An Unexpected Addition
Page 16
Her mouth grazed his briefly and withdrew, blew a soft sigh across his dampened lips and nuzzled them again. Boundaries ignited and crumbled, burned to cinders and blew away. When her mouth opened on his, he was there ahead of her, taking as he gave, sucking her breath into himself, feeding his back to her, sharing life.
The kiss consumed like rage, but infinitely sweeter, relentlessly hotter. His hands were everywhere, touching, kneading, holding. In her hair and sliding low down the small of her back, anchoring her to him twice; she wrapped her arms underneath his and held onto his shoulders, pulling him to her with all her strength.
They didn’t kiss so much as feed like starving people who’d had food set before them, then been forced to see, to smell, to imagine, but not eat. Finally released, they had no time for amenities, to ask permission, to be polite. There was only time to touch, to feel—to frame each other’s faces between their hands, to slide fingers down chests or tunnel them through hair. To pull at clothing that was in the way and discard it as quickly as possible without losing contact the way they’d already lost control.
Tongues dueled and clashed, laved and suckled salty skin; already feverish, their bodies slickened with sweat and would not cool even in the gathering wind. Their hands were as desperate and needy as their mouths, sliding through perspiration to places heavy and aching for relief. When Hank’s fingers tangled in the red curls at the apex of her thighs, teasingly low but not low enough, Kate gasped and squirmed, finally brought her own hand down to place his where she wanted it. Hank’s laughter at her impatience was rich and touchable, brushed her eager skin like a thousand extra fingertips.
His fingers made her body burn and weep, drew sobbing pleas from her throat. She clutched his shoulders and ground herself against him, bringing her belly tight to his loins and rocking. He gasped, but continued to let his fingers stroke and torture until Kate slipped a hand between them. When she cupped him and rubbed the pad of her thumb over the head of his moistening sex he jerked and went rigid. Then before she knew what was happening, he kicked her heels out from under her and laid her back on the pile of clothes they’d shed.
He didn’t need to part her thighs, she did it for him. When the tip of his sex breached the flesh guarding hers, nudged the damp bud just above her opening, she whimpered and arched, pursuing him, luring him. When he leaned forward and brushed his length heavily against her a second time, she unraveled a little and cried out; her pleasure flamed with her ragged breath in his ears, so he held himself above her and pushed against her a third time. Her hips bucked hard upward, rubbing his length, begging for him. Her throat called him, her body wept harder, pleading.
He thrust at her entrance; tiny tremors surrounded him, clasping and milking his flesh as though in welcome for the missing prodigal. His ears filled with Kate’s oh-oh-oohs of culminating pleasure.
Exerting what little control he had left, he pressed into the small shocks that coursed through her, withdrew slowly, slid forward again a little further. The gasping ohs became inarticulate murmurs, then shocked, breathless pants of intensifying rapture that called to him to join her even as they urged him to drive her higher still. Her body felt like heaven, tight and wet and lushly extravagant. He pushed deeper, thrusting with each contraction, his own looming ecstasy increasing with hers. So tight, so slick.
Too tight.
In the moment of lucidity before madness he felt it: no barrier, but the path had never been used, was wild and precarious, a passage he forged for himself. With the last of his strength he braced himself to look down at her, her face abandoned, her hair a wild carpet spread around them. He didn’t know if he could stop if she asked him to, but the gift she presented him was too precious to accept without trying.
“Kate.”
Her throat arched, breasts plumped against his chest, engorged nipples pouted with invitation. He tried not to look at them. To remember how they tasted.
“Kate, listen to me.”
“Hank,” she said breathlessly, her back bowed, belly undulating against his, hips pumping and rotating frantically, raveling his resolve. “Please, Hank, please.”
“Kate.” He was desperate. Every time she moved, a bit of the ledge he was poised on crumbled, drew him toward frenzied completion. He couldn’t keep her still.
He didn’t want to keep her still.
“Kate, look at me.”
Her head moved back and forth, arms tried to draw him down into her. He wanted to slam into her and into her until they were both screaming. Instead he caught a fistful of her hair, forcing her attention: Eyes dark with desire stared up at him. It was a hell of a time for an attack of conscience, he knew, understanding the pleasures her body was only beginning to experience for the first time, understanding that rational thought—under the circumstances—would probably be even more difficult for her than him, but he had to make the offer. Hell, it was already too late to go back in one sense. He hadn’t climaxed, but his body had begun to leak for her the moment she’d touched him. Still, he had to be willing to stop if she came to her senses and told him to.
Even if it killed him.
“Kate.” Judas, he didn’t even know what to say. Please don’t say no, please don’t say no. “Are you sure you want this—want me? Are you sure—” He hesitated. She lay almost still looking up at him, eyes heavy lidded, mouth curved in a come-hither smile. The muscles around her pelvis clasped at him, shuddering a little. His mouth went dry and he shifted slightly, realizing the mistake even as he made it. Fought himself for control when she shut her eyes, tipped back her head and moaned, letting the shimmy of current take her, bring him further inside. “Kate, damn it. Please—” He swore when she moved to pull him deeper still. Grimly tightened his grip in her hair.
The grin she gave him was impudent and knowing, fully female. He swore again. She laughed, husky and seductive, and that ripple of movement nearly undid him. He struggled physically to hold himself back.
“I want you, Hank,” she assured him. “I choose you. I give you what’s left of my...” The grin became a low, thick, tempting chuckle; languid hands caressed his chest, trailed dilatorily down between them to touch the beginnings of their joining. Her heart filled her voice, even as he felt himself growing thicker and more rigid, stretching to fill her, to touch the deepest part of her and himself. “What’s left of my virginity...because you’re the only man I’ve ever wanted to have it and could ever imagine wanting to give it to. Now would you please shut up, and like the songs say, rock my cradle, because I’m damn close to something that feels like it might be spectacular and I want to know what it is and you’re the only man I intend to let show me.”
“I am.” A groan that was almost a question.
She nodded. “Yes. You are. Now tell me, teach...” She dug her heels into his back and undulated her hips, causing him to rock forward off balance. To slip in their shared sweat and lunge deeper into her slick sheath. “Does it do anything for you if I move like this? Does it help—”
She wasn’t able to complete the question around the tongue that suddenly stopped her mouth, could as abruptly form no more words even in her head when he stole them with her breath by pulling back and thrusting hard to embed himself fully inside her. Could only gasp when each succeeding thrust drove a little deeper, pulled a little more from her. Could only cry out when the contractions took her, scream her pleasure when he sucked the crest of one breast into his mouth and pumped hard into each small earthquake to create a monumental one.
Stabbed harder and faster until there was nothing left of her alone and she was a shouting, sobbing, sighing part of him.
And in the humid earth of her body, Hank spilled potent seed into her unprotected womb.
Chapter 10
All in all, it was quite a night
Once found, they were loathe to leave each other—though they tried often enough. More than once, one last kiss turned into more; clothing, reclaimed, was discarded before they had a chance to put it on.
Out of sight of the house, they played like reckless children set free of the watchful eye of parents after dark for the first time, laughing and chasing, splashing and wrestling in the pond to cool off—children, that is, until wrestling gentled and intensified, leading to adult pursuits.
They took and gave and shared, exploring each other until Hank would have thought they were so familiar with each other’s bodies that there was nothing more to discover. But there always was. There was this mole or that scar, this spot touched just so that turned her body into a molten flow of lava shuddering beneath him, that spot caressed, which made him stiffen and bow and scrabble to hold onto the earth while he begged her to stop-don’ t-stop-oh-God-Kate-please.
Even when they finally forced themselves to remember who they were and headed back toward the house barely three hours before dawn, they were still too new with each other to stop kissing and touching.
When Kate’s enthusiasm knocked him on his butt on the bench around the old wolf oak at the juncture of yard, field and driveway, Hank was already hard again, had one hand up her shirt, the other down her shorts. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he’d no doubt they’d both be sore in the morning, but just now couldn’t bring himself to care.
She was his only avocation at present, his preoccupation, and this was the time they had, with no future guarantees. He didn’t want it to end. Hands on her hips, he leaned back against the tree when she straddled his lap and watched her face while she rode him, close enough in the shadows so he could read her expression, intoxicated with concentration and desire and euphoria. When she opened hot eyes and looked at him as she reached her peak, he shattered.
The contractions of release pulsed through them long after she slumped forward in his arms and wrapped him up in hers.
It shouldn’t have been possible, he knew even if she didn’t. He should have been...drained dry...long before now. But so should she. Should have been raw and at least uncomfortable if not in actual pain. Should have been exhausted and temporarily sated. But they weren’t. And no celibacy, however long lasting, nor blind-pig-raid-adrenaline-high could explain why, not more than twenty minutes later, Hank found himself once more in such desperate need that he backed Kate up against the rear of the equipment barn and took her where they stood—twice...although the second time he was too wobbly kneed to stand for the entire experience and wound up on his back in the dirt with his hands fisted in Kate’s hair and her mouth sealed tight to his while they both bucked and cried out in release.
And he knew damned well that that time should have definitely been enough to last him...for however long it had to last him. And it was—sort of, at least for the moment—but it also wasn’t Because now that they really were finally both panting and tired and relaxed and giddy and full of each other, they still held onto each other, shared a single space, walking as close together as two people could without falling.
He didn’t want to let her go, however briefly, to spend what was left of the night alone in his narrow bed. He wanted to be in hers, have her in his—it didn’t matter which—as long as they slept together. As long as they were together.
For her part, Kate was well beyond the ability or the desire to think. What thinking she chose to do had been done early in the evening while she’d waited for news, for Risto and Megan, for Hank.
When he’d arrived she’d simply followed instinct and gone to surrender her body where her heart already lay. She could not give one without the other—at least not this piece of her heart or this part of her body. Her heart was an easy captive, ensnared without reservation—particularly by children—elastic and more durable than anything else created by God or man. But the piece she gave to Hank was different, had been cached forever, forgotten like the smallest jewel at the bottom of a dragon’s hoard until the very moment she’d snatched it up and handed it to him. And it didn’t matter whether or not he realized how dear the gift was to her. It was his now to cherish or lose, keep, return, put away or give away as he chose. A true gift was given and forgotten, did not have conditions placed upon it, should not have to be worn or displayed simply because the giver came to call.
She recognized, too, the gift Hank gave her in return. Whether his heart was fully involved or not, he’d given her his body, too, shared his passion, rendered to her all he had to give anyone at the moment. The knowledge that he did not waste fleshly desires anywhere and anytime the urge struck him was a powerful aphrodisiac, a priceless treasure. She could no more have withheld from him whatever he asked than she could have held back a comet by its taiL
When they reached the back porch where she’d earlier—forever ago, it seemed—clipped his hair, they stood in the semidarkness before sunrise, holding each other with gentle, reverent hands, and kissed softly. Laughed painfully, conspiratorially at the discovery of swollen mouths and bitten lips; kissed again, anyway, in spite of the bruises.
Hank buried his face in her neck. “You smell like me,” he whispered.
“Funny,” she murmured into the hollow of his, “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
He shoved her hair aside and pressed a kiss below her ear. “Yeah, I know, I stink. Ain’t it grand?”
Kate chuckled, rubbed the backs of her fingers over his stubbled cheek. “Don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything sweeter in my life than you right now.”
“Mmmh.” He ran his hands the length of her back, over her rump and back up again. “Me neither, you.”
Quiet closed around them, thick with humidity and the singing of frogs. Hank roused himself to lean back and look down at Kate.
“You should go in and get some sleep while you can.”
She brushed a smile across his throat. “So should you.”
“I’m not ready to go in yet.”
“Mmm.” Kate folded herself back into his arms, snuggled her cheek against his chest. “Neither am I.”
“Good,” Hank murmured into her hair, gathering her close. “Good.”
Down the road at the neighboring melon farm a rooster crowed; Harvey pricked his ears and ran the perimeter of the boys’ pen humming and calling. Daylight, rife with heavy clouds pierced by searing sun, touched the horizon: nearly time to rise. Reluctantly Kate pulled away from Hank.
“I should go in and put the coffee on, get breakfast started.”
He shook his head. “I’ll do coffee and breakfast. You go in and take a hot bath before your muscles stiffen up. You’re going to be sore.”
She didn’t, he noted with amusement, argue. “What about you?”
Gentle fingers traced her cheek. Hank smiled. “I have never,” he said truthfully, “felt better in my life.” He dipped his head to place a light, lingering kiss on her mouth, then repeated for emphasis, “ever.” Then he turned her and guided her firmly up the steps, through the mud room and into the kitchen. “Now, go soak and clean up,” he commanded, “before we both find out how depraved I really am and I attack you again.”
“Not if I ambush you first,” Kate muttered agreeably.
Hank grinned. “We’ll experiment with ambushing later,” he promised. “Now, go.”
Tai passed Kate on her way through the living room to the back bedroom hallway and the first-floor bathroom.
“You’re up early,” she said, surprised—and guilty. He could have walked in on her and Hank in the kitchen—not that they were doing anything much, just sort of wrapped up in each other, but...
But, she admonished herself practically, it would have been a little embarrassing for all of us, yes. Still, Tai was a big boy, old enough to handle his mother “gettin’ some” without the very idea damaging his psyche. Not to mention that—given his rather droll sense of humor—he probably would have found Kate mooning over Hank in the kitchen pretty funny.
“So what’s up?” she asked.
Tai shook his head. “Not much. Gotta meet Gus Krahn out at his farm in Cohoctah in an hour. Got the ag agent comin’ out to look at some sort of blight in h
is trees he’s never seen before. I want to hear what Shiner’s got to say about Gus’s trees and get back before it storms, but other than that it’s B-A-U.”
Kate raised her eyebrows. She’d just figured out what the phrase 24-7 which Li and Megan tossed around, meant—twentyfour hours a day, seven days a week—and now here was another one. “B-A-U?” she asked.
Tai grinned. “Business as usual,” he told her.
She rolled her eyes. Of course. “I should have guessed.”
“You’re gettin’ slow in your old age, Ma.” Tai bussed her cheek and headed for the kitchen. “There coffee?”
Kate sniffed the air, rich with the aroma of the Jamaican Blue Mountain roast. Her mother had brought the beans back from her latest jaunt with Habitat for Humanity to rebuild homes near Kingston destroyed during a hurricane. “You can’t smell it?”
Tai shook his head. “Hay fever’s got my nose in a snit.”
“So take your medication and breathe deep,” Kate admonished and shut the bathroom door behind her.
For a moment Tai stared thoughtfully at the closed white sixpanel door. Just a second there, he would have sworn his mother glowed...not unlike the way Carly did after they’d spent a long hot evening at her apartment. But no, he dismissed the idea as ludicrous. That couldn’t be. Kate was his mother, for God’s sake.
He shook his head. Nope, not possible. Mothers did not, at any time, act like some horn dog’s girlfriend. Although he’d often thought she should, his mother didn’t even date, so how and when could she...
Still, her mouth had looked a bit swollen, also like Carly’s last night after...
No. No, nope, hun-unh. He shuddered, slapped himself on the forehead and told himself to get his brain out of the Dumpster. She was his mother, and unlike Tai where Carly was concerned, his mother had self-control. He was out of his mind to even consider anything else.
Spurning the notion for good. Tai hiked up his jeans, stepped into the kitchen and startled Hank.