The Stranger and Tessa Jones

by Christine Rimmer

  She searched his eyes. “What?” Her lips were redder, swollen with the kisses they’d shared. He wanted only to claim them again.

  But the question he’d yet to ask did matter. He said softly, “Condoms?”

  She drew in a shaky breath and nodded. “In the bedroom. Back of a drawer in the nightstand.”

  “Good.” He took her hand and headed for the other room. Fast. “Where?” he asked when they stood by the bed.

  She pulled open the second drawer, reached into the back and brought out a whole box of them. Unopened. “Here you go. I’ve got plenty.” She turned his hand over and put the box in his waiting palm.

  He dropped to the side of the bed and checked the expiration date: still good. And then he grinned up at her. “So you’ve been expecting me, huh?”

  She moved in close. He spread his thighs to accommodate her. Gently, she combed the hair at his temple with her fingers, holding his gaze, her mouth soft and ripe as forbidden fruit. “Oh, yes. I was expecting you, all right. Maybe I didn’t know it, but I’ve been expecting you…forever.”

  He turned his face into her palm and kissed the very center of it. “Tessa, I’m here.” He reached over, set the box on the nightstand, and then took her hips between his hands. “Right here.”

  “I’m so glad.” She bent and gave him her mouth. Straining toward her, he kissed her.

  He could never get enough of her kisses, of her sweet, yearning sighs. The kiss went on, endless and amazing as all the other kisses she’d given him.

  As they kissed, they undressed each other. He unzipped her jeans and shimmied them down. She kicked her flat shoes behind her, pushed her panties down, too. They laughed together, still kissing, as she wiggled the jeans and panties off the rest of the way.

  They had to break the kiss to get her sweater off. He took advantage of the moment to get rid of the sweats, top and bottom, and to pull off the fat socks she’d given him and toss them away.

  At last, he was naked. She had only her bra. It was yellow as spring sunshine. He sat back down on the edge of the bed and reached up to cup her breasts. “Perfect,” he whispered. She slid a hand behind her and undid the clasp.

  The bra fell loose under his palms. He slipped his thumbs in, touched her hard, hot nipples. She let her head fall back on a moan.

  Admiring the shape of her—the singing curve of her neck, the strong silhouette of her shoulders—he traced the lacy cups upward, to the straps, which he guided, one finger on each, down the sleek, softly muscled length of her arms. She let it drop away.

  And finally, she was naked. And he was naked.

  In the pearly light that shone in the window, he admired her, so tall and strong, and yet soft, too, with rounded belly and full breasts. He’d never seen anything so right. So beautiful. As Tessa, tall and curvy and proud, standing there, before him.

  He whispered it to her. “Beautiful. You are so beautiful.”

  She caressed his shoulder. “No. You. You’re beautiful.”

  He didn’t argue. What did it matter? He knew what he saw when he looked at her. And if she thought he was beautiful, too, well, that meant they both had something really good to look at.

  He touched her left breast, lightly, tracing the fine, rounded curve, loving the delicate tracery of veins below the surface. He cupped it as he had before, leaning close. She reached for him then and gathered him against her, so he could taste her, take that hard, tempting nipple into his mouth.

  He sucked, running his tongue in a circle around the aureole, then sucking some more, drawing deep. She pulled him closer against her and moaned her pleasure at the wet caress of his tongue on her flesh.

  Slowly, he thought. Go slow. Give it time…

  Life was so fragile. He, of all men, knew that too well. Right then, in her bedroom, his head against her bare breasts, he had everything. All that mattered, right here. With her. He had her warm body and her tender sighs, her kisses, her hungry cries of need and pleasure.

  It was so good. It couldn’t have been more right.

  He took her gently by the shoulders and she straightened to her height. Her eyes, looking down into his, were moss-green and shining. She smiled at him.

  And he traced a line down the center of her, between her full, deep breasts, over the rounded curve of her belly, to the sweet space between her thighs and the dark-gold curls there. He petted those curls, easing his fingers into them, loving the shine of them, the warmth, the promise.

  Lower.

  He went lower. She gasped as he parted her. And she swayed a little on her feet.

  “Brace your hands on my shoulders.”

  She did, with a low moan.

  “Open. Open for me…”

  She eased her legs apart until they brushed his spread thighs.

  “Perfect,” he whispered.

  She answered by gripping his shoulders harder and letting her head fall back with a whimper that turned into a moan.

  Wet. She was so wet for him. He found the center of her arousal and he played it with his thumb, while with his fingers, he touched her, exploring the slippery, secret folds, learning her pleasure—what she wanted. What she craved.

  She responded, eager and open in lovemaking, as he’d somehow known she would be, moving her hips in time with his stroking hand, tossing that gold hair, moaning the name he’d told her to call him.

  Her breath caught. She went still, the muscles in her strong thighs drawing tight, her fingers clutching his shoulders. He took her body’s signal, stroking deeply—and then holding.

  There. Yes. He smiled as he felt the pulsing start. He cupped her, tightly, feeling the tender explosion of her climax, whispering the two words that filled his mind, “Yes. Tessa. Yes…”

  With a shuddering sigh, she sagged toward him. He reached up to gather her close, to stroke her back, bury his face in her hair.

  She was panting. And then she giggled.

  “What?” He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.

  “Don’t…believe,” she whispered. “…amazing.”

  “Good. Amazing is good.”

  “Amazing is excellent,” she declared, catching her breath. “And I really need to lie down now.”

  He smoothed her wild hair aside and spoke in her ear. “Not yet.”

  She groaned. “What now?”

  He took her hips and gently pushed her backward. “This…” He knelt on the bedside rug before her. “This…” And he kissed her, kissed those musky gold-brown curls.

  She stood so still, her whole body quivering. And then, as she gave herself up to him, she threaded her hands into his hair. “Oh!” The word came out on a cry that faded down to a silvery whisper of joy. “Oh, my goodness…” She braced her legs a fraction wider.

  Again, she used his shoulders for support.

  And he kissed her. Deeply. The musky, slick-wet taste of her was in his mouth. The heavy, arousing scent of her sex was on him. And in him. He couldn’t get enough of her.

  Never. Never enough.

  She went over the moon again, whimpering, sighing. He held up his arms to her as she rocked on her feet and then crumpled toward him.

  Rising, he caught her. He swept her up as if she weighed nothing. Turning, in two steps, he was at the bed.

  He laid her down, carefully, sharply aware that nothing in the world mattered as much as this woman who had saved him. This woman who looked at him through wide-open eyes, who knew she should be wary of him—but wasn’t, couldn’t be. This woman who laughed and lived and loved full-out, no holding back.

  He laid her down and blessed the forces that had brought him to her door, blessed the unknown, life-threatening event that had taken who he really was from him. He knew then, with a certainty he couldn’t explain, that the man he’d been before would never in a thousand years have found her. The man he’d been before would have walked right past her on the street, unknowing, unseeing, arrogant and unaware that his only hope had been so near he could have reached out an
d touched her.

  Naked on the white sheet, she gave him a smile. Her eyes shone, almost more gold than green at that moment. “You look…so sad.”

  He sat on the bed beside her, stroked her silky hair, smoothing it on the white pillow. “Not sad. Never sad.”

  She touched one of the bruises on his chest, then tracked the trail of hair there downward to the band of bruising low on his abdomen. “Hurts?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve never felt better, never felt more alive.”

  She touched his forehead, near the injury that had taken his memory. “Then why the sad look?”

  He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Life, I guess. It’s damn scary, the things that happen. The things you can miss if you’re not paying attention.”

  Her soft hand slid around to clasp his neck. “Oh, yes. You’re right. It’s so important. To pay attention.”

  He bent close, breathed in her scent, kissed the slope of her breast. “This is what matters…”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “You. Me. Now.”

  “Yes…” She scooted over to the far pillow, and patted the space where she had been.

  Swinging his legs up, he stretched out beside her. She turned to him, laid a hand on his chest, palm flat. Her face wore a look of concentration. He knew she was feeling the beat of his heart.

  Then, with a sigh, she scooted closer and laid her head where her hand had been. “Heaven,” she said on a breath.

  “Paradise,” he answered, stroking her hair.

  She lifted her head and scooted up so they were face-to-face, her hair falling around them, surrounding them in a veil of gold. Her mouth touched his. Yes. Paradise. They kissed, long and deep.

  In time, she reached over him for the box on the nightstand. She rose up and sat cross-legged and peeled back the top flap. He saw two rows of neat pouches waiting inside.

  “Hmm,” she said, pressing a finger to her chin. “Which one should I choose?”

  He admired the twin globes of her breasts, the round-ness of her belly, the strength in her thighs, the hint of wet pink showing boldly beneath the thatch of dark-blond curls. Just looking at her, he was hard. And getting harder. “Pick one. Quick. Before I explode.”

  “Well, now.” She ran her finger along the two rows, chose one, held it up. “Hmm.” She eyed his erection, then frowned at the condom again. “I’m just not sure it will fit.”

  A burst of laughter escaped him. And in spite of his growing need to bury himself inside her, he raised his arms and laced his hands behind his head. “What is it about you?”

  She was still frowning at the condom, but she spared him a glance and asked, all innocence, “Me?”

  “Somehow, you always know the right thing to say to a man.”

  “My stepmother’s a lady,” she said, as if that explained everything. “Gina brought me up right.”

  “Good to know—and Tessa.”

  “Hmm?”

  “That one will do fine.” He held out his hand. “Give it here.”

  She clutched it to those beautiful breasts of hers. “No. Really. Allow me.”

  He gritted his teeth, but he surrendered. “Have it your way.”

  “I intend to.”

  “Make it quick.”

  “Well, all right.” She lifted up on her knees and stretched across him to set the box back on the nightstand. Her breasts swung free, begging for his touch. He reached for one.

  She caught his hand, kissed the back of it, gently pushed it away. “Patience.”

  He grunted. “Losing that. Fast.”

  She sat back on the bed again and ripped open the condom pouch with her white, strong teeth. She peeled back the wrapper.

  He lifted his head off the pillow and glared at her. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

  “Oh, well, yes.” She glanced up, smiling sweetly. “That’s the plan. But in a good way, I promise. A very, very good way.”

  He groaned and let his head fall back, shutting his eyes, determined to wait her out at the same time as he doubted that he could.

  She said, “Wait right there. Keep your eyes closed.”

  He swore, darkly, in reply. But he did wait, with his eyes shut as she’d commanded. He felt the bed shift, heard the soft sound of her feet padding across the floor. A drawer slid open and then shut.

  The mattress shifted again with her return. She touched his cheek with a soft, light cloth.

  “What?” He opened his eyes and saw she held a red scarf.

  “Blindfold?” She dangled it above his head. “What do you think?”

  He could see the possibilities and they were good ones. “Me? Or you?”

  She lowered the silky fabric to his chest and dragged it down the center of him. “You.” She circled his erection with it.

  He asked, raggedly, “Uh. What brought this on?”

  “I don’t know. It was just a thought. But maybe you don’t—”

  He caught her wrist. “Do it.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure of only one thing. I want you. Bad. Now. And however you want me, it’s okay. Do it.”

  “Well, then.” She rolled the scarf and put it over his eyes. “Lift up.” He obeyed and she tied it behind his head, moving the knot to the side, out of his way. “Excellent,” she said, when she gently guided his head back down on the pillow.

  He felt vaguely foolish: naked. Blindfolded. And yet somehow, even more aroused than before. “What did you do with the condom?”

  “Thus, the blindfold,” her voice teased in his ear. “You manly men always want to run the show. You need to give a girl a chance.”

  “Uh, fine. Take charge. I’m all yours.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  “But…you didn’t answer my question.”

  “I have it,” she whispered. “And I’ll use it. I promise. That’s all you need to know.” She bit his earlobe, lightly.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered on a groan, faking obedience for all he was worth.

  He felt her hand, lightly, caressing his chest, sending shivers of need through him. He willed those warm, gentle fingers of hers to move downward.

  They did. She wrapped her hand around him. Tight. He groaned, lifting his hips for more.

  She took him in her mouth, drawing him, by agonizing degrees into the wet, slick cave beyond her lips, working her tongue around him. Sucking, teasing him with the careful scrape of her teeth.

  His body bowed up off the mattress. She guided him down and she went on with that mouth of hers, driving him to the brink, but not quite letting him go over. She took him to the edge, once and then again and yet again. Pushing him further than he ever dreamed he could go, somehow instinctively knowing when to hold back to keep him from reaching the finish.

  He was wild for her by then, tossing his head on the pillow, arms spread, gripping handfuls of sheet, willing himself not to reach for her, not to flip her hard to her back and roll her beneath him.

  In the end, she pulled her mouth away. He groaned at the loss of that sweet, hot, sucking wetness.

  But then he felt the bed move as she rose up. A silky thigh touched him on either side and he knew that she straddled him, up on her knees. He could feel her looking down at him. He wanted to see that so bad, her body above him, her eyes shining, a soft smile on her lips.

  But he didn’t lift the blindfold. He let her lead the way as he’d promised he would. He didn’t steal her mastery from her.

  “Tessa,” he whispered, blind. Yearning. “Tessa. Please…”

  “Yes,” she told him. “Oh, yes. I promise you. Yes. Now…” And he felt her tender touch on him, felt her slide the protection over him, rolling it smoothly, from the crown and lower, all the way to the base.

  He held a groan of pleasured agony tight inside his chest as she encircled him with her fingers again, steadying him into position. And then, at last, she came down onto him, her body opening fully to him, taking him into herself, smooth and d
eep and slow.

  “Oh…” She moaned when he filled her fully. “Oh, yes. Exactly…” Her clever internal muscles tightened, and he couldn’t hold back. He loosed that groan he’d held tight in his chest. “You feel so good,” she told him, bracing her palms on his shoulders, her head bent close so her hair trailed across his chest and her breath warmed his skin. “Never in my life, like this,” she whispered.

  He understood. “The best. So good…” The pleasure was too much. It became impossible for him to remain completely passive. He grabbed her hips between his hands and pushed up harder into all that sweetness, into the heaven that was her body.

  She moaned, taking him deeper still. Oh, he wanted to see that—the sight of them, joined.

  But he left the blindfold in place. He let his other senses carry him: scent, sensation, sound. Touch. And the taste of her kisses. They were enough. For now.

  Her body was liquid, moving over his, like an ocean. Like a universe in which he was only one blazing, burning star. He dared to caress her, his hand moving upward over the sleek shape of her back. When she allowed that, he cupped her breasts. The hard nipples teased his palms.

  “More,” he whispered. “All of you.”

  “Yes,” she answered. “Oh, yes. Everything. Nothing held back.” She moaned as he caught her nipples, tugging.

  And he let his touch wander, down over her ribs, and inward. He touched her most sensitive spot, rubbing, pleasuring her, as she rode him. She cried out at that.

  He surged up into her, wanting more of her. All of her, all around him. She was life and goodness, breath. And hope. Everything he hadn’t understood that he needed, in that past life that was lost to him, the life where, he knew, he’d been a different man than now.

  He felt her rising to her climax. And he was rising too, going liquid. Molten.

  Supernova.

  His whole body trembled. And he couldn’t stop himself. He had to see her, finally, at the end.

  He reached up and ripped off the blindfold. And there she was, above him, the sight of her thrilling him, as glorious and free as he had known her to be. Her head thrown back, her body straining, shining with sweat, she hit the finish with a guttural cry. She moaned the name he’d called himself.