by Bryn Donovan
It wasn’t as big as she’d feared, though still bigger and thicker than she’d hoped, with a slight curve to one side. It was redder than she’d expected, looking cheerfully aggressive, and it made her nervous.
“I’ll worry about me,” he said, his voice pitched low. “Let me find out what you like.”
He still hadn’t laid a hand on her. By now, every inch of her flesh was begging him to do it. She wanted to run her hands over his chest, down his torso, and lower…but she wouldn’t know what she was doing. “How will you start?”
“Like this.” He took her hand.
She giggled, nerves and arousal jangling through her body. “That’s starting pretty slow.”
A smile touched his face. “Told you.” He turned her palm upward and traced along a line with one finger—the heart line, though he probably didn’t know that. She could feel his desire raging through him, and the effort it took to keep it in check filled her heart with gratitude. “You know, every part of you is perfect.”
An unsteady laugh escaped her. “I could say the same about you.”
He lifted his gaze to meet hers. His feather touch and the affection in his eyes melted her. He raised her hand and his eyes closed as he pressed a kiss into her palm. She marveled at the tenderness on his bluntly sculpted, masculine features. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt. She needed to calm down.
Releasing her hand, he slid closer to her and stroked her hair away from her face. This had been a specific, laughably innocent adolescent fantasy of hers—Michael touching her hair. She tilted her head, inviting more.
He buried his fingers into her thick tresses, close to the scalp, and combed through them, gently loosening a tangle. “How do you feel about this?”
“I love it.”
In no hurry, he ran both hands through her hair.
The sensation soothed her. She closed her eyes. “At the salon where I get my hair cut, I always get a scalp massage.”
“How do I do that?”
“What?” Her eyes opened again. “I don’t know.”
“Show me.” He captured her hands and brought them to his own head. Feeling ridiculous, she laughed, but he was serious. She massaged her fingertips in small circles near his temples and across his head. He took in a deep breath. “Yeah, that is nice.” He moved his hands away from him. “Let me try.”
He massaged her temples and farther back, where the back of her skull met her neck. “Mmm,” she moaned as he applied just enough pressure to the small muscles there. “That’s so good.”
He continued until she made another mmm sound. Then he stopped, murmuring, “All right, that’s one thing you like.”
“It doesn’t count, though. That was more of a spa thing than a sex thing.”
Amusement glinted in his eyes. “It all counts.”
His voice, his touch, and his desire that thickened the air all sent a rush of liquid heat to her core. “You should kiss me.”
“Ahh, she’s bossy,” he murmured, caressing her cheek and leaning close. He brushed the lightest kiss on her lips, frustrating her. She grabbed his shoulder and pulled him closer.
He claimed her mouth then, his hand cradling the back of her head, urging her open and sweeping in. His clean, masculine taste and the scent of his body, mingled with the scent of soap, filled her senses. Her legs went slack, thighs falling open.
Her fingers dug into his shoulder. She dared to reach her tongue into his mouth, and the approving rumble that came from the back of his throat gave her a thrill of unexpected triumph. But her whole body was trembling.
“I don’t know why I’m shaking,” she whispered once she’d broken off the kiss.
“Adrenaline, maybe? I think it’ll stop.” He ran the backs of his fingers lightly down her décolletage and added, in a reverent murmur, “It’s beautiful, though.”
He traced beneath her jaw and the side of her neck with kisses and delicious nibbles that made her toes curl. When he bit too hard, though, she jumped. “Ow.”
“Won’t happen again,” he breathed into her ear. Through the fabric of her dress, he caressed one of her breasts, and then dragged the pad of his thumb across her taut nipple. She took in a quick breath. “You’re so responsive,” he murmured. “It’s unbelievable.”
“What?”
He brushed a kiss on her neck in precisely the same place where he’d nipped her too hard before, and she squirmed. “That,” he whispered. “So sensitive. Not just with feelings. With touch too.” Another light kiss, above her clavicle, made her arch her back, lifting her breasts higher to him.
Even in her daydreams and in her fantasies about him when she touched herself at night, she’d never imagined him treating her with such exquisite care. It undid her in a way that forceful passion wouldn’t have. He kissed her on the mouth again, long, languorous kisses, as if time itself had slowed down.
He cupped her other breast, his thumb tracing small circles around the hard peak, and then reached under the fabric of the neckline to stroke the bare flesh. She shook harder than ever. He groaned. “God, you have the most amazing breasts. You’ve got to let me see them.” He caught himself. “If you want to.”
“You’re always staring,” she said, embarrassed. “Why are you so obsessed with them?”
He looked up at her, dumbfounded. “Why aren’t you obsessed with them?”
She laughed. Before she could talk herself out of it, she unzipped the back of her dress, shrugged out of the sleeves, and pushed it down to her waist. He moved as though to help her undress and then checked himself. She unfastened her bra and set it aside, letting her breasts sway free.
“Christos.” His voice was hoarse. The way he stared made her feel like a goddess. He bent his head down to take the nipple into his mouth.
She gasped as he sucked delicately. Pleasure spiraled through her, up to her lips and down to the rising, unbearable ache between her legs. His other hand stroked the under-curve of her right breast, a feathery touch.
She’d heard that people could play like this for hours, but how? Already, she was about to fly apart. A noise of need or complaint escaped her lips. She put her hand on the back of his head and gripped his hair.
He lifted his head to look at her. His eyes looked darker, the pupils large. “You want me to stop?”
“No.”
He gave her a knowing look and then rubbed his cheek lightly against her breast like a cat, fine stubble meeting delicate flesh—yet another new sensation that transfixed her. His tongue flicked across her hard, aching nipple. He stroked the side of her waist and her hip, slowly, as though memorizing the curves. She writhed under the touch, her skin glowing hot.
His palm traveled to her mound, teasing and playing with her there, an inch or less from where she ached to be touched. It was maddening. She was wet between her legs. His sexual need roared through her awareness, so insistent that she wondered how he could hold it back, ratcheting up her own response to unbearable heights. He couldn’t take her this far and no further.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispered.
She wasn’t even sure what to say. Her need made her feel more naked than she’d ever been in her life. “More.” Her voice quavered.
The tenderness in his gaze made him look even more beautiful than ever before, nearly stealing the breath from his lungs. “Shh, angel, I’ve got you,” he promised her. She loved the endearment. She loved his voice. “Lie down, all right?” She did, following his lead. “Here, back a little more,” he urged, getting her to scoot back further on the bed, her feet off the floor. He raised the skirt of her dress and pulled down her peach satin panties, which caught briefly on one of her feet as he removed them.
Her eyes flew wide open. Her dress now bunched around her waist, leaving the rest of her bare to him, and apprehension trickled down her spine.
“Hey, what’d I say?” he whispered. “We stop anytime you want to.”
She nodded, taking a deep breath in and letting it out ag
ain. He took her ankles in his large hands, moved her legs wide apart, and kneeled between them. She quivered as he kissed and nuzzled her belly. He dipped one hand between her legs, where she was slick with arousal.
No one had ever touched her there but her. He seemed to know it as well as she did, finding just the right spot to graze. She was already so close she was about to explode, and she pressed herself up harder against his hand. “Michael, please.”
“Shh, yes.” His breath heated her oversensitive flesh. He cradled her backside with both hands and brought his mouth down on her.
She gave a soft cry at the unfamiliar, incredible sensation. His tongue dragged through her cleft, unhurried, and teased her clit. She bucked. He gripped the flesh of her buttocks more firmly, not hurting her, but silently willing her to accept what he had to give. His emotions filled her awareness, and the purity of his adoration and focus overwhelmed her.
It was just as he’d told her before. He knew exactly what he was doing. Vaguely, she recalled him joking once about this act—what had been his name for it? Eating sushi. He certainly did it as though he was feasting on something delicious. The rest of reality disappeared, her brain losing its ability for conscious thought. She stilled, and he let go of her hips, shifting his weight without ceasing his attentions. His tongue lashed across her, and then he sucked gently.
She opened her eyes. He was pleasuring himself with one hand as he drove her closer to the edge. Ohh. She hadn’t expected that, and she wanted to watch…but a new wave of dizzying sensation overcame her, and she shut her eyes again.
He lifted his head. “You taste so good.”
His words thrilled her to her core. He lowered his head right to her clit and sucked harder this time.
She cried out. Her orgasm rushed over her in waves, from her center out to every inch of her body, more complete than she’d ever experienced before. Only dimly, she was aware of him drawing back from her. She heard him groan and realized he’d stroked himself to climax as well.
“Oh, Goddess,” she gasped. He laid his cheek on her thigh, his emotional signature pulsing with satisfaction and triumph. She reached down to him blindly, pulling at his shoulder. He moved up to lay beside her, taking her in his arms.
She snuggled into his neck. Her whole body vibrated with the aftershocks of pleasure. She’d always doubted that anyone but herself would ever bring her to climax. How would they know what to do? But he knew.
He petted her hair. “How are you?” She could hear his smile in his face.
She laughed. “I’m amazing. You’re amazing,” she corrected herself. She hadn’t done anything.
“You had it right the first time,” he said, his voice lazy. “Just seeing you…and hearing you…and touching, tasting, and smelling you.”
She lifted her head and stroked a finger along his solid, muscled arm. “I guess you know what I like now.”
The smile playing at his lips turned into a huge grin. “I’ve only started to find out what you like.”
She was lucky to have him for her first lover—caring, experienced, embarrassed by nothing. The thought disturbed her, though. “First” meant it wouldn’t last forever, and although she had no good reason to believe it would, she didn’t want to think about that right now. “I still have to find out what you like.”
“Ha. That’s a pretty long list. You know some of them, though.”
“What about…what you just did?”
“Which thing?” He gave her an innocent look and a shrug. “I did a lot of things.”
He wanted her to make her say it. “Going down on me.” She’d never said that before in her life. “You like doing that?”
He kissed her temple. “Was I not enthusiastic enough?”
“If you were more enthusiastic, I would’ve pulled something.”
He laughed in true amusement. “I told you. You were made for this.” He scraped his teeth lightly on her earlobe and she squeaked.
Maybe soon, she could try doing for him the equivalent of what he’d done for her. She understood the basic idea. In manga, she’d seen graphic illustrations. Even though some of them looked truly uncomfortable and she wouldn’t know what she was doing, she’d still be willing to try it in real life.
He’d held to his promise. He hadn’t pressured her for anything at all. She was still a virgin, as it was usually defined—though it was a definition that seemed specific to straight women, and she did wonder if such definitions mattered at all. She’d already crossed a boundary for herself, generally acknowledged or not.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Over dinner at the cafeteria, Nic reviewed the details of the trip to St. Augustine with
Val, Michael, and Jonathan. “We’ll be staying at Anantara,” he said.
Val had thought they might be and was glad to hear it confirmed. The estate, on two hundred acres of beachfront property, held so many good memories for her, and for many in Manus Sancti. Hopefully, before long, Michael would remember those times too.
Nic continued, “Val, you’re not supposed to be out of range of Michael, since they’re worried about his psyche. So you and he will share the master suite.”
Jonathan had gone into Val’s psyche earlier that day, as Capitán had ordered, to review her memories of what she’d done to help Michael before. Neither one of them felt convinced it was something he’d be able to do.
Still, at the mention of the room arrangements, Jonathan’s expression darkened, his misguided concern for her rising. He said nothing. Val resisted the urge to look at Michael and see if his expression betrayed the intimacy they’d shared.
She’d told Michael, as they’d gotten dressed, that she didn’t want anyone else to know. They might disapprove of her getting involved with someone who didn’t remember who he was. She wasn’t even sure she approved. Capitán had given her permission, and she wondered why. Maybe he’d thought it would ground Michael. Or maybe he’d simply figured it was their business.
Michael had immediately agreed to keep it a secret. He’d said it would be nice to know something about himself that other people didn’t.
Nic said, “Jonathan and I will be in the bedrooms on either side.”
If she and Michael enjoyed more trysts, they should probably be quiet about it. After Jonathan and Cassie had become involved, there had been a few comments about how loud Cassie was when those two were behind closed doors. Even the metal walls of Manus Sancti could only muffle so much.
No one had been truly irritated. Val wasn’t the only person happy for Jonathan. He’d been single and celibate for a few years after Sophie had deserted Manus Sancti, which had been generally regarded as a shame. Losing Michael had shattered him, and for Cassie to come into his life soon after—brash, good-hearted, and crazy about him—had been a blessing.
Although Val had known it wasn’t any of her business, she’d thought Cassie should probably keep it down. And now, a few weeks later, Val was wondering if anyone had heard her when Michael had made her come. The West boys should come with a warning label.
Jonathan asked Nic, “Any chance we’ll be back before Christmas?”
“I don’t think so.”
Val had been hoping to fly to Granada to spend the holidays with her parents. “If it fixes Michael, it’s worth it.”
“I know,” Jonathan agreed immediately. “I just feel bad. Cassie’s parents were expecting me in Phoenix.”
Jonathan had been on duty for the past three Christmases. No doubt both he and Cassie believed they’d earned some down time together at the holidays, and Cassie had said before that she was looking forward to introducing him to her sister. According to Cassie, both Mr. and Mrs. Rios adored him, which was likely a welcome change from his strained relationship with his own father.
Instead, Cassie would go home alone, and Jonathan would fly out with Val, Michael, and Nic.
*
A few days later, Val packed her bags.
It had been years since she’d prepared for
a trip that would last more than a few days, and it was a struggle. All her clothes and belongings suddenly felt like necessities. Complicating matters was that unlike most people at El Dédalo, she had her own office, filled with things she loved and enjoyed as well.
She borrowed a cart from Teri Bravo, Gabi’s sister, who usually used it for soil and plant food, tending the plants that added oxygen to the air supply—not to mention a much-needed connection to nature—in El Dédalo. She used it to cart two big boxes of her belongings from her office to her usual quarters, not the guest quarters she’d been assigned to share with Michael.
As she wheeled it down a corridor, she passed Matt, a Knight she’d debriefed the other day. “Hey,” he said, breaking his stride to walk over to her. “You need help with that?”
She smiled. “I’ve got it, thanks.” After taking a quick glance up and down the hallway, she stepped closer to ask, “How are you feeling? Better?” She tried not to infringe on the Knights’ personal business, but she’d been worried about him.
Ordinarily, Matt was one of the steadiest, easygoing Knights Val debriefed, but his last mission had involved a possessed little girl. Matt had dealt with stranger and more dangerous missions without blinking, but because he was the father of two young girls himself, it had left him shaken. He was, in fact, one of the only fathers at El Dédalo, along with Andre Turner, whose boys were more or less grown. Matt’s wife was a mission runner who doubled as their legal counsel whenever the need arose.
“I’m fine,” he said, waving off her concern. “Thanks for talking me down.”
Did he know how often she’d done the same for other Knights? Maybe not. She tried to be discreet. She smiled at him. “Just doing my job.”
She hadn’t gotten a dozen paces farther when she encountered a group of three Knights.
“Want us to get that for you?” one of them, Nassim, called out. She felt a spark of attraction from him. She liked Nassim, but not in that way. Fortunately, his desire was nothing serious enough to worry about, there and gone. All three of them waited, ready to help.