by Karen Foley
Turning onto her stomach, she bent her arms under the pillow and stared at the small clock on the bedside table. Almost midnight. She’d come to bed more than two hours ago, and yet sleep eluded her. She tried closing her eyes, but even through her closed lids she imagined she could see the light slanting in from the hallway.
Pushing the blankets back, Sara sat up and swung her legs to the floor. Maybe if she turned the hallway light off, she could finally fall asleep. Her usual night-wear consisted of a camisole top and her underwear, but in deference to Rafe, she’d also packed flannel lounge pants. They rode low on her hips as she made her way cautiously to her door and peeked out.
Rafe’s bedroom was diagonally across the hall from her own and she could see he’d left his door open just a crack. His room was dark. There was a light switch directly next to Rafe’s door. If she was very quiet, she could hit the switch and be back in bed without him even knowing.
Slowly, she pushed her door open and stepped into the hall, wincing as a floorboard creaked ever so slightly beneath her weight. With careful deliberation, her arms outstretched for balance, she made her way across the hallway and actually had her fingers on the light switch, when Rafe’s door swung open, startling a scream from her.
“Ohmigod,” she gasped, doubling over in relief. “You scared me!”
“What are you doing?” He frowned at her from the open doorway, one arm braced on the door frame as he swept his midnight gaze over her, missing nothing.
Sara straightened and pushed her hair back from her face. “I couldn’t sleep,” she explained in a rush, “and the light was shining into my room, so I thought if I turned it off…”
Her voice trailed away as she realized that Rafe wore nothing but a pair of stretchy boxer briefs. She couldn’t help but stare at him. He had powerful shoulders and a chest that could have been chiseled out of rock. His stomach was ridged with muscle, and the cotton briefs hugged his lean hips and emphasized his strong thighs. Everywhere she looked, his smooth skin was the color of warm honey, and she had to curl her fingers into her palms to keep from touching him.
“Sorry,” he said, seemingly unaware that her mouth had gone dry and that she couldn’t breathe or even form a single coherent thought. “I thought you’d be more comfortable if I kept the hall light on.”
“I…I don’t like the lights on,” she finally managed, her voice coming out as a breathless croak.
His mouth lifted in a lazy smile. “In my experience, not many women do.”
Sara blinked at him. Did he mean…? Oh, Lord, he did. And suddenly, vivid images of herself, stretched naked across his bed with the lights on while he looked his fill, swamped her imagination. Immediately, her earlier hunger returned, uncoiling and stretching until even her fingertips ached for him. As she stood immobile, his gaze drifted downward, stopping briefly at her mouth before descending to her breasts, and then lower to where she knew her navel and hipbones were exposed by the low-riding flannel pants.
Her breathing hitched when she saw the heat that flared in his eyes. He went very still and a muscle worked in his lean jaw, and, even as Sara watched, his body stirred beneath the stretchy boxers.
“Go to bed, Sara,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “It’s late.”
“Almost midnight,” she agreed. Her heart rate accelerated and her breathing quickened, as if she’d run up a flight of stairs. What was it she’d said to herself about stepping out of her comfort zone? Did she dare do it? More importantly, could she live with the consequences, whatever those might be? He might reject her. Then again, he might not. She took a steadying breath. “My mother always said nothing good ever happens after midnight.”
“Your mother would be right.”
Hardly aware of moving, Sara took a step toward him. He stood back and opened the door fractionally wider. It was all the invitation Sara needed. She’d never done anything so bold in her entire life as reaching out and laying her palm against the firm muscles of his chest. Beneath her fingers, she could feel the hard thump of his heart. Sara raised her gaze to his.
“I think she was wrong,” she murmured.
RAFE HAD BEEN A GONER the moment he’d opened his door and seen Sara standing there. She was wearing a stretchy camisole top that emphasized the lush fullness of her breasts and exposed her midriff. More than anything, he wanted to explore that smooth stretch of pale skin, to feel again the silken texture of her stomach and explore her feminine curves.
He’d tried to do the right thing and send her back to her room. But the moment she’d taken a step toward him, he’d lost any ability to resist her. Her coppery hair was tousled around her face and her eyes had turned dark, the pupils dilated so that they nearly consumed her irises. Her mouth was soft and lush and when she touched him, he found himself stepping back and silently inviting her in.
She came willingly into his arms, her hands sliding over his bare shoulders to curl around the nape of his neck and draw his head down to hers. Everywhere she touched him, his skin burned. Rafe wasn’t shy around women, but her directness momentarily stunned him. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his head, but one of the reasons he hadn’t pushed her for more downstairs, on the couch, was because he’d truly believed she didn’t have that much experience with men. He hadn’t wanted to scare her off, so he’d pulled back. But it seemed he’d been wrong about her.
Her mouth touched his and for a fraction of an instant, he stood frozen. He shouldn’t get involved with her; he knew that. She was too tempting. Too irresistible. And that made her dangerous. Especially to a man whose career guaranteed that he wouldn’t be around much.
But then she began to move her soft lips against his, and the sensation was so luxurious that he gave a groan of surrender and brought his arms around her, crushing her against his chest. She made a sound of pleasure in her throat and pressed closer, spearing her fingers through his hair and using her tongue to press past his lips and tentatively touch his. Pure lust jackknifed through Rafe, and without breaking the kiss, he bent and scooped her fully into his arms, kicking the door shut before carrying her over to his bed.
Bending one knee on the mattress, he laid her down and then followed her with the length of his body. She clung to him, her arms wound around his neck as she stretched sensuously beneath him. The street lamps cast muted light through the bedroom windows, bathing her in silver.
“God,” he muttered against her mouth, “you drive me crazy.”
He felt her smile, and took the opportunity to deepen the kiss and explore the damp silk of her mouth. He captured her soft moan, fusing their lips together as she held his head in her hands.
With supreme effort, he dragged his mouth from hers and bit a tender path along her jaw to where her heart pulsed erratically against the base of her throat. She gasped and arched upward, and slid one hand to the small of his back to urge him closer. Bracing his weight on one forearm, he lifted himself away from her enough to grasp the hem of her camisole and drag it upward. She helped him, pulling it over her head until she was gloriously bare beneath him.
“Jesus,” he muttered, cupping his hand around one breast. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen in a long time.”
He bent his head and flicked the dusky nipple with his tongue. Her breathing hitched and her hips shifted restlessly beneath him. Skating his hand along her ribs, he stroked the curve of her hip until he encountered the waistband of her soft flannel pants and slid his fingers beneath the fabric.
“Take these off,” he demanded, his voice low and rough with need.
“Yes,” she breathed, and lifted her hips to help him as he pushed the material down and then kicked them free.
She wore nothing beneath the soft pants, and Rafe sucked in his breath at the sight of her pale skin and the shadow of soft curls at the juncture of her thighs. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, and when he stroked the back of his knuckles across her stomach, her muscles contracted.
“Are you sure about this?” he g
rowled softly.
For a moment, she didn’t respond and he had an instant of panic. Once they slept together, everything would change. He knew enough about himself to know that keeping her safe would become personal. She wasn’t like the usual women that he hooked up with during his brief periods at home. Those women were only looking for physical pleasure; they weren’t interested in a relationship and they definitely weren’t interested in waiting for him while he deployed. But instinct told him that Sara was altogether different, and that scared the hell out of him.
But right now, with her sprawled sweetly beneath him, his own arousal was such that he pushed his misgivings aside. He wanted her. Badly. He’d just have to hope that she didn’t get attached to him. Maybe he was wrong—maybe she only wanted the pleasure he could give her. Maybe she wouldn’t want more than he could give. He’d been wrong about her on other things; why not on this, too?
“I’m sure,” she finally said, and she reached down and cupped him through his briefs.
The sensation of her hand on his rigid cock caused him to groan, and he bent his head once more and caught her mouth with his own. She was incredibly responsive, arching against him and sliding her lips against his so that pleasure lashed through him. She stroked him through the fabric of his boxers, before easing her hand beneath the waistband to grasp him in her fingers. Her touch was like an electric shock, and he jerked reflexively in her hand.
“You’re so hard,” she murmured against his mouth, rubbing one finger across the head of his erection, “and hot.”
Oh, yeah.
He eased himself to his side to give her better access to his body, holding her in the curve of his arm as he used his free hand to explore her more fully. She turned in to him, and he ran his hand along the curve of her waist and over her hip before cupping her buttock, enjoying the satiny softness of her skin. But when he dipped his fingers between her cheeks and teased her intimately from behind, she gave a cry of surprise and jerked against him.
“Shh,” he soothed, stroking her softness. “Let me.”
She made an incoherent sound and buried her face against his neck, pressing damp kisses against his throat, even as her hand continued to explore him. He was stiff and aching and wanted nothing more than to turn her on her back, spread her thighs and thrust himself into her, but he forced himself to slow down. He separated her feminine folds with his fingers, finding her slick with moisture.
“Ah, sweetheart,” he groaned, “you’re already wet.” Slowly, he eased one finger into her, feeling her inner muscles contract around him even as she closed her hand around his cock. She was incredibly tight, and his balls ached with the need for release.
She withdrew her hand from his body and wordlessly pushed his boxers down until he could shimmy them free. Then there was nothing between them.
Rafe hooked a hand behind her knee and drew her leg across his hip, opening her for him as he resumed stroking her, swirling moisture over the small rise of flesh until she made an inarticulate sound of pleasure and shivered in his arms.
“Good?” he murmured against her ear, before tracing the delicate lobe with his tongue.
“Oh, yeah,” she breathed.
He was positioned at the entrance to her body and it would take no more than one small movement to nudge his way inside, but it was suddenly important to him that Sara want him as much as he wanted her. Easing two fingers into her, he thrust them slowly in and out, and then caught her mouth with his own, using his tongue to imitate the movement of his hand. She groaned deeply.
Pushing her onto her back, Rafe came over her and began working his way down the length of her body with his mouth, while continuing to torment her with his fingers. She watched him through hazy eyes, her lower lip caught between her teeth. He licked her breasts, suckling first one nipple and then the other before moving lower, skating his tongue along her smooth stomach while his fingers worked strongly inside her. Her hips lifted into his hand, and when he reached her navel, he dipped his tongue inside before dragging his lips away to kiss the inside of one thigh. Then, as he continued to stroke her, he bent his head and touched his tongue to her clitoris. She gave a strangled cry and her hips bucked, but Rafe had no mercy. He continued to lave her with soft laps, while his fingers caressed her until she cried out and her whole body convulsed. Rafe felt her muscles contracting around his fingers, but he didn’t stop until he’d wrung every last shudder from her and she collapsed weakly against the pillow.
Only then did he come completely over her, using his knee to spread her thighs. He was completely jacked, but he still had enough sense to reach over and jerk open the drawer of his bedside table and pull out an unopened box of condoms. Watching her come apart had been a complete turn-on and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hard for a woman. With hands that weren’t quite steady, he ripped the box open and peeled a condom from a foil packet.
“Okay?” he asked, his voice rough with need.
She gave a shaky laugh and drew him down. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “Am I still alive?”
“Oh, yeah,” he breathed, and covered himself. “Let me show you.”
SARA HAD NEVER EXPERIENCED an orgasm like the one Rafe Delgado had just given her. Heck, she’d never experienced a man like Rafe in her entire life. The reality of being with him eclipsed anything she had ever imagined. She’d thought she knew what it was like to be in a physical relationship, but Rafe had shattered those notions in less than fifteen minutes. What had taken her weeks to do in previous relationships, he’d coaxed from her in less than fifteen minutes.
A part of her thought she should feel some shame at having given him so much so soon, but another part of her wanted to give him even more. She wanted to give him everything, and take as much in return.
Her body still thrummed with sexual satisfaction as Rafe came over her and even in the indistinct light, she could see the tautness of his expression. With his black eyes and slashing brows, and the unyielding thrust of his jaw, there was something almost dangerous about him. He used his legs to nudge her own farther apart, and then there he was, hot and hard against her center, where she still throbbed from her orgasm. She held her breath as he pushed one of her knees wider, and then slowly surged forward, stretching and filling her.
Sara gasped and clung to his shoulders as he settled himself fully inside her. She flexed her inner muscles around his rigid length, and sucked in her breath as he ground closer, rubbing himself against her sensitized flesh.
“Oh, man,” he groaned, “that feels too good.”
Sara agreed. Nothing had ever felt as pleasurable as Rafe’s body moving inside her own. Even now, while she was sated and weak-limbed from her orgasm, she could feel tension coiling tightly where they were joined.
Dim light slanted in through his window, casting his features in partial shadow and emphasizing the hard angles of his cheekbones. He withdrew from her body and then sank back into her in a series of bone-melting thrusts that had her drawing her knees further back and hooking her heels into the small of his back.
He braced his weight on either side of her and bent his head to press a searing kiss across her mouth. Sara responded hungrily, tightening her thighs around his hips as she clutched at his shoulders. Rafe’s breathing grew harsh and his movements became more urgent. He thrust harder into her, until heat gathered where he stroked her and she could feel the beginnings of another orgasm building.
“I want you to come again.” Rafe’s voice was a low, sensual growl. He punctuated his command with another slow, deep thrust that caused Sara to give a breathless cry of startled pleasure.
Rafe’s hips moved faster and he bent his head to her shoulder, one hand slipping beneath her to grasp her buttock and urge her closer. He was everywhere; surrounding her and inside her, his breath mingling with hers and his heart pounding hard against her own. His skin was damp with sweat and his powerful muscles bunched with effort as he pumped into her.
“I
can’t— I have to—” With a hoarse cry, Rafe drove into her one last time, and the raw need in his voice was enough to push Sara over the edge, as well. She arched upward, holding on to him for dear life as she fractured around him in a white-hot explosion of pleasure.
Several long moments passed as she lay beneath him, stunned and shaken. His heavy weight pinned her to the bed and she hugged him closer, savoring the feel of him. He turned his face and pressed his lips against her neck. Sara smiled. So this is what came of being assertive. It seemed her mother had been wrong, after all.
Some of the best things happened after midnight.
9
SARA WOKE TO THE SMELL of freshly brewed coffee and the warmth of sunlight on her face. Opening her eyes, she lay disoriented for a moment, not recognizing her surroundings. Then she remembered.
Rafe, making love to her. Not just once, but twice. They’d fallen asleep after the first time, but she’d woken up just before dawn to the feel of him pressed warmly against her back and his hands slowly exploring her. She still couldn’t believe how quickly he’d aroused her. This time, he’d taken her from behind while she’d lain on her side, stroking her with his fingers as he’d filled her and pushed her over the edge. She had fallen back to sleep with him still inside her.
Sitting up, she realized she was still nude, and she dragged the sheet up to her neck. She needn’t have bothered. She was alone in Rafe’s bedroom. The blankets were rumpled and the pillow next to her still bore the imprint of his head. The door to the adjoining bathroom was open. He must have showered while she slept, because she could smell the soap that she was coming to associate with him.
She hadn’t gotten a good look at his room during the night, and now she glanced around with interest. His tastes were conservative and practical, and there was nothing out of place. No dirty laundry on the floor, even her flannel pajama bottoms and camisole had been laid across the foot of the bed. A stack of neatly folded shirts, still wrapped in protective plastic with a dry-cleaning tag attached, sat on his dresser next to several framed photos.