by Lisa Jackson
This would be the first time since he had met her that he would actually be pressing his lips against the woman he really wanted.
So he took a moment. A moment just to appreciate that. To revel in it.
Then he leaned in, and her breasts rose on an indrawn breath, and he thought for a moment she might protest. But then she didn’t have the chance. It was too late. He caught whatever words she had been about to speak with his mouth as he claimed her. Utterly. Completely.
He kept his palms pressed flat against the counter at first, and then he angled his head, deepening the kiss, sliding his tongue against the seam of her lips, and dipping it into hers.
She tasted like desire fulfilled. Hope. Meg. Like everything he had ever wanted, and a whole hell of a lot of things he hadn’t known to want.
An erotic daydream come to blinding, screeching light, and all he could do was his best not to set her up on the counter and start tearing her clothes off as he settled between her legs.
She was a virgin. No matter how difficult that was to believe, Meg, his Meg, had never had a man inside of her before. And she wanted him to be the first.
The very idea made his knees buckle.
And dimly, in the back of his mind, he knew that he was just her second choice. Hell, worse than that, he might just be her revenge choice. But he couldn’t care. He just couldn’t.
Not when he was made entirely of need. And need like that didn’t have room for pride.
She was his fantasy. Had been since he was seventeen years old.
That was bigger than he was. Bigger than Charlie. Bigger than whatever had happened to her today.
He lifted his hands from the counter and cupped her face, tasting her even deeper, his heart about to rage through his chest.
He knew this wasn’t Meg’s fantasy. He knew he wasn’t.
She had gone to New York to be with the man she had longed for since she was a teenager, and had instead found herself flung into the arms of the man who had wanted her for half of his life.
He supposed if she couldn’t get everything she wanted, he might as well get what he wanted. What he needed.
She made a small distressed sound, and even though he had made the determination that he wasn’t going to stop once he had started, he couldn’t continue if Meg was in distress.
He lifted his face from hers, staring down at her. “What?”
“I don’t understand,” she mumbled.
“Is my kissing confusing?”
“No.” She was breathless, and she looked dazed. She lifted her hand and brushed her fingertips over his lips. “I didn’t know kissing could feel like that.”
Pure masculine triumph rioted through him.
“How much experience do you have with it?”
Her cheeks colored. “Enough.”
“Charlie?” She nodded. “What else did you do?” It was important to know.
The color in her cheeks darkened. “Do we really want to talk about this?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Because you’re going to compare the two of us. So I want to know exactly what I’m up against.”
She cleared her throat. “I don’t . . . I don’t know how to talk about this.”
“Did you ever get him off?”
She looked down. “Yes.”
“How?”
Meg bit her lip. “With my . . . my hand.”
He slid his thumb along her lower lip. “Never with your mouth?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Did he ever get you off?”
She shook her head again, and this time he wasn’t quite sure what to feel. Angry or triumphant in some way. He couldn’t pick.
“He’s an idiot.”
He kissed her again, pressing the length of his body against hers, pushing her back against the counter as he consumed her, as he gave in to the beast that was roaring inside of him. Then he picked her up, cradling her against his chest as he walked them both back to his bedroom.
He knew it was nothing compared to Charlie’s penthouse in Manhattan. But there was also no other woman in his bed, so he supposed that put him ahead of the game.
He set Meg down in the center of his bed, and she looked up at him, her curls tumbled into her face, her eyes wide. She was . . . she was more beautiful than he could possibly imagine, now that she was his. Now that he had held her in his arms, conquered her mouth with his.
“I have . . .” Meg cleared her throat. “I have condoms in my overnight bag.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Meg, I have condoms.”
She blinked, then looked away from him. “Of course you do.”
“I’m not a monk and I’ve never pretended to be. But I also never made any promises that I didn’t keep.”
Meg drew her knees up to her chest. “That’s true. You haven’t.”
He moved over to the bed, pressing his knee down onto the mattress, leaning in toward her. “I’m going to promise you something right now,” he said. “For every orgasm I have, you’re going to have at least three. I’m going to make you feel good. I’m going to make this all about you. You’re going to have your first time tonight, Meg O’Neill, and I am going to make it the best damn sex on earth.” He kissed her lips. “I’m going to give you your first time, your second time, your third time. And when all this is over, you’re going to be glad you waited.”
You’re going to be glad you waited for me.
He didn’t say that last part. Because there was no point wrenching his chest open and showing her the contents of it. Not when he knew there was nothing he could do with those feelings.
“And you can trust me,” he said, straightening and grabbing the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it up over his head. “I promise you that.”
She was staring at him, her expression somewhat owlish. She blinked.
He frowned. “What?”
“I didn’t . . . Noah, I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know what?”
She propped herself up, getting onto her knees and moving to the edge of the bed. “I didn’t know you looked like that.” She reached out, pressing her palm flat against his stomach. Then she walked her fingers up his abs, like they were climbing a ladder. “I just didn’t. . . .”
“I’ve been in front of you the whole time,” he said. “I think you didn’t look.”
She frowned, tilting her head to the side. “I guess not. I mean, checking out your friend’s abs is not exactly appropriate.”
“Is this appropriate?” He took a step toward her, forcing her to press her hand more firmly against him.
The breath rushed out of her. “No. Not appropriate at all.”
“Do you want me to tell you something else that isn’t appropriate?”
“Well, I guess you might as well. . . .”
“I’m not going to be surprised when you take your shirt off. Not about the size of your breasts, not about the contour of your waist. Not about the shape of your hips. And when you take off your bra, all you’re going to be doing is answering a few questions that I’ve had for a long time. And you know why that is?”
“Why?” The word was a whisper.
“Because I have wanted you for so long I’ve forgotten what it’s like to live without that feeling inside of me. I’ve forgotten what it means to be satisfied. I feel like I’ve been hungry for thirteen years. Constantly.”
Meg drew away from him then, leaning back on the mattress, her face going a little bit pale. “You said that you hadn’t been a monk.”
“Oh, I haven’t been. We all eat a salad when we want steak sometimes; that’s a fact.” He moved onto the bed, leaned over her, his hands on either side of her shoulders. “I am so fucking sick of salad.”
“Noah.” She whispered his name like it was a foreign word, one she had never spoken before. That should appall him; it should make him question everything he had just said to her. Instead, he found it only turned him on more.
That she was the one who felt overwh
elmed, that she was the one who felt breathless, shaky and like it was all out of her control. Because that was how he felt. Every day. Sure, he had learned to push it down deep; there was no other option. But it was always there. Living inside of him. That need for her had gone unsatisfied, unanswered, for so long.
“Does that scare you?” He slid his thumb along her cheekbone. “I don’t want to scare you.”
“It doesn’t scare me,” she said, swallowing hard. “But I wonder how I didn’t see it.”
She looked up, her eyes meeting his. “It’s because you were looking at him,” he responded.
Meg’s face crumpled for a moment, and then she took a deep breath, regaining her composure. Then she reached out, her hand pressed over his chest, over his heart. He grabbed hold of it, held it there, let her feel the effect she was having on his body. Let her feel just how hard and fast his heart was beating.
Then he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing each fingertip softly, glorying in the feel of her trembling beneath his touch. Finally, finally he was doing to her just a fraction of what she had done to him for so long.
But this small moment, this calm before the storm, wasn’t going to last. Because he was going to get caught up in the hurricane the moment it hit. But before then, he wanted to enjoy it. Wanted to look at her and memorize the contours of her face. Commit to his soul the longing that he could see in her eyes.
Longing for him. Finally for him.
“I might have been looking at him before,” she said softly. “But I’m looking at you right now, Noah.”
Her words were filled with wonder, filled with awe, as though she couldn’t believe it any more than he could. But that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter whether or not this made sense to her; he didn’t need it to. He just needed her to be here. Just needed her to be willing.
“And I’m looking at you,” he said, not taking his eyes off of her for a moment. “Take your clothes off, Meg. Show me. I’ve waited a long damn time for this.”
She blinked, rapidly, her eyes glittering in the soft light. “I spent so long waiting for someone else, it didn’t occur to me that someone might have been waiting for me.”
“Believe me. I’ve been waiting for you. But I didn’t ever think I would have you.”
With trembling fingers she lifted the hem of her sweater up, revealing a pale wedge of skin, peeling it up over her head, uncovering a red lace bra. That bra was for another man. He knew that. But that other man was an idiot, and he hadn’t gotten to see it.
But Noah did. Noah was here. And he wanted her.
He didn’t care who the bra was for. She was never going to look at it again without thinking of him.
He reached out, sliding his finger just beneath the edge of the lace, finally touching the soft curves of her breast as he had fantasized about doing so many times before.
He had to grit his teeth to keep a growl from escaping, something completely uncontrolled and uncivilized. But he felt like both of those things.
And then, suddenly, he couldn’t wait. Not for one more moment. He reached around behind her, unhooking the bra and tugging it free from her body. He cast it onto the floor; he didn’t care where it went. Because he couldn’t look away from her. Not now.
Her breasts were perfect. Just the perfect size for his hands. His mouth. Of course, that would have been true no matter what. Because it was Meg. And if he’d believed he had a soul, and he believed souls had mates, he would have believed she was his.
She looked up at him, her expression worried. “Are they okay?”
He laughed, but it didn’t sound like anything but a strangled, tortured sound. He couldn’t speak. So he didn’t. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the plumpest part of one breast. Then he nuzzled the tightened bud at the tip with his nose before taking hold of it between his lips and sucking her in deep.
She gasped, her head falling back, her body arching more firmly against him. He pressed one palm flat between her shoulder blades, holding her to his mouth as he continued to pleasure her. Her fingers laced through his hair, and he transferred his attentions to her other breast.
“Noah!” She gasped his name like a prayer, and he reveled in it. That it was his name on her lips. That he was the one making her feel like this. Charlie, idiot Charlie, had never even gotten her off. It was a waste.
Her body was made for pleasure. And yes, he was looking forward to it giving him some, too. But mostly, he just wanted to look at her, pleasure her, taste her.
Yeah, he really needed to taste her.
He grabbed hold of the waistband on her leggings—and said a small prayer of thanks that she was wearing stretchy traveling clothes—and wrenched them down her thighs in one smooth motion, along with her panties. That left her completely naked.
Meg O’Neill was finally naked in his bed.
He rocked back so that he was sitting on his knees, so that he could get a better look at her. She was breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling with the motion, her soft stomach pitching in the same rhythm.
She was soft all over. He could tell just by looking at her. And he loved it.
“Still doing okay?”
“Don’t stop touching me,” she said, the words breathless.
And even as those words cut into him like a knife, he grinned. Because it hurt. All of this hurt. It was too sharp, too clear, too much. But he would gladly exist in it forever.
“I think I can handle that,” he said. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her rib cage, beneath the lower curve of her breast.
She gasped. He would remember the sounds forever. Meg, his Meg, making sounds of pleasure for him. Only for him.
“You know what’s funny,” he said, trailing kisses down the center of her stomach.
“I don’t really find anything funny right now, Noah,” she said.
“It’s funny,” he continued, “that I’ve known you for so long, and never seen you naked. That I’ve known you for so long, that I know so much about you, but I don’t know what you sound like when you come. Does any man know that?”
He looked up, his eyes meeting hers. Her cheeks were pink, her embarrassment apparent. It only made her hotter to him.
“No,” she whispered.
This time, he could not hold back the growl of satisfaction that rose up in his throat. Yes, part of him was offended that Charlie had never given her an orgasm. But a good portion of him was smug that he would be the first one to do it.
He pressed a kiss lower on her midsection, then lower still, curling his hand around her leg and parting her thighs.
She tensed, attempting to close her legs, to hide herself. He denied her, pressing a kiss high on her thigh, loving that he made her tremble from his touch.
“No one’s ever done this for you before, have they?”
He didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he pressed his mouth directly over her center, taking a long, slow taste of her, sliding his tongue through her slick folds. Sucking her until she made a short, sharp sound.
He lost himself in that. In the sweet sounds of pleasure she made, in the flavor of her desire on his tongue. He gripped her hips hard, pulling her up against his mouth, tasting her deeper, before adding his hands to his efforts. He pressed one finger deep inside of her, then a second as he continued his sensual assault.
“Yes,” he said against her skin. “Come on, Meg; come for me.”
“Noah.” The word was shaky, but she grabbed hold of his head, holding him to her as she subconsciously moved her hips in time with the thrusts of his fingers.
“That’s right,” he growled. “Come for me. For me.”
She made a small, strangled sound but didn’t say any actual words. And suddenly, he needed them. Because there was no other woman as far as he was concerned. And he needed—desperately needed—for her to be thinking of no other man.
“Who’s making you feel like this, Meg?”
“You,” she said, the word sounding weak and
wrung out.
“Not good enough. My name. Give me my name.”
“Noah,” she gasped as she convulsed around him, her orgasm coming hard and intense. He could feel it, in the way she grabbed hold of his hair, pulling hard, the way she squeezed her thighs shut, pressing against his ears.
“Noah,” she said his name again, and he thought right about now he could die happy.
Almost.
He still needed to be inside her.
CHAPTER 5
Meg could hardly breathe. Her orgasm had rocked her completely, but no more than experiencing it with Noah had.
She had never heard her friend use words like that before. Had never imagined him doing these things to her. Had never imagined him making her feel these things. But now that he had, she couldn’t imagine how she had looked at him before.
Twenty minutes to wipe out thirteen years.
She wasn’t quite sure how that worked. How that was possible.
Except it had been a pretty damned fabulous orgasm.
Noah stood up, making his way to his nightstand and opening the top drawer.
He took out a box of condoms and set it on the surface, then worked his belt free of the buckle, pushing his jeans and underwear down to the floor.
Her throat dried. He was . . . He was the most beautiful man. His chest was broad, covered with dark hair, his abs well defined, his muscles a result of the hard labor that he did on the ranch every day, rather than hours in the gym. She supposed, all in all, it didn’t matter, since muscles were muscles.
But imagining him chopping wood was hotter than imagining any exercise that took place on a weight machine.
And then there was the rest of him. The very masculine rest of him.
“Noah . . . You’re . . . Bigger than I—” She clapped her hand over her mouth. Feeling like a complete idiot.
He arched one eyebrow. The expression was so very him that it made all her breath rush out of her lungs. That was the thing; the last twenty minutes had not erased the last thirteen years. She was still so very aware that this was her friend. That this was the man who had brought her cookies and comforted her when she had first come to Jim and Nancy’s house. That he was the man who had stood by her through so many different stages in her life.