by Libby Rice
Lissa would be warm. He wanted her free and giving and, as he knew she could be, greedy.
“You started a fire,” she observed, cozying toward the warmth and reaching delicate hands to dying embers. He waited for her to elaborate, but when she swiveled her head to look at him, an arched brow said it all. She suspected he hadn’t come looking for canvas and color. Her gaze flicked to her dresser and back, looking sly. Next time he dropped by uninvited, he’d see what waited in those drawers.
Cole chuckled, feeling true mirth for the first time in what felt like forever. “You don’t approve?”
“I do… of both your motives and your methods.”
The last word faded away when he approached from behind and pressed his lips to her nape. His erection had grown painful, and he cursed the cock that was three steps ahead of the action and damn unwilling to wait up now that he’d taken the plunge. “Speaking of methods—”
“Cole?” she interrupted, sounding lazy, and yet determined.
He licked the spot he’d kissed. Blew. “Shhh.” They could talk later.
“Cole?”
The vulnerability she injected into his name said the question couldn’t wait. He knew that tone. They’d talk now or fuck never. Either option might kill him.
He caved. “Hmm?”
“Can you handle this?”
I hope so. “Not sure I have a choice.” His body had taken the decision out of his hands.
“Once we start this—if we start this—we still have to make a go at the project.”
He nipped her bare earlobe. “You smell like gingerbread.”
A nod brought her head back to rest on his shoulder. “Holiday scents came out at Halloween, and I’m really talented with online shopping.”
For a rich girl, she minimized when it came to jewelry. Her ears and neck and fingers were bare in blatant invitation—kiss me, touch me, suck me. But the body products? Jesus Christ. The most tantalizing woman in the world smelled like cookies.
She whimpered when he mouthed her throat. “Can we have both?” she asked.
Cole knew what she meant—could they successfully be colleagues with benefits?—and chose his words carefully. He wasn’t offering a white dress or a picket fence. But with that question, neither was she. “We’ll compartmentalize.” Granted, the last two years hadn’t been a great example of his ability to separate. Work had been tied to tidal waves of emotional bombardment, far from his specialty. This could be simple. Elemental. Necessary.
He didn’t hurry when he wrapped both arms around her middle, waiting patiently for her answer, but also not letting her escape. Concern barely overrode his desire. It shouldn’t have. There were other women.
Not that you want. The others didn’t tell him to fuck off when he needed a set down. The others didn’t have silken chestnut hair, not quite brown, not quite red. The others didn’t smell like dessert.
She nodded after way too long. “I trust you.”
Anything but that. His arms spasmed, giving Lissa an involuntary squeeze. Not trust. She could hand over lust and anger, heap on the frustration, but she shouldn’t put her wellbeing in his hands. No one should. “Trust,” he repeated, his rasp a scrape along his protesting conscience. “Trust me to what?”
Her head rolled on his shoulder, and he felt her smile into his neck. “To make me feel good.”
Relief came in a rush. She talked of tonight, not tomorrow morning. Women—especially this one—were never so simple, which meant she lied to herself, if not to him. But they could pretend.
Make her feel good? The woman had no idea.
******
Lissa kept her lips against Cole’s throat. The unexpectedness of each run-in with the man was outdone only by the next, and the next. Why should tonight be any different?
He needed a sign around his neck: Safety not assured.
She needed one too: To hell with safety.
A gasp caught in her throat when he lifted her from behind. With a heavy flick, he sent her tumbling onto the mattress, sprawled out like a less-than-virginal sacrifice. He followed on all fours, then straddled her hips.
Leaning forward, he paused at the junction of neck and collarbone. Her best guess said he was… breathing her in.
“Your scent,” he whispered, burrowing in further, “is so sweet. Like candy and chocolate, with breasts. You do it on purpose.”
“No”—she gulped when his fingers began to draw wide circles around her nipples—“I never—I—maybe.” Not to attract, certainly, but she loved the way a delicate layering of scent stayed with her through the day, revealing itself as the hours passed. Chocolate and vanilla comforted more than French musk. Instead of pretentious armor, they were lingering friends.
With his fingers still circling ever inward, Cole licked up the side of her neck. “Last week wasn’t enough. I need to taste more.”
Proving it, he ran his tongue back down, across her collarbone, and up the other side to her ear. He bit, rolling the sensitive lobe between his teeth. “Sample every last inch.”
“Start here.” She pressed his face between her hands and met his mouth with hers, ready to devour all he was willing to give. He talked of her taste, but it was Cole who turned out to be irresistible. Her lips parted, and he slipped inside, then again. Soon he licked at her in a rocking, carnal slide that mimicked their driving hips.
Lissa ached. She hurt where he touched her and more where he didn’t. Wonder shivered through her limbs. The men from her past had been just that—adults of the male variety. Not lovers. They’d never made her feel like stopping would bring unimaginable pain. Instead, they’d been caricatures of the sitcom boyfriend—“Innnn.” Sweat. “Good?” Pant. “Wow, babe, great sex.” Smoke. “So when do I meet your dad?”
Cole wasn’t even in and already she’d surpassed wow.
All of a sudden, he sat straight, looking pained. At least I’m not alone. Like her ski mask in the basement, he began to roll her thermal upward, his mouth trailing behind. Patient at first until he rumbled, “Fuck this,” and jerked the shirt over her head. Ten seconds later, he’d dragged her jeans from her hips, pulled them free, and shucked his own clothes.
Then—molten steel—he stretched his body over hers. She hadn’t bothered with a bra to peruse the basement, so only a wispy black thong kept her from his hard, searching length.
She arched every possible inch into him, loving the feel of his chest as it abraded her nipples. This first time, she expected madness, a frenetic pace to match the fever raging beneath her skin. But he tempered her movement, winding his arms over hers and stretching their hands over her head. Rumbled curses sounded in her ear. Then a promise. “Need to slow down. Savor.”
With a firm press, he tethered her hands to the mattress. “Be still.” Then he rose up, high enough for her to track those blue eyes as they roamed over every peak and valley, like he’d waited too long and was literally starved for her.
She quivered. Forget savor, she needed him to touch fast and hard. Now.
Cole finally dusted his knuckles beneath the curves of breasts, over her belly, leisurely exploring her secrets. He shifted his hips back to sit lower on her thighs, revealing the scrap of lace that barely covered the junction in between.
The slow discovery continued, here and there and just short of maddening, until desperate gasps sliced from her lips.
“Easy, easy.” He was whispering now, his fingers petting through the drenched cloth.
Heat sank through to her skin, and Lissa’s hands jerked. Almost with a will of their own, her arms raised, and she sank her fingers into his silky hair, pulling him down. She didn’t care how or where… “Cole”—her touch drifted down his bunched torso to graze the smooth head of his cock—“I need you.”
He shook his head. “Not yet.” He moved aside and tore her panties down her legs, muscles tense, body rigid. Once steeped in awe, his gaze now burned with resolve. Cole had a plan.
Grasping her knees, he guid
ed her thighs apart. Teasing fingers instantly stroked through her lush wetness. “Hard to be gentle,” he gritted, turning that flare of intent on her sex.
Moaning, Lissa bucked into his hand. “Be gentle later.”
Pleasure roiling, building.
His mouth found her nipple, dousing the sensitive peak in liquid fire at the same time he worked a finger inside her. Then another, all while the heel of his palm pulsed against her clitoris.
Unbidden, blinding pleasure had her clutching his head to her breast. So giving. He broke away and stared at her face, still thrusting deep in an unhurried stir, petting her on the inside. Only the lip he chewed between his teeth and the wild intensity in his eyes betrayed the effort he put into those languid movements that were softly, gently winding her tight.
“Come,” he instructed with a harder drive that made her whimper, “and I’ll fuck you.”
The sharp promise ramped her up, higher… wetter… totally open. And in the next second, totally free.
******
A harsh groan tore from Cole’s chest when her tight passage cinched around his fingers. Her flesh was warm and silken in his clasp, telling him she’d be heaven around his cock. All of his self-control poured into each second he spent on the wrong side of her hot little sheath.
But he was determined to make her need this. He hadn’t known whether Lissa would want to be with him. Until the last second, when she’d declared her trust that he could make her feel good, he’d wondered whether she might pull away.
Not today. And he planned to make his Lissa crave him through a zillion tomorrows.
At least sexually.
Once the spasms died away, he slipped free and knelt between her thighs. Her slick heat beckoned, and for a second, all he could do was look. From the crown of her glossy head to her pink, glistening core, this woman had him in a vice. The more she opened for him, the harder the bars clamped down.
Reaching out, he toyed with the subtle indention between her hip bones. “Soft and sweet,” he murmured. Lissa was slim in the way of a satin ribbon. Some women took it too far, until they achieved the cut physique of an athlete. Or a man. He imagined taking that to bed would be like sleeping with a bag of gristle, whereas Lissa flowed over him with the grace of running water.
She surged off the bed in an impatient rustle, her color deepening. “You promised,” she breathed, practically sobbing.
Couldn’t have that. “I did, didn’t I?” Quick like, he slid off the bed and grabbed his wallet, then the condom he’d stashed inside at the Seven-Eleven on the way home from the hospital. Another push he’d thank his brother for. Somewhat sheepishly, he looked over at Lissa with a shrug, acknowledging his preparedness. She’d already called him presumptuous, and this proved the hell out of that theory. “As if we could have gone any other way.”
She didn’t argue. Like before, her gaze shot dark sparks in the direction the dresser.
Cole’s attention followed her path. “I’m going to find out what’s so intriguing about that drawer.”
“Perhaps you weren’t the only one with plans.”
Niiice. Cryptic and obvious at the same time, the comment assuaged some of the guilt he felt at showing up ready for sex. Rushing to settle between her legs, he discovered he was shaking so badly he could hardly hold the foil wrapper. “You do it,” he said, handing over the condom. “You… just… do this.” For me. For us.
Lissa grabbed the shiny package and ripped through the perforated line at the top. She extracted a condom that was thin and lubricated. Crazy, but he didn’t care that he had to wear the barrier if it meant she’d be outfitting him.
Her hands were soft and sure as they flitted over his sex, first exploring the heavy sac below and then moving up the length of his shaft. Hurry, please, hurry—
She squeezed the head. Hard. Then her thumb started slow circles through the wetness he hadn’t been able to hold back. With each pass, his erection kicked against her fingers.
Tingling pressure whirled at the base of his cock, and he jacked his hips in her grip. Don’t be too demanding. Nice and easy and gentlemanly. But fuck that—it had been years. Now he was skin to skin with a dream, and she was fisting the end of his dick like it was a balloon and she couldn’t let the air out. The condom went on now or he—
Lubed latex hit the tip and rolled down. He exhaled, the groan escaping his lips as though it were flying shrapnel. Who would have guessed a rubber could be a relief?
Palming his cock, he ran the blunt head over her glistening folds. With each pass, she let out a little mewl and surged toward him when he reached the most vulnerable spot. He could smell her arousal.
Finally, he wedged the tip of his penis inside. She clamped down.
“Oh, Jesus. Fuck. Please, Lissa, let up on me. That’s it, baby, let me in.”
The passage he attempted to breach had been tight on his fingers. It was a goddamn tourniquet on his cock, if tourniquets were hot and wet and poised to rip off his favorite limb.
At his plea, he felt her channel ease off, just enough for him to push forward a fraction without losing his sanity. Lissa’s breath hitched, and her breasts jerked with each catch, but she never looked away from his face. “Too close?” she asked. “Too tight?”
“Never.” Cole pivoted his torso forward. With an elbow planted on either side of her head, he settled his lips against her neck, licking at a pulsing blue vein while he slowly, incrementally inched himself deep. “Easy now. Relax, baby. Open up. Ah, yeah, sink right into the bed.”
More licking. She was delicious. Better than dessert. Better than eating real food ever again.
He pulled out, not all the way, but almost, then surged forward. The two connections—at her neck and below—weren’t enough. He wanted to rub his whole body over her like water creeping up a beach, no grain of sand left unexplored. Pressing close, he rocked slowly inside her, tip to base, feeling his own pelvis grow wet and slippery. He tightened, pleasure climbing up his shaft. Unable to hold back, he thrust hard on a guttural moan. When she responded with a heavy gasp of her own, he ratcheted up the force. Again and again, he drove into her with relentless purpose, sliding against her swollen clitoris on every stroke.
The sudden constriction of her flesh broke over him, along with a cry that relayed pure, shining ecstasy. Hearing the joy of it, Cole wanted her pleasure to last forever. Rising on his arms high enough to glance between their bodies, he watched her take him in, watched his cock piston through the pulses that called forth a responsive throb of his own.
No chance now. Lifting his head, he saw the pleasure work across Lissa’s flushed face.
And he joined her, coming in a flood of warmth that made his vision go fuzzy.
Buried in Lissa’s welcoming body, a frenzy bubbling in his veins, he felt only the two of them. The demons he usually carried like a mantle were far at bay, finally quiet enough for him to notice their absence.
That’s when he panicked.
Chapter 17
Kent split his eyelids and faced the dark, the tang of ammonia tingling in his nostrils. A spear of moonlight broke through a gap between the blinds to bathe the sterile room in enough light to make out vague shapes. He could see metal railings encasing his bed. Snores billowed from a sturdy couch beneath the window.
One of his nephews had stayed on for the night.
He vaguely remembered his first round of consciousness, what must have been hours before. Both Cole and Trevor had been standing by, self-designated ventricular sentinels. They’d talked, probably. He couldn’t recall much beyond the slightly chiding tone of the conversation.
Initially he’d been so disoriented life had seemed an unrecognizable blur. Already this had changed. He was Kent Rathlen, a family patriarch who couldn’t keel over because his dead brother’s clod-headed sons needed him.
For very different reasons. One needed to blow through a past that begged to be overcome. The other needed to burn through a present that begged to be
left in the past. At least Kent thought that was the case.
Part of Cole’s story came easy. Sporadic chunks of family history streamed by like the replay of a familiar movie. Kent remembered he’d literally been feeding the guy, making sure his nephew took care of himself in the wake of a tragedy. But there was more, and Kent struggled to grasp details through a haze of drugs on top of a set of barriers his mind had erected all on its own. “Stop,” they silently scolded. “Turn back.”
Kent might not be able to recite what he’d eaten for breakfast, but he still knew himself to be more stubborn than a tree-climbing goat. There’d be no shying away from the memories trying to break through.
Heart attacks were hard work. Throat parched, Kent reached for a remote sitting on his rolling bedside table. He punched the green button and held, hoping the thing would move his bed upright so he could reach the water sitting on the far side of the same tray.
Of course the TV blared on.
A massive slumbering form scrambled upright, kicking the end of the couch with a wayward size thirteen. Guess that told him which brother had stayed over.
Trevor grumbled, “What the hell—”
“Sorry!” Kent made his best contrite face, though he doubted Trevor would recognize the masterpiece in the dark. “Maybe you could nudge me that glass.” He pointed at the water with his pinky.
“Somebody’s feeling better.” Trevor rolled off the sofa and had the water in Kent’s hands pronto. Then the light flicked on. “You need a straw? Some ice?”
Kent merely shook his head, marveling at the differences between the two people he loved most in the world. Trevor had been instantly solicitous. Cole would have shoved the water at him and demanded he drink it all immediately because dehydration would not be tolerated. Then he would have refilled the glass and watched Kent obediently drink the liquid down again. Forget niceties like straws and ice. Cole favored utility.
“You want food?” Trevor asked. Cole would have hunted down a bowl of high-fiber cereal for force feeding.