Love Me Later

by Libby Rice

  His shoulders tensed, but at last a glinting humor pushed the disappointment from his face. “Those aren’t the type of noises I make when I dream of you.” He traced her lips with a questing finger and a suggestive grin. “And while I certainly make provocative statements, they’re different.”

  “When you dream of me?” Warmth settled in her chest.

  “Often.”

  She was torn between getting the truth about the nightmare and demanding delicious play-by-plays of their midnight romps through his mind.

  She curbed an answering smile. “Do tell.” He could decide which path to travel, memories or making-out.

  His smile broadened. She’d never seen a look of genuine joy cross his harsh features. His forehead softened and his eyes sparkled. He appeared… approachable. More petals and fewer thorns.

  Good choice. She gave herself a mental shake. Rikers later. Sexy reveries now.

  “To start,” he began, “I never yell. Though when I’m touching you, I usually can’t hold back groans as I say things like ‘smooth’ and ‘taste.’ Sometimes I whisper in your ear, but only the words you respond to. You like it when I say ‘luscious’ and ‘nipple.’ In my dreams, I love your nipples. I lick them, bite them, and you reward me with little gasps.”

  His words pooled between her thighs. She allowed her eyes to drift closed as he told her of fantasies she’d thought were hers alone.

  “When I can tear myself away from your round, perfect breasts, I roam your body looking for other delights. Sometimes I suck your fingers. Other times your earlobes. Because they’re my dreams, I always get to kiss you here.” His hand briefly feathered over the material covering her core. “And when I do, I tell you how good you taste. Like honey. Like life.”

  She bit her lip, not trusting the legs his words had turned to mush. “Ethan, could you—”

  He leaned in until his mouth rested against her throat, his lips barely grazing her skin as he spoke. “Could I what? Tell you that after I worship your body with my hands and mouth, you writhe in my arms, begging for more, and that I always give it to you? Tell you that in my dreams, I slide inside you gently, again and again, while you plead for harder strokes in a hoarse voice? Should I tell you those things, Scarlet, or do them?”

  She stayed in the circle of his arms, her head falling back on her shoulders. She could do this. She could ask for what she wanted like a woman in charge of her own destiny.

  “Do them,” she croaked. “Please.”

  Chapter 15

  Ethan melted at her shy demand. But when he jerked in a flare of need, the bandage at her side brushed against his ribcage, reminding him of how he’d ended up in her bed in the first place.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked, worried that any kind of intimacy would bring pain.

  “No, Ethan, no,” she answered, that sweet little curvy body of hers trembling against him.

  Her clear desire to receive what he offered had him lifting her from the floor in seconds. Standing, he slipped his arms around her in a careful bear hug. Then he whirled around and settled her on the still-warm sheets.

  Climbing on the bed to straddle her slim hips, he eased over her until his chest barely brushed the satin that still stretched over her breasts. Curling his fingers under, he tugged her bra low to reveal both of her peaked nipples to the light of day.

  Bathed in the morning sun, he could see all he’d missed in the darkness of the plane. Her nipples were the stuff of dreams, a dusky pink, blending perfectly into her milky complexion. “Pretty,” he breathed, bending his head and swirling his tongue in small circles around one, and then the other. As her skin heated, he tuned in to the scent that was uniquely Scarlet. She smelled of soap and flowers, and now, a spiced arousal that drummed in his brain, demanding his complete attention.

  Her hands roved from his back to his hips, skating over his bunched shoulders and down his torso, touching, learning, driving him crazy. When she reached to unfasten his jeans, he stilled those busy hands with one with his own. “Not yet, sweetheart,” he said with an easy smile. Not until I’ve had my fill.

  Thwarted, she traced the length of his erection through his jeans, and he got a glimpse of how difficult it would to be to hold anything back. The taut denim barely shielded the base of his shaft, and when she squeezed gently, he strove not to buck violently into her grip. “You’re killing me.”

  “I can’t stop,” she whispered, and with those three short words, his reservations died. They were both desperate for this. He would let them have it.

  Ethan settled over her in a wave, stroking her face as he captured her lips in an insatiable kiss. Licking at the seam, he stroked inside, tasting the sweetness he’d known awaited him. Pulling back momentarily, he brought her free hand to his mouth, swirling his tongue in lazy circles over her fingers before returning them to the nipple he’d left behind. At her quick inhale, he whispered, “Touch yourself for me, Scarlet.” God, he wanted to see that. Then he could re-imagine it always.

  When she did, when she squeezed her nipple and sucked at her lower lip, his eyes riveted on the pleasure she gave herself. He knew then that, though he should never have taunted her with his callous prediction, he’d been right—Scarlet was worth every last agonizing second of the wait.

  ******

  Scarlet toyed with her breast, watching the desperation rise in Ethan’s expression as a sense of feminine power stole through her. Closing her eyes and arching her spine to enjoy the erotic brush of her own fingertips, she felt him kiss along her proffered ribcage, nibbling around her bandage before licking his way lower to her navel. Ethan’s soft, wet tongue lapped at the slight indention before wandering even lower to the satin of the bikini boy briefs she’d donned for the trip home.

  Expecting him to pull the whimsical panties from her hips, she jolted when he delivered a long lick through the thin material. “God, I’ve wanted to taste you, Scarlet.” When he looked up and traced his tongue over his lips in a visibly moist caress, she stifled a whimper, feeling a warm rush at her center.

  “You’re going to be mouthwatering,” he rasped. “I know this.”

  He bent and nuzzled the satin with his lips and tongue, his hot breath heating the damp material, driving her mad. “Do it, please,” she panted, rippling beneath his ministrations, inviting him to take more.

  “Do what?” he asked in mock innocence, his thumb stroking her clitoris through the satin while he delivered slow, saturating laps below.

  “Really kiss me, Ethan. Taste me,” she breathed. Was that her? Pleading with this man for more?

  His thumb dipped below the fabric, dragging once, then twice through her wetness. He sat back slightly, and she watched in mute fascination as he sucked his own finger. A leisurely pull. His enjoyment at the evidence of her need was palpable, the shared wanting hurling her anticipation to new heights.

  The panties were gone in an instant. And everything stopped. His eyes trained on the two scars that marred her lower abdomen. Squeezing her eyes shut, she berated herself for not showing him earlier, for allowing him to discover them in the heat of the moment. Neither terrible nor beautiful, the marks were mostly jarring, adept at making men wonder what she’d undergone and whether she carried too much emotional baggage for fooling around.

  Unfortunately, she knew Ethan possessed the answers to both questions. She’d been stabbed, and she staggered beneath the weight of more baggage than any sane man would take on.

  She reached to cover them, hoping to roll away without a scene. He stilled her hand. With an encouraging squeeze, he pressed a soft kiss to each scar like he had her bandage the night before. “So strong,” he croaked.

  His acceptance lent an ease to her obsession with the long-hidden imperfections and even the failings they’d shaped. He’d seen the scars—no, more like adored them—and then let them go. Straining to see him crouched between her thighs, she saw he waited, his jet gaze searching hers for permission. With a flick of her wrist, she waved him on.


  When he licked into her heat for the first time, she shuddered, wondering if pleasure could kill. Or maim at the very least.

  An answering growl reverberated against her skin. “God,” he said shakily, delivering quick brushes of his tongue between words. “You’re fucking delicious.”

  Exploring her deeply, thoroughly, his fingers joined in. As his clever tongue snaked over her clit, making her shiver and writhe beneath his mouth, he slid two deep inside, adding a gliding friction that, within a few lush surges, threatened to send her over the edge.

  “Ethan.” She gasped in surprise when her body clamped down. “Don’t stop. Keep. Going.”

  “I’ve got you.” He worked her urgently, ushering her through the clenching orgasm, initially maintaining a pounding rhythm before tapering off to a languid pulse that drew out the pleasure until she lay trembling and dazed, bathed in a sheen of sweat.

  Though the storm had passed, Scarlet couldn’t contain the low keening that flowed from the back of her throat. Like the continuing lashes of Ethan’s tongue, the sounds wouldn’t stop. They came automatically with each exhale, each lick, finally drawing him upward. Crawling over splayed limbs, the muscles of his torso rippled when he reached for her, capturing her mouth in a violent takeover. Caught in the onslaught of raw lust, she could taste the mint that lingered on his tongue, mingling with her own arousal. It was the hottest moment of her life.

  He devoured her with lips and teeth and tongue, and lifting her in a gentle series of movements, he settled her on top of him. His body was huge beneath her, the granite slab of his chest and abs like contoured concrete beneath her slight suppleness.

  Breaking from the kiss, Scarlet stared down at him. “Thank you,” she said simply before looking away, embarrassed to be expressing gratitude for that kind of gift.

  Ethan tapped her chin tenderly, returning her gaze to his. Only fire and understanding burned in those black eyes. No judgment. “You can’t possibly imagine how much the pleasure was mine.”

  She reached down, unfastening the jeans beneath her before delving inside to feel his steely softness. “Mmm,” she whispered, tugging the jeans away. “You go commando all the time?”

  His eyes sparked. “I can…”

  She stroked along his shaft lightly, purposefully, just enough to make him want it harder, before reaching to cup the tightness of his testicles. “I may have to insist.”

  Again, she squeezed to the point of making him groan and roll upward, thrusting into her grip.

  After two more slow pumps, he stilled her hands. “I need inside, Scarlet.” His head rebounded to the pillow and his whole body roiled beneath her. She swore she heard him mumble something along the lines of so deep, never leave.

  “Condom?” She said it hesitantly, not wanting him to think she didn’t trust him, but also not wanting to get into why a condom was imperative. “I need—”

  “Shh. Of course, sweetheart. Right here.” There was that look of understanding again, but this time it went deeper, told her he knew there was more to her request than a healthy respect for using protection. He reached for the pocket of his jeans, extracting his wallet and from it, two shiny foil packets. Looking up at her, he purred, his voice a low buzz from the back of his throat, “For unexpected miracles…”

  Guessing at the pleasure only Ethan could provide with those two condoms, Scarlet snatched one away, relishing the rigidity in his hard body as she jerked his jeans to his ankles and rolled the latex over his straining cock.

  When she sat back, he lifted her again and settled her over him. “You do it,” he hissed. “You control the depth. The speed.” His expression pierced her, said he didn’t trust himself to be in control, not yet. She was about to look away from her glimpse into his mind, at the vulnerability she’d once refused to believe he could feel, when he reached out and touched her cheek.

  The gesture spoke louder than any words. Finally getting what he’d claimed to want all along, he slowed the action, touching her in kindness rather than desire, even though she could plainly see the arousal thrumming through his body.

  With her face cradled in his hand, she positioned him at her center and began a slow slide onto his erection. She whimpered as he speared deep. Breathing hard, she opened her eyes and looked at him. Sweat beaded on his lip and gleamed on his chest. His hands went to her hips, and he gripped her hard for an upward surge, biting out, “So tight. God, Scarlet, so fucking good.”

  He’d ordered her to take control, but she gave herself over to him. Holding her with seeming ease, he lifted her body almost completely off his penis before simultaneously wrenching her down and thrusting into her. The motion brought him so deep that with each thrust, her clit brushed against his pubic bone, sending pinwheels of sensation up her spine.

  All too soon, her thrumming nerves ascended to a peak, and as she neared the pinnacle, the backs of his fingers delved into her soft pubic hair, where they rasped over her slick clit, sending her careening.

  “Please, Ethan.” Her plea was soft despite the hard sex. As soon as the words escaped, the walls of her channel began to compress around him, physically demanding more of the ride through her climax.

  “Fuck,” he gritted, his heavy thrusts going wild. “I can feel you, Scarlet. Feel your body squeezing me. Sucking at me.”

  “Yes.” As the single word escaped, he stilled and went completely rigid, crushing her to him.

  She flattened herself against his chest, waiting for the world to right itself, her body flowing up and down in time with his lurching breaths. After hazy moments, she lifted her head and met his bewildered stare.

  “Holy shit.”

  They said it in unison.

  Filled with an overwhelming sense of drowsiness, she dozed with him curled around her back. When she awoke, stirring beneath the cool sheets and rousing from a deep, rejuvenating sleep, she realized Ethan was positioned behind her, barely wedged inside the soft, sensitive tissues at her opening. With her body hot and swollen and infinitely ready, the one or two inches he’d given her weren’t nearly enough.

  His hands roamed, massaging her breasts, her stomach, skimming over the bandage at her side. He pulled her leg further up and over his hip, opening her, but refusing to move, forcing her to wiggle as though she were skewered on a hook. She clamped her inner muscles, trying to physically drag him deeper, but he merely chuckled at her body’s clutch.

  “Ethan?” she said in a dreamy murmur, turning her head to lick at his lips.

  “Yeah?”

  “Deeper?”

  Quietly he said, “Maybe.” His tongue traced the shell of her ear, and she shivered, causing her body to pulse softly around the hardness she needed to coax further inside.

  Still nothing.

  After a few additional minutes of torture, he exhaled and began a slow forward surge, so controlled she closed her eyes and prayed for mercy. Finally fully seated, he withdrew with equal care, and then returned again, and again.

  In the midst of the gentle fucking, her noises came back. The ones she couldn’t stop or control. She apparently moaned in the third person.

  Ethan’s low voice soothed her worries. “I love the sweet sounds you make, Scarlet. I love that you can’t help yourself, even though”—he finally thrust, deep and rough, causing her to cry out in sudden delight—“you want to so badly.”

  It was too much. She tipped into a long, undulating climax that dragged them both under.

  Chapter 16

  Ethan accepted a tray from room service and turned to see Scarlet stir from her long, post-coital slumber. She perked up like an actress in a Folgers commercial at the scent of their fresh-brewed coffee.

  Sex and sleep had worked wonders. Already she looked capable of kicking the shadows beneath those expressive eyes. More of the two S’s for her.

  Setting the tray down, he took in her rumpled, sleepy perfection, thinking her attire should forever be limited to skin. And those flawless diamonds flashing from he
r ears. Maybe a pair of the strappy heels she owned in abundance. Thigh highs if he was feeling generous. He’d thought the same thing years ago. But their time had run out before his fantasy could become reality. He’d renewed it this week tenfold, but seeing her now trumped anything he could have imagined.

  He wasn’t in a hurry to breakup their cozy morning of, but reality would intrude eventually. Contemplating how to best broach their issues, he pulled back the sheet and traced a hand over Scarlet’s rump, delivering a playful slap to spur her to flip over. When she complied on a high squeal, he held out a mug and let his gaze stray to the scars he’d discovered earlier. Two jagged marks texturized the creamy skin above her light, downy pubic hair. On first sight, he’d nearly come undone, but he’d sucked it up to keep Scarlet’s mind far away from that awful night during the first time they’d made love.

  He sank to the bed and reached out, tracing the scars one by one. When he looked up, he saw his own sadness mirrored in Scarlet’s gaze, but not fear or anger. She stared at his hands, her expression initially grave, while he explored the most vulnerable part of her. Then her smile dawned in a slow reveal that brought a radiant happiness to her face. And he understood. She regretted their past, but she shared his immense relief that perhaps that past would no longer be a wall between them.

  “Talk to me, sweetheart.” A tender invitation.

  Scarlet froze, then turned her face toward the window. The steaming cup slipped from her fingers, whether by emotion or inattention, he couldn’t say. Not mentioning the spill, he made a grab for her mug before more of the hot liquid soaked into the bedding and dripped onto the floor.

  “Will it help?” she asked, her voice choked, disbelieving. He knew she saw little point in rehashing the wounds that had caused such strife.

  She didn’t have to explain her trepidation. Beginning with the day she’d offered that check in apology and ending with the night he’d nearly thrown her bodily from the room they now inhabited, he’d been an utter bastard. A bevy of arrogant assumptions had paved his road of sanctimonious coldness and mockery. He’d given her every right to be wary, even after the incredible night and morning they’d shared.