Fire Heart (Broken Bottle Series Book 2)

by Taeuffer, Pamela

  “What, sweetheart?” My woman's body ached as his masculine essence reached into every heartbeat. “What will you do?”

  “I’ll rub your arms and back so carefully. I want to bring chills down your spine and legs.” I put one hand over my heart and the other on his chest. “We can be quiet and just listen to them beat for each other. Let’s enjoy the simple beauty of touch, the softness of a kiss, the delicious flavor of a memory . . . would you do that? Do you want to? I know it’s corny, but—”

  “Only you. You have such an uncanny ability to see what people need." He sighed and rested against my body. "You overwhelm me. I love you so.”

  Inside I burst with love. Still, I couldn’t repeat the words. I listened, I heard, I pressed against his chest and circled my arms around him, but I still couldn’t say those three words.

  We watched the fiery orange ball of light slip under the ocean. The turquoise color of the water faded to gray. As we walked inside, Ryan started to close the door to the balcony. I put my hand on top of his.

  “Do you mind leaving it open and just sliding the screen closed? I love the fresh air. There's something about . . . I don't know.”

  "What, sweetheart? Tell me."

  "It's like I can breathe when I open everything; the curtains, blinds, windows, doors . . . I need it all left open. Silly, huh?"

  "No." His arm rested on my shoulder. We walked over to the sound system to tune in the same soft jazz station as in Ryan's car. I put my arm around his waist. It was as if we were saying, “Let’s go on this journey together.”

  He rubbed his stubbly cheek against mine, touched the back of my head and pulled me close so that I was nestled under his chin. When I sensed his head lift, pull back, and move into position, I knew my mouth would soon tingle from his kisses. Covering my lips with his, I heard the sounds of my lover—low, masculine moans of deliciousness—from deep in his throat.

  For a brief moment I considered reminding him of the friendly agreement we'd made for that evening. Instead, I let him explore where he wanted, trusting he’d respect my boundaries.

  He suddenly broke our embrace.

  “Do you want me to get you anything to eat or drink from the kitchen besides the water I grabbed for us?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Are you ready?” He took my hands in his. “I know it’s early, but I'm so tired. Can we lie down for the night and hold each other?”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Can I undress you?” His voice reflected the care he'd taken in phrasing his desire.

  “Yes.” I didn’t hesitate with my answer. I quickly took off the sweatshirt he gave me to wear at the beach.

  “Turn around.” His request was firm but respectful.

  Before I turned, I witnessed his slow, seductive gaze move downward. When he was done looking at my body, each of his hands fell gently on my arms and he coaxed me to turn away from him. I felt him search through my hair to take out the pin that held it in place. My waves and curls bounced against my lower back.

  How wonderfully romantic! Thank you for insisting on having only one pin in my hair, Jenise.

  When I no longer felt him on me, I turned around and faced him. His eyes were closed.

  “Ryan?"

  "Hmm?" his hands traced up and down my arms.

  "Why are your eyes closed?” I asked naively.

  “I’m making a memory. I'm burning the outline of your body into my mind. You're above me, like when we were on the beach; your sweet face is looking down at me, your hair surrounds me, your naked breasts brush my lips. I take your nipple in my mouth. Your head tilts back in pleasure. I’m listening. I'm quietly listening to your body’s silent language. She's shouting for me to love her.”

  Yes, shouting . . .

  While one of his hands held my arm, the other pulled down the bed covers and reached to turn out the light. Our bodies glowed in the kiss of the evening and the newly risen moon threw its soft light over our silhouettes.

  Ryan unwound the sheer scarf from my neck. After folding it, he carefully put it on the end of the bed. His hand traveled up my arm to the dip of my shoulder, and when his fingertips touched my skin, I thought they might burn through to my bones.

  “Let me just . . .” His head tilted slightly and I felt his mouth on my neck. “I want to suck your little heartbeat here,” he whispered.

  The moistness of his tongue on my skin was a sensation that made my mouth open in pleasure. My breath escaped into the air, no longer able to be silenced or restrained. The loveliness of his fingers as they touched my earlobe and held the clasp of my earring was delicate, as were his lips when he removed each earring with them.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked again.

  “Yes.”

  “Raise your arms.” He held them above my head but in reality, I raised them without hesitation.

  He lifted off my top, folded it, and placed it on the scarf. His fingers seemed alive with their own thoughts. My body shivered with their touch. Soft breezes crept in from the ocean and danced lightly on my skin. Chills traveled from my lower back to my neck and then down my arms as his big hands touched my sides. When Ryan unhooked my bra and laughed his sexy laugh, I thought my knees might give way.

  “What?”

  “Is this your bra?” His voice was low. Its tone stirred my aching belly.

  “Why?”

  “The hooks are bent. Buying them a little too small?”

  God, he notices everything.

  “Or maybe . . .” he hesitated.

  Just say it!

  “Maybe you’re still a little girl who’s going through quite an amazing growth spurt.”

  His laugh sizzled.

  The air was hot around me.

  “No, it’s, well, this top, it dips. I don’t have a bra to go with it, so I borrowed my sister’s. This whole outfit is hers. I don’t have anything this nice. Well, now I do, with my suit and dress from LA, but they weren't right for tonight. Well, I really didn't know what we were doing tonight, but I just figured.”

  “I see.” He was obviously amused.

  “God, Ryan, you don’t have to point out everything you notice.”

  “I know.” I could sense his smile.

  He took off his vest and then his shirt. When I felt his swollen, naked chest touch my bare breasts, it was all I could do to keep my body from saying hello to the floor.

  “Oh baby, the breezes make your nipples . . .” He stopped talking as we embraced.

  Our arms tangled and weaved together. Everything about us longed to love each other.

  Our lips met passionately.

  We stood with our bodies pressed together.

  He trembled.

  I looked up at him.

  We seemed to shimmer in the gray light of the room.

  “Ryan?”

  “Mm-hmm?”

  “Are you cold?” I asked. “Do you want me to close the door?”

  “No.”

  “You’re shivering,” I remarked.

  “Because, I . . . Nicky, I’m . . .” His arms tightened their embrace. He never finished his statement. I finally understood. He was physically and mentally excited and trying with all his strength to keep himself under control.

  I could feel his erection.

  I wondered if this was the night to go all the way.

  I was all too conscious of where his flesh touched me and questions about staying a virgin fired rapidly through my mind.

  Why should I hold out?

  What was the purpose?

  Everyone I knew was having sex, so why continue to hesitate?

  Was it because once Ryan was inside me, I believed his sweet words would quickly fade away?

  Maybe his gratification would be so instant, that once satisfied, he’d turn over and fall asleep—or worse—get up, dress, and drive me home for one final and chilling goodbye.

  Where would that leave me?

  After we had sex, would I be classified as a
bad girl? I scrunched my nose as I considered, why wasn’t there a widely accepted definition of a good boy.

  Why was a bad boy cool?

  Why, at least with the jocks, were they encouraged to accumulate as many sexual experiences as they could? Their conquests were “stripes,” and yet, they weren’t considered “bad,” or called “sluts” and “whores” like women. Why not?

  If two people were consenting adults, what did it matter how much sex they had? Did “too many hands” somehow make a person “used up”?

  Would I be punished on a spiritual level because of the lovely act of sharing my body with someone who wasn’t random? If I gave myself freely, willingly, and respectfully in love, would that be wrong?

  And what if I did have random sex?

  Was physical pleasure immoral when it was between two adults who had consented to be intimate with each other? Wasn’t it just another way to play together?

  Before "going-all-the-way" sex, my friends had all masturbated and even had oral stimulation. So why, other than having protection and consent, is it such a big deal when a man’s penis enters a woman’s vagina?

  I’d gone to confession every Sunday, from when I was nine until I was sixteen-years-old. When I began to masturbate as a young girl—and I did it a lot—I told a priest, “I touched a bad place.” He led me to believe what I did was bad, and that I was bad for doing it. Or maybe it was only that I believed I was bad and my guilt had interpreted the priest's words to be woven in sin. It had only been a few years earlier that I stopped confessing when I realized it was normal.

  But this—this with Ryan would be full on sex without being married. How would I confess this?

  Would I be used for pleasure, and afterwards hear the zipper of his pants rise, facing the same fear I had with Jerry a few nights earlier? Would he fasten his belt and leave me with nothing but a kiss that meant, "so long?"

  The old doubts of being part of an elaborate joke for Ryan, a bet that he could make me fall for him, filled my mind with doubt.

  Before I became “aware” of Ryan and Jerry, I was certain I’d wait for sex until marriage. Now there was that other side of me—the evil twin who seemed to be a sexual priestess in hiding. She had awakened and encouraged me to play.

  I didn’t know what path to choose.

  “Sit down on the bed, honey.” Ryan’s voice brought me back into our moment. I sat down, holding my breath as his body moved closer. When he stopped, his hands rested on my shoulders.

  Ooh, your big hands. I love them.

  "You're tense." His strong voice filled the room. “Don’t worry, I won't abuse your trust." His hands gently held my back and lowered my body on the bed.

  Is this what asthma feels like? My chest is so heavy and I just know my throat is closing. I wonder if I can even speak? Maybe I need a drink of water . . .

  His hands moved along the waistband of my pants, as if trying to understand how to take the soft cloth from my body. All his touches against my stomach were strange sensations.

  I was reminded once again of the honeybees—fingertips doing the work for their queen, buzzing on my waist, fuzzy and soft, careful and light, touching each nerve underneath my skin. My body seemed ready to ooze honey wherever he touched.

  When he slipped the waistband below my navel, his arms tensed and the muscles inside them bulged, giving him the strength to support his body as he leaned over and kissed me. I moaned when I felt his lips and the area around my belly jerked. I breathed so hard and fast that I could no longer hide the sounds of my excitement. I lost count of the number of pulses that sent liquid heat to my legs.

  His lips moved slow and easy, circling my stomach, his tongue licking my skin, and then moving higher to the crease of my breasts. Just as I thought he might take one of my nipples in his mouth, his soft lips kissed along my sides and then made love to my hips.

  A storm gathered over my body—waiting, watching, hovering, ready to trigger lightning everywhere inside of me.

  “Ryan?” I was losing my breath.

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m getting lost,” I confessed.

  “I know you are.” I could feel him looking down at me. “I won’t let you go and I won’t take advantage of you.”

  Something sensual was pushing through me.

  To be rubbed all over my body—that's what I wanted.

  With only one more kiss, I felt as if I’d burst open; the intimate throbbing in my pelvis carried an obvious message—my body, mind, and the millions of nerves inside my brain wanted sex.

  Chapter 24

  Undressed

  Visions of having Ryan inside me became more vivid with each kiss from his lips.

  They rippled through me.

  In one way, I felt as if I'd slowed down.

  Another breath and I sped up, each gasp for air more desperate than the last.

  His hands and mouth created an intense heat that lie just under my skin. The flame of my desire had been lit.

  I put my hands on his head and petted him gently as if he were my little lion cub. I grabbed bunches of his hair in my hands, enjoying the man who wanted me to open.

  Subdued notes called out to me.

  Little sounds came from his throat that let me know he enjoyed my touch. He didn't have to say a word.

  Every inch of my belly was lifted inside his mouth, his lips hungry for their next destination, pressing and marking me with long pathways of moistness, preparing his roadmap for more.

  Whenever I felt his touch, chills rushed over me in waves. I was swollen—a victim of Luna’s power—wet, rushing in and out with the tides. One by one his fingertips caressed my hips; they grasped and took hold of my pants.

  “I want everything.” His masculine voice echoed through the room and covered my thighs when he kissed them. My legs opened naturally, without any thought of resistance. His hands rested and flattened on my hips, letting them move, guiding my swell. Even though he held only part of me, my whole body was his.

  “Are you okay with what I’m doing?” The look on his face told me he understood: he had complete control and could do whatever he wanted.

  “I haven’t ever felt . . .” I swallowed.

  “It’s you and me,” he reminded. “You and me.”

  Lifting my left foot, he held it so the silky pants slid down and partially covered my right leg. My thighs were covered in chills as Ryan’s seduction moved through me.

  When he placed my ankle on his shoulder, my knee naturally bent toward my chest to make it easy for him to touch me. His tongue said hello, slowly licking the crease behind my knee. I tilted my head back without thinking and without question. I was his. My body arched, loudly communicating how much I wanted to give in to him. He put my leg down and continued taking off my pants. The material fell as if exhausted. He tossed them somewhere in the darkness. We could’ve been outside, the wind blowing, the water pounding against my breast, and I’d still have felt his heat.

  “Nicky,” he called me back from my sensual paralysis.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m going to take off your panties. I won’t push you for sex; I’m just letting you know. Are you okay?”

  “Mm-hmm.” I was incoherent.

  My lips were stuck.

  My body was weak.

  My mind spun.

  My sensual ache was on the edge of hurt it was so powerful.

  Lower. Lower. The aching . . . my legs . . . lower . . . please.

  His fingers traced my hips and then grasped the waistband of my panties. My skin felt every fiber of the material as it slid over my thighs, knees and ankles. He tossed them aside. I imagined them keeping my pants company, each article of clothing chatting about how they'd almost burned up.

  He laughed gently.

  “What . . . why, why are you . . .” I sounded like I’d just come in from a long run—I could hardly breathe. I swallowed rapidly and hard, trying to moisten my mouth.

  “Your panties. They're, uh .
. . wet.” His seductive, deep voice filled with the obvious appreciation of how the woman he held inside his hands had responded.

  My body involuntarily gave herself over. There was no question about why or how, nor any need for conversation. I was sure my Evil Twin had taken charge and numbed my brain to make sure it stayed out of the way.

  No, Nicky. You did that all on your own.

  With each touch, I came to life in a different way. Rather than analyze and resist, I moved naturally and willingly under his physical power. I wanted him to take me wherever he wanted so we could fall into each other more deeply.

  Ryan’s lips gently sucked on the tender softness of my inner thigh. Those lips made me feel as if I were lying in the ocean, taken by its swells and forced to ride its power.

  My moans were dramatic and they danced inside and outside of my body. I was so vocal that Ryan stopped.

  “Are you still okay?”

  “Uuuuuhh . . .” I could only groan. My “Y” called to me; alive and demanding I explore her and know more of what “she” was all about. “It’s like, I’ve never . . . mmm . . . feels so good.”

  I let go of what seemed like hundreds of short breaths and groans. I was fighting hard to keep control. Like all my battles with Ryan, I was losing this one, too.

  “I know, Nicky. Just let me take you where I want you to go.”

  “I’m already there.” My fists grabbed for the pillow.

  His sexy laugh rang out again. He was on his hands and knees; his big, muscular body hunched over me, looking at all that lay underneath him. I knew if his legs settled in between mine, I’d let him inside me.

  He remained frozen, in the silvery gray of our night, the same as when he was in my bedroom more than a week ago. His desire was suspended in the dividing space of seduction and promise, deciding whether to take a naive woman into a new journey, or touch only the innocence of our beginning.