by Bell, Serena
“I’ll drop you at your apartment. Or nearby. I know you’re trying to keep a low profile.”
“No.”
He looked at her questioningly.
She hadn’t meant to say no. It had burst out of her. “Can we go to your house?”
The words hung in the air. Even though they were her own words, they were enough to set up a small vibration in her—she was like a guitar string stretched too tight. A slow pulse beat between her legs.
His eyes were huge and dark.
“Oh,” she said, suddenly. Disappointed. “Theo’s there, isn’t he?”
He wouldn’t take his eyes off her face. His gaze was so superheated it almost hurt. She wanted to turn away, but something kept her from doing so.
“Ana?”
“What?” she whispered.
“Are you married?”
Laughter found its way around the lump in her throat, burst out of her in a big, frank flash of genuine mirth. Now that was funny. Her, married. “No.”
“Good.” He reached out one finger and laid the tip of it on her bottom lip, setting off a chain reaction of sensations. “Theo goes to bed early and sleeps like a rock.” Then he withdrew his finger before she could obey her impulse to nip it, turned the key in the ignition, and said, “So, my place, then.”
Chapter 16
The silence in the car on the way back to Ethan’s house was like none she’d ever experienced before. It had weight, taste, dimension. Neon signs and street lamps filtered streaks and blobs of light across their laps as they drove back along the same route they’d traveled earlier. She ached, hollow with desire—her lips, her breasts, her belly, between her legs. She pictured what would happen when they arrived at his house: She’d reach for him as he killed the ignition, grabbing his shoulders, angling her mouth over his. She’d climb over the transmission and brake to straddle him, feeling his hardness press up against the seam of her jeans.
She was breathing hard. Could he hear? She was self-conscious, but she wanted him to know how she felt, like someone poised on the edge of a high dive, her body edgy and tuned to his. She wanted to tell him, tell him that she was already wet, that she’d been so wet that night at the brewery that he could have had her in a single stroke.
What would happen? They had to be discreet, she knew. They couldn’t tear each other’s clothes off in a mad rush for the bedroom, leaving a trail behind them. Would there be polite small talk? Would he try to offer her a drink, something to eat? She hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. Her hunger was a vague, far-away ghost, barely audible behind the roar of her sexual desire.
She was out of her head around Ethan, far, far gone.
They were back in Beacon now, turning past the train station toward his house. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.
Her face got hot. Could she tell him? She had wanted to, a moment ago, but now she found that she couldn’t speak. It was easier to reach out a hand. She rested it on his thigh, not far above his knee. She could feel his heat through his khakis. The muscle bunched under her touch. She heard his breathing change.
“Is that what you were thinking about?” he asked, a low murmur.
“That. And other things.”
He shifted under her hand, and she felt the restrained strength of him again. “What other things?”
She hesitated. It had been much easier with the joking and innuendo the other night. Telling him what she imagined seemed a whole lot more personal.
“Should I go first? Do you want to know what I was thinking?”
She nodded, although she wasn’t sure if he could see her in his peripheral vision.
His voice was low, almost a growl. “I want to feel how hot you are.”
A tiny noise, a sigh, escaped her. She dug her fingers into the hard muscle of his thigh.
He groaned in response.
Heat rippled through her stomach and groin.
“Your turn,” he murmured.
“I’m not just hot.”
He groaned again. “Say it.”
She arched her back a little, her head back against the seat. The hand that wasn’t on his thigh found its way involuntarily between her legs. “I’m so wet that you can feel it, here.” She took his hand and guided it.
“Fuuuck,” he groaned, and his strong fingers explored her through her jeans, which dissipated the intensity of the touch just right, the friction like a fantasy or a suggestion.
He turned into his neighborhood, his hand still on her, his palm moving in slow circles. She panted and moaned, moving her hand higher on his thigh until she felt the bulge of his cock straining into her hand. “Stop. You have to stop,” he said abruptly, and she took her hand away, and he took his away from her, which was agony. She wanted him back; she wanted him right now. She’d felt, for half a second, the head of his cock under her thumb, and she wanted to feel it again, to run her thumb back and forth along that ridge until he couldn’t stand it anymore. She put her thumb to her lips instead, and dreamily sucked on it. The answering pull between her legs shocked her.
He looked over at her and saw what she was doing, and the car veered sharply. She yelped, and he adjusted his steering, guiding them the rest of the way up the street, into his driveway, and into the garage without mishap.
He turned the key, and the engine died. He pushed the button to release his seat belt and turned toward her. “Here,” he said, and he slid his thumb into her mouth.
She sucked it, and his breath huffed out of him as if he’d been punched, and he dived for her, his hands yanking her hair. There was a confusion of hands and mouths, sucking and kissing and licking. Then he abruptly pulled back and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever said this before in my life, but I am seriously afraid that if we don’t get on to the main event there will not be a main event.”
She took a deep breath and gathered as much of her senses as she could, and they got out of the car and walked around to the garage door. He reached for the knob, and she put her hand on his chest, lean muscle under her touch, and both his arms came around her, and he crushed her between the whole warm, strong length of him and the solid door. “Unless you want it just like this?” he said.
She shook her head, breathless, and he let her go. “I doubt Theo’s awake, but—”
“We should behave like human beings instead of zoo animals?” she filled in.
“That would be good.”
They went in. Ethan kicked off his shoes, so she did, too. He flicked on the light so they could see their way up the stairs into the kitchen. In the kitchen, he paused. “Can I get you something?” he asked, and she laughed out loud, so pleased with herself for guessing that he’d be that guy who would offer her food and drink at a moment like this.
“What’s so funny?”
She told him.
“You haven’t eaten since lunch?” he demanded.
She grabbed his wrists. “I’m not hungry. Not like that.”
He exhaled sharply.
“Can we go upstairs?”
He grinned at her. “Hell, yeah.”
She followed him up the stairs, her hand in his. He led her into a large bedroom at the opposite end of the hall from Theo’s. He turned on a small lamp, which lit the room cozily but left the corners in shadow. It was surprisingly put-together for a bachelor’s bedroom. There was a broad sleigh bed with a curved headboard, made up with a luxurious burgundy quilt. Two small lamps kept watch from matching night tables, and mated bureaus guarded the perimeter. The room was lined with windows; Ethan went from window to window, drawing the honeycomb blinds.
Then he came to the side of the bed and drew her down to sit between his legs. She felt his strong arms around her, enfolding her, keeping her safe, and his hard cock behind her. For a minute, that was all she could focus on, its length and weight and heat and the slight twitch of it against her, but then he slid his hands up the back of her shirt and unhooked her bra. He reached his hands around and very slowly, very gently, began t
racing his fingertips over her breasts. Along the sensitive undersides, around the sides to where it tickled, just a little. In ever-shrinking circles that closed in on her nipples. He flicked his fingers over them; they hardened into peaks.
She gasped.
He retreated to the ticklish tracing, and she relaxed against him, but then the circles closed in on the hard tips again, and he pinched them lightly between his thumbs and forefingers. This time he wouldn’t let go. She moaned. Sensation streaked straight from his touch to her center. She arched her back and bared her neck, willing him to touch more of her.
He released her, and she stood up and turned to him. Standing, she was taller than he was sitting, so she had to lower her mouth to his. He grabbed the back of her head and held her captive, his tongue flicking along her lips. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, and she did the same to him. The tip of his tongue explored the sensitive roof of her mouth and slid back and forth over her tongue, jousting with it briefly before she conceded and the kiss melted back into soft, open wetness.
He grabbed the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head. Her T-shirt was next. “You’re cold,” he teased, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples, then pulling her to him and drawing one into his hot mouth. He teased it with his tongue, then sucked, and she couldn’t help herself—she lifted her hips, struggling to get closer to him so she could rub against him.
“I think maybe this is what you’re looking for.” He slid his knee between her legs and drew her down so that she straddled his thigh. The sudden friction drew a groan from her; she rocked gratefully against the hard muscle of his thigh while his mouth found her other nipple.
Their hands tangled as they both went after his buttons; he tossed his shirt away, and she pulled his T-shirt over his head, which left his hair in disarray. She stared at him, drinking him in. His skin was smooth and tan, his shoulders broad, his chest and abs well muscled. There was a small amount of curly hair on his chest but none on his stomach except for a fringe around his navel and that narrow line that disappeared enticingly into the waistband of his jeans.
She put her palms on his gorgeous chest; his skin felt scorching hot under her touch, and a small gasp escaped him as she began to move her hands over him, loving the way the muscles flexed and hardened in response, setting off a tightening in her. She put her hands in his hair and kissed all over his face, arching her back while he paid further homage to her breasts.
Then he was unbuttoning her jeans and working the zipper down. He eased them over her hips, and her underpants went with them. “God, you’re beautiful. Look at you!” His gaze moved over her, dark and covetous, snagging on her nipples like a caress.
She reached out and followed the invitation of the hair on his torso with her fingertip, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. She freed his erection from denim and gray boxer briefs, and it bounded up toward her, solid and tempting. She could smell him now, salty and male, and it ratcheted up her craving for him abruptly. She put out her hand, but he caught her wrist in his hand before she touched him. “Better not,” he advised, almost a growl.
“Rain check?”
“Hell, yeah.” He bit her neck hard enough to make her squeal.
He helped her wriggle his jeans and briefs down, and managed to get out of his socks at the same time. She looked down and laughed. She was still wearing hers. They were the only thing she still had on. She hooked a finger under one then the other, and tossed them aside, and they grinned at each other.
He stood up and threw back the bedclothes while she admired the shifting muscles in his back, the hard curve of his butt. She slid a hand down the long, fine line of him, from shoulder to thigh, and he drew a sharp breath and trapped her hand against the curly hair on his leg. Then he released her, opened a drawer in the night table, and pulled out a strip of condoms. He broke one loose, tore it open, and rolled it down the length of his erection as she watched. He was big, but not scary-big. Looking up, he caught her staring, laughed. “Sex in the post-AIDS age always has this weird let-me-demonstrate-exactly-how-big-I-am moment.”
She grinned.
Then he lay down on the bed and pulled her down.
They lay side by side, gazing at each other.
“We’ve lost momentum,” he said. “The condom problem.”
She started laughing. God, she liked him. She reached out and put her hand to his cheek. She could feel, but not see, the stubble there. She ran her thumb slowly along his lower lip.
That was all it took. He sucked her thumb into his mouth and the echo of their earlier heat swamped them. They clung to each other, kissing, sucking, biting at each other’s mouth. His leg slipped between hers, eased her thighs apart. The head of his cock teased between her folds. She wanted him in her now. She tried to scoot down toward him, but his weight was on her now, pinning her. He wouldn’t let her move.
“Not yet,” he commanded.
She spread her legs, brought her knees up, and wriggled under him.
“Aren’t you nice,” he whispered.
And then, as if he’d seen her thoughts, that taunting thought that had been with her almost constantly since their first date, he slid into her with one sure, deep thrust, and, as she’d imagined, she offered him no resistance, only slick welcome.
“Ohhh,” he said, drawing back and thrusting into her again and again—long, deep thrusts with a rocking, rubbing motion at the end that drew an answering rhythm out of her. “Yeah,” he said. “Like that.”
She whimpered and lifted her hips to meet him again and again, the tension and heat rising in her until it was almost unbearable. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.
“I—can’t—stop,” he whispered back.
She started to come first, and it went on and on. She arched her back and cried out, and wave after wave rose and broke, and she saw a look of something almost like awe come over his face. He said her name, and then he was coming, too, a gasp and a curse, his head thrown back and his body rigid over hers.
He buried his face in her neck. She opened her arms and took all his weight on her. “I’m not crushing you, am I?” he asked.
“No.” She wrapped her legs and arms around him. Then she freed a hand to stroke the hair at the nape of his neck. He purred contentedly.
He pulled the covers up over them and curled his body around hers.
“This might be too much information.…” he said, his breath warm on her ear.
She laughed. “That’s kind of hard to imagine.”
She could feel him smile. “That’s never happened to me before. The simultaneous thing.”
“Never?” She meant, Not with your wife?
“Serially. One, then the other. But not at the same time.”
“I haven’t ever. During, I mean.”
He got very still. She turned her head to look at him. He raised his eyebrows at her. “You’ve never had an orgasm during sex?”
She shook her head. “I’ve only had sex with one other guy. And not a ton of times.”
“How is that possible?” he demanded. “You seem to know your way around.”
She pulled him closer to her, drawing his head down to rest on her breast. “In high school, I fooled around. And, of course, I—” She paused and blushed. “I have some solo experience.” She blushed deeper.
“That’s hot.”
“After high school, there weren’t a lot of opportunities. If I’d gone to college there might have been more, but I didn’t. So I’ve dated only one guy I liked enough to—” She laughed and was surprised by how bitter it sounded. “And it was nothing like this, believe me.”
He looped a leg over hers. “That’s nice to hear, because there’s definitely something about you. For me. You kind of blew my mind. But I knew you would. I could tell when we were out together. You could feel it, too, right? That crazy chemistry? I haven’t ever felt anything like that.”
Her chest felt huge with emotion, but she didn’t know what to say, so she snuggled as c
lose to him as she could and put her arms around him.
“Ana,” he murmured.
She hugged him harder.
“I didn’t realize it, but ever since Trish died I’ve been sleepwalking. Going through the motions. With Theo, with work, with everything. I was afraid of caring about anything, because look what happened the last time I tried that. So I put one foot in front of the other and didn’t screw anything up, because if I screwed up I’d lose Theo, too. Or I’d miss a diagnosis—something big, like cancer or a kidney infection—and kill a kid.”
She made a noise, wanting to contradict him, and he said, “No, I know. I don’t believe that. But that didn’t stop me from feeling this thing. Constant low-grade fear, I guess, although at the time it didn’t feel like fear. More like numbness. I’d try to tune it out and keep doing what I had to do. But ever since I opened the door of that office and saw you, I don’t have that feeling anymore. It’s gone.”
The feelings that were filling her up got bigger and bigger and she felt as if she were drowning in them, and she wanted to say something to him, to give something back to him, like the gift he’d just given her. But no words came out.
“Is it like that for you?” he asked.
She felt as if he’d punched her in the stomach and all the feeling whooshed out of her, leaving her numb. Because no, it wasn’t like that with her. She was still afraid, so afraid. If anything, she was more afraid. It felt as if she had more to lose than she’d ever imagined having. When Walt disappeared from her life, it hurt her feelings. It shook her up. But it didn’t turn her inside out. Right this second, she felt as if she couldn’t live without Ethan. How did this happen, and how did it happen so fast? How had she let it happen? Her chest was tight and she could hear her breath coming fast, and a deep, dark dread filled her. She’d do anything to hold on to Ethan. And, in the scheme of all the things she’d be willing to do, answering his question with a lie seemed the smallest nothing. “Yes,” she said. “It’s like that for me.”
His breath rushed out of him, and he squeezed her so tight it felt as if her ribs were going to crack.