by Cindy Gerard
A surge of joy burst through her, so strong, so instantaneous, she couldn’t stop herself. She laughed. At her power over him. At his power over her.
When his eyes darkened like storm clouds, she laughed again.
“You Tarzan, me Jane?” she ventured, amused, in spite of herself over his monosyllabic orders.
“Hey…you started this,” he reminded her and reached for her, drawing her close until she stood between his open thighs.
“Then why don’t you finish it, cowboy?” Feeling brazen and bold, she sagged against him in wanton invitation.
“Oh, I intend to. With pleasure,” he whispered. “But just remember. You had your chance to take this off yourself.”
“Is that a threat, Mr. Tyler?”
“You bet your sweet ass, Doctor.” Watching her face, he cupped the back of her thighs with his big, workingman’s hands and with a slow, tantalizing glide, worked his way upward. “Sweet, sweet ass,” he repeated, cupping her cheeks, caressing her through black satin, then skimming up and under her panties to massage bare skin.
“Umm…a—”
“No talking,” he said. “Just experience. I want you to feel this. Just feel it,” he repeated, his voice deep and low as he slowly drew her panties over her hips and down her thighs, caressing her every inch of the way. He steadied her with a hand on her hip when he told her to step out of them.
“Leave the heels on. We’ll deal with them later. Right now, I want them right where they are.”
Desire shot through her belly like an arrow when he unhooked her panties from around her ankle, scrunched them in his hand and with his eyes locked on hers, brought them to his face and inhaled.
It was shocking. It was thrilling. And it made her so warm and achy between her thighs, she felt light-headed and impatient and vulnerable all at once.
“John—”
“Shhh.” He pressed his face against her, just below her breasts, nuzzled her sweetly while his hands started something that would never be classified as sweet.
She sucked in her breath on a serrated sigh, braced herself with her hands on his shoulders as he caressed her bottom with one hand and with the other, found the most vulnerable part of her.
“Don’t…move,” he ordered, stroking her where she was wet and swollen and so wonderfully sensitive she couldn’t suppress a groan.
“Don’t move,” he repeated when her hips bucked involuntarily against his hand.
She closed her eyes, tried to do what he said but…oh…oh…he was relentless as he probed and caressed and drove her to a level of sensation that brought tears to her eyes, had her digging her fingers into the tense muscle of his shoulders.
It was so good. It was so incredibly good. Too good. Too much. Too soon. She was going to lose it if he didn’t stop. And she wanted him with her when she went over the edge.
Frantic for relief, she circled his wrist with her hand. “Please. No more.”
Heart hammering, she met his eyes. Saw the satisfaction there and understood that he knew exactly what he was doing to her. He was driving her wild. Finessing her to a fever pitch with the skillful stroke of his fingers and the heated look in his eyes.
Without a word, he withdrew his hand. The ache the absence of his touch left behind was almost painful. But then he was touching her again. His fingers lightly skimming up her bare arms, hooking under the spaghetti straps of her dress and deliberately waiting for her reaction.
It came with a shivering sigh. “Please.”
His gaze burned into hers. “Take off your bra. The first time I see you out of this dress, I want to see nothing but bare skin.”
She was past being shocked. But not past the instantaneous sensual reaction. Heat speared to the tips of her breasts, then drizzled like hot wax to the core of her that was already missing his touch, waiting and wanting it again.
With unsteady hands, she reached up beneath the low-cut bodice of her dress. With trembling fingers, she unhooked the clasp between her breasts, felt the weight of them fall free as she drew out the black strapless bra that matched her panties. A muscle in his jaw worked. The breadth of his chest expanded as he drew in a controlled breath.
Then ever so slowly, he started tugging on the straps. The dress was a silky crepe and it slid smoothly down her skin before catching on her erect nipples and creating an amazing, erotic friction when he intentionally rubbed the fabric back and forth across them.
“You are a wicked, wicked man,” she murmured as his action intensified her need and edged her back to that place where sensation and desire not only drove her, they devoured her.
“I’m a man who’s wild for you,” he whispered, his breath ragged when he finally tugged the dress all the way to her waist then watched it slide in a pool of black to the floor around her feet.
The touch of his fingers on her sensitive breasts made her shiver. The gentle exploration as he tested the weight of her, the shape of her and, finally, the extent of her arousal forced a quivering breath when he brushed his thumbs over her nipples.
With a deliberate languor that drove her to yet another level of sensation, he moved his hands to her back, spread his fingers wide just under her shoulder blades and urged her closer to his mouth.
She’d never felt more vulnerable…or more aroused as she stood before him in nothing but her four-inch heels and her forty-year-old body. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he didn’t seem to mind at all. The low growl as he took her nipple in his mouth and drew her in said he loved her body. The slow, cherishing glide of his hands on her back, circling her waist, cupping her hips then lifting her, spreading her thighs until her knees were digging into the bed on either side of his hips and she was straddling him, said he adored her body.
And she adored what he was doing to her. His mouth was warm. His tongue a masterful tease as he flicked it over her nipple then laved her areola with liquid strokes and silken glides.
She cradled his head in her hands, pressed herself into his mouth and with the confidence of a desirable woman let him do whatever he would do to her. And, oh, was he an inventive lover.
She didn’t know when she’d ended up on her back. Was mistily aware of him rolling away, tugging off his boots then the rest of his clothes.
When the light on her bedside table flicked on, shedding a soft glow over the bed and exposing what the darkness had hidden, she had a moment of trepidation. Until she saw his eyes. And read the appreciation there.
“You are amazing,” he said, standing over her, one knee on the bed, digging into the mattress at her hip.
“Look who’s talking,” she said, feeling a power so great she boldly reached for him, stroked a finger down the length of his thigh. He was as beautiful below the waist as he was above. Muscle and sinew. Power and strength.
And from the size of his very impressive erection, he was extremely happy to be with her this way.
One corner of his mouth turned up in a sexy, slumberous grin as he twisted at the hip, snagged his pants from the floor and fished a condom out of his pocket.
“For the lady,” he said handing her the packet then crawling onto the bed and kneeling over her on all fours. “Take your time,” he murmured, nudging her arms out of the way and lowering himself so he could nuzzle at her bare breasts again. “I know I plan to.”
A man of his word, this one. By the time he was done kissing her, and licking her and nibbling her breasts, the inside of her thighs, the arch of her foot as he slowly removed her heels then tossed them over his shoulder, she felt like she’d aged a decade. And somewhere along the way her bones had disappeared. She was as limp as overcooked pasta and couldn’t have been happier for it.
He lifted the condom from her fingers. “Guess that’s going to be my job, after all,” he said with a smile of a man who knew he’d decimated a woman with pleasure and was damn proud of his handiwork.
She sucked in her breath on a gasp as he eased himself inside of her…hard and heavy and thick, and what could
n’t possibly get any better did. Stroke by stroke he took her higher, thrust by thrust he drove her wilder until pleasure spiraled in a blurry maze of electric blues and fiery reds and the world was reduced to this time, this place, this man who made her remember what it was like to be a woman yet stole her capacity to recall her own name.
Lying on his side beside her, John propped himself up on an elbow, slowly recovering from some of the most incredible sex of his life. Maybe the most incredible sex of his life.
He’d known they’d be compatible in bed. He’d known he could give her pleasure. What he hadn’t known was the extent of the contentment he’d feel in the giving.
She’d been so incredibly responsive. So wildly sensual. He’d loved her stunning vulnerability…and her total lack of inhibition when she’d finally let go.
Her body was amazing. He loved the soft resiliency of her hips. The pillowy fullness of her breasts. And he’d been right about her skin. From that sweet spot just under the curve of her jaw, to the even sweeter spot inside her thighs, she was as silky as a summer breeze.
And he wanted her again.
“Are you asleep?” he whispered, then because he couldn’t stop himself, he leaned down and pressed a kiss on her bare shoulder.
A long, deep breath confirmed that she’d heard him. On another deep breath, she lifted her arms, then let them drop, limp and listless above her head. “Closer to comatose. Thank you for that.”
He smiled against her shoulder, nipped her lightly as she lay on her back, the sheet tangled low on her hip, her breasts bare and beautiful in the soft light.
“The pleasure was definitely mine. Next time you want to be taken, I’m your man,” he teased, reminding her of the words that had propelled them from her porch to a tangle of sheets.
“You really think there’ll be a next time?” Her lips twitched as she opened her eyes and grinned up at him. “Now that we got it out of our systems, don’t you think we can just go on about our business?”
Fat chance.
“So you think this was just a one-night stand, do you?”
She reached up and brushed the hair out of his eyes. “Well…maybe we can go for two.”
Laughing, he rolled to his back and dragged her on top of him. “Fifty bucks says I can parlay that number into multiple digits.”
She smiled down into his eyes and it stunned him again just how beautiful she was. “Do your worst, cowboy.”
“Oh, darlin’, I plan to. I truly do plan to.”
Watching her face, he ran his hands down her back, over her hips and all the way down to the back of her thighs. When he spread her legs until her knees were digging into the mattress at his hips and did a little exploring between them, her breath caught. Her heartbeat quickened against his. With the sinewy movements of a sleek, lazy cat, she braced her hands on his chest and pushed herself up until she sat astride him, her eyes closed in dreamy pleasure. And then she was moving against him, her beautiful breasts swaying to the most sensual, erotic rhythm…and he was the one catching his breath and frantically searching for another condom.
He left her before dawn. He left her sleeping. Not because he wanted to. Not because he experienced a disconcerting notion that if he didn’t leave, and soon, he might have a hard time leaving at all.
He left because he never let himself spend the night in a woman’s bed. The black hole sometimes opened up at night and he didn’t want to suck her down into it with him.
Besides, it was best for her. Small town. Small minds. He didn’t want anyone waking up in the morning and seeing his truck in front of her house, putting two and two together and making it hard for her.
It wasn’t normally a long ride home from Sundown. Twenty miles, twenty minutes. But that was when he didn’t slow down every mile or two and think real hard about doing a one-eighty and crawling back into her nice warm bed. Next to her nice warm body.
Heaven above, did he love her body.
And he loved making love with her.
Which was another reason why it had been a wise move to head on out of town. He didn’t want to foster any false impressions. Didn’t want her thinking this was anything more than two people who liked each other hooking up for some mind-blowing sex. Because that’s all it was. Mutual attraction. Mutual satisfaction. Everybody parted as friends in the morning.
At least that’s what he kept telling himself. He’d told her, too, before things had ever gotten to this point. He’d made it clear that he wanted her, but that he didn’t do serious relationships.
But man, oh man, was she something.
He cupped his hand around the back of his neck, rolled his head and wondered what she’d think when she woke up and found him gone? Would she miss him? Would she appreciate that fact that he’d taken time to sneak out into her backyard and pluck one of the wild yellow roses growing up the trellis by the tool shed and lay it on the pillow by her head?
Would she smile at the note he’d left with it?
He dropped his hand, stared straight ahead, a little uncomfortable suddenly with the lengths he’d taken to make sure she knew he hadn’t just skipped without a second thought about how she’d take it.
It was a first. He didn’t leave notes. He didn’t regret not spending the night. And, generally, he didn’t start trying to figure out when he was going to be able to carve out some more free time to pick up where they’d left off.
As the day wore on, he started arguing with himself over whether or not he should call her yet that day.
One minute he’d be plotting reasons why he should, the next he’d be talking himself out of it. By midmorning, he had himself convinced he needed to cool his jets so she wouldn’t get the wrong idea; by noon, he was contemplating his cell phone.
It was damn disgusting. And confusing as hell. He’d never reacted this way to a woman.
“Hell,” he muttered and punched in her number as he strode out of the barn for the house to throw together a sandwich for lunch. He was making too big a deal out of it. The doc knew the score. And if she didn’t, well, he’d set her straight when the time came.
But in the meantime, in the meantime, if he didn’t see her again, he was going to bust a seam.
Ali sat on the back porch steps alternately sipping coffee and smelling the wilted yellow rose she’d found on her pillow when she’d awakened around nine. She listened to birdsong and the sound of the Wilson kids playing in the tiny plastic swimming pool in their back yard. And she wondered how it was that yesterday morning she’d awakened a mature, no-nonsense businesswoman but this morning when she’d opened her eyes she’d digressed into a baffling, thrilling, distressing mix of adolescent and over-the-hill octogenarian.
At least she moved like a senior citizen. Her body ached in places she hadn’t known she had places, yet it was an ache that was undercut by a loose-limbed satisfaction she didn’t ever remember feeling before. As for the adolescence part… Lord help her. Emotionally, she felt like she was flying high on her first schoolgirl crush. She felt giddy and scattered and as she drew the note John had left on her pillow out of her pocket and read it—again—she couldn’t stop the smile from creeping over her face.
This rose is yellow,
sorry it’s not edible.
I’m a happy fellow,
last night was incredible.
Sorry about the rhyme,
but I ran out of time…
I’ll call. Sleep in. J.T.
Smiling dreamily, she refused to acknowledge how many times she’d read his silly note, refused to consider why she’d carried it with her from room to room, propping it where she could see it, then finally pocketed it so it was with her every where she went.
Just like she refused to acknowledge that she smiled a little too much over it. And over her memories of last night.
John Tyler was an amazing lover. And talk about stamina. She had never known she was capable of multiple orgasms…multiple times. And she’d never done some of the things they had d
one last night.
Of course, she’d only had one other lover and that had been David. He’d been a gentle, intellectual soul with very little adventure or wildness in his nature. Their lovemaking had been wonderful and special and sweet. But sometimes, sometimes she had secretly wished that he’d been a little more spontaneous…a little more of a free spirit.
Her smile vanished when she realized that this was the first time she’d thought about David since last night. She waited for the crushing guilt, for the regret to settle on her shoulders and weigh down her buoyant mood.
But strangely, it didn’t come. Neither did the feelings of regret over what she and John had shared last night. Instead, she felt a sort of peace with herself. She would always and forever miss David. She would always and forever mourn him. But as she sat there, with the Sunday sun beating down and a soft breeze dancing on the air, she felt too good about life to bash herself over the head because she’d finally taken the plunge and dived back into it. Instead of standing by the side of the pool, worrying about sinking, she was swimming again. And it felt good.
She would always grieve over David. But now that she had taken this huge step and landed back among the living, she would no longer confuse her grief with guilt.
She had nothing to feel guilty about.
And today, she had a lot to be happy about.
She had a wonderful lover whom she liked and enjoyed and who wanted the same thing she did. A little pleasure along the way. Nothing more.
Feeling a lightheartedness she hadn’t felt in way too long, she stood to go back inside and tackle the final coat of paint in the living room.
When the phone rang just as she opened the screen door, she didn’t even try to quell her excitement. A lover’s intuition told her it was John.
“Hello.”
“Hello, Doc. How’s every little thing?”
She leaned against the wall, a sappy smile splitting her face. “Why, every little thing is just fine and dandy, thank you very much.”
He chuckled, all sexy and low and suggestive. “Glad to hear it. I was worried that I might have been a little too…greedy last night.”