a peek at that muscled chest.
“Is too.” He slipped his hand up her back, his finger expertly unhooking her bra in under five seconds flat.
Impressive. Clearly, he’d had lots of practice. “What does it mean?”
“A naked play is where the quarterback runs the ball outside the belly path and he is not accompanied by a blocker.”
She finished undoing the last button on his shirt. “I’m assuming that’s a different belly path than this gorgeous trail of golden hair you’ve got tracking from your navel to your pubes.”
He laughed. “You would be correct. When you run a belly path, you travel slightly backward and away from the line of scrimmage before returning to the scrimmage line in a swing pass route.”
“It sounds very complicated.”
“No more than plant sex. Your turn. Let’s see you trump ‘naked.’ ”
“Football has an unfair advantage, the terminology is clearly much more literal than plant science,” she said, reaching for his left wrist so she could work the monogrammed cuff links from the French cuff.
“Can’t do it, huh? That’s what I thought. Plants are too brainy to be sexy.”
“Shows what you know about plants. They are sex machines.”
“So dazzle me.”
“Corneus,” she said.
“What does it mean?”
“Horny.”
“Ah, the seduction is in the definition.”
“Your turn.”
“Hot pass.” He untied his shoelaces, slipped off his shoes and socks.
“Dare I ask what that means?”
“It’s a very quick pass to an offensive pass receiver who is running a replacement route vacated by the defensive pass receiver.”
“No wonder you’re so good at making hot passes.” She uncuffed his other sleeve, and reached up to put the cuff links on the table.
“Now you,” he said, pulling her into his lap and pressing a hot kiss to the nape of her neck.
Lace pressed her lips together and whispered, “Succulent.”
“Good one. Official definition?”
“Fleshy, juicy.” She slipped his shirt from his shoulders and let it fall to the ground behind him.
“Seductive in both sound and meaning. Two points for you.” He kissed her lips. “You have a succulent mouth.”
“Is that all you’ve got? Can’t top ‘succulent’?”
“Sweetheart, we’re just getting started. Box.”
“That’s pretty generic and not necessarily suggestive. Is the comparison supposed to be the vagina? Because ‘box’ is not really an apt assessment. ‘Tunnel’ might be a better fit. Any tunnels in football?”
“No.”
“That’s too bad.”
“I suppose you can do better?”
“Is ‘bush’ too obvious?” she asked.
“Much.”
“But it qualifies, at least as innuendo, and more accurate than ‘box.’ ”
“Hmm,” he said, slipping his hand up her dress to peel off her panties. “I appreciate your bushiness. It’s sexy. Too many women these days opt for the minimalist manicure. I prefer au naturel.”
“I’m too busy manicuring real bushes,” she said, “to go in for waxing.”
“I like you just the way you are.” He shifted her off his lap, inched her dress up over her thighs. “Arms up.”
“I’m having déjà vu to Nordstrom’s dressing room,” she said as he peeled the dress over her head.
“That was fun.” He flung the dress onto the table. It landed on top of Lulu. “Now where were we? Whose turn was it?”
“Yours.”
“Tight end.”
She lowered her lashes. “You do have one of those.”
“Not so bad yourself. What else do you have?”
“Head.”
“You led with that one.” He grinned. “In a clear case of show don’t tell.”
“Are you tapped out of terms?”
“There’s ‘goose and go,’ ” he said, and squeezed her fanny. “But I’m going to leave off the ‘go’ part.”
“With all these provocative terms is it any wonder that football players have such reputations as sex machines?” she observed.
“Are you ready to find out firsthand whether the rumors are true?”
They were both fully naked now, staring at each other in the crazy colored lighting.
“So ready,” she said.
He laid her down on her back, kneed her thighs apart, and knelt between them. She stilled at the sight of his washboard abs. He was glorious. She’d never had such a well-built lover.
And what a handsome face!
Right now, he was staring at her with those stormy brown-green eyes that sent goose bumps fleeing up her arm and fresh shivers slithering down her spine.
His jaw was chiseled, his cheekbones sharp, his golden-brown hair cut in an utterly masculine but still sexy style.
The setting was her idea of perfection, plants in various stages of reproduction, emitting come-have-your-way-with-me-messages into the night air.
“Before this goes any further,” she said, “we need to establish some kind of boundaries.”
He stopped kissing her and looked up. “I hear you. I don’t like anything going on at my back door, so if that’s a concern for you then you don’t have anything to worry about it. I—”
“I’m talking about emotional boundaries.”
“Oh.” He straightened. “I’m listening.”
“I don’t know where this is going.”
“Where do you want it to go?”
Happily-ever-after her heart cried. “Where do you want it to go?”
“I asked first.”
She blew out a breath. “I need to know if it’s just sex. I can handle that.” Hopefully! “Actually, I’m quite fine with that, but I need to know up front that’s all this is so I can keep my emotions out of it.”
“Can you do that?” he asked huskily.
Did that mean he wanted to keep emotions out of it? “I don’t want to get hurt.”
“Me either.”
Did that mean she had the potential to hurt him? If so, that meant he cared. Her throat constricted. “So it’s just sex.”
Pierce gulped, his Adam’s apple moving up and back down. “Is that what you want?”
She nodded, too terrified to say what she really wanted.
He looked … hurt.
She wanted to say, I changed my mind, do over! but she didn’t. “Pierce?”
“I guess I’m just a little disappointed,” he said. “I thought we were working on something special.”
We are! “Maybe we could just take it one day at a time. See how that goes?”
“Yeah. Uh-huh. We can do that.” He shrugged. “One day at a time.”
Great. Now she’d killed a
ll the sexy energy they’d built up with the word games and she suddenly felt exposed. She crossed her arms over her chest, all her earlier sexual confidence evaporating.
“I made a misstep,” he said.
“No, no, not at all.”
He got to his feet, reached out a hand to help her up.
“Is this it? Is it over?” she asked, a hard pressure pushed against her chest.
“No,” he said, “but the mood has changed. You need tenderness. In a bed. Not here on the hard ground.”
She blinked, touched by his sensitivity to her frame of mind change. He gathered up their clothes and, giggling, they tiptoed naked from the greenhouse and sprinted across the lawn. Lace was relieved to see that the light in Shasta’s apartment had gone out.
“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked once they were inside the house.
She took his hand and led him there. They didn’t turn on the lights because the full moon was shining through the open curtains. He fished something from the pocket of his trousers and then dropped them, along with the rest of their garments, to the floor. Square packets. Condoms. He’d come prepared.
He put a hand to her waist, and she could feel his breath on her face, but she was too afraid to meet his gaze so she stared at his chest. Too scared of the expression she might spot in his eyes, too nervous about what he might see in hers.
He said nothing. Neither did she. The digital clock on her bedside table clicked off a minute.
Do something! Kiss me! Touch me! Make love to me!
Finally, she could not stand the suspense any longer and shifted her gaze from his chest to his face. Pierce was looking at her like a man who’d just stumbled over a treasure trove. His lips locked on hers.
She wriggled, threaded her fingers through his hair.
They kissed for what seemed like forever and then finally they exhaled at the same time, breathing out each other’s air.
He burned hot kisses from her throat to her breasts, his beard stubble rubbing her skin in a scandalously erotic rasp. He was smooth and accomplished, no doubt about it. He knew exactly where to linger, tease, and cajole. While his mouth had a field day with her nipples, his hand moved between her legs.
She whimpered, shivered.
“Lace,” he growled low in his throat. “You taste so good.”
He waltzed her toward the bed, stopped long enough to peel back the covers, and then eased her down onto the mattress. He crawled beside her, straddled her body, and began a slow slide from the tender flesh of her breasts on down to where she most wanted him to go, staggering kisses over her rib cage to the full, rounded flesh of her belly.
When he finally veered down to lick the warm, damp patch of skin between her legs, Lace came unhinged. “Oh!” she gasped. “Oh my!”
“You like that?”
“Very much.”
He surprised her by reaching up to skim his fingers over her face, outlining the plane of her cheeks with the pads of his fingertips like a blind man learning Braille.
“Lace.” He breathed.
She rode the flow of emotions, navigating the swell of pleasure and desire and discovery. His warmth enveloped her and she experienced a sense of safety with him that she’d rarely felt before. He lifted her to a place she’d never known existed.
She moaned and pushed her pelvis against his hand, arching her back above the mattress. She drifted on the edge of a dark peak, engulfed by his mouth and the beauty of this night. Lace wanted him too much. The passion was consuming her. She’d slipped too far.
Melancholia seized her. This moment when they first made love would never come again.
She shuddered as his lips skipped over the last firm curve of her thigh, stopping just short of her feminine cave. Her body was on fire for him. Blood pulsed through her, hot and frustrated. Pierce moved his head closer, slightly grazing his lips over her moist folds. He showered her with rich, tender kisses.
Her senses swam. She saw music. Tasted colors. Heard smells.
His hot mouth found her eager core. She stabbed her fingernails into her palms, cried out in the darkness. She was writhing and begging him to come inside her.
He did not. He took her to the edge of the cliff and then stopped abruptly.
“No, no,” she said. “Don’t you dare torture me!”
“Turnabout is fair play. You tortured me first.”
She fisted her hair in his hands and gave an impatient tug.
Chuckling, he plied his tongue to her most sensitive spot and it was like switching on a light in a darkened room.
“Yes, yes,” she cried. “You know exactly where and how to touch me. How do you know that?”
“You’re very responsive,” he said. “Your body lets me know what you need.”
He laved her with his tongue, cupped her buttocks in his palm, and raised her hips higher to give him deeper access. She arched against his mouth in reflexive savagery.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop!” she beseeched. “Don’t you dare stop.”
Pierce gave her everything she yearned for.
Moaning loudly, she clasped her thighs around his head, capturing him between her legs. His tongue obliterated everything. She could do nothing except focus on that one sensitive spot as he took her somewhere she had never been before. Her ears rang. Her eyes could not see. Her blood ran simultaneously hot and cold.
Unbearable. How sweet this perfect torture was. She thrashed against him. “Please! Please!”
Slowly, he released the suction, but kept his tongue playing across her rigid cleft. He toyed with her. Waggling his tongue nimbly around and around until she cried out his name over and over. He owned every inch of her body. She was putty in the palm of his hand. She would crawl across hot coals on her hands and knees if he asked her.
She made a strangled noise. Close. She was so very close.
“Hold on, baby. The wait will be worth it,” he promised.
It happened in an explosive bomb. Irrepressible spasms gripped her body and she shattered into a million pieces.
Lace lay naked and perspiring, molten with sexuality, her veins feverish, muscles melted soft, skin blistered, tendons stretched loose, body sore and liquid.
Who knew a man could do such incredible things with a tongue? Pierce’s legs intertwined with hers. She pinched the skin between her thumb and index finger, curled her toes, and smiled into the darkness.
Nothing could have prepared her for the depth of emotions tightening her stomach. It had been so easy to get caught up in the vortex of their attraction, but once ensnared, she realized how hard it was going to be to get out of this unscathed.
Sex was just sex. Right?
That’s what some people said and maybe sometimes it was true, but when you had this kind of chemistry, this intense connection with another person … well … it was as if her heart had split open wide and the sun was pouring both into her and out of her, bathing everything in an impossibly bright light.
She reached up to touch his face in the darkness, traced his nose with her index finger; such a masculine nose, so vital, so virile. She bit her bottom lip. Floated in the drunken embrace of lovemaking’s afterglow, and this after just oral sex.
Pierce growled low in his throat and rolled over on top of her. Her belly was pressed against his flat, rippled abdomen and his hard erection pulsed against her outer thigh.
Erotic voltage zapped through her entire system. His mouth claimed hers while his hand strayed to explore. His fingers made circles at her navel while his mouth teased hers. She closed her eyes, savoring everything.
Then his tongue went traveling south to the peaks of her breasts. His tongue flicked out to lick over one nipple, while his thumb rubbed the other aching bud.
Her eyes flew open and she lifted her head up off the mattress. She had to see what he was doing to make her feel so good. Her gaze latched on to his lips as she watched him drawing her nipple in and out of his mouth.
His tongue stroked her sensitive
skin. She writhed against him, trying to push her body into his, needing more. Glossy streamers of delirious sensation expanded inside her throbbing sex. Her inner muscles contracted.
“I want to feel you inside me, Pierce. I need you now!” she insisted.
He ripped open the condom with his teeth, rolled it on.
She opened her legs, inviting him in.
He moaned low in his throat, an adroitly masculine sound of pleasure, and lowered his body down over hers. He was kissing her again, her mouth, her nose, her eyelids, and her ears. He was over her and around her and at last, at long last, he was inside her.
“Lace,” he whispered her name, caressed her ears as he rotated his hips from side to side maintaining highly focused friction. His eyes glowed in the moonlight, his thrusts long and slow. He captured her lips, roughly but lovingly, and their mouths clung as he increased the tempo of their mating.
“More,” she begged. “Please more.”
He pushed harder, quickened the pace. Lace raised her hips, spurring him on. Infused, she could not tell where he began and she ended. No separation. Their connection was absolute and it filled them in every sense. There was no space for anything else. They were quite simply, breakably whole.
She brimmed with joy, felt strong and resilient, both enslaved and emancipated.
His body stiffened and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in as deep as he could go. Release claimed them both and he called out her name in a rough cry.
LACE AWAKENED SOMETIME later to the persistent nudge of his erection against her backside. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her up tight against him.
“Are you awake,” he murmured.
“No.”
“Ah, that’s too bad. I had something for you.”
She chuckled and turned in his arms to face him. They kissed a long moment. Lace ran her fingers through his hair. “I might have been wrong about you.”
“How’s that?”
“Maybe you’re not a water strider after all.”
“Because I know how to go deep?” he teased.
“Physically, oh yes. You excel at that.”
“But not mentally?”
“You’re a doer, not a thinker. That’s Geococcyx californianus for you.”
“The chaparral cock.”
“Yes.” Was it weird that she was pleased that he remembered the Latin name? “You focus on the task at hand and you’re exceptionally committed.”
Lori Wilde - [Cupid, Texas 02] Page 21