by Vanessa Vale
Planes, trains and automobiles. I was exhausted just thinking about another excursion. I had no idea where Katmai was, but seeing bears sounded fun. I knew about Denali and was equally impressed. The state was enormous, making Montana look like Delaware. I was sure Mike would want to go on one of the adventures, but I was wiped out and really had no interest in either. Maybe it was the pregnancy, or the weight of Jubal's necklace, that was so exhausting. I lifted it over my head and placed the heavy piece next to the sink. “I don't think I can handle any more adventures today.”
The corner of Mike's mouth ticked up. “Good, because that's what I told my dad.”
My head shot up, looked at him. Surprised. “You don't want to go?”
He shook his head. “No.” We heard a few voices, the front door close, and then silence. “Sounds like they just left.”
I was so relieved I sagged against the vanity. He wanted to stay with me. Or, he had absolutely no interest in seeing bears—or being with Goldie—and had a been-there-done-that attitude with Denali.
“What's that?” I asked, pointing at the box.
“Oh. My dad said it's from Goldie. For you.”
I just stared at it as if it was a poisonous snake. It was one of those boxes, I just knew it. Sure, it looked innocent enough with the overnight label on it and my name. Jubal's address. Goldilocks Adult Store, Bozeman, Montana written in the upper left corner.
Mike held it out to me and I had no choice but to take it.
“What did Goldie send you?”
“I don't know.” It was the truth. I didn't.
Mike's mouth quirked up in a sly smile. “But you have an idea.”
“Generally speaking, I have a good idea. But I really can't say exactly what's in the box.”
“Why don't you open it and find out?” Mike smirked.
“Because once we find out what's in there, everything will change.”
Mike continued to lean against the doorjamb. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You think one little box has that much power?”
“Absolutely.” I nudged past him and into the bedroom, putting the box—unopened—next to George on the dresser. “You're familiar with Goldie's little packages. I remember Veronica telling me you had a toy party last winter and everyone got personalized gift bags.”
Mike grinned at the thought. “It was great. I might make it an annual holiday thing for the guys.”
“So what did you get in your gift bag?” I really wanted to know, but I tried to ask with as much nonchalance as possible.
Moving over to me, he stood close. Too close. How could one man suck up all the oxygen in a room? Every time his body brushed up against mine, it was difficult to breathe. He ran his knuckles gently down my cheek, then down my arm, his gaze following the path. Goose bumps rose across my skin.
“Goldie knew I liked a little kink and she gifted me accordingly.”
The mathematical equation of kinky toys plus Mike equaled one hot and flustered Violet.
“I see you like that idea. Too bad the toys are at home.”
My mouth fell open for a moment. “How can you...um...tell?”
“Your pupils just dilated like you're on drugs, your skin is flushed and you're breathing like a claustrophobic in a broken elevator.”
Yup, he could. I was practically panting, damn the man for noticing, so I took a deep breath to try and calm myself as I took a step back.
Mike chuckled, which I knew was directed at me. Irritation at his blasé attitude cooled my eagerness.
“So are you going to open the box?” Mike asked once more, coming closer.
“Hell, no. Like I said, once the box is open, there's no going back.”
I tried to back up further away from him, but I bumped into the bed. My knees folded and I dropped onto the springy mattress. Mike bent down and placed his hands on either side of my body. Once again, he was so close our mouths almost brushed. Our breaths mingled.
“You're not talking about the box anymore, are you? You're talking about sex. Between us. Once we have it, there won't be any going back. I told you this before, Vi. You're mine. You can hold off all you want because you're afraid. But it's going to happen. You don't have to open the package. I don't need a box from Goldie to get kinky.”
He closed the miniscule gap between us and kissed me. Softly, tenderly. I lifted my hands to his head, running my fingers through his silky red hair. He tasted just as I remembered, minty and male, and something all Mike I would never forget. It was like time dissolved and we were eighteen again.
I sighed, settling into the kiss, but Mike pulled back. With one hand on my sternum, he pushed me backward onto the bed none-too-gently so I bounced up a little on contact. He loomed tall above me. Placing one knee on the bed, he positioned himself on his forearms. His gaze, directly above mine, was clear and focused. On me. “We've done sweet before. I want more this time. Let me know when you're ready.”
“For sex?” Right now!
“For not going back in the box.”
Did I want to sleep with Mike? Yes. Would it be mind blowing? Yes. Could I survive the fallout if he left? Undecided. Did I want to spend the rest of my life wondering 'what if?' Could I live with myself knowing I had this opportunity to be with him, to do things with him I'd fantasized about for years? I was already in too deep. If he left, it would hurt, regardless of sex. I might have heartache later, but I could have an orgasm now.
He started to push up, to move away, by flexing his sinewy biceps. I hooked my hand behind his neck, held him in place. “I'm ready,” I said breathlessly. The words felt right. I could protect my heart only so much. But I couldn't live with myself if I let him get up. He was all I ever wanted and he was right here. Right on top of me. All the wishy-washiness of the past few days were gone. I wanted this. I wanted him.
Mike searched my face as if looking to see if I was telling the truth. I was. Oh, I so was. I was ready for him. I'd been ready for him since graduation.
Chapter 18
“Really, Mike.” I lifted my head so our mouths met. I put my all into the kiss, and that included lots of tongue.
Within moments, he pulled back, pushed off the bed and stood tall, breathing hard.
“What?” I asked, confused. I checked out his tapered waist, his broad shoulders, and his lusty gaze.
“Let me go and make sure we really are alone.” He backed up and went to the bedroom door. “And, babe? Don't open Goldie's box. The first time we do it without any toys. Just you and me.”
I could only nod. Once he left, I contemplated my underwear. What did I have on underneath my clothes? Was it the fishing underwear of sports bra and cotton briefs or the fuck-me now panties I'd packed as a possibility? I patted my chest, feeling my bra. Underwire, lacy. I remembered in relief it was definitely not the sports bra. I inwardly grinned.
Minutes later, Mike returned, a predatory gleam in his eye, a wicked, bad boy smile on his face. He crooked a finger at me and I climbed off the bed, moved to stand in front of him. In my bare feet, I had to tilt my head back and look up at him. His eyes were hooded, his body tall, looming and commanding.
“Take off your shirt,” he told me. Commanding, all right.
I gulped, but did as he said, lifting the bottom and pulling it up over my head. I felt my hair come loose from the collar to swing and brush softly against my back.
Mike's gaze dropped to my breasts and I watched as his jaw clamped tight and a muscle ticked in his cheek.
“Now, the jeans.” His voice was darker, deeper than even a moment ago.
Could he hear my heartbeat slamming into my chest? Slowly, I undid the zipper, shimmied the denim down over my hips and lower, and then kicked my feet out of the pant legs.
I stood before him in only my matching pale blue lacy bra and panties. They were skimpy enough that he probably couldn't miss the hard little points of my nipples through the delicate fabric.
He just looked his fill, and then some more.
I felt exposed, vulnerable. “I'm not eighteen anymore,” I told him, nervously.
Brushing his fingers in a soft caress over the swell of one breast, he murmured, “No. You're definitely not eighteen anymore.”
One minute I was standing in front of him, the next I was lifted and dropped onto the bed, my head on the pillows. Pressing one knee into the mattress, he crawled up the bed, stalking me like a lion would his meal, finally joining me. His full body pressed alongside mine, one arm thrown over my body to brace himself up on his elbow. His hand brushed loose strands of hair off my face. “God, you're beautiful.”
I smiled from the inside out at his praise, but he kissed me and that was the end of that. And all other thoughts.
From hearing Goldie talk about Mike being a dominant man in life—although she was specifically referring to ‘in bed’—I expected him to take the lead. I'd never had a man do that before, not even Mike our first time. I'd craved this forcefulness, almost bossiness of a man in bed. I'd written about it in my book. But to have it happen for real, to be beneath a man who took what he wanted, all the while giving me exactly what I needed, was a complete and total turn-on.
It lit some fire in me that never had an ignition source before. Mike's alpha attitude, his body pressing into mine, his kiss that all but tore away any defenses, had me burning for him.
“Mike, please,” I begged, my hips lifting on their own.
“What do you need, babe?” He looked down at me. Waiting. Patient.
If I hadn't felt him hard against my hip I would think him unaffected.
“I want you,” I replied.
“You have me. What do you need?” he asked again.
He wasn't giving an inch. And I wanted every inch of him.
“I want...” I swallowed. Could I say it? Could I open myself up enough to share? “I need you to be in control.”
He grinned, and then leaned in for a soft kiss. “Then grab hold of the headboard and don't let go.”
I did as he told me not because I wanted him to be bossy, but because I wanted—needed—to forget about everything else in life and focus solely on being in bed with Mike. What his hands were doing. Where his mouth was. How he was going to be inside me, very soon.
I had too many browser tabs open on my computer-like mind. When he told me to hold on to the headboard, it was like shutting down all of them but one. Just Mike.
Gripping the cool wood between my fingers, I watched Mike's head lower to my breast, laving one through the lace and then the other until the tips were even tighter than before. Until my hips shifted shamelessly. I watched him go lower still, felt him kiss and nibble his way down my ribs, his fingers tugging at the lacy sides of my panties, working them down over my hips, my legs, then off.
“You look amazing in these—” he held up the scrap of fabric, then stuck them in his jeans pocket “—but you look even better out.” He took in his fill of my body as he sat back on his heels. Had he just tucked my panties away like a souvenir? Holy shit.
Lowering his head, he nudged my legs wide with his shoulders before he put his mouth on me. It was a good thing everyone had left because I cried out. I couldn't be quiet with what he was doing. I let go of my hold, running my hands through his hair.
He lifted his head.
“What? Why'd you stop?” I asked, confused. Breathless in my need.
“You do what I want; I give you what you need. Put your hands back above your head. Besides, my hair got caught in that ring.” His tone meant he wasn't fooling around. He wanted me to grab the headboard. I needed him to make me come. He'd gotten me really close, amazingly fast, but I didn't do as he'd said and had let go of the headboard. So he stopped. It was cruel, complicated and incredibly arousing. I re-grabbed, hoping he'd re-start.
He did. Oh, he did. This whole control thing was totally working for me. Mike was doing things to my body that might possibly be illegal in a few less progressive states. When my pleasure rushed over me like a tidal wave, I saw stars, the tips of my ears were numb and my fingers had a death grip on the headboard.
Once I recovered enough to glance down my body at Mike, he gave me that satisfied male look. Oh, how his skills had improved since we were eighteen.
“That's the one I owed you from graduation.”
Wow. He'd more than compensated me. Had I known it was going to be like that, I would have demanded payment sooner.
His hands raked up my body, over my breasts. I hissed out a breath at his potent touch. At the need rising in me once again. More? Could I handle more?
Mike stripped off his shirt, baring his solid chest, chiseled abs. The dusting of red hair was sexy as hell and I wanted to run my fingers through it. Wanted to touch him. Everywhere. Yeah, I could handle more. I whimpered. He ignored me. “Now, flip over, grab hold again.”
Oh. I'm glad he ignored me. I liked his words very, very much.
As I faced the wall up on my hands and knees, I heard his zipper, a foiled package crinkling. A second later, his body, hot to the touch, pressed into mine, one hand cupping a breast, fingers pulling on the sensitive nipple. His voice close to my ear. “I'm going to take you for a ride.”
Mike wasn't done with me quickly. Okay, maybe the first time, but the second was at a much slower pace, learning each other all over again. Discovering what made me cry out, what made him lose control. The third time, it was my turn to take him for a ride.
Three hours later, we were showered and making lunch in the kitchen. I wore Mike's T-shirt and he wore his jeans, low slung and with the button undone. Nothing else. My body felt soft and relaxed like pulled taffy, and I had no doubt I sported a goofy grin. Mike carried himself like a well-satisfied male. It felt good to know I made him that way. He might have had control over me, but it seemed I had the real power.
“So what's our plan for today? And don't say more sex.” I gave him a look that said 'hands off.'
The look he gave me back said just the opposite; he was thinking of wicked things to do to me. He came over to me, crowded me in, lifted me—very easily—up onto the counter so he stood between my spread legs.
“Okay. I won't say it. What if we just do it?”
“If we have any more sex, I won't be able to walk right for a week.”
Mike's brow went up. “A week? I must be better than I thought.”
I smacked his shoulder. “I wouldn't want to stroke your ego by responding to that.”
He took my hand and placed it over the front of his jeans and I felt him. Hard, long, thick. I got a hot flash remembering what he'd done with all that...maleness. “I've got something for you to stroke.”
It was a tossup between rolling my eyes at him in disgust or my eyes rolling back in my head in lust.
“Everyone would definitely know.”
“Having people know you're mine? That's not a problem for me.”
It was for me, at least in the way we were talking about. I dropped my gaze to his six-pack abs. He cupped my chin so I had to look at him, his other hand pushed up the hem of his T-shirt to gently cup my breast.
I sucked in a breath at the contact.
“I don't give a shit what other people think,” he continued. “The only person you should be concerned about is me.”
His fingers plucked at my nipple, making me squirm.
“As a doctor, you have surprisingly little concern for someone else's kitchen counter.”
“For a woman who just had three, or was that four, orgasms, you think way too much. I have to fix that.” He pulled my hips to the edge of the counter, forcing me to lean back with my hands behind me for balance. Dropping to his knees so my legs went over his back, he did just that.
Chapter 19
“Fishing?”
I laughed at Mike's question about what to do for the day. We were on the kitchen floor, recovering from round four. “Even I can say I'm a little fished out.”
“Then, how about a hike? Nothing too crazy. Just us,” Mike said as he tucked my h
air behind my ear.
“That sounds great.”
I put on clothes for a hike since Mike's T-shirt wouldn't do, tugged on my hiking boots. Left the engagement ring tucked away in my toiletry case—I didn't think Mike would mind after the hair ripping incident. Sunscreen, since the sun was actually out, at the moment. Snacks, water bottles and our raincoats were packed into a backpack. We let Jefferson out for a pee break, only after he sniffed both our crotches first, and were about to climb into the clown car when a nondescript, white American sedan pulled into the driveway.
We stood there and watched two men, both dressed in suit pants and white shirts with the sleeves rolled up, climb out. The driver was short and round, egg shaped, like Humpty Dumpty. His hair was short, military style, graying. The passenger was over six feet tall and string bean thin. He'd blow over in the wind if it picked up. His hair was curly and unruly. The darkness of it had me guessing his age as early thirties. They were Laurel and Hardy, but probably not very funny.
“Hi, I'm Special Agent Clarkson, FBI,” Humpty Dumpty said, opening a small billfold with his badge and ID card in it.
“Special Agent Kronk.” The other man held out his badge as well.
Mike and I nodded our heads in acknowledgement, unsure of what the FBI wanted with us.
“We're looking for a Mr. Robert Jgorgen.”
Mrs. O's maiden name was Jgorgen? My mind randomly went to how much of a mouthful her name was: Claudine Jgorgen Ostranski. No wonder she didn't hyphenate.
“He's not here,” Mike said.
The men looked at the house, maybe thinking Jubal was peeking around a curtain in an upper bedroom window.
“And you are?” Laurel asked.
“I'm Mike Ostranski, Robert's nephew.” Eyes shifted to me. “This is Violet Miller, friend of the family.”
I nodded a hello.
“Do you know when he might be back?” Humpty asked.
They were both very serious. It really was just like in the movies. They weren't wearing full suits with ties, but they were clearly G-Men by their stances, their bearing. Even the FBI was more relaxed in Alaska.