Sexy Living

by Regina Cole

  But she couldn’t chance the reality of showing him more. It would shatter the illusion that she could really do this—really be with him this way.

  “Is that better?”

  His voice seemed deeper in the dark, and it sent shivers of anticipation down her spine.

  “Yes.”

  The aches and pains that had bothered her all day had faded to a dull buzz at the back of her consciousness, and the need to be with Rob was square in the forefront of her mind.

  He moved toward the bed, and her stomach tightened, but he bent down beside her. There was a rasping sound of a drawer opening on his bedside table. A soft rip, like a foil wrapper, and Stacey bit her lip as she imagined what he was doing.

  She turned away, unsure whether she should look at him through the darkness, or not. What were the rules? She didn’t know, and she had no way of finding out.

  She reached down and lifted the hem of her T-shirt up and over her head. In the dark, she could pretend she was alone. That no one could see her, could judge her, could find her wanting. The desire that Rob had stirred within her was still there, but her anxieties were beginning to overcome it.

  “Let me.”

  She paused in unfastening her bra. “Let you what?”

  “Undress you. I may not be able to see it all, but I want to touch it all.”

  Her hands fell away from the clasp, and she sat motionless as Rob’s fingers took the place of hers. A knot worked its way into her throat as he unfastened her bra, and the straps fell down her shoulders. The bedroom air was cool, and it puckered her nipples as it brushed past.

  At Rob’s gentle insistence, she lay back, and his hands glided down her sides to find her waistband. He drew the pants down her legs softly, and she shuddered slightly at the touch of his warm, strong fingers. Her belly tightened as he brushed across her panties.

  “You feel amazing,” he said, his husky voice hovering just above her chest. “I wish I could see you.”

  “Just touch me.”

  He did as she asked, his hands starting at her shoulders, then making their way down to her breasts. She closed her eyes as he squeezed slightly, his fingertips finding her puckered nipples. Her blood heated within her veins, her fevered brain imagining all the delicious things he had mentioned doing to her.

  She reached forward, unable to take the tantalizing torture. Her own hands itched to explore the planes of his body. At her insistence, he grasped the hem of his shirt, and together they removed it. As her fingers quested lower, she found that he had already unbuttoned his jeans, and they came down without a struggle.

  Had he already put on the condom? She wanted to touch, to find out, but she was too afraid.

  Why should she fear? She wasn’t sure; she didn’t like these feelings. She wanted to be bold, to take everything he offered without hesitation, but she couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe one day she would have that kind of courage, but today was all about taking back the strength to believe again.

  “Stacey”—he pressed her down against the covers—“Stacey.”

  His mouth covered hers then, and the hunger he had clearly been suppressing roared to life. His tongue was everywhere, tasting her, questing, searching for something, and she willingly gave up all her secrets to him. His hands roamed everywhere they could reach, and the shame she felt at her body’s flaws could not withstand his passionate onslaught.

  Her skin was on fire. Her pussy was burning, and her insides flipped and knotted with every touch and kiss he gave. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, rubbing down his back, and she moaned as she cupped his muscular ass to hold his hips tighter to her.

  The heat of his skin was so delicious against hers. His deliciously hard cock lay against the softness of her belly, and she wanted it lower. Deeper. She parted her thighs and arched up against him, the throb inside her begging for what he had promised.

  He lifted his head from her breast, where he had been nuzzling, kissing, and nipping. She gripped his hair.

  “I could do this all night, but I don’t think either of us would be satisfied with it.”

  “You’re right.” Stacey let her hand snake between them to find her hot, wet center. “I want you, Rob. I’m ready.”

  He reached between them and found her hand, smiling against her skin as he stroked the wetness on her fingers.

  “It seems you’re right.”

  She looked up as he braced his arms on either side of her shoulders. Even in the darkness, she could make out his features. The hunger in his eyes was plain, and it was a beautiful sight. Her body was tensed, coiled, primed, and ready. He had taken her further than she ever thought she could go.

  “Look at me.”

  “I am.”

  He lowered himself until his forehead touched hers briefly. Then he lifted, once she was staring directly into his eyes. “Don’t look away.”

  Staring into his eyes was the most erotic thing she had ever experienced, as the blunt, hot head of his cock parted her wet folds. She gasped, fighting the urge to close her eyes as he filled her, slid deep into her center. He was thick, and he stretched her. The delicious burn matched the heat of him, and her already pulsing desire ratcheted up to an eleven.

  She shook, hips lifting upward of their own volition to encourage him deeper. Barely blinking, he looked down into her eyes, and began a slow, sensuous rhythm.

  With every movement, he brushed against her clit. The slow, delicious sensation was driving her insane. She wanted more, faster, deeper. But he didn’t relent. He kept up his even rhythm, not increasing his tempo even as she shuddered beneath him.

  “Rob,” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. “I need . . . I want.”

  “I know.”

  His grin could only be described as demonic. The orgasm was building within her, slow, glowing coal that needed only a breath of his to encourage it to burst into flame. But he still went slowly, stroke after stroke.

  She couldn’t take this much longer. Her body could not withstand the torture. It was too slow, too good, he was so deep—but not deep enough.

  With a twist and a cry, she reached down between their bodies and found her clit with her fingers. Rubbing it hard, she gasped his name, and in answer he quickened his rhythm. The sound of their flesh slapping against one another was loud in the otherwise silent room, and as the fire within her burned hotter and faster, she finally let go of the orgasm that had been growing within her.

  Lights burst behind her eyes and her body arched wildly, spasms inside her unwilling to listen to reason. Rob pumped into her, his hips moving in and out, all restraint lost as she held on to him tightly, riding out the waves of her own orgasm.

  Stacey’s heart thudded hard against her ribs as she collapsed beneath him. Her ragged breath blew against his chest as he thrust into her two, three more times. His impossibly hot cock became even hotter when he came with a hoarse gasp. The pulses twitched within her, each movement felt by her sensitive inner walls.

  He lay on top of her, and she wound her arms around his back, her cheek pressed against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat there, a loud, comforting sound.

  Closing her eyes, smiling in the dark, Stacey let herself be happy.

  Chapter 16

  Her body was curled up against his, tucked closer than his heartbeat in the dark.

  Rob rested his chin against her hair and breathed her in. She smelled good. Sweet, somehow, like a fresh beginning.

  It was darker now, the last remnants of weak winter daylight having faded away. There was only the faint outline of light outlining the edges of the doorway. He’d left the hall light on.

  Stacey’s breathing was even and slow. She had fallen asleep soon after they came. It had been good. Better than he had anticipated, and he had anticipated quite a lot.

  Rob pressed his lips to the back of her head. What was it about this girl? She begged him to sleep with her, when by all rights she should be feeling terrible after her car accident. Rob stayed still,
keeping watch over her, his thoughts tumbling through his brain like towels in a Maytag.

  This woman’s self-esteem could really use a shot of adrenaline. But at least since their lunchtime conversation, he had a glimpse of what had caused her current situation.

  A little sound, high and short, escaped her. He pressed his lips to her hair again.

  For some reason, he was feeling very protective of Stacey Hough. Not to mention tempted by her. He was beginning to wonder exactly what he’d gotten himself into.

  * * *

  When she woke up, there was a delicious warmth pressed against her back. She kept her eyes closed and pressed closer to it. It was one of those dreams on the edge of waking that felt much too real. The kind of dream that affected you with a profound sense of loss upon realizing that it wasn’t actually true. She’d make this one last as long as possible.

  A hand was splayed on her hip, a slight weight that pressed her into the softness of the bed. Scooting her hips back, she sighed at the feeling of a firm length pressed against her ass.

  Warm air blew against the back of her neck in slow, rhythmic puffs. Her lover’s breath. She reached down to her hip and threaded his fingers in her own, shifting to get even closer to him.

  She winced. Damn, her dreams were detailed. She even remembered just how much her stupid leg was hurting. Shouldn’t she get a free pass on that, just for the dream?

  Pretend it doesn’t hurt, and then it won’t. It’s a dream, after all.

  Her subconscious was right. Besides, when was the next time she’d get a shot at getting a man in bed with her? The only guy she even wanted to try that with . . . was . . .

  “Rob!”

  She gasped it aloud as her eyes flew open. He gripped her hand tightly as if in automatic response.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Collapsing against the pillows, she pressed her free hand to her chest in a fruitless bid to keep her heart from making a run for it. She’d forgotten it all. The way she’d begged Rob to come to bed, the gentle way he’d refused, then her eventual plea that wore him down.

  She. Was. Pathetic.

  “Stacey, talk to me. Are you in pain? Do I need to call someone?”

  He let go of her hand and raised his body above hers, bracing himself on his arm so he could look down at her.

  In this position she felt small, vulnerable. Desirable, even.

  “No, I’m sorry. It was just a weird dream.”

  He didn’t move, still looking down at her through the dim light of the room. It must be on the edge of sunset. His features were hard to make out clearly.

  “Did it scare you?”

  “A little,” she said, not sure whether it was a lie or not. She’d been afraid, but not because of the dream. She was scared that he would regret kissing her. That he’d resent her for the fact that she’d wheedled her way into a “nap” with him.

  She was scared of losing the closeness she’d just found with him.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, then lowered his lips to hers.

  It was a sweet kiss, meant to comfort, not stir. Meant to take away fear, not build passion in its place. But no matter his intentions, Stacey’s response couldn’t be dampened.

  Her arms wound around his neck and pulled him in closer. He braced himself on his forearms, not placing any of his weight on her. That was probably wise, since she was still so sore, but wisdom and passion didn’t play nice. She wanted his body to press her down, the full length of him lying on top of her as he ravaged her mouth.

  She opened to him, coaxed him on with small swirls of her tongue against his. A low groan escaped him as she nipped his bottom lip.

  Maybe he wasn’t as immune to her as she’d feared.

  His kisses deepened, and she welcomed them fully. He had been holding back. She knew that now, because his control had nearly gone. He kept his weight off her, but his mouth showed none of that restraint. He tore his lips from hers and kissed a burning trail down her throat, past the collarbone that he’d begun kissing in the car, straight to the hint of cleavage left bare by the V-necked tee she’d pulled on before falling asleep.

  His tongue dived in the cleft, and she gasped in response, tangling her fingers in his short hair. His lips and breath and teeth and skin overwhelmed her, the touch of him short-circuited her brain, and nothing existed but him and her and the pain.

  Her positioning was awkward. She was halfway turned toward him, trapping her good leg with the heavy brace atop it.

  She tried to ignore it, tried to ride the tide of passion rising in her brain, the delicious burning tingle of lust that tightened her belly and prickled her skin, but it was a losing battle.

  In one last attempt, she rolled toward him to ease the pressure on her leg. Her muscles clenched in violent protest.

  “Ah!”

  “Jesus Christ, I’m sorry.” Rob moved away immediately, ripping the covers off and turning on the bedside lamp almost in the same motion. “Is it your leg? Your ribs?”

  Damn it all to hell.

  “No, I just moved the wrong way. I’m sorry.” She repositioned herself by using her hands to move her bum leg. “There. Seriously, I’m fine.”

  Rob sighed, standing at the foot of the bed with one hand rubbing through his hair.

  “We shouldn’t have started that. You’re hurt.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. You’ve got an injury to your leg, and you’ve had a concussion.”

  “Can you let me decide what I can and can’t handle? I’m not a child, or an invalid.”

  “You’re a guest in my home, you’re in a vulnerable position, and I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  “Why the hell not? What’s so wrong with me?”

  “You’re too damn trusting, that’s what!” He yelled it, and the sound stunned both Stacey and Custard. The dog jumped up from her bed by the closet, and Stacey might have jumped up, too, if she hadn’t been lying down.

  “Trusting? I shouldn’t trust you? You’re the perfect guy, Rob, it’s obvious. Even your deep, dark secret is admirable. That’s why I felt so safe practicing on you.”

  Rob shook his head. His mouth was pulled down at the corners, and an angry furrow knitted his brows.

  “‘Practice’? What the hell do you mean?”

  She pushed herself upright, wincing at the discomfort. “You’re out of my league, and I know that. I’m not good at this.” She gestured between them. “But being with you is good—practice—”

  “I’m not someone you can just ‘practice’ on, Stacey. I can’t—you—Jesus, fuck.”

  He left the room, leaving a stunned Stacey staring at the door and wondering what the hell had just happened.

  * * *

  Rob paced through the kitchen, anger spurring him faster with each step. The workout shorts he’d pulled from the laundry room made soft whishing sounds as he paced.

  Custard, who’d followed him—although she left much greater distance between them than usual—sat in the hallway, her big, wrinkled face turning to follow as he went back and forth.

  His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and his insides felt like they were made of overstretched bungees.

  Why did she have to be so damn honest? He could have pretended that she was as into him, the real him, as he was into her. But now he knew that he was just a project to her. A test run. And for some reason, that made him angrier than anything else could have.

  A soft whuff from the hallway made him pause.

  Custard had lain down, and her big head was pillowed on her front paws as she looked up at him with huge, sad brown eyes.

  He took a deep breath.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  He knelt beside his dog and scratched her behind the ears. “I’m mad at myself for hurting her. I should apologize.”

  Custard said nothing, just pawed at his hand when he stopped scratching, encouraging him to continue. He obliged for another mome
nt, then gave a peace offering of a dog biscuit to ease his parting.

  With Custard crunching away at her prize, Rob headed back to the bedroom. The door was still open, so he stepped inside.

  “Stacey?”

  There was silence, at first. She wasn’t in bed anymore, and her crutches were gone. The bathroom door was closed.

  “Be out in a minute,” she called. Her voice was small, uncertain. Damn it. He’d done it again. It seemed like he was destined to constantly misstep with this woman.

  He sank down on the edge of the bed to wait for her, when the front doorbell sent Custard barking down the hallway.

  “Be right back,” Rob said toward the closed bathroom door as he followed his dog down the hallway. He looked through the window beside the door. A cop stood there, in full uniform, with a distinctly unpleasant expression on his face.

  Oh shit.

  Tightness spread across Rob’s shoulders, but he forced himself to take a deep breath before opening the door.

  “Can I help you?” Custard bristled beside him, a low growl coming from deep in her chest. She was pretty particular about the people she didn’t care for, and Rob trusted her judgment. It had never steered him wrong before.

  “Is Stacey Hough staying here?”

  “Why do you need her?”

  The cop’s face grew even more serious, which was impressive. Frowning any harder would look almost comical on anyone else, but on this guy, it was intimidating. He and that cop from the hospital could have been brothers.

  “Please ask her to come to the door.”

  “She’s on crutches, and has been told by her doctor to remain off her feet.” Rob pitched his voice intentionally loud as he blocked Custard with his leg. But behind him, a telltale thump told him that his statement had come too late.

  “Rob? Is it for me?”

  The cop’s frown eased a little as Stacey appeared.

  “Ma’am, this is for you.” He held an envelope toward her, and she took it reflexively.

  “What is—”

  “You’ve been served. Good evening.” With a tip of his hat, the cop turned and walked down the front steps.

  Shit. Rob shut the door, easing Custard back. She wagged her tail, nosing at Stacey’s thigh, but Stacey didn’t respond to the dog’s plea for attention.