by Rhodan, Rhea
“Here’s your order. Again,” the waitress drawled sullenly before unloading her tray.
Another interruption he couldn’t exactly say he welcomed, though it was definitely for the best. Clint threw a few twenties at her and hit the door at a trot.
Cayden was halfway across the parking lot, silhouetted in the weak beam of the parking lot’s single lamp, still swinging her bag and that sizzling ass of hers. She hadn’t made it to the corner where he’d parked his truck, in the hope it would be safer there than closer to the door.
Catching up with her was easy. Not bending down to kiss her would have been tough. Not pulling her into his arms, impossible. He wondered later what had pushed him past the point of no return—whether it had been her taste, her scent, or the passion of her temper.
She tried to push him away. He pulled her closer, pressed his mouth to her moist lips with greater demand until they parted. The kiss, sweet and hot, burned through him. He loosened his grip on her shoulders, held her head with one hand, massaged the ass that had been tormenting him since he’d first laid eyes on it with his other. Her hands slipped around his back, sliding over his new T-shirt, then lower, tugging, pulling, rubbing, driving him beyond crazy. They must have taken a breath in there somewhere, but he couldn’t remember when.
He wasn’t aware they’d moved until his knuckles brushed against something solid and cold. He blinked, recognizing the rear panel of his truck in spite of the darkness. The parking lot light must have burned out while they were busy. The thought slipped away as he glided his fingers across the silky skin of her shoulders. He oh-so-lightly trailed them lower until they made contact with the lace trim of the corset. He slipped his fingertips beneath it while his lips left hers to taste the spicy skin below her ear, then her throat. A groan escaped from deep in his chest.
“Whoa, big fella.”
Her voice was too low to be convincing, and the heat of the whisper in his ear had the opposite effect of the words’ intent. He nuzzled his lips in the top of her cleavage and inhaled. A new scent mixed with the fresh green rain he found so irresistible and soothing. And soothing wasn’t the word for it. The raw edge of it bypassed his brain altogether, shooting straight to his aching—
“Clint, please. We’re standing in a parking lot.”
Her voice was still low, but it meant business. He withdrew reluctantly as the actual words sank in and the truth of them registered, more or less.
Right. Standing. Outside. He could fix that. Would have to, if he interpreted her tone correctly.
Extricating his keys from the front pocket of the new jeans in his current condition took serious careful effort. Lifting Cayden into the truck took none. Letting go of her and walking around to get in on the driver’s side took the most. He slid behind the wheel, eager to get back to business. Something small and unyielding poked his ass. He groped for the offending article, wrestling it out from under him.
“Smart, leaving it out here.”
“Huh?”
“Your phone. You may want to turn it off.”
He’d hazily recalled leaving it in the truck because it didn’t fit comfortably in the pocket of his new jeans. What was Cayden talking about? Oh yeah, his old one had blown up when he’d kissed her in the apartment. She’d gone into this teeming strangeness over the coincidence, then she’d gotten mad when he’d tried to reason with her, and… He powered it down, tossed it on the dash, and leaned in for another kiss. He could be stupid later.
“Clint, about what I said.”
Shit. To be a moron or not to be a moron. A question that had plagued men when it came to women long before Shakespeare had picked up a pen.
A powerful male instinct must have taken over, because he said, “I’m sorry if I’ve said or done anything to make you think I’m embarrassed of you. Look, when I picked the The Night Crawler instead of one of my usual spots, I didn’t give it much thought, honest. Next date, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
He slipped his arm behind her back and pressed soft kisses against the nape of her neck.
“Next date? You’re awfully confident, Mr. MacAllen.”
He wouldn’t be if she hadn’t sounded so breathless.
“You mean you’re not going to let me make up for this one, Ms. Sinclair?”
He nibbled on her ear.
“Why don’t we see how it ends?”
“Oh yeah, ‘how.’ Thanks for reminding me. Tell me all about ‘how,’ Cayden.” He was scattering kisses, nibbles, and little licks across her neck, in the hollow of her throat, inching lower.
“You’ve a, ah, oh… Okay. A girl can change her mind. ‘Now’ could be ‘when.’”
“Sounds great.” He skimmed beneath the lace up her bare thigh until he reached the satin and turned his head to cover her mouth with his.
She pushed him back with a finger on his lips. “But not the ‘where.’ I’ll settle for my apartment tonight since it’s close. I have someplace else in mind for next time.”
Where. Right. Apartment. Okay. As long as he could clear his head enough to drive. Jesus, it was almost like being drunk.
“Close is good,” was all he could manage verbally while attempting to summon some of his blood back into his brain. He couldn’t drive to her place on instinct, even if it had brought him this far.
While she scrabbled for her key in the cramped tiny bag, Clint nuzzled her neck from behind. The heat ricocheting between that particularly sensitive spot and the delicious callused hands on her waist interfered greatly with her efforts to get her apartment door unlocked. Only careless urgency finally guided her hand in the dimly lit hall. The super hadn’t replaced the light bulbs since Clint’s last visit.
The corner streetlight, which normally offered her home a bit of illumination, was out as well, so the room was nearly pitch black. It didn’t appear to bother Clint—whose lips had found hers easily in the dark and whose fingers were sliding over her satin skirt, kneading the small area it covered—any more than the death of The Night Crawler’s parking lot lamp had.
He broke for a deep breath, which was good since Cayden wasn’t sure if she was light-headed from lack of oxygen or from what he was doing to her.
“God, Cayden, as good as your ass feels in this stuff…” He tugged up the hem of her skirt.
“You won’t get anywhere in that direction, it’s too tight. I need to—”
“Already there.”
The zipper tab skated. Her skirt fell as soon as she pressed her thighs together. His hands, those fabulous rough hands, simultaneously scratched and caressed the tender skin of her butt cheeks. The best reason yet for wearing a thong.
“Oh yeah. Even better. So soft, so damn squeezable.” He was kissing her again.
He had a point. She put her own hands to better use than lamely clenching and unclenching at her sides. His tight jeans looked great, but they lacked the silky feel of his T-shirt. She had no other choice than to pop the top button of his jeans and grab that zipper. From there, sneaking beneath the waistband of his shorts and gliding her hands across the firm apples of his butt was a sensuous slide down the well-sculpted slope to complete shamelessness.
His thick hardness nudged her belly through the thin front of his boxers. She wanted it lower. She strained up at the same time he lifted her. “Let’s get rid of this skirt,” he said.
She wiggled and kicked to free her feet. One of her shoes slipped off. The tinkle of shattering glass made her giggle absurdly.
A screeching, “Bad girl! Very bad girl!” and flapping of wings informed her Nevermore was not only present, but more than a little vexed. He’d promised to behave next time he saw Clint. She hadn’t, though. For some unfathomable reason, she found it all hilarious.
Before she could worry what Clint was thinking, her body was jiggle
d by the spasms of his suppressed laughter. He set her down and fell against her, sandwiching her between himself and the door. Then his snorts gave way to big loud guffaws.
“That bird is freakin’ priceless.” Clint pulled away from her. He was, from what little she could see, doubled over with laughter.
The sharp crack of him slapping his powerful thighs was both a relief and a subtle reminder of what they’d been doing. Cayden stopped laughing. He did, too. Even in the dark, her skin tingled under the heat of his silent gaze. She looked down to see herself standing crookedly on the remaining shoe, her own bare thighs so white they were visible in the dark room.
Then he was back, lifting her face to meet his. Some of his earlier kisses had been demanding. This one ravished her knees right out from under her. He caught her, slid his arms beneath her legs, and lifted her. Nobody had ever done that before. None of her previous boyfriends would have been able to.
“Uh, Cayden, where’s the light switch? Breaking both our necks on the way up to your bed would definitely interfere with my plans for you.”
“No switch.” She forced the words past her over-worked lungs. “Turn one hundred-seventy degrees.”
He paused, calculating the radial measurement, no doubt. They wheeled carefully in the dark.
“Now what?”
She felt like he’d got it, probably within five degrees or so.
“Take six steps. There’s a candle sconce with a match-holder attached to the railing. I’ll light it since your hands are full.”
He hugged her. “And happy.”
Mid-way into his third stride, Cayden’s calf made contact with the railing. “Ouch!”
“Sorry. Can’t see much.”
“My fault. I wasn’t thinking about how much longer your legs are than mine.” Because she’d been busy being proud she could do geometry with only half her brain functioning.
She fumbled for a match and lit the candle. The way she caught him staring at her in the warm glow shut down the other half of her brain. Being carried up the stairs in his arms was unbelievably sexy.
The drawn curtain at the top parted. He sank to his knees and laid her on the mattress. The contrast between the cool sheets on her butt and the heat of his lips on hers deepened the angle of that delicious see-saw between ache and pleasure, need and satisfaction.
He was still on his knees when she wrapped her legs around his thighs and found his still-open zipper. Access was easier now with him holding himself above her, but the object of her desire remained trapped. She tried to shove his jeans out her way.
“Wait a sec.”
She instantly missed the heat of his mouth while he pushed his jeans down, but the view was almost worth it. And his palms at her breasts beneath the corset’s satin cups, lifting them above it, warmed more than the tender skin. His thumbs chafing her sensitized nipples sent zings of need farther south.
“How do I get this off?”
His words didn’t register immediately. They were uttered in a voice so guttural she had trouble interpreting them, and her blood was pounding in her ears.
“It laces. I can—”
“No. Let me. This thing’s been driving me crazy since I picked you up. Where do I start?”
“Untie the ribbon.”
Cayden felt a tug and the first slight release of the binding pressure, the laces being undone, the front of the corset gradually falling open. The man had clever fingers.
He hissed. “Like unwrapping a gift. A hot, gorgeous gift.”
She knew exactly what he meant. She shoved his boxers down and found her own little present. Whoa, make that large—Goddess above, You’ve been generous with this one.
He groaned when she made contact, first with her hands, then with her tongue. She licked her way around awhile, teasing, until his groans turned to prayers.
“Jesus…Cayden…have mercy…” She opened wide to suck him in. “Ahh…yesss…Can’t… Where the hell are the damn…” He groped frantically behind her. “Thank you, God.”
“Allow me.”
Since he was obviously in no condition to manage it as quickly as she needed him to, she yanked the packet from his hand, tore it open, and rolled the condom smoothly over the thick, hard length of him. His kiss was hungry, urgent. He nudged the thong’s thin panel out of his way, probing. Good, now he knew just how ready she was.
Even so, he shouldn’t have been able to slide in so effortlessly. Not when there was so much of him, and not when her last liaison had been more than a year ago. How could she feel so full and yet so hungry? Why wasn’t he moving? Was he trying to drive her mad? She struggled to get the friction her body desperately craved, but he had her pinned. She whimpered in frustration.
“Shh. Easy now.” His voice was a low moan, as if he were in pain. “You keep squirming like that, this’ll be over before it starts.”
“That would be terrible.” She rotated her hips. “We’d have to do it again. Please, Clint.”
“I’m not sure I could. I’m not twenty anymore.”
Cayden reached between them and ran her finger gently behind his sack. His breath drew in sharply, and he nearly pulled out of her. “Say it again.”
She murmured in his ear, “Please.”
He groaned and thrust deep.
Yes, oh yes. This was what her body was crying for. She clutched that beautiful butt of his, gloried in the powerful muscles flexing with each driving plunge. His release came fast and hard.
Still inside her, between panting breaths, he said, “I’m sorry. So sorry. Too good. Too hot.”
Now was her turn to shush and soothe. This time, when she tried to roll him off her, he went easily. She took care of the condom first, then the corset she was still lying on and her fingerless gloves. He stripped her of her thong. She helped him with his jeans, shorts, and T-shirt. He removed his wallet before she tossed the pile through the curtain. It hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs with a plop.
“Convenient.” His teeth flashed in the dark.
“Very.” She grinned.
“The moonlight’s romantic and all, but I want a better look at you.”
Cayden wanted to see more of him as well. Her body still hummed with bearable, but unrelieved, tension. Unfortunately, she’d have to get up to light the candles surrounding the bed on the various-sized tables and shelves that held plants besides. She imagined their warm light and sighed wistfully.
Instantly, the room glowed, each and every candle burning as though she’d touched a match to it.
“Wow. Neat trick.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Cayden thought so, too. She’d ponder how she’d accomplished it later, when she didn’t have the candlelit contours of his broad back and strong shoulders to drool over. He was turned away from her, leaning on one arm, gawking at the candles.
He flopped over and switched elbows, that adorable little frown hovering above those green-gray eyes of his. Searching them brought on that mild seasickness. Besides, his front was as deserving of a thorough perusal as his back. His pecs were well-developed, yet not overly so, same with his abs. The hair sprinkling his chest trailed lower, just golden enough to reflect the warm light.
“How’d you do that?”
Cayden followed the trail with her finger, successfully interrupting his question. She risked another look into his eyes at the same time she wrapped her hand around him and squeezed. He drew in a breath and his pupils dilated. His gaze moved lower, heating her breasts.
“Are you sure you want to talk about it right now?” She pumped him slowly.
His breath rasped out equally slowly, if not nearly as even. “Not fair. God…oh…. It’s too soon.”
“Really? Because I have evidence right here to the contrary.”
“You little witch.”
He removed her hand and started kissing her deeply, the thrusting of his tongue repeating the rhythm she’d employed. He tweaked her nipples before slipping lower, teasing, exploring.
He kissed her breasts, nibbled at her nipples, slid first one, then two fingers inside her, increasing the speed and intensity of his movements. Cayden thrashed helplessly.
“Please.” Goddess, could he hear how desperately she wanted him?
His breath in her ear inflamed her. “So sweet, so beautiful, so hot. How can I refuse?”
Cayden didn’t know how or when he’d put the new condom on. Suddenly he was inside her, moving slower than before, but deeper, more forcefully. Rubbing her just right.
His teeth grazing her neck was all she needed to reach the pinnacle. He began moving faster, riveting her to the waves of intense pleasure pounding through her. There was a flash behind her eyes and a boom somewhere that might have been thunder, a crackling and popping that could have been almost anything. She was still reeling from the aftershocks when he stilled, cried, “Cayden,” hoarsely, and shuddered in her arms.
Sometime later, a train whistle in the distance called her from whatever glorious mindless place she’d been. She was lying on her back. Clint was on his elbow again, idly tracing the tattoo of the gnarled oak whose ancient branches began beneath her breasts and ended with its great roots curling around the top of her thighs.
“That’s some tat. The detail is—” the callused tip of his finger following the trunk toward the roots made her shiver “—amazing.”
Cayden swallowed a couple of times, attempting to determine whether she still had a voice and if she could still use it. “It’s—” she cleared her throat and tried again “—It’s a real tree. The artist drew it from a photo I gave him.”
“Him?” His jaw was set, as though his teeth were gritted.
“I’ll take you there.” They should be there now.
“Where?”