by Foster, Lori
He winced. “Ouch. I wasn’t that rough, was I?”
“I meant that in a good way,” she assured him.
He scowled. “What’s good about being trampled by buffalo?”
“Oh, don’t be so sensitive,” she murmured. “You know exactly what I mean.”
He yanked her back down against his chest and hid his face against her hair. She was laughing at him. The sound vibrated through his body. It was disturbing, to feel so doubtful and awkward and raw.
“Maybe I’m supposed to apologize for having been all macho and controlling just now,” he said carefully. “But being as how it had the desired effect of keeping you in my bed, I’m not going to. You’re still here, so I must be doing something right. I hope.”
Tess extricated herself from his arms and gave him a slow, solemn nod. “So, uh . . . now what happens?” she asked.
He sensed that her question was fraught with importance, but he was too shaky to deal with anything heavy after being trampled by a herd of buffalo. He kissed the tip of her nose. “Now we go down to the kitchen, where I proceed to make you buttermilk pancakes. Fluffy and golden, with real butter and maple syrup. Bacon, or ham, or eggs if you want them. Fresh squeezed orange juice. Strawberries. Fresh ground French roast coffee with half and half.”
“Oh, my God,” she said weakly. “That’s not fair, Jonah.”
“My secret weapon,” he said smugly. “The way straight to your heart. I’ll keep you here with me in my seductive trap, baited with whipped cream and wild sex. You’ll never want to leave.”
“Hmm.” She sat up and cocked her head to the side, studying him with eyes that were too solemn. “If I tried to leave, would you stop me?”
Tension gripped him. He tried to keep his voice light. “I’ll use every resource I’ve got. Including maple syrup and whipped cream.”
“And brute force?” She wrapped her arms around her knees and studied him intently.
He took her hand, pulling it up to his lips and kissing her knuckles. “Let’s just say that I really, really hope that you won’t put me to the test.”
And thanks be to God, she let it go at that.
Breakfast was a resounding success, judging from the approving moans of pleasure and the amount that she tucked in. She tried to do the dishes, but he was adamant. “Nah. Forget it. You’re a guest.”
She giggled and stuck another perfect ripe strawberry in her mouth. “But I was supposed to work this weekend.”
“So things change. Now you’re a guest. Which reminds me. We have to think about dinner. Do you like steak?”
“How can you already think about dinner? Of course I like steak!”
“With herbed baby red potatoes? Stuffed mushrooms and grilled eggplant? Ceasar salad? Strawberry shortcake? Or should we go with the Dutch apple pie with the whipped cream and caramel sauce?”
She shook her head, laughing. “Are you trying to impress me?”
“Yes,” he admitted baldly.
She sat on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “It worked,” she admitted. “I’m impressed. I’m charmed, my defenses are in ruins. You can relax. You don’t have to go to such ridiculous lengths.”
His cock started swelling beneath the sweet pressure of her ass. “Don’t encourage me,” he said. “I’ll feel compelled to do my filet mignon with caramelized onions, so I can conquer you utterly.”
“You always conquer me utterly,” she said quietly. “Every time you touch me.”
In a heartbeat, he found himself kissing her desperately. Hints of coffee, of cream and strawberries clung to her soft lips. He was on the verge of just lifting her up onto the table, shoving down his jeans and thrusting into her. He could already imagine every scalding, pounding detail: her soft thighs locked around his waist, her tender little cunt gripping him all the way to the screaming finish.
No condom. He hadn’t put one in his pocket. God. He pulled back, panting and speechless, and hid his face against her chest.
She slid off his lap. “I’ll just, um, run and take a shower.”
He managed a speechless nod, his heart still thudding.
He was wiping down the counters when she came downstairs, a cloud of moist, perfumed air clinging to her. She was wearing the Little House on the Prarie dress again. It almost succeeded in hiding how sexy she was, but then again, he hadn’t been fooled from the start.
“You shouldn’t hide behind your clothes,” he said.
Her face went so pale and stiff that he barely recognized her. “I didn’t ask for your opinion of my wardrobe.”
He cursed his own idiocy and searched for a remedy in the frigid silence that followed. “Uh, I wasn’t criticizing. I only meant that—”
“I know perfectly well what you meant. Let . . . it . . . go.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he said hastily. “Look, do you, uh, want to go for a walk in the woods? It’s raining, and your shoes and clothes aren’t great for it. They’ll get muddy. But I think it’s worth it.”
Her face lit up like a torch, his gaffe forgotten. He was pathetically grateful for the distraction.
The dress got damp around the hem almost instantly, and the pristine white tennis shoes she wore with the Vee Have Vays dress would never be white again. In fact, at this point, they were barely recognizable as shoes. Thorny branches snagged the skirt as they pushed through the underbrush, and before long her face was beaded with rain, she was soaked from the waist down, and slimed with mud up to her ankles. She’d been let loose in a mythical fantasy world, pulsing with mystery and magic. She had never been so happy in her life.
Huge trees disappeared into the mist above them, their branches tipped with the bright, lambent new growth of spring. Pale yellow glacier lilies poked up out of the pine needles, jewel-like drops of rain clinging to their drooping heads. The earthy sweetness of the air made her dizzy. They could’ve been Adam and Eve in the garden, wandering through the breathless, vaulted hush of a forest cathedral, speechless with awe.
She stared at Jonah’s tight, muscular butt from behind and finally understood what moved people to grope and grab and fondle, an instinct that had always struck her as vulgar. Hah. What a humbling surprise. She was so far beyond vulgar, she couldn’t even remember what the far side of it looked like. She wanted to grab his butt, pet it, sink her teeth into it. Yank those jeans down and run her hands all over his big body, to feel every dip and curve, every muscle. The graceful way his sweater draped his torso, the long, clean, elegant lines of him made her so breathless with lust, it was impossible to think.
He smiled at her over his shoulder, and her knees almost buckled at his beauty—every delicious detail: the good-natured crinkles around his beautiful gray eyes, the sexy grooves that bracketed his mouth. He turned to go on. She lunged toward him. “Jonah. Wait.”
“Hmm?”
“Hold still.” She slogged heedlessly through the soggy undergrowth until she reached him, and laid a hand on his chest, feeling his warmth, the rise and fall of his breath through the damp fabric. She put her other hand against his face, smoothing the elegant planes and hollows with her fingertips. She ran her fingers through his glossy dark hair, along his strong neck, his broad shoulders.
Wordless comprehension dawned in his eyes. He understood the impulse that moved her. He waited quietly, letting her have her fill of touching him. Reassuring her of his warm, solid reality. Being there for her. Silently communicating his readiness.
He placed his hands over hers. “All yours,” he said softly. “Anytime, anywhere, any way you like. Just tell me what you want.”
She slid her hands around his waist, under his shirt. Gripped his lean waist, slid around to feel the taut muscles in his back. Then his butt, with a low, humming sound of approval. He drew in a harsh breath as she ran her hand over the bulge in his jeans, measuring the heat and length and hardness of him.
“I like this place,” she told him. “It makes me feel primeval.”
A hot flush burne
d itself high onto his cheekbones. “You’re different today,” he said. “You’ve changed. You take up more space.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I do. I feel it, too.”
He shoved her up against a tree, his hands moving eagerly over the sodden dress. “I like it,” he said. “It turns me on.”
She snickered. “Yeah, and what doesn’t?”
He yanked up the waterlogged dress. “Primeval, huh? I guess that means you want me to be all macho and masterful and Neanderthal?”
She challenged him with her smile. “You really go for that, don’t you?”
“With you, I go for anything.” He plucked at the barrier of the wool tights with an exclamation of disgust. “Layers upon layers. Jesus. You do like to present a guy with a challenge, don’t you?”
“So easily discouraged, Jonah?”
She abruptly regretted taunting him when he grabbed the wool knit fabric and ripped it open with one sharp wrench. “Wrong answer.”
“Jonah! You’re wrecking my—”
“Too bad,” he said. Another sharp tug, and her panties gave way. Her most intimate flesh was open to the cool, damp breeze. “My primeval woman is always ready for me to tear open her fur robes, pin her up against a tree, and go for it.”
She tried to steady herself by grabbing handfuls of his sweater. “It’s dangerous to challenge you,” she said shakily.
“You get off on it, though, don’t you?” He parted the folds of her sex and caressed her tenderly with his finger, dipping into her liquid heat with a low growl of hunger. “You like pushing me to the edge.”
He seized her mouth in a conquering kiss that did not coax or wheedle or charm. He claimed what was rightfully his. His savage ruthlessness was no game, and they both knew it. It was the truth between them, at its most elemental. He drew back, his eyes glowing with primal heat. “You want me to fuck you right here, don’t you?”
She licked her lips. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Say it. Say the words,” he demanded. “I need to hear them.”
Such a thing would have been impossible yesterday. But not anymore. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath.
“I want you to fuck me right here,” she said clearly.
She was almost afraid to open her eyes and see the triumph on his face, but he didn’t look triumphant. His face was a taut mask of need. “I love it when you talk dirty,” he said hoarsely.
He shoved her back against the tree and plunged her back into the chaos of his kiss. She was pinned and breathless, her toes barely touching the ground, whimpering against his mouth, rubbing herself against his hard body. Reaching with every instinct for something shining just beyond her reach. He tantalized her until she couldn’t take anymore. She groped for his belt, the buttons on his jeans. He hadn’t bothered with underwear. His penis sprang out, turgid and ready, into her eager hands.
He had to set her down to retrieve the condom, and she took the opportunity to stroke and caress his engorged shaft, making him gasp and curse under his breath. He pushed her hands away just long enough to roll the condom on, and then scooped one of her legs up high, pressing his thick, blunt flesh against her labia, pushing slowly inside. She was tender from the unaccustomed sex, but so aroused that the sting was just a sharp definition around a hot, demanding ache of pleasure.
He forged inside until he had sheathed himself completely, and leaned against her, breathing hard. She could feel his heart pounding, his breath feathering her hair, his body trembling, his fingers digging into her bare bottom.
He stared into her eyes, holding her in a tight, speechless communion, and began to move. He withdrew with agonizing slowness, and surged in again, making her feel the sweet, licking caress of each stroke, inch by inch. It went on and on like that, until she began to pant. She was a live flame writhing against the tree, desperate for the plunge and slide of his thick shaft. She needed . . . she needed—
“Jonah,” she gasped. “Please. More.”
“More what?” His voice was as harsh and shaky as hers.
She clawed at his sweater, at his naked waist. “More everything! Move, damn it!”
He laughed triumphantly, and gave her what she needed. The power he had awakened swelled, bursting hot and golden in her chest and belly, surging like a fountain of molten liquid pleasure between her legs. Everything gave way to that blinding rush.
He waited for her orgasm to subside, nuzzling her neck, petting her bottom, murmuring against her hair. Then he eased himself out of her and let her slide down until her feet hit the ground. He caught her when her knees gave way, holding her until she found her balance.
And even then, he wouldn’t let go. He held her tight against him, warm and panting and damp. Chest heaving against hers. He pushed her hair aside with his face and kissed the side of her neck as he arranged himself, zipping his jeans and buckling his belt. “You OK?”
She nodded, unable to speak. Her knees were weak, her legs still tangled in her ruined tights, her voice tangled in her throat.
He pushed back her hair, his eyes worried. “Sure?”
She didn’t know how to express how she felt. She didn’t even recognize the feelings roaring through her. Needs that could not be denied, emotions that blazed up like fires rushed through her like a flash floods, changing the landscape of her inner self in an instant, carving out canyons, mudslides, unexpected chasms.
She flung back her head. Drops of rain shed by the trees fell onto her face, pale sunlight pressed against her closed eyelids. She breathed in the heat, the light, the wild freedom of this new, changing self.
When she finally dared to open her eyes, he was staring at her face, fascinated. He didn’t think she was crazy or hysterical or overwrought. His face was alight with triumph.
He knew exactly what was happening to her, and he liked it.
He pulled her close and sank his teeth gently into her throat with a fierce growl of approval. “You’re fine,” he whispered. “More than fine.”
“I’m flying,” she whispered back.
She abandoned the sodden dress and put on one of Jonah’s T-shirts when they got back to the house.
When she came downstairs, he was building a fire. “Want me to make you some lunch?” he asked.
“How about a massage?” she suggested.
His eyes lit up. “Hell, yes. But only if you feel like it.”
She gave him a misty smile, still euphoric from the forest. “I feel like it. I like pleasing you. But lie down on the rug this time, not the table. Otherwise it’ll be too much like work, and I’ll get confused.”
He stripped and lay down with a sigh of blissful anticipation. She laid her oiled hands against him, and the strength of the charge between them ran all the way up her arms, made her shiver. She didn’t have to soothe or calm him this time. His barriers were already flung wide. Her hot, tingling hands moved over him of their own volition. She had never felt so powerful. She would have floated right up into the air but for the immense gravitational force of his beautiful body.
She had no idea how long she touched him. It could have been hours. She would never have stopped if he hadn’t rolled over with a sigh of pure delight and reached for her. “Please,” he said simply.
He pulled the loose shirt over her head, flung it away, and pulled her into his arms, pressing his face against her hair. He squirted some of her oil onto his hands began to explore her body with the same reverent attention to detail that she had just given his. His hands slid slowly over her skin, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of her. He kneaded her shoulders and arms, hands, fingertips. He traced every vertebra in her back, brushed his fingertips across her ribs in soft, feathery circular strokes. He explored the hollows of her collarbone, the muscles and tendons in her neck. Her touched her face, tracing every feature, following his caresses with kisses like a hot, soft rain.
She huddled against him, lost in ever-widening ripples of pleasure. She sighed as his hands moved lovingly over
her breasts, but he was just as fascinated with her belly button, her throat. His touch soothed her into a state of perfect trust, amazed by the luminous tenderness between them. His generosity made her want to offer him the best of herself. Everything that was good and kind and true.
They were melted into one shining being when they groped for the condom. Four trembling hands fumbled together, gleaming with scented oil and clumsy with eagerness as they smoothed it over him. A sweet confusion of arranging limbs, kisses and sighs, and finally he settled her into place, straddling him, her legs around his waist. The whole length of their torsos were in hot, kissing contact. Her nipples brushed against his chest. She wiggled carefully, reaching below herself to grasp him, seeking the angle that would permit him to nudge inside her soft opening. She let gravity do the rest, sinking down and enveloping him.
Joy swelled inside her, almost painful, but she welcomed the pain. He was so beautiful, it hurt to look at him. She hugged him close, leaning her forehead against his as they rocked together—sometimes almost motionless, locked together in a circle of shimmering perfection where neither dared to breathe, then melting seamlessly into pulsing, surging movement once again. She didn’t want it to ever end.
The fire died down to embers, untended and forgotten. Light faded, but they stayed clasped together, afraid to break the spell.
But the room grew cold. Rain slanted down, gusting against the windows. She began to shiver, both inside and out, as she realized what she had done. She had flung herself wide open, held out body, heart, and soul in front of her like a sacrificial offering, and he had swooped down like a hungry bird of prey and taken them all.
If it had only been her body, that would have been perilous enough. But he had laid claim to all of it. He had devoured her, pleasured her beyond any fantasy with his sweet, ravishing tenderness.
He stirred against her neck. “No sunset tonight,” he said with soft regret. “I should’ve grabbed my chance last night.”
“Chance for what?”
“To look at you in the sunset. But that’s OK. You’re beautiful in any kind of light. Hey, you’re getting cold. Wrap this around yourself.”