by Nalini Singh
Sailor, his hands on his hips, just shook his head. “No way, spitfire. Even you wouldn’t fit on that.”
They both looked at the torturously architectural thing with curved wooden arms; not only did it look hellaciously uncomfortable, it was barely wide enough to accommodate two seated adults. Forget about even a small person who wanted to stretch out.
“Catie!” Ísa called out. “What’s with the couch?”
Catie, whom Ísa had already ensconced in her bedroom, tucking her in with kisses and hugs, called back, “Dad sold it! He said it wasn’t up to his standards of style!”
Folding her arms, Ísa tapped her foot on the carpet. “I bought that couch,” she muttered. “In fact, I furnished most of this house. I couldn’t trust Clive with the money. Speaking of which, where the hell did he get the money for this thing? Anything this uncomfortable must’ve been expensive.”
Another glance at Catie’s bedroom, Ísa’s volume soft when she said, “It was probably gambling winnings. Every so often, Clive hits it big, and that gives him just enough encouragement to keep going.”
Sailor ran his hand down her back. The idea of leaving his child and going off to gamble was alien to him—he never even left his kid brothers alone when he was in charge of them—but he knew there were men like that. He and Gabe had spent their whole lives fighting to prove themselves a different breed, more akin to the man who’d raised them than the man who’d sired them.
While Gabe had long ago conquered his demons, Sailor’s still howled.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s go check out the spare bedroom.”
Ísa knew which room was Martha’s, so they skipped that. Next to it was Clive’s, the door open.
Ísa took one look inside and backed off with her hands raised in front of her. “I’d feel weird sleeping in there. He is technically my stepfather. Ex-stepfather.”
“That would be weird,” Sailor agreed. “And I don’t feel right sleeping in the bed of some random dude. Especially one who puts black satin sheets on his bed.” He scratched his jaw. “I bet they’re slippery.”
“I don’t want to think about it.”
Together, they opened the door of the third and final bedroom. It proved to be neat and tidy, with what looked like a king-sized bed made up with white cotton sheets. “It’s big enough to share,” Sailor said.
Ísa looked up at him through her lashes. The tips of her ears began to go pink.
His entire body humming in reaction, Sailor leaned down to whisper against one adorable ear. “We can carry on from our session in the water.” He ran his hand down the lush curve of her rear. “To jog your memory, it involves a deliciously nude redhead in my arms.”
23
Sizzle and Orgasm
A RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN US WOULD never work,” Ísa blurted out, terrified of how fast she was falling for this gorgeous, driven man. The way he’d been with Catie, it was exactly how she’d imagined the man of her dreams would be with her baby sister. Comfortable, affectionate, amazing.
Catie was already half in love with him.
Just like Ísa.
“Why not?” he asked with a black scowl. “Are you still hung up on the age thing?”
“You’re twenty-three. I’m ready to settle down, have a child, build a life with someone.”
Tipping up her chin, he pressed his nose to hers. “Yeah? And who’s this perfect man you’re going to dump me for?” It was a growl of sound.
Ísa scowled back at him. “I haven’t met him yet.”
“So you’re dumping me for an imaginary man?”
“You’re deliberately misunderstanding.” She glared. “How am I supposed to find him when I’m with you?”
A shrug. “I don’t care. I’m not going to cooperate in your dump-Sailor-for-an-imaginary-man scheme.”
“You’re infuriating.” Fisting her hands in his hair, she kissed him, releasing all her fear, all her need, all her worry.
His hands powerful and warm at her hips, he pulled her up against the hard length of his body and met her tongue lash for lash.
Heart pounding when it was over, she broke the kiss—and he said, “Want to hear my suggestion?”
“No.” She folded her arms and drew her eyebrows together.
“Too bad.” A kiss on the nose again, the affectionate act smashing her walls to tiny fragments. “I say we don’t run, we don’t hide. We try.” No laughter in his expression now, only a passionate tenderness. “I’m no poet, Ísa. I can’t give you fancy words. But I know what we have is special. It’s worth a fight.”
Ísa had never backed down from a fight in her life. But this fight could well leave her bloodied and broken at the end. But her heart, her traitorous heart, it wouldn’t let her walk away. Because what she felt for Sailor, it was a shooting star and an incandescent candle flame. “What,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, “were you saying about a deliciously nude redhead?”
A slow, sinful smile. “Sexiest woman I’ve ever met. Heartbreaker curves and skin like moonlight.”
And that was how Ísa found herself getting ready for bed in the bathroom attached to the guest bedroom, with Sailor doing the same in the bedroom itself. Devil Ísa had hissed at her to strip in front of him, but she had her limits.
She’d told Sailor they’d work up to nudity.
After kissing her until her toes curled, he’d said, “I’ll enjoy unwrapping my redhead.”
Her thighs clenched as she pulled on the large T-shirt she’d borrowed from her grinning sister, the soft fabric covering her panties and hitting her mid-thigh.
And she was dressed.
Ready to be unwrapped.
Stepping out of the bathroom, she caught Sailor in the process of throwing his jeans onto a chair that already held his T-shirt, his only covering white boxer briefs. That body… it made her want to whimper. He was all ridges and valleys and smooth golden skin and a tight butt that she wanted to bite. After she’d licked her way around his tattoos.
God, what was happening to her? Ísa Rain didn’t have thoughts like that.
Except, it seemed, when it came to Sailor Bishop.
Turning around to face her, Sailor whistled. “Spitfire, you make that innocent T-shirt look indecent.”
Ísa might’ve been unsure how to take those words if Sailor’s body hadn’t been making it blatant exactly what he thought of hers, the ridge of his erection pressing demandingly against the front of his briefs.
She sucked in a hungry breath.
And he began to stalk her.
Ísa couldn’t help it. She stumbled backward and backward… until her back hit the wall.
Coming to a stop in front of her, Sailor placed his hands palm-down on either side of her head, blocking her in against the wall in a private prison. His smile was wolfish, hungry. “No way for you to cut and run this time around.”
The warning made every tiny hair on her body rise to quivering attention, her nipples tight points.
“Too bad I didn’t remember the handcuffs.” A nipping kiss of her lower lip. “We’ll save them for next time.”
Her breath coming in shallow rasps, Ísa gripped futilely at the back wall. Her skin was overheated. Her heart racing. And she wanted nothing more than to tumble him to the bed and tear off his briefs with her teeth. But if her mother’s life had taught Ísa one thing, it was to be aware of the consequences of her choices.
Wetting her throat, she managed to say, “Did you bring protection?”
Sailor froze. A second later, he groaned and dropped his head. “I hate myself right now,” he said. “My cock hates me even more.” Another pause. “Your ex-step—”
“No.” Ísa shuddered. “We are not going looking in his bedside drawer. That’s—” She shuddered again. “Just no.”
“Right. Which means…”
Ísa wanted to cry. “I hate us both,” she muttered, clawing at the wall in her frustration.
Sailor looked up, a gleam in his eye. “When,” h
e said, “was the last time you made out like a teenager?”
Not even when I was a teenager. She’d been too conscious of her weight and pale skin. “Is that what you’re suggesting?” Her core felt silkily damp, and they’d barely begun.
“My briefs stay on.” His body heat pulsed against her, a near tactile caress that taunted her to lift her hands, indulge herself in him. “Everything of yours can come off.”
Brain cells finally firing, Ísa put her hands on her hips. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Who said I planned to play fair?” A deep rumble of sound as he pressed close enough that the engorged tips of her breasts were crushed against his chest. “What I am planning is to make you come so hard that you keep on wanting more of the same.” His mouth closed over hers, his hands shifting to grip her wrists and pin her hands above her head.
Ísa shivered, fingers curling into her palms.
Sailor’s scent swept over her, deeply masculine and with an undertone of earth, as if the soil he so loved had seeped into his very cells. When he transferred both her wrists into one of his big hands, using his other hand to stroke her thigh as he began to kiss his way down her neck, it was all she could do to suck in air.
Then he said, “Breathe,” and she realized she hadn’t been doing it at all.
Her lungs expanded on a rush of oxygen that was almost painful, and a second later, she was sucking in another breath and sucking him in with it, the raw beauty and rough, earthy scent of Sailor a drug. “Let go of my hands.” She was desperate to touch him.
“No.” His voice was a deep rumble against her throat.
“No?” Ísa struggled to think. “That’s not how this works.”
“I threw away the rule book,” said the unrepentant man who was currently sliding his fingers under the edge of her panties.
Chest heaving, Ísa scowled. “I get to touch you too.”
He kissed her, nipping at her lower lip as if punishing her for her reprimand. Only this punishment made her blood turn to honey, especially when he moved his hand to her breast and squeezed. She’d taken off her bra because she couldn’t stand the thought of sleeping in it but now realized she’d made a tactical mistake.
Her moan was throaty, sounded more like a porn star than sensible Ísa Rain. Thank God their room wasn’t right next to Martha’s.
Sailor’s smile turned very, very wicked. “Oh, I see.” Another squeeze.
Moaning again, she scrambled to find the words. “Stop… ah… distracting me.” Her breasts seemed to grow beneath the intense delight of his attention. “We were… ah… having a discussion.”
Chuckling, the infuriating man kissed her again. And this time, as he stroked his tongue against hers, he ran his thumb over her nipple in the same languid rhythm until it was hard and pebbled and so exquisitely sensitive that she felt as if she’d die.
“Sailor.” It came out a command.
“Want something, spitfire?” he whispered against her mouth.
“Touch me.”
Sailor squeezed her breast before dipping his head to kiss her neck once more. “I am touching you.” His other hand tightened around her wrists.
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m no mind reader,” he said with a teasing glint in his eye. “And right now I’m very interested in this beautiful throat.” He nipped sharply at it.
Ísa kicked him.
Unfortunately, since she was in bare feet and he was pressed up so tight against her, she made exactly zero impact. “You’re a horrible man.”
“You like me, admit it.” A sucking kiss over her pulse. “Talk dirty to me, Ísa. I’ll give you whatever you demand.”
“Touch me… on my bare skin.” She met his gaze when he looked up this time, the fire in the blue scalding.
Ísa had never been so wanted. “I love the feel of your hands on me,” she said on a rush of erotic confidence. “Love how you have calluses that make your touch just rough enough.”
“Oh, I like the things you say.” With that gritty purr of a statement, he ran his hand over the top of her T-shirt and lower until he hit the very bottom edge. His knuckles brushed against her thighs for an electric a second before he slipped his hand under the fabric and spread his fingers over the sensitive skin. “See,” he said. “Asking for things gets you rewarded.”
Ísa’s skin shimmered with sensation, her pulse a skittering rush.
Leaning in, he kissed her again. Soft, teasing little kisses that played with her mouth, made her arch toward him. When he ran his thumb across the flesh of her thighs, the very tip of his thumb brushed against the elastic edge of her panties.
Ísa couldn’t help her whimper.
“Shh.” A smiling command. “We don’t want Catie or Martha to hear.”
Looking at Sailor, falling into that smile, Ísa shook her head. “I don’t think I can be quiet if you keep doing things like that.” She had to be honest, had to get him to stop before she screamed down the house.
But she didn’t say stop.
And he didn’t stop.
“Then,” he said, “I’ll just have to spend a lot of time kissing that sweet mouth of yours while I do terrible, dirty, delicious things to you.” With that erotic promise, he moved his hand oh so slow over the soft and silky fabric of her panties and to her hip.
Utterly breathless, Ísa tried to gulp in some air. It seemed to do nothing, as if her breathing had altered permanently to short gasps that left her light-headed.
Her stomach tensed when Sailor paused at the center of her panties. But he shifted his hand up instead of down. Wanting to moan at the loss, Ísa bit down on her lower lip to still the sound.
Sailor caught the motion, shook his head. “Don’t you bite your lip, Ísa,” he ordered. “We don’t want any cuts in your pretty flesh.”
“Let go of my hands, you demon, and I’ll bite you instead.” She didn’t know where the words came from, but they made Sailor grin and press his chest more heavily against the tips of her breasts.
It was sweet pleasure and even sweeter pain.
He slid his palm onto the small of her back at the same time and, before she knew it, tucked his hand under her panties to cup her rear.
“You can bite me later, spitfire,” he said while she drowned under the taut edge of an opulent pleasure that gave and gave. “Tonight’s my playtime. Your punishment for having run off on me.” A dark look. “Not once. Not twice. Three times.”
“I’ll torment you as badly,” Ísa warned, though deep within, she was astonished and wonderfully delighted at the realization that he’d never given up. She was important enough to him that he’d kept on trying to catch her.
“I’ll have no mercy,” she added in a rough whisper.
“You’ll have to get man-sized handcuffs to keep me in place.” A hot, wet kiss, his hand squeezing and massaging her pliable flesh. “No way I’m keeping my hands off this luscious body otherwise.”
Ísa had read more than her share of romantic novels, including stories so racy they’d made her go hot red and fan herself, but she’d never been drawn to bondage fantasies until her blue-eyed demon had started talking about handcuffs. Now the idea of having Sailor at her mercy, of having all the time in the world to learn his body, to lick those ridiculous soda-commercial-worthy abs, to stroke her hands over the heat and silk of him, to sensually torment… Yes, Ísa was on board.
“I’ll make sure they’re good, strong handcuffs,” she said. “And I won’t forget the rope to tie down your ankles.”
He dipped his hand lower, the blunt tips of his fingers rubbing outrageously against a part of her body so sensitive that she arched against the wall. “That’s my redhead,” he said, the pride in his voice intermingled with a sexuality that was rough and ready and very real. His erection pressed demandingly against her stomach, his touch delighting her body, his mouth initiating a kiss so deep it felt like a prelude to sex.
Her bones turned fluid, the place between her thigh
s so sticky that, for a heartbeat, she wondered what she’d wear under her clothes tomorrow. Because her panties were going to be wrecked. Then Sailor moved his hand out from her panties and cupped her breast again, this time bare palm to bare flesh.
She jerked, might’ve let out a little scream except that he had his mouth on hers and his tongue was laving hers as his hand molded her breast with blatantly possessive pleasure before his thumb returned to its torture of her nipple.
Ísa pressed up against him in a silent demand. Smiling into the kiss, he kept on provoking and torturing her with wicked attention to detail. First one breast, then the other, then back down to stroke the inner skin of her thighs without ever coming close to the spot where she most wanted his touch.
Tearing away her mouth from his, she said, “Touch me again.”
His eyes glinted, a red flush high on his cheeks. “Where?” he asked, his own breathing not exactly steady.
It did something to her to see her effect on him. Her effect on this big, beautiful man, a man many a woman would want to bed. But he wanted only Ísa. And the devil in her wanted to give him what he wanted in return—that dirty talk he’d asked for and that got him so hot.
Feeling young and wild and playful, she said, “Sailor, darling, will you touch me on my pussy?”
He was the one who shuddered this time. “Since you asked so sweetly, spitfire,” he said with another little kiss, “I’ll have to oblige.”
As Ísa tried desperately to hold herself together, he nudged aside the gusset of her panties and then his finger—so damn thick—was sliding over and into her as the work-roughened pad of his thumb pressed against her clit.
Ísa had no hope or desire to resist. She came apart on a single stroke.
But instead of stopping when he felt her body clench convulsively around him, Sailor kept on stroking in and out of her with lazy focus. He circled her poor, over-sensitized clit until her breathing calmed, then began rubbing and playing again even as he slid another finger into her and pumped in and out.
Harder. Faster. Deeper.