Firm lips covered hers and devoured every ragged cry. Abruptly, the rhythm changed. Deep thrusts and shallow withdrawals subjected her to a whole new barrage of pleasure. His big frame froze, shuddered, and then their kiss reversed. His groan flowed into her mouth at the same moment his release flowed into her body.
Several minutes ticked by while her heart rate subsided. At least she thought it was hers. Two hundred pounds of rock-solid male lay over her, and the steady drumbeat hammering her ribs might just as easily belong to him. A deep, satisfied sigh rumbled up from between them. Probably his.
She closed her eyes, concentrated on the contentment of the moment. Clung to it.
When he kissed a ticklish spot near her ear, she smiled and wiggled her fingers in their still-twined hands. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“My pleasure.” He rolled off her and tucked her against him. “But I think we both know you’re the one taking care of me.”
Chapter Seventeen
Beau steered the Yukon into the semicircle of his parents’ driveway and stopped in the extra space alongside the garage of the redbrick colonial with black shutters and dark shingle roof. Massive twin maples dominated the front yard. A wreath with a big red bow graced the front door, and a Christmas tree winked from the large window of the front room. Aside from the seasonal touches, everything seemed about the same as the last time he’d been there—back in mid-October when he’d spent a weekend helping them unpack.
His parents had emailed pictures of the now-finished basement, so he knew looks could be deceiving. A part of him identified with the house a little. Chances were he looked the same on the outside, too, but inside, he’d undergone changes. Last time he’d visited he’d been alone, and content to stay that way. Well, “content” overstated things. More like stable. Comfortably numb. This time his emotions were anything but stable or comfortable. The reason for the change sat beside him, snoozing in the passenger seat.
The arrangement they’d entered into had seemed so straightforward. Ridiculously convenient. Dumb luck had taken care of the setup, and a well-timed opportunity provided a natural end. Except the end didn’t feel so natural anymore. In fact, the end felt like the most artificial part of the entire plan. Since the night of his holiday party when she’d mentioned the possibility of signing with the Mercer Gallery and withdrawing from the fellowship, he’d practically had to swallow his tongue to keep from uttering the most selfish and terrifying four-letter word in his vocabulary.
Stay.
Out of the question. Want he could handle. Not comfortably, no, because he didn’t want to want anybody or anything, but he’d lost the battle with want before they’d exchanged more than neighborly smiles. A guy didn’t ask a woman to stay because he wanted her. Stay implied need.
He sure as hell didn’t want to need her, and he flat-out refused to fall in love with her, but every time he thought about her, some defective brain cell in the back of his mind whispered the damn word. Stay. He turned to her now and got a jolt of surprise to find her staring back at him.
“You look like Bruce Banner right before he turns into the Hulk.”
“I do not.”
She clenched her teeth, furrowed her brow, and made a growling sound.
“I’m fine.” But he deliberately relaxed his jaw. “How are you feeling?” Late nights at the studio were starting to take a toll on her. She’d woken this morning with an upset stomach and a noticeable lack of energy, and then promptly fallen asleep once they’d gotten under way.
“Good. I think I slept off whatever nasty old bug was trying to sink its teeth into me.” She sat up and stretched indulgently, folding her arms above her head and arching her body so only her hips and the back of her head touched the seat.
Hell, he felt good just watching her. She caught him looking, and the corner of her mouth lifted. “If we do what you’re thinking, right here in the front of your truck while parked in your parents’ driveway, Santa’s going to put us on the naughty list for life.”
Little did she know, his parents had gone to Chattanooga for a Christmas party. “They won’t be home for hours, so we can take this inside.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Don’t be too relieved.” He got out, intending to round the Yukon and help her down, but she met him at the rear of the vehicle, already holding their garment bag containing his suit and her dress for tomorrow night’s Christmas Eve dinner. “If we do everything I have in mind, you’re still going to end up on the naughty list.”
“The naughty list is more fun anyway.”
He lowered her rolling carry-on bag to the pavement and extended the handle, and then hefted his weekend bag onto his shoulder. “Okay then. Prepare to have a lot of fun.” With the warning hanging in the air, he walked toward the house.
Inside, they found a note from his mom listing everything edible in the house—because she always assumed he’d arrive home blind and starving—and promising a surprise downstairs. That worried him. The whole downstairs had been remodeled. Wasn’t that surprise enough?
“Oh, wow. This is nice,” Savannah said as they descended the basement stairs. He had to agree. The space he associated with linoleum floors and manufactured “wood” paneling now welcomed them with dark hardwood floors, a white slipcovered sectional positioned across from a flat screen, and smooth walls decorated with framed black-and-white photographs of local landmarks.
Savannah toed her shoes off and approached one of the pictures. “Who’s the photographer?”
“Dad.”
“He’s got a good eye.”
“I’ll tell him you said so.” He hauled their bags through a freshly painted six-paneled door and found the guest room, complete with a king-size bed, and an adjacent bath.
While he deposited their luggage next to a light blue upholstered wing chair, Savannah hung their garment bag in the small closet and then flopped backward onto the bed. The overstuffed down comforter accepted her weight with an airy puff and bounced the large, fabric-covered book someone had placed against the pillows. “They’ve turned their basement into heaven.”
“My version of heaven has full-height ceilings, and no risk of me knocking myself out on a doorway header.”
She moved the book to her lap and hurled a pillow at him. “Ceiling height wouldn’t be an issue if you were horizontal.”
He caught the pillow and tossed it back on the bed. The mattress squeaked as he braced himself over her on one hand and one knee. He would have lowered himself until he pinned her hips with his, but he noticed the book on her lap. “What is that?”
“I don’t know. It was on the bed.” Her lips tipped up in the off-center smile that always got him hard. “Maybe your parents left you a how-to manual?”
He dropped down beside her and flipped the book over. Someone—presumably his mom—had taped a small envelope to the front, with Savannah’s name inked across the white paper. “Yeah. That’s why your name is on it.”
“I love surprises.” She sat up and pulled the envelope off the book. A second later she unfolded a note card and read aloud. “‘Welcome to the family, Savannah. Love, Cheryl & Trent.’ Oh.” Her smile wavered. “They shouldn’t have.”
“Damn right they shouldn’t have.” She was still focused on the card, but he could see the front of the book now that the envelope was gone. Not a book at all—a photo album. And the photo positioned front and center on the cover? A fat, bald, bare-assed baby.
“Oh my God, is that you?”
He swiped the book from her lap. “No.”
The mattress squeaked again as she scrambled to her knees and faced him. “It is you.” She made a grab for the album. “And that’s mine.”
He held it out of her reach. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
She very slowly, very deliberately slid her hand between his legs, cupped his balls through his jeans, and gave a menacing squeeze. “Drop the book or kiss ’em goodbye.”
A man h
ad his pride, and then he had his pride. He held out the book.
She nabbed it from his outstretched arm like a greedy child offered a favorite treat, and then rolled over on her stomach, propped the album against the headboard, and wiggled her hips to get comfy. “Look at you.” She gazed at the picture. “Same eyes. Same chin. Same adorable butt.”
He stretched out beside her and set about distracting her by nuzzling the side of her neck. “You know, if you’re hankering for gratuitous nudity, I’m right here. You don’t have to settle for a bunch of old pictures.”
She tipped her head to give him better access and flipped the book open. “I’m pretty sure I can have both.”
Damn. Time to up his game. He sneaked a hand under her skirt and stroked the smooth skin of her inner thigh. “How ’bout you close the book and focus on—”
“Oooh.” She tapped the page. “If I find a fuzzy red hat, maybe you’ll reenact this pose for me later?”
He glanced down at the album to see a picture of him propped up in front of the Christmas tree, naked—again—save for the Santa hat perched on his head. He sincerely hoped they hadn’t used the shot for their holiday card that year. Or this year. Or ever.
“Jesus, this really is gratuitous. You’d think I didn’t own any clothes for the first year of my life.” He ran the edge of his teeth along her neck and eased her skirt up a few inches.
“I think, technically, the hat counts as an item of clothing.” The smart-ass comment came out slightly breathless as his hand roamed higher on her thigh. She flipped the page and revealed a shot of two ridiculously chubby babies in a bathtub—one girl, one boy. The boy leaned forward to plant an openmouthed kiss on the girl, and the camera caught her midwail. “Our first kiss.”
He peered at the picture more closely. Things just got interesting. “Is that you?”
“Yep.”
“Hard to believe we were ever the same size.” He palmed the back of her thigh and shifted her legs apart.
She turned her head and looked down her nose at him, but the little shiver she couldn’t suppress undermined the imperious expression. “I’ll have you know as a baby I was in the ninetieth percentile for length and weight. One of us happened to…normalize…over time.”
Since it was there, and presented such a tempting handful, he squeezed her butt. “You’re the normal one?”
“Perfectly.” She squirmed in his grasp.
“Trust me, Smith, there’s nothing normal about you.”
“Montgomery, you can kiss my ass.”
“Can I?” He hitched her skirt up to her waist, revealing the ass in question. “I like these.” He traced one edge of her little purple panties.
She sucked in a breath and craned her neck around to glare at him. “Are you trying to distract me?”
“I’m just following orders, ma’am.” He let his breath feather over one half-bare curve, and watched goose bumps appear on her skin. “Don’t mind me. Go on and look at your pictures.”
“Beau.”
He kissed the exposed portion of her cheek.
“Beau…”
He kissed the other.
“Bea…oh!” Her voice rose at least an octave when he kissed her next. Then he slid his tongue up the center of her panties. She squirmed so much he had to hold her hips with both hands just to retrace the route.
“Oh God. Not again.”
Hell yes. Again. Her loud, throaty cry was like a velvet glove stroking his balls, his shaft. He ached, but the simple thrill of toying with her, listening to her raw, uncensored reactions, compelled him to stay the course a little longer, go a little further.
“Not there. Don’t you dare…um…oh sweet mercy…okaaaay.”
For the next several minutes he coaxed a low, breathless, insanely cock-torturing serenade of pleas and threats out of her. When her words came in short, shallow pants of “No more…I can’t…No more,” and her panties were nothing but a wet, transparent second skin, he figured he’d gone as far as he could without risking her twisting around and kicking him in the groin. He worked an arm under her waist and flipped her around. The sudden move startled a strangely satisfying squeak out of her. While she caught her breath, he dragged her panties down, hitched her legs over his shoulders, and gripped her hips. “Where would you like my tongue?”
She wasted no time showing him. Heels dug into his back. Fingers tangled in his hair, twisting tighter every time he lashed her eager little clit.
Her scent filled his nose. Her taste coated his tongue. Frantic cries reached his ears. Nothing else existed. His senses disregarded everything except her.
And then she tensed—hips raised—and let out a long, heartfelt moan.
He had her skirt off and her sweater over her head before she stopped trembling. Her fingers scrambled over the buttons of his shirt, undoing as many as she could before he tugged her bra down her arms. Her hands leaped back to his shoulders as soon as her arms were free. He filled his hands with her breasts, teasing his thumbs across the tight pink tips, loving the way she leaned in and sought his touch.
By now he knew what she liked. He cupped their warm weight, lifted and squeezed, then froze when she stiffened and drew in a sharp breath.
Immediately, he relaxed his hold. “Too rough?”
“Sorry. I guess I’m a little sensitive right now.”
“I’m not sure how that earns me an apology. Seems like I’m the one with some making up to do.” He lowered his head and kissed one straining nipple. “Sorry,” he said against the stiff peak.
Her hands went slack on his shoulders. “You’re forgiven.”
He kissed the other, and she arched her back in a blatant attempt to encourage him to take her into his mouth. He waited until her fingernails dug into his skin before giving her what she wanted.
His lips closed around her breast, and her hands turned restless, pushing his shirt off his shoulders, and then abandoning the task, half done, in favor of undoing his fly. Seconds later she had his jeans open and his cock threaded through the flap of his briefs while his balls remained trapped behind unforgiving folds of denim. The not-altogether unappealing agony inspired him to take matters into his own hands.
“Hurry,” she urged when he rolled aside. He yanked his shirt off, lifted his hips, and shoved his jeans and underwear down.
He’d barely kicked them off when she slung a leg over his hip and straddled him. His hands automatically settled on her hips to steady her, and his vision went blurry because she leaned forward and shifted her hips until…a groan rumbled over his tight, dry throat as she took him in.
“Jesus, Smith. Are you trying to finish me?”
“Not yet.” Then she looked down at him, smiled slowly, and started to move. Up, down, forward, back, unapologetically grinding her clit against him every time she moved. The quick strokes drove him insane.
“Savannah, you can toy with me like this for approximately five more seconds. Then I’m going to roll you under me and get this done right.”
Her smile only widened, and the glint in her eye turned downright wicked. “Do that, and you miss the chance to watch me do…this.” She skimmed her hands up her thighs, over her stomach, and very, very slowly closed in on her gently swaying breasts. She paused just short of touching them and raised her brows at him.
“Do it.”
“Where are your manners, Montgomery?”
“Please.” The word sounded more like a demand than a request, but apparently she wasn’t inclined to be too exacting about tone. Those devious hands swept up to her breasts, palming them, stroking them, fondling the soft, opulent flesh. She purred deep in her throat as she caressed herself.
He was going to explode, and she damn well knew it. Eyes locked on him, she slid one hand up her throat, over her chin, and slipped her index finger into her mouth. She sucked hard enough to hollow her cheeks and he groaned out loud at the memory of that same luscious mouth sucking on him. With her finger good and wet, she withdrew it and
rubbed some of the moisture against her thumb, and then gave him what he knew to be a deliberately wide-eyed look. It still worked.
“I love the way my nipples feel when they’re hard, but my breasts are so sensitive today, I think a little lubrication is in order. Don’t you?”
“It couldn’t hurt,” he managed. But it could. It could hurt him. Bad.
Her face tipped up toward the ceiling and her hair streamed down her back as she teased her nipple with her wet fingers. “Oooh. That feels good.” She practically hummed the words.
Warning heat started low in his belly.
“How long do you plan to keep torturing me?” The last words came out more like a growl than actual language. The tendrils of heat wrapped around his spine, his balls.
“Oh…I don’t know. At least as long as I spent facedown on the mattress while you had your way with me.”
Yeah, that’s what he figured. The hot tendrils wound tighter. “Too long.”
“Excuse—”
He cut her off by slipping his thumb between her parted lips, because hey, he believed in lubrication, too. After her initial moment of surprise, she swept her tongue over this thumb. He inserted his index finger as well, and let her do the honors. Then he slid them out so quickly her lips made an audible pop, and sneaked his wet fingers between her legs. Another second and he had her clit trapped between his fingers. He squeezed. Her hand curled around his wrist. “Wait—”
But he was out of time, and so was she. The first fluttering waves of her orgasm rippled along his shaft an instant before everything inside him pulled tight. The next thing he knew, he had Savannah under him, her knees bent back to her shoulders, ankles clasped around his neck, calling his name every time he surged into her.
Jesus, he couldn’t get enough of her.
You’ll never get enough of her.
The fatalistic thought circled his brain for a second, but then everything faded except the sensations storming his system with near brutal intensity. They battered him, conquered him, wrung him dry until he collapsed into a shuddering, incoherent heap.
Emergency Engagement (Love Emergency) Page 16