Prayer (The Pagano Family Book 5)

by Susan Fanetti

  “Katrynn?” John’s brow furrowed; she was ruining this moment.

  “I…I don’t want this to be a one-night thing. I want more.” She thought she might break out in a sweat, but she’d gotten the words out.

  He smiled. “So do I. I’ve liked you a long time. I hoped someday our timing would work out so I could tell you that, and you’d be glad.”

  He’d said almost those exact words on New Year’s Eve. On that night, they had shocked and thrilled her. They’d made her teeter on the edge. What he and she had done after had made her fall right over it.

  “You said that to me that night,” she whispered.

  “I meant it. Then and now.” His smile faded, and he brushed loose hair from her face. “I hate that I fucked it up. These weeks might have been a lot different.” He brought his head to hers and kissed her; with his lips on hers, he breathed, “I want to try to make it up to you now.”

  Her heart pounding and her belly fluttering, Katrynn nodded. Then John closed her in his arms and rolled them both, tucking her between his body and the back of the sofa. As he came in to kiss her again, she raised her head to meet him, wrapping her arms around his neck. This kiss double-timed its way from sweet to sexy, and she slid her thigh between his until she was in firm contact with his erection. He grunted and rocked against her. They picked up a rhythm together, their mouths twisting, their bodies rocking in tandem.

  Then, as she was pulling up on the back of his shirt, he turned out of the kiss and leaned his head on the arm of the sofa, next to her cheek. His breath was loud and uneven, mirroring hers. “I don’t want to fuck you half-dressed in your living room. Can we go to your bed?”

  At her nod, he stood, moving gracefully to his feet, and held out his hand to help her up. When she was on her feet before him, he brought her close and kissed her again, sliding his hands into the back of her pajama bottoms, into her panties, until he had full hold of her ass.

  “Your skin is so soft,” he breathed on her lips.

  His hands were not; they were callused and a little rough, like the fine side of an emery board. No other man she’d been with had hands like his. She liked it, liked the contrast of that roughness touching her so gently.

  She wanted them everywhere on her. So she stepped back and reached around to take his hands from her pajamas. Then she kept hold of them and led him to her bedroom.

  Lennie and George had moved onto her bed at some point in the evening; when she flipped the switch that turned on the little red-shaded lamp at her bedside, they both blinked at the humans, then stood, stretched and sauntered off. George rubbed against her ankle and gave her a flip of his tail on his way by.

  All night, Katrynn had felt ridiculous in her Snoopy pajamas and slouchy socks, so she put her back to John and busied herself getting out of her clothes in the hopes that she might possibly look sexier naked. Seriously—pigtails, even? Ugh. She scuffed her feet along the rug, which dragged her loose socks right off, and yanked the elastics from her hair and pulled them onto her wrist in a habit made over years. Then she slid her fingers into the braids to unweave them.

  As she started to unbutton her top, John’s hands came onto her shoulders, and he turned her around. “I want to do that.”

  While she’d fussed with her socks and her hair, he had stripped to his jeans. He had a wonderful body—not brawny, like his brother Luca’s, but long and lean and sculpted. His shoulders were broad and his hips narrow, and he had dark hair in exactly the right places: a light coverage over his chest, and that happy trail. He had undone his belt, and it dangled open, drawing her attention to the place where the trail disappeared into his jeans.

  And the bulge below that.

  Katrynn realized then that parts of New Year’s Eve were a little fuzzy around the edges for her, too, because she’d remembered that he had a good body, but she had not remembered that he was basically Michelangelo’s David, except with the endowment that such beauty deserved.

  “You like what you see?”

  Words failed her as she realized she’d been gaping at his body. Not even his face. She’d been completely objectifying him, literally turning him into a work of art. She swallowed and nodded.

  “Good. I’d like to see you, too.” He took hold of her top and began to work the buttons. She stood and watched those big, rough hands, those long fingers, and she moaned at the thought that they would be on her soon, touching her most tender places. She moaned again at the memory of how good he would feel.

  He wore two bracelets on his left wrist. One was a leather strap—just a piece of weather-beaten leather, a knot closing it around his wrist—and, more strange, what seemed to be nothing but a piece of yarn. Like a Kabbalah string, except he was Catholic, and the yarn wasn’t red. It was grey, but Katrynn thought it might once have been blue. She’d never asked about them, but now, watching his hands so intently as he opened her top, she laid her hand on his wrist, just as he arrived at the last button.

  He stopped and met her eyes.

  “What are these?”

  His grin surprised her. “The leather is from Trey. My nephew? He made them for all us boys one summer when he was like seven, I think, when Pop let him ‘help out’ in the garage. Pop, Carlo, Luca, me, Joey, Trey—we all got one, and I think everybody but Trey and Pop is still wearing it.”

  “When he was seven? He’s in middle school now, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah. Eighth grade. He’ll be fourteen this year.”

  He was still wearing a strap of leather his nephew had ‘made’ for him almost seven years ago. “What’s the yarn?”

  “Christmas present from Teresa a few years ago. It used to have macaroni on it, but…well. Uncooked pasta’s kind of brittle.”

  She stroked the faded string. “You are amazing. Your whole family is amazing.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a good family, yeah. But I don’t want to talk about them right now.” He finished unbuttoning her top and drew it off her shoulders. He let it drop at her feet, then trailed his sandpaper fingers lightly over her shoulders, along her collarbones, and down her chest. When he got to her breasts, he cupped them in his hands.

  Katrynn wasn’t self-conscious about her body; she knew it was pretty good. She wasn’t super muscular or firm; she didn’t much like to work out, so most of her exercise came from walking. She liked the ocean and played around in the water in the summer, she did some skiing in the winter when she could afford the time and expense, and she and her mom hiked in the little woods around Welcome occasionally. But she didn’t have what could be called a fitness routine.

  Also, she liked cheese. And bread. And chocolate. And wine. And Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey.

  She was tall, however, and had a decent metabolism, and good genes, and she didn’t really overindulge in anything very often. Not skinny, not gym-rat fit, but not overweight, she had what she thought of as a nice but not spectacular shape. Nothing to be ashamed of. Her boobs were on the small side, but perky. One of the benefits of not being stacked: gravity wasn’t much of a factor.

  Right now, those small boobs were extremely perky. Her nipples had tightened almost painfully at John’s mere touch, and when he skimmed his thumbs over them, she gasped and jumped.

  He smiled, and then dipped his head down and took one into his mouth. Pleasure exploded inward from that one spot and filled her body with electric spasms. She hooked her arms around his head, and he wrapped his around her waist, the pressure of his mouth and his arms pushing her backward until she was draped over his hold.

  Then he moved to the other breast and paid it the same attention. Katrynn heard herself panting and moaning, almost whining, but she couldn’t stop. Even when her arousal was so intense that it nearly hurt, she clutched her fingers in his hair and held him closer rather than pulling him away.

  Abruptly, he let her go and left her reeling. Catching the waistband of her bottoms in his fingers, he yanked them and her panties down in one sweep.

  He straight
ened and kissed her, grabbing her face in his hands and holding her firmly while his mouth claimed hers—still gently at first, but then fervent and demanding. When she hooked her arms around his neck again, he dropped his hands to her hips and lifted her straight off the ground. That was a heady surprise; it was rare that a man was tall enough to lift her off her feet.

  This was different from New Year’s Eve. That night had been sweet and beautiful; he’d been tender and attentive in a way that had been new to her, and he had brought her to heights she’d never known before. But he—and she—had been drunk, and there was an unavoidable slackness around the edges of that perfection. Now, both of them sober and in full control of their faculties, there was more between them. It was deeper. Better. He was tender and attentive, but he was also powerful and vibrant. And they were both more focused.

  He laid her on top of her comforter and loomed over her, smiling. He kissed her quickly, then broke away and began to make a trail from her mouth down, pausing to attend to the pulse point at the side of her neck, to each breast, to her navel, and on downward.

  She took hold of his hair and closed her eyes, feeling every bit of it. His mouth lingered at each spot, tasting her, caressing her with lips and tongue and breath. She felt more than attended to. She felt worshipped.

  When he had skimmed his mouth and tongue down to the bottom of her belly, though, she didn’t want what he meant to do.

  Not because she didn’t like that—she really, really did—and she had every confidence that John would make it wonderful. But it felt wrong for this moment. He was too far away, and she felt lonely alone at the head of her bed.

  She could feel her mind, and her body, ready itself to make the best out of a situation she didn’t want. It would be good; of course it would be good. He hadn’t done it before, but every way he touched her told her that he would bring her pleasure going down on her.

  But she wanted him up with her. She wanted to feel him inside her. She wanted to be sharing this moment.

  “John?” Her voice broke as she forced his name from her mouth.

  He looked up at her from his place between her thighs. God, he was pure sex, the red-tinted light catching in his eyes, his hair mussed from her grabbing hands, that dark, scruffy beard so close to her tender skin. “Yeah, baby?”

  Baby. If she’d been standing, she might have swooned. She was falling again, right over the side of the cliff. Her treacherous brain nudged her and told her to shut up and let him do what he wanted. What if he didn’t like to be told what a woman wanted? What if telling him ruined the night?

  Well, then, he’d be an asshole. And John wasn’t an asshole, right?

  Except for that one time.

  “I want you up here with me I don’t want you so far away.” She’d said it all in a rush, before her mind cut her tongue off. And then she held her breath.

  He smiled and kissed the inside of her thigh. Then he scooted off the bed. Before she could fret about that, he’d dropped his jeans and underwear.

  Boxer briefs. Dark and snug. Excellent.

  And fuck, look at him. Even better than she remembered. She held out her arms, and he climbed back onto the bed, onto her.

  “Your wish is my command,” he murmured and kissed her neck, just beneath her ear. Oh, God, his tongue.

  Emboldened, she put her mouth to his ear and whispered, “I want you inside me.”

  With a groan, he sat back, and Katrynn saw that he had a condom in his hand, snatched from his jeans, she supposed. He tore the packet open with his teeth. She watched as he rolled the latex up his beautiful cock. Without intending it, she licked her lips, and, seeing her, he laughed.

  As he came back down, propping himself on one hand, he said, “Bring your legs up. I want to feel them around me.”

  She did, and he slid his fingers through her folds, making her tremble. She could feel how wet she was, how easily his skin moved on hers. Then he took hold of his cock and pushed against her. She flexed her hips upward, giving him more access, and gasped long and loud as he filled her.

  “Sweet fuck, Katrynn,” he mumbled. He moved inside her, slow and steady, and settled onto his elbows. His forearms framed her head.

  She hooked her ankles together on the small of his back, then clenched around him and surged against his motion until she had him grunting. He bent his head and kissed her, and they were caught in a perfect bubble that she never wanted to break. They moved together, finding the right rhythm, their bodies entwined as if they’d been built to fit in just this way. She felt surrounded by him; even the parts of her his body couldn’t reach were alive with the sparks of his touch.

  This was perfect. It was so fucking perfect.

  Finally, she was too close to stay with their kiss, she needed more air than he could give her, and she tore her mouth from his with a desperate gasp.

  He buried his face against her throat and changed the rhythm, letting it become fierce and erratic, and ecstasy began to spiral out from her belly. Her joints ached with the need for her climax.

  “John, please,” she gasped, clutching at his shoulder. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted him to do.

  But he stopped, went still, except for his heaving chest. “Look at me, Katrynn.”

  She opened eyes she hadn’t known were closed.

  He took her hand from his shoulder and kissed it. He linked fingers with her and then pressed her hand to the bed.

  There was something potent in that simple touch, in the way he held her hand, protected and immobilized in his. It was hot as fuck. She turned her head and looked. His big, dark hand, the skin olive and dusted with black hair, dwarfed her small, pale one, and she felt her body clench at the sight.

  “Look at me, baby.”

  God, she loved that. She looked at him. As soon as she did, when his eyes locked onto hers, he thrust into her, so hard that he grunted with the effort. He pulled out, slowly, not letting her eyes go. And thrust again. And again.

  Again.

  Each time, Katrynn let out a high-pitched gasp of shocked pleasure. He was reaching a place in her that she’d thought a myth.

  Again. Again. Again.

  “Oh, fuck! John!” She didn’t usually say anything during sex, but random words kept leaping from her mouth.

  Again—Again—Again. Now the thrusts had become almost savage, but his eyes on hers, his complete attention to her, left a sheen of sweetness, kept the bubble complete.

  And she was coming. Fuck oh fuck, she was coming. Liquid fire filled her belly, her joints seemed to come apart, her blood buzzed like a hive of bees in her ears. She’d never come anything like this, not even before with John, not even alone with the toys she liked best. This was more than a full orgasm. This was a full-body orgasm.

  As she peaked, clenching her teeth to hold back a scream, he made a rough, desperate sound and froze, deep inside her.

  When they had both finished and returned to sense, John eased out of her. He got up, dealt with the condom, tying it off and tossing it in her little wastebasket, as she got under the covers.

  He came back and settled at her side. Smiling sweetly, almost sadly, down at her, he brushed her hair from her face. “I can’t believe I could have forgotten that.”

  “It wasn’t like that before.”

  He frowned. “No?”

  “No.” She smoothed her fingers over his brow, easing the furrows away. “This was even better.”

  He grinned and kissed her. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  Yeah. And she was terrified. She’d fallen completely on this night, and if she was wrong about him, if he again left her alone at the foot of that cliff, she wasn’t sure how she’d climb back up.

  ~oOo~

  Katrynn woke several times during the night and always found John sleeping at her side. She must have relaxed more completely at some point in the early morning, because the last time she woke, the room was in daylight—overcast, but still light—so a few hours must have passed
.

  She opened her eyes and found him awake at her side, sitting up against her headboard, reading one of the books she had stacked on her nightstand. The way he was holding the paperback, and without her glasses—where were her glasses?—she couldn’t tell which one.

  Lennie and George were both lying on his legs, curled in matching balls. He seemed fine with that. She remembered how nice he’d been to Lennie last night, talking to him and giving him some affection as he moved the cat from the sofa.

  She lay there and watched him. In the daylight, he was even more gorgeous. He was older than she was, she thought he was in his late thirties, but he didn’t look it at all. His hair was dark, with no traces of grey, and his skin was smooth. The only wrinkles she’d ever seen on his face were a couple of faint lines at the corners of his eyes. Good living and a happy life, she guessed.