He did.
Like a stereo snapped on at full volume, a spotlight straight in the face, a splash into icy water—no, burning water, boiling. The intensity of sensations, of images, of touch scalded her. The force of him struck too hard, too fast for Faith to do anything but cling to consciousness.
Some part of her seemed vaguely aware that, on the outside, all Roy did was hold her. Hard. Tight. He dipped his head onto hers, his face in her hair, his breath a ragged sigh of completion, of need.
Things almost seemed still on the outside.
But oh, God, what he had inside!
His forearms wrapped behind her so that his hands touched her bare arms, each fingertip a conduit into untapped electric depths. Had she thought she couldn’t read emotion? His emotions arced through her. The tension in Roy’s taut body wasn’t just anger at his friend’s death, it was rage. The strain in his neck, the throbbing in his head, which he’d tried to deaden with beer, wasn’t mere guilt. He felt stupid for not having known where Butch was that morning. He felt incompetent. His burning stomach feared that he would fail to avenge his partner. His aching heart longed for his dead mentor’s advice. All of that burned through her so loudly that the usual disjointed details stayed peripheral. Baseball in the park. Corned beef and cabbage. Women. More than one. None of that changed anything. It was all part of him.
All of him hurt. And as if she’d touched a live wire, all of that hurt surged from him into her, so powerfully she almost cried out from his agony.
Except…
Except somehow, as he inhaled deep gulps of her, everything in him began to relax. Slowly. Incrementally. And in some weird feedback loop, she began to relax, too. His simple embrace became a blanket. A drug. Touching him…
She’d braced herself against it for good reason.
But touching him didn’t suck. Not at all.
Roy sighed, his breath hot in her hair. “You’re sweet, Corbett,” he muttered hoarsely, his body tensing in an effort to be a good guy. Decent. Stand-up. “Sweet and innocent. But—”
But she was so lost in him, she hardly heard. Having adapted to this much contact, adapted better than she’d ever hoped, she pressed her face to his bare chest and felt him, breathed him in return. Soft, curling chest hair and softer, tanned skin and a quickening of his heartbeat. Soap and beer and sweat and maleness. Something primal in her responded to that in a surprising rush. And then…
And then, bliss.
As if her eardrums had popped from the cacophony of him, leaving blessed silence—except that she could still hear his pulse, the catch in his breath, the funny gulpy noise when he swallowed. As if all her nerve endings had been burned away, leaving her invulnerable to pain, except that she could still feel him, feel the sudden clamminess of his skin as his body reacted to her closeness, feel the tightening of his grip, the tightening against her stomach, definitely feel the flip-flop of expectation as she recognized what his body was doing. His energy had surrounded and saturated her and now, surprisingly, she was safe there. Still overwhelmed. Dizzy even. But safe.
And without the extreme feedback from his touch, she found herself savoring every bit of it.
She lifted her face to his. “Kiss me.”
His eyes narrowed, like he was mad at her. “Look, thanks for coming out, but I don’t need pity sex.”
His body was saying otherwise, as did his scent, but she admired him for the effort.
“That’s…” Oh heavens, she could hardly breathe, he felt so good. “That’s not what I asked for.”
She might not know men, but she’d heard the one-thing-on-their-minds speech. What woman hadn’t? Roy was a basic guy. Everything in him seemed to be screaming, full-speed ahead. His body and hers were distracting him from the troubles of the previous few days. Maybe he didn’t need that, much less any more than that—but it was damned welcome, all the same. His breathing had picked up, along with his heart rate. She could feel extra warmth off his lips and his nipples—one of them under her ear—and, strangely, off his earlobes. And against her belly. She definitely felt heat there. But she could sense his suspicion, too. Basic didn’t mean stupid.
“Have you ever dived into cold water?” she asked, and her voice sounded strangely breathless to her. Actually, all of her felt strange. Altered. Especially her breasts and deep inside her, as if her insides were shifting. “And you don’t want to, and it’s so cold. But after you swim even a little, it starts to feel really good, and then when you get out it’s the air that feels cold—”
With a roll of his eyes and a groan, he gave up and kissed her. She didn’t think he’d understood her analogy, or even cared. She didn’t care either, not anymore.
Not as long as he kept on kissing her.
Understanding meant nothing compared to feeling. And oh, she didn’t want to ever get out of the water.
His lips were warm, warmer than the rest of him, and soft, and gentle. The press of them, searching across her own sensitive mouth, singed her, charred her in the heat of him. She loved this closeness, this meeting of bodies and beings. She wanted more, more, more.
The intensity of him everywhere, in her lungs, in her mouth, spiraled through her. She shuddered in his arms, gasped her astonishment and delight.
Roy pulled back, his eyes wide. “Did you just come? From kissing?”
She stared up at him, unsure of anything except that even as the shuddering sensations eased, she wanted those lips back. And if his lips wouldn’t cooperate—
Rising onto her tiptoes, she moved in on one of those hot, tantalizing earlobes.
“That is so hot,” he muttered—and buried his face into her neck. His hands slid down her bare arms to her bare thighs, just under the bottom of her shorts. He cupped her butt, and she loved the roughness of his palms against her rounded cheeks as he held her against him and ravished her neck.
There was no other word for what he was doing, either. Lips. Tongue. Teeth. Ravishing.
When he got to her ear, sensations exploded through her and she shuddered again. He laughed a devilish laugh and deliberately kept it up.
Full-speed ahead.
Faith couldn’t hold still. She wouldn’t want to if she could. She wrapped her arms up over his solid shoulders, behind his tanned neck. She held tight as she writhed happily against him, pressing into him with her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. She nuzzled and tasted his sexy ear. Then she rasped her cheek over his stubble and demanded his mouth back. He gave it, openmouthed this time, filling her, owning her. She let him. She’d never thought she could feel like this, never thought she’d be able to even do this.
She’d sure never thought it would be this instinctive, this natural, this necessary. But this was pure man-woman action, as basic as touch came. When her hands got tired of playing with the edge of trimmed hair against the nape of his neck—and he had great hair, thick and springy and soft—she started pushing at his shirt until she was able to peel it off his broad shoulders, down his bare arms, all the way off. The hair on his arms, which had so drawn her before, felt soft under her palms for the moment before he wrapped his hard arms around her again. So did the skin on his ribs, and the hair under his arms. Then she was playing with the nape of his neck again, all the warmer, all the happier for being submerged against all that bare skin.
“Liverons,” whispered Roy after a while, his breath tickling her ear and neck, making her shiver. With her hyperhearing, his panting already sounded like a roar, his moans a solid rumble, but she was distracted and he hadn’t enunciated.
“Huh?”
He narrowed his eyes in playful warning. “Lift. Your. Arms.”
She did—and like that, he’d peeled her T-shirt up out of her waistband and over her head and arms and away. She had no idea what he’d done with it, but he sure hadn’t held on to it for long. Almost immediately he was drawing his big, warm hands across her bare back—and unsnapping her bra with practiced ease. And she didn’t even care. Actually, she did care. She approved.
He started ducking his head awkwardly, nuzzling her shoulders. That felt nice enough, but her shoulders weren’t exactly where she wanted to be nuzzled. She hadn’t realized that her frustration was partly an echo of his until he growled, took her by both shoulders, and turned her bodily around to face away from him.
Before she could even protest, he’d drawn her back against his chest, his arms hard around her again—but now his hands were on her breasts. His kisses across her ear, her cheek, and onto her neck, gave him full view of what he was doing with her breasts, too. The pressure in his jeans, now against her butt, hardened and warmed perceptibly. Oh—so that’s what he’d wanted.
Faith loved that he wanted to see her breasts. They liked it, too. When she stretched her arms upward and back, to bury her hands into his hair again, the move lifted her breasts eagerly.
He muttered something like, “That’s what I’m talking about,” and did more wonderful things to her eager breasts.
She wriggled her butt into his crotch, and this time his groan resounded through her. And not just because of his mouth on her ear.
Because her groan joined it.
One of his big, rough hands left her bosom to slide down her front and vanish under the waistband of her shorts, under the edge of her panties, claiming another of her own hot spots. Groan was an understatement.
Explosions. Resounding, seismic explosions.
Thank goodness he was holding her up.
“So hot,” he muttered admiringly. “C’mere.”
“I thought I already was,” she rasped, her head lolling back against his chest. She felt lazy and happy and she hoped he’d do that again.
He laughed and turned her again and spread his arms, expectant. “Come here.”
Delighted to realize what he meant, she jumped him. He caught her under the thighs and pulled her up against him as she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. She began kissing him some more while he carried her. He generously returned her kisses.
Faith had never done this before.
She’d never been held like this, carried like this. She’d seen people act this way all the time, if not this naked. Guys carrying girls, friends with their arms around each other, easy hugs, horseplay. She’d always envied them such simple, happy physicality. She’d never thought she’d have that. Never.
Even if she hadn’t been looking forward to the sex, she might have gone through with it from sheer gratitude for this. She knew that’s where they were going—to the bedroom, for sex—without having to be psychic. But she was very much looking forward to it.
The kissing and the petting had sure proven better than she could possibly have imagined.
Roy turned and fell backward onto a bed, her riding him down. Then he rolled them both over so that she was on her back, looking up, and he was holding her down, his big body filling her world. “Now,” he mused, his voice thick and smug. “Where were we?”
And he started kissing her again.
For the briefest moment, she’d been distracted by new sensations—this was a guest room, not his bedroom. He knew the sheets were clean, in here. His mom sometimes visited to change them, even unused, despite his protests.
The kissing banished those unimportant details in a hurry. He gave her so much to feel, his fingers awkward in her hair, his mouth far less awkward on her breasts, the denim of his jeans rough as she slid her legs across them. His chest under her hungry palms, then his waist under her hungry palms, then the rough denim and whatever was in his back pockets hard under her palms as she tried to get a better feel of his butt.
Obligingly, he shucked off his jeans one-handed and kicked them away, then went back to massaging her breasts with his mouth.
Oh….
She’d enjoyed the feel of denim against the sensitive skin inside her legs, but she liked the feel of his warm, hard, hairy legs even better. And now her hands had access to his butt, covered only in a stretch of briefs. Between her legs, pressing the seam and zipper of her shorts almost painfully against her, strained something else his briefs stretched to cover.
For the first time since she’d initiated this, at least since she’d adjusted to the water temperature, Faith felt a flutter of uncertainty.
Today wasn’t just her first time being carried. She should probably tell him. Then again, was it any of his business?
Blindly, still kissing her, he caught one of her hands and drew it to his arousal. He groaned in obvious ecstasy as her fingers curled partly around him. As much as his underwear allowed, anyway.
She moaned her appreciation. She liked the feel of him, so hot and hard and ready for her. Necessary. Definitely a man-woman thing. She did ache for him where she was supposed to be aching.
But damn, he seemed big.
This might go more smoothly if she told him.
He drew up, drew back just far enough to slide his hot, dark gaze across her. She shivered, feeling it as tangibly as if he’d used his hands. Then he showed his teeth in a wicked grin of satisfaction and sank down on her again, all size and weight. He brushed those hot, soft lips against her ear and whispered, “Get naked.”
It occurred to her that he was a pushy lover. He hadn’t said please once. It also occurred to her that she didn’t mind.
She was too busy wriggling out of her shorts and panties, both at once, to complain.
“Ooh,” he said, or some similar sound of approval. He caressed her hip, then stroked his hand between her legs, explored a little with his fingers—
Her world ended. She didn’t actually pass out or anything, but the next thing she became fully aware of, as the spasms subsided and the rush in her head became a mere roar, was Roy, on his side, his head pillowed on his bent elbow, brushing hair out of her face.
“Damn, you’re easy to please,” he marveled.
“Kiss me.” See? She could be pushy, too.
“Yes, ma’am.” He leaned closer and did, and soon he was on top of her again, kissing her, cradling her in his arms. He was also pushing against her with his body, the hemmed flap across the front of his briefs taking over where the seam in her shorts had been. He was clearly ready to move on.
If she needed to be more ready herself, she wasn’t sure she’d survive the pleasure. Was she supposed to give him a go-ahead or something? Unsure, she pushed at the waistband of his briefs.
He had them off faster than she’d thought was possible, and now she could really hold him in her hand. Hot. Throbbing. Just a little moist. Supposedly designed to fit into her….
“Wait a minute,” he grunted, arching off her to fumble in the drawer of the bedside table. He kept his condoms in the kind of tin mints came in. Didn’t want to shock his mother when she went on her cleaning tangents.
Faith thought, the woman can’t be that stupid. But since she didn’t want to explain how she knew about him hiding the guest-room condoms, she didn’t comment.
Now or never, girl. “I, uh,” she said.
“Yeah?” He tore open the condom, slid it onto himself one-handed, turned back to her with a look of ravenous anticipation, and moved in to kiss her again.
“I ought to tell you something,” she managed to say before his lips covered hers. “Before…”
His lips stilled completely. So did he. He drew back, looking wary now. And pissed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
She had no idea what to say. She could sense that whatever he thought, it infuriated him. His level of arousal just added fuel to the fire. But what was he thinking?
He saved her the trouble of asking. Sort of. “Which one? No, lemme guess. You’re fucking positive?”
Okay, now she was really lost. “Positive about what?”
He blinked, his anger easing as surely as his lust had a moment earlier. Now they were both confused. But at least he moved into looking hopeful. “HIV positiv
e,” he clarified, as if it should have been obvious.
“No! Nothing like that!”
His relief was palpable. “Geez. Don’t scare me like that.” And he moved in to kiss her again. “I was clean on my last test, too.”
She said, “I’ve never been tested,” and he stopped again.
It would have been funny, if she didn’t want him on her, in her, so bad she felt hollow with the need of him. He swore a little more, settled back onto his elbow looking pissed, and said, “Great, that’s just great. Okay, then, hon. Give me the list.”
Clearly, casual sex was more complicated than she’d thought. “The list of…?”
“You know.” He waited, but since she didn’t know, he just got frustrated. “Any unprotected sex? Multiple partners? Partners at risk? Drug use?”
Was he still stuck on that? “You,” said Faith.
At least he got to be the one lost, this time. “Me, what?”
“You’re it. A list of one. You. Now can we…?”
And she’d thought he’d been thrown by the possibility that she was at risk for AIDS?
“You’re a virgin,” he said, eyes wide.
“Yeah.” She leaned closer and nibbled on his ear, but it wasn’t nearly as fun when he wasn’t playing, too.
Not that he pushed her away. But still.
“I actually used that word for you. ‘One of those virginal blond types,’ I said. At the time, I swear, I thought it was a figure of speech.”
She gave up on his ear and sank back, now pillowing her head on her bent elbow, her nose almost touching his. “Is this going to be a problem for you? Do you—” She hated to even give him the option, but hey, guys were people, too. “Do you not want to do this anymore?”
He laughed and encircled her with those hard, strong arms she’d already come to adore. “Damn, you are innocent, aren’t you?”
She reached down between them and encircled him and his condom with hungry fingers. “I’ve read books,” she warned, as his eyes drifted half-closed in a moment of gratitude.
“Oh, yeah?” He was getting cocky now. He had something of a swagger about his expression as he grazed his hand slowly, slowly down her front again. “Honey, this is nothing like reading.”
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