by Heidi Betts
Oh, this is a bad idea, she thought, as her own arms came up to wind around his neck, her fingers toying with the hair at his nape. A very, very bad…
His tongue twined with hers and she groaned, any semblance of rational thought flying right out the window. Good or bad, she was in it now, with very little might left to fight. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to anymore.
Though they were already touching, he tugged her even closer, so that her breasts flattened against his chest and the evidence of his arousal pressed between her legs.
Being a woman kept her arousal from being as obvious, but it was there, without a doubt. Besides the fact that her heart was pounding and her temperature was slowly reaching the boiling point, inside the cups of her bra her nipples were turning into tight, sensitive pearls. Lower, her knees were weak and her panties were growing damp.
It wouldn’t take much more of Marc’s intense ministrations for him to know just how aroused she was, too. Already, his hands were wandering down her sides and over her hips, his fingers slowly rucking up the skirt of her dress until he could touch her stockinged thighs.
Her own fingers went to the buttons at the front of his shirt, slipping one after another through their holes. When she reached the bottom, she switched to unbuckling his belt and loosening the top button of his dress slacks, then tugging the shirt’s tail free. Once both sides fell open, she slipped her hands under the expensive material and put her palms flat against the warm, smooth skin of his chest and stomach.
He groaned. She moaned. The sounds met and mingled, sending shivers from their locked lips all the way down her spine.
As though he felt them, too, Marc’s hand went to the small of her back and followed the line of her vertebrae up, up, up. He kneaded her neck a short second before catching the clasp of her dress’s zipper and tugging it down in one long ziiiiiiiiiip of sensation.
Curling her nails into his chest, she slumped into him as wave after wave of longing rolled through her. It was almost too much to bear, melting her bones and stealing the breath from her lungs. If he hadn’t been holding her, she was sure she would have collapsed to the ground in a pile of skin and rumpled red fabric.
He released her mouth, allowing her to suck in some much-needed oxygen while he tugged at her dress, letting the flowy fabric pool at her feet. Hooking his thumbs into the waist of her pantyhose, he started to skim them down her legs, following them until he knelt in front of her on one knee.
With a hand at her ankle, he said, “Lift.”
She did, and he slipped both her matching red heel and the stockings off her foot.
“Lift,” he said again, repeating the motion on her other ankle, leaving her standing in the middle of the room in nothing but her bra and panties.
Thank goodness she’d taken as much care choosing those as she had her dress and shoes. She’d had absolutely no notion and no intention of letting him get so much of a glimpse of her underthings, but now she was infinitely relieved that she’d made a point of wearing a brand-new matching set. A strapless red demi-bra with scalloped lace edging and lacey, boy-cut panties that covered more than enough in the front, but left half moons of bare flesh visible from the back.
From his position on the floor, Marc must have noticed the peekaboo style of the underwear, because he lifted his head and shot her a grin that could only be described as wolfish.
“Lovely,” he murmured, his hands cupping the backs of her calves, then her knees, then her thighs until her thighs quivered and she wasn’t sure she could remain upright much longer.
Her tongue darted out, licking dry lips. “Mothers always tell their children to wear nice underwear, just in case,” she managed in a shaky voice. “Now I know why.”
Marc chuckled. A low, sexy sound that beat at her insides like tiny orange flames.
“These are better than nice,” he told her, cupping her bottom and pressing a kiss to the bare skin of her belly, just below her navel. “But I’m pretty sure this isn’t the kind of ‘just in case’ they’re talking about.”
A noise rolled up her throat that was meant to be a laugh. It came out more of a strangled hiss.
“But you like them, right? Better than plain white cotton?”
Kissing a line up the center of her torso, he climbed slowly to his feet. “Better than white cotton,” he agreed. Then when he got to her mouth, he added, “But I don’t really care, since you won’t be wearing them much longer.”
Reaching around her back, he unhooked her bra in one quick, deft movement. Only the last-minute crossing of her arms kept the garment from falling away completely.
“Now take them off. Both of them.”
The gruff order sent her stomach flip-flopping and brought goose bumps to every inch of her exposed flesh. Which, considering her state of undress, was a considerable amount.
Despite the desire coursing through her veins, however, she suddenly felt awkward and exposed. She’d come this far, even knowing it was a colossal mistake.
It wasn’t wise to be alone in the same room with Marc fully clothed, let alone do what they were doing. But being with him again brought back so many incredible memories and sensory perceptions that she’d thought she would never experience again. So she’d thrown up a thick, tall wall in her brain to keep right from wrong apart. And another between her brain and her heart to keep them from playing tug-of-war while she was enjoying Marc’s kisses and touch. Now here she stood, half-naked, her ex-husband telling her to drop the two tiny bits of lace and fabric that kept her from being totally naked, and her nerves were calling foul.
For a brief moment, she considered jumping back into her dress and running for the hills. But that nice, thick wall was still firmly in place, leaving just enough want to overshadow future regrets.
What she needed, she realized, was a more level playing field.
Arms still crossed over her breasts to hold her bra in place, she stepped back. Just one small step away from him.
“Not yet,” she told him, the words coming out more confidently than she felt.
He arched one dark brow and the message in his eyes clearly telegraphed that if she tried to cut and run, he would chase after her.
But she had no intention of running, only of evening things out a bit so that she wasn’t the only one suffering a chill from the hotel’s drafty old windows.
“You’re overdressed,” she pointed out. “So you first.”
His right brow rose to meet the left and a muscle began to twitch along his jaw. Lifting his arms to waist height, he unbuttoned one cuff, then the other. With a roll of his broad shoulders, he shrugged out of the shirt completely, letting the pristine white material float to the floor behind him.
Vanessa swallowed. Making him strip down to next to nothing had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that his chest was bare, she wasn’t so sure. The very sight of that flat stomach and those tight pectorals had her mouth going desert dry and her heartbeat fluttering in her throat like the wings of a butterfly.
Without giving her time to regroup or even brace herself for more, he moved his hands to the front of his slacks and slowly lowered the zipper. Kicking off his shoes, he let the pants drop and stepped away from the entire pile—away from the clothes and one step closer to her.
“Better?” he asked, barely a foot of space separating them while the corners of his mouth curved in predatory amusement.
Not better. Definitely not better. If possible, it was worse. Because now, in addition to feeling anxious and exposed, she was also feeling extremely overwhelmed.
How could she have forgotten what this man looked like naked? Or nearly naked, at any rate.
There were male models out there being used for Calvin Klein and Abercrombie & Fitch ad campaigns who couldn’t hold a candle to a fully dressed Marc. Undressed, in only his underwear, he blew them out of the water.
Out of his underwear…well, out of his underwear, he could blow water out of the water. No one would ever as
k him to be a spokesperson for designer clothing or cologne, though, because putting him on billboards would cause women everywhere to swoon on the spot. They would cause traffic accidents and hit their heads on the pavement, and those were just lawsuits waiting to happen.
When they’d been married, Marc’s good looks had amused her. The fact that he turned heads and invited so much female attention hadn’t bothered her in the least, because she knew that at the end of the day, he was all hers. Other women could look, but she was the only one who got to touch.
They’d been divorced for over a year, though. How many other women had gotten to touch him in that time? How many heads had he turned who’d also managed to turn his?
As though sensing the direction of her thoughts, he lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. “Cold feet?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head in denial, but inside she was thinking, Cold everything.
She’d left him, been the one to initiate the divorce in the first place, but even so, she didn’t want to think about him being with other women. It left her more than cold; it left her shaken.
Closing the space between them, he carefully pried her arms away from her breasts, but used his own chest to hold the bra in place. He ran his hands down the insides of her arms, then linked their fingers together. Just the way he used to, the way that used to make her feel so close to him, so cherished.
Pressing his lips to hers, he whispered, “Let me warm you up.” Then he kissed her and started backing her slowly toward the bed.
The backs of her thighs hit the edge of the mattress and she toppled over, but Marc followed her down, so smoothly, it felt almost choreographed. The movement finally dislodged her bra and he grabbed it by one of the cups, tossing it aside.
His chest pressed her breasts flat and abraded the tight peaks of her nipples. She moaned, wrapping her arms around his shoulders while he kissed all but about three functioning brain cells straight out of her head.
Shifting his hands to her hips, he hooked his thumbs into the waist of her panties and dragged them down. He lifted her just enough to slip them off, then quickly shed his own.
They were both blessedly naked, pressed together like layers of cellophane. Insecurities threatened to surface again, reminding her that it had been months upon months since they’d been together…that she’d gone through a pregnancy and childbirth since then…that she’d spent her first trimester in a deep depression over the breakup of her marriage and the prospect of being a single mother—and therefore had spent a good deal of time in bed with cartons of ice cream and cookie dough that never quite made it into the oven.
In addition to baby weight, she’d put on pity-party weight, and though she’d been much more disciplined since she’d stopped feeling sorry for herself, she still hadn’t managed to shed all of those extra pounds. Her hips were wider than before, her stomach far from flat, her thighs a bit more well-rounded.
The only upside to her new, more curvaceous figure was her bosom. Whether it was due to the pre-baby caloric binges or the post-baby breast-feeding, the increased bra size was kind of nice. And being bigger up top helped to keep the rest of her body in proper proportion.
But whether her recent physical changes were good or bad, Marc didn’t seem to mind either way. In fact, he didn’t even seem to notice. Or if he did, he was enjoying them enough that he didn’t feel the need to comment.
Knowing that allowed Vanessa to relax and stop obsessing. Marc’s hands on her body, his mouth trailing along her jaw, her throat, her shoulder, her collarbone, were too potent to ignore for long, anyway. As was the need to touch him in return.
She stroked his back, toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. Nibbled his ear and rubbed her cheek against the slight stubble that was growing in and would need to be shaved clean again in the morning.
His erection was pressed between them, rubbing in tantalizing places and she arched slightly to feel even more of that rigid length against her belly and lower. With a low growl, Marc sank his teeth into the muscle that ran from the side of her throat to her shoulder. She sucked in a sharp breath, groaning at the light stab of pleasure-pain and digging her nails into the flesh of his back to repay the favor.
He chuckled against her skin and she felt the vibrations clear down to her bones.
“Stop teasing,” she ordered more than a little breathlessly just above his ear.
“You started it,” he retorted, words muffled as he spoke into her skin. He trailed wet, openmouthed kisses across her chest, over the mound of one breast, tighter and tighter around her nipple.
“Besides, I’m not finished yet,” he added a moment before taking that nipple into his mouth and suckling gently.
Oh, mercy. Vanessa’s upper body shot off the mattress, pleasure streaking through her like lightning. She couldn’t even cry out, the oxygen was knocked so thoroughly from her lungs.
She clung to his shoulders, panting and writhing as he didn’t just tease, but tortured. He licked and nipped and sucked at one breast before moving to the other and driving her crazy all over again.
When he finished, he lifted his head and smiled down at her. A wicked, devilish smile.
He started to lean down and she was afraid of what he might do. She wasn’t sure she could take much more, whether he decided to continue his cruel ministrations to her breasts or to move lower.
Oh, no, he couldn’t go lower. Another time, maybe. Another time, she was sure she would be delighted, and more than willing to reciprocate.
But tonight, it would be too much. She couldn’t bear it.
So before he got any bright ideas, she linked her legs around his hips and reached between them to take him in a firm, but careful grasp. He let out a hiss of breath, lips pulling back from his teeth and his eyes falling closed.
“Enough,” she told him.
His lashes fluttered and he gazed down at her. “Do you want me to stop?” he murmured.
The bastard. He knew she didn’t want him to stop, he was just teasing her—torturing her—again.
Giving him a little taste of his own medicine, she tightened her fingers around his arousal, causing him to gasp and flex his hips.
“Not stop-stop,” she clarified, as though there were really any doubt, “just wrap up the opening act and get to the big bang already.”
He arched a brow, his lips splitting into a wide grin. “The ‘big bang,’ huh?”
She felt her cheeks heat at her choice of words. Then again, she was lying naked beneath her ex-husband, all but done with the dirty deed, as it were. Was there really any reason to be embarrassed about anything at this point?
Taking a deep breath and pulling her chin up a notch, she said, “You heard me.”
“Well,” he replied slowly, that same predatory gleam in his eyes, that same sly smile, curving his mouth, “I’ll see what I can do to deliver.”
It was her turn to arch a brow and adopt an overconfident expression. “You do that.”
His grin widened a second before he swooped in to place a rough, hard kiss on her lips. Then he reached down to cover her hand with his. Slowly, he pried her fingers away from that most sensitive of body parts and raised her arm over her head, pinning it to the mattress.
Shifting, he settled more fully between her legs, the tip of his erection nudging her opening. And then he slid home, slowly, carefully, his mouth still covering hers, absorbing the heartfelt moans his agonizing entry dragged from her throat.
She clutched at his hands, both of them, where they held her own flat to the mattress. And he squeezed back, groaning against her lips as his hips began to move.
Inch by inch, he filled her up, stretching muscles and tissue that had been too long unused. It didn’t hurt, though. On the contrary, it felt amazingly, wonderfully perfect.
Like so many times in the past, she marveled at how well they fit together, how every part of her body seemed to be molded, sculpted, designed for every part of his body. Even with the physical
changes she’d gone through over the past year, that hadn’t altered.
Levering himself up on his elbows, he released her mouth, giving her the chance to bite her bottom lip and tilt her head back in growing ecstasy. He did the same, nostrils flaring as he pulled out, then drove back in, slowly at first and then faster and faster.
She lifted her own hips, meeting him thrust for thrust, letting the motion, the flesh-on-flesh sensations wash over her in ever-increasing waves. Her lungs burned, struggling for air while the rest of her body struggled for completion. Every part of her tingled, tightening in longing, in expectation. She wanted—no, needed—what only Marc could give her. And while slow and steady might be good for some things, like marathons and piano lessons, that’s not what she was interested in right now. She wanted hard and fast and now, now, now!
“Marc, please,” she begged, wrapping her arms more securely around his neck before leaning up to nip his earlobe. Then she sank her teeth even harder into his shoulder.
His entire body shuddered from head to toe above her, his hands grasping her waist and digging in. He pounded into her with even more force, making her cry out, making himself cry out.
Pressure built until she wanted to scream and then suddenly the dam burst. Pleasure spilled over her in a splash of heat and colorful sparks, like fireworks going off overhead.
She called his name and clung to him for dear life, absorbing the delicious impact of his final thrusts, and finally his full weight as he collapsed atop her with a long, low groan of satisfied completion.
Eight
“This was probably a bad idea,” Vanessa murmured.
Marc had wondered how long it would take her to start in on her list of regrets.
They were lying side by side, flat on their backs on the lumpy, queen-size hotel room mattress. Vanessa had the sheets pulled up to her armpits, held in place over her ample breasts by both hands. He was a bit more relaxed, stretched out and letting the sheet fall where it would, low on his abdomen and across his hips.