Longest Night

by Kara Braden

  He started now, using one hand to keep her hips steady while he tasted her. He worked a second finger into her body, conscious that she was still tense and tight, and Ian made every effort to help her relax. He teased at her clit with gentle licks and then pressed his tongue hard against her body, reading Cecily’s breath and movements to decipher what she liked and what she wanted and what was too much.

  It was almost unfair, really. Sex was less about specific technique and more about reading one’s partner, and above all else, Ian indulged solely because he lived to uncover every hidden desire. Physical gratification was a poor second to exposing someone’s secrets.

  When Cecily was gasping for breath, hips twitching with her need for more, Ian backed off. He smiled when she cursed aloud.

  “Don’t move,” he reminded her and fought his way out from under the blankets. Cecily seemed barely able to lift her head and give Ian a wide-eyed stare, too lost in her own pleasure to even form words.

  All but purring with satisfaction, Ian rolled over onto his back and made a point of arranging the pillows comfortably under his head. He picked up one of the condoms and said, “Come here.”

  Cecily unfolded from her collapsed crouch and moved to lie against Ian. She kissed without hesitation, though he could still taste her body on his own lips, and another thrill passed through him at her honest, raw sensuality. Without breaking the kiss, she allowed him to guide her over his hips.

  He rolled his hips up, permitting himself a single, lavish brush of his shaft against her slick heat. She groaned into the kiss, and it took all of Ian’s self-control to break the electric contact.

  “Lift up,” he told her, looking up into her eyes. They were wide and dark, and he couldn’t resist teasingly brushing his fingers over her clit again, making her moan.

  “Ian,” she complained, nearly begging.

  He lifted his head and kissed her, the touch equally gentle and fleeting. “Tell me what you want.”

  Cecily’s hesitation lasted a moment too long. “More,” she said, evasively dropping her gaze. She tried to prevent further questions with a kiss.

  Ian lifted his free hand to Cecily’s hair, pulling sharply enough to break the kiss. She gasped, lips parted, and her eyes fell closed.

  The tentative conclusions building in Ian’s mind all coalesced into clarity. He was learning what she liked. He kept hold of Cecily’s hair and pushed two fingers into her body, fast enough to hint at roughness and intensity and control, without actually hurting her.

  Cecily cursed and bucked her hips down, body pressing hard against Ian’s hand. Her eyes opened, meeting his gaze, and she pulled against the hand in her hair so she could kiss him, hard and demanding.

  Every cell in Ian’s body was screaming for him to forget self-control. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in Cecily and stay there until they both forgot how to think, but she wasn’t ready for that. Instead, he twisted the fingers in her hair until the kiss broke enough for him to insist, “I said, tell me what you want.”

  Cecily took a single breath. “You,” she finally said breathlessly. “Inside me.”

  Staring up at her, Ian hid a smile as he realized Cecily, for all her swearing, was actually shy. Here was a boundary he could push easily.

  He drew his fingers out enough to make her hiss with pleasure, and then pushed slowly back into her, curling his fingers to brush against the spot that made her gasp. Then, deliberately, he stilled his hand and said, “I am inside you.”

  “Ian.” It was almost a plea.

  In response, he pulled his hand back, pressing a thumb against her clit as he moved. “Be specific, Cecily,” he whispered remorselessly as he pushed the tips of his fingers back into her heat once more.

  The sound she made in response was closer to a whimper than a moan. “Fuck,” she whispered.

  “Not specific enough,” Ian teased, flexing his wrist to move his fingers deeper, just up to the second knuckle. Cecily’s body was tight and hot but she was ready, and that knowledge tested his ability to hold himself back.

  “Bastard. Fuck me,” she snapped, fingers digging into the sheets on either side of the pillows.

  Satisfied for now, Ian let go of Cecily’s hair and pushed his fingers a bit deeper. “Get the condom. Put it on me.”

  “Lazy bastard,” she muttered and twisted to the side, lifting her hips.

  Ian caught her body with his free hand, taking the risk of holding her gently in place, and distracted her with another twist of the fingers still buried inside her. “Without moving away,” he ordered. “I’m not finished.” To punctuate his words, he pressed gently against her clit once more.

  Quietly groaning, Cecily fumbled the condom she’d picked up. It took her two tries to pick it back up off the bed. She braced up on her left hand and used her teeth to rip open the packet. Ian allowed himself a small smile as he deliberately interrupted her attempts to extract the condom. He twisted his fingers, sliding them in and out of her body, as she fumbled to get the condom properly lined up and rolled over his cock. By the time it was in place, Cecily was nearly trembling.

  She let his hands guide her hips into place, and he gritted his teeth against the tight, hot pleasure of her body. “Slowly, Cecily,” he said tensely. “I want to feel you.”

  Trembling, she exhaled in brusque frustration and leaned back down, hands braced on Ian’s shoulders for balance. She eased down onto his length, thighs shaking with the effort to go slowly, until she was seated on his hips, leaving them both panting and breathless. His hand found her clit, and he rubbed teasingly, aware that this time she hadn’t come.

  Her hips bucked at the touch, and she started to move. He let her take control and concentrated instead on her pleasure rather than the tight heat of her body that threatened to push him too far, too fast. He wanted—needed—her to come first.

  “Is this…?” she asked as she leaned forward a bit more, changing the angle. Obligingly, Ian tensed, shifting his cock to make her gasp as she pushed back down. “God. Is this okay?” she gasped out.

  “It’s perfect. Whatever you like,” he said, trying to match the movement of his fingers to her body’s rhythm. She moved just fast enough to burn through Ian’s self-control like a slowly spreading fire. He wished he’d thought to turn on power to the bedroom so he could see her in proper light, but he wasn’t about to interrupt this exquisite pleasure to find the switches or build up the fire.

  As Cecily’s body tensed, her movements grew faster, more uncoordinated. She dug her short, blunt fingernails into Ian’s shoulders, and he responded by pressing her clit with the steady, hard rhythm he’d come to learn she enjoyed. She let out a little gasp, and her movements stuttered, becoming hesitant.

  Barely another minute passed, punctuated by Cecily’s little gasps and quiet moans. Then she ground down hard on Ian’s cock, muscles clenching tight, and he thrust into her as best he could. She was so tight and hot and gorgeous in her uninhibited pleasure, head thrown back, eyes shut, that she pulled him over the edge with her.

  ***

  Ian stood in the dark shower stall, leaning against the cold tile, hot water running down his chest as he fixed every detail of Cecily’s reaction in his memory. Tonight’s sex had answered some questions, but others had taken their place. What else did she like? What had she never tried? How far could he push before she’d push back?

  He turned, closing his eyes as the hot water hit his cold back. One day, he’d get Cecily into a proper hotel, even if he had to kidnap her and drag her across international borders. Ibiza was too crowded, but there was always Switzerland. She wouldn’t object to the weather—not after living here—and Ian could probably convince Preston to make all the arrangements.

  New goal, then: Get Cecily out of the primitive hell that was Canada before year’s end. He pictured her in a steaming hot tub, surrounded by snow, and his s
mile turned predatory.

  The bathroom door opened, admitting a faint glow from the dying bedroom fire. Cecily entered and closed the door. “Almost done?”

  Ian hid a sigh and made a mental note to rent a ski lodge that had a proper hot water tank or an on-demand system. “Yes.” He pushed open the plexiglass door and went to step out, but Cecily was right there. Cold hands pressed against his chest for a moment, confusing him. He stepped back and heard the rustle of fabric.

  Then Cecily stepped into the shower stall and pulled the door closed. Wishing he’d thought to turn the lights on, Ian held still, back pressed to the tile. There was no way to avoid crowding her; even breathing took up too much room.

  Cecily rested her hands on Ian’s hips and leaned her forehead on his shoulder. Water hit the back of her shoulders, splashing up onto his face in a cool mist. He wanted to pull her close and wrap his arms around her body, but he didn’t dare. Even this might be too much.

  So he stayed there, moving his hands just enough to brush his fingers against her hips, touching without holding. After a minute, Cecily turned her face enough to press a kiss against his collarbone. Then she turned and moved a few inches away—as far as she could go—and said, “I banked the fire. You get to fix the blankets.”

  Ian allowed himself a smile, relieved that the close quarters hadn’t provoked a panic attack. “I suppose I can do that,” he said as he pushed open the shower door. He got out and dried off quickly; there was hardly enough room in the small bathroom for them to both dry off at once, and he didn’t want her worried that he’d see her scars, as much as he wanted the chance. Cecily trusted him, and he wouldn’t betray that trust.

  He left the warm bathroom and shivered while he put on his pajamas, though he was tempted to sleep without any clothes in hopes of encouraging Cecily to stay close. It was just too damned cold for that, which made him mentally note that the ski lodge should have central heating as well as fireplaces for ambiance. Good central heating—maybe a radiant system in the floor, to start.

  Cecily was finished with her shower by the time Ian had the blankets sorted out. From the warmth of the bed, he watched her emerge from the bathroom as she had that first morning, wearing only a towel. The banked fire showed no details at all, but he watched anyway, appreciating the way the reddish light changed the visual quality of her skin.

  She went to the dresser and put on a T-shirt, underwear, and fleece pants. Ian didn’t bother to hide his sigh of disappointment. Cecily heard him and laughed, getting quickly under her own blanket. As she lay down, she reached out with one hand to touch the gun on the table, making a minute adjustment to its position.

  Then she rolled over to face Ian, burrowing down under her blanket. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  He smiled at her and slipped a hand from under his blanket to Cecily’s, finding her fingertips. He touched lightly, giving her every chance to pull back, but she didn’t. Instead, she spread her fingers just enough to lace the tips with Ian’s, joining their hands without either of them holding the other in place.

  Chapter 12

  October 29

  Ian came awake slowly and lazily to dull white light intruding on his consciousness. He opened his eyes and blinked at Cecily, who lay beside him, watching him. Their pillows touched, but their bodies didn’t, separated by a barrier of clothes and blankets.

  “Sorry if I’m rusty,” she said quietly. The window glowed with sunlight diffused through a blizzard of snow, casting new shadows over her face. She looked tired and serious, and he felt the immediate impulse to erase her grave expression and transmute it into a smile.

  “Rusty?”

  “At talking.” She took a deep breath and rolled onto her back. She lifted her arms and folded her hands under her head. The cold bedroom air raised the hair on her forearms, a pale aura over her skin. “Twelve years ago, I was an officer in the Marines. Combat engineers. I left seven years ago. Something happened—” She shook her head, the motion barely visible. “My dad was from Canada. I came here to get away from people.”

  He clenched his fingers in the blanket to keep from reaching for her. He wanted to say something—I know—but he wouldn’t immediately be able to rationalize his conclusions without mentioning the video.

  “It’s not that last night was…bad,” she continued uncertainly. Her brief laugh was soft and nervous. “Anything but that. But I don’t—I can’t do this, Ian.” She turned her head to look sadly at him. “Trust me when I say you don’t even want me to try.”

  “Trust has nothing to do with you being wrong.” He moved closer and watched her arms tense, though she didn’t try to move away. “As a blanket statement, ‘I trust you’ is almost always invalidated by reality. I trust you to safely fly that death trap of yours, but I don’t ‘trust’ that you’ll get us safely back on land every time. The factors are out of your control.”

  Her expression had slowly shifted from sad to puzzled. A hint of irritation creased her brow. “Do you ever actually listen to yourself speak?” She rolled onto her side, propping up on her right arm, and tossed her head to throw her hair out of her face. “I’m saying you shouldn’t be involved with me, Ian. I’m not what you want, no matter what you think. I’m not even safe.”

  “How many others have gotten this close since you—” He cut off before he could reference the reason she had left the military. He blamed the near-slip on the unexpected, unwelcome surprise of this conversation happening without even a single cup of coffee, which would help them both be able to discuss this rationally. “Since you left the military?”

  Evasively, she looked away. “None. Not for lack of trying—”

  “Failures,” he dismissed. “Did you enjoy last night?”

  She met his eyes for an instant, color rising in her cheeks. “Well, of course.”

  “And the night before?”

  “Ian, it’s just a matter—”

  “It’s not just ‘a matter of time,’” he interrupted sharply. “It’s the fact that almost everyone else is too stupid to understand you—to recognize what you want and what you don’t want and what you want but can’t have, and to help you have it anyway.”

  She shook her head. “That makes no sense.”

  He let out a huff, wanting to roll on top of her and hold her down and try to make her understand, but that would only make matters worse. So instead he caught her by one arm and pulled as he rolled onto his back. Surprised and wary of hurting him, she didn’t struggle, though she snapped, “Ian!”

  Only when she was on top of him, blankets tangled around their legs, did he let her go. He looked up at her, saying, “I know how to make this safe, Cecily. You don’t have to be worried. I know you won’t be held down. If you feel trapped, your instinct is to fight free—”

  She went pale. “God,” she muttered as she pushed up on all fours, kicking at the blankets.

  Before she could back up, he reached up to touch her face. “Stop. Cecily—”

  “No. No, this is what your brother said you do in court. You fuck with people’s minds.”

  Outwardly, he huffed in irritation, but secretly he smiled. She was still on top of him as though tethered there by the featherlight touch of his fingertips on her cheek. “Let me give you what you want,” he offered. “What you thought you could never have again.”

  Slowly, she sat back on his thighs, looking down at the blanket. She closed her eyes and pushed a hand through her sleep-mussed hair. “Why?”

  It was his turn to fall silent, his confidence faltering as he realized there was no easy answer. At first, it had been simply an effort to alleviate boredom, but in slow, small steps, his motives had become less selfish. He’d looked at her as a challenge—a puzzle to solve, or someone who could be fixed—but at some point, he’d begun to care. She was intelligent and sexy, and she reacted to him in unpredictable ways, which no one, not ev
en Preston, had ever done.

  Finally, she shook her head and moved off him, throwing the blankets roughly aside. “Forget it. Forget I said anything. I told you—”

  “Cecily.” His mind snapped back into gear, and he caught her T-shirt just as she stood up beside the bed. When she looked back down at him, he said, “I’m staying, Cecily. You can’t scare me away, and you won’t hurt me.”

  “You don’t know me,” she said angrily, though again, she didn’t pull away. He saw desperation in her eyes. She wanted to believe, but her past had taught her otherwise. Now, she needed time to think.

  He let go of her shirt and twisted to sit up on the edge of the bed. “I do know you, Cecily. And because I know you, I trust you.”

  ***

  Cecily spent the day apart from Ian. While he had been showering, she’d opened the gun safe, closed it again, and left the property on the quad, despite the blizzard outside.

  Ian tried to summon his usual calm detachment, but the effort was a miserable failure. He went through two pots of coffee, focusing on the fact that she was strong. She wouldn’t get lost, even in the snow, and she wouldn’t shoot herself. He had been very careful to avoid pushing her too far.

  Finally, he went to his laptop and turned on the power to the satellite connection. He checked his email, hoping to find anything interesting enough to help lure her to Manhattan, but he had no idea what might work. He doubted she liked concerts, theater, or sports.

  Frustrated, he played the guitar and drank more coffee and read more of her fantasy manuscript. Then he reread the other pages until the disturbing images they evoked in his mind grew too much to bear.