by Dani Collins
With another feral sound he slid his hand to her breast, boldly sliding beneath the scoop neck of her top and invading the snug cup of her bra.
At the first catch of his fingers across her nipple Rowan released a cry into his mouth, startled by the shot of intense pleasure that bolted directly into the heart of her.
Nic pulled away, watching as he exposed her breast. Rowan thought she ought to be embarrassed, but she wasn’t. He wore a reverent look, like her pink nipple was beautiful, thrusting so wantonly. She couldn’t help but feel pride as she basked in his ravenous gaze.
Then he lowered his head and took her into the hot velvet of his mouth. A keening sound left her. The sensation was so intense and sustained. Cradling his head in her forearms, she pressed her legs tightly together, trying to ease the ache throbbing between.
He pulled back a little, just enough to jerk open his shirt. “Touch me.” He brought her hand to his hot chest, then forced his own between her clenched thighs.
Rowan splayed her hands on his hot damp skin, bombarded by too many sensations: the loving stroke of his tongue against her throat, the rasp of silky chest hair on her raw palms and the stunning pleasure that accompanied the firm cup of his hand where she wanted pressure most.
He kissed her again, short-circuiting her brain. Her hips rose into the press of his palm. She tried to feel all of him: the hair-roughened muscles of his chest, the flat quiver of his belly, the silky smoothness of his spine. As her fingertips quested toward the waistband of his jeans he pulled back again.
“Do you have anything?” His voice was deep and sensual, urgent and ragged.
“What—?” She was so new to this it took a second for her to understand. “Protection, you mean? No!”
“You’re not on the Pill?”
“No!”
With a soft curse he fell back in his seat, hands gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. “That’s probably for the best. This car is impossible. What would we do? Lie down in the grass in the rain beside the road? Don’t do that on my account,” he added, with a covetous look to where she was snapping out of her torpor and rearranging her clothing.
Shell-shocked, she could only tuck, adjust and zip her jacket to her throat. “I didn’t mean to let it go that far.” How had it happened? What about her little speech about having found a spine against being pressured?
“I shouldn’t have kissed you. I knew I wouldn’t want to stop.” He checked the mirrors, then fired the engine and pulled into the rain, the wipers slapping at full speed in the tiny windscreen. Reaching out to take her hand, he tangled his thick fingers between hers. The tiny stretch was sensual and erotic. He rested their clasped hands on the stick shift.
“It’s okay. I have some in my room.”
“Some—condoms?” So premeditated. If he’d pulled her to the wet grass a few seconds ago she would have gone without protest, but talking like this allowed reservations to creep in.
“Yes.” The curt way he answered and the purposeful way he drove made it sound like they were on their way to pick up an organ transplant.
But his having condoms in his room made Rowan’s hand go cold inside the vital grip of his. Did that mean he slept with women at Rosedale? All her insecurities flooded to the fore as she contemplated the scope of his sexual conquests. And she was signing up to be next? How demoralizing!
Twisting free of his grip, she swallowed back sick anxiety that grew all the more troubling when she realized he’d released her because he needed to shift down and make the turn into Rosedale. Seconds later they pulled into the garage. The absence of pounding rain made the interior of the car overly silent—especially once he cut the engine.
Feeling suffocated, Rowan threw herself out of the car, then stopped. She wanted to stomp away in a jealous temper because he’d confessed to having other women, but that would be immature. It wasn’t as if she’d believed he was a virgin. Maybe it made her heart ache that he treated Rosedale like a brothel, but given the way its owner had caused him to feel left out in the cold could she really expect him to view the house as sacred and special the way she did?
Moodily shifting to the open garage door, she stared through the wall of water pouring off the eaves and hugged herself.
He’d had casual sex with a lot of women. Maybe sex with her would be equally casual for him, but it would mean something to her. Nic, her first, here at Rosedale.
Rowan pressed the backs of her knuckles against lips that began to quiver with vulnerability, edging toward one of the biggest decisions of her life.
“Ro?” Light fingers tickled over her hair, sending a shivery warmth cascading through her. His hand settled warmly on her shoulder.
Rowan turned her head to look up at him, catching her breath at the impact he made on her. He looked into her eyes and she saw a tiny flicker of something, almost a flinch, like he saw something in her gaze that struck past his impervious shell. His hand flexed and hot intent flowed back into his evening-blue eyes, burning out anything else she thought she might have seen.
“Will you come upstairs with me?”
She couldn’t speak, but she nodded. His smile, warm and appreciative, softened his warrior features into something so handsome he stole her breath. He took her hand and led her into the house.
CHAPTER SIX
THIS was happening.
Nic’s grip on her hand was warm and strong, holding her anchored when Rowan felt she might float away. This was one of those instances so perfect it was like a rainbow on a bubble—enchanting but fragile. She clung to his hand as they climbed the stairs, fearful something would break the spell and cause her tentative euphoria to burst.
When he led her to his door she hung back, trying not to reveal how much tension was gathering inside her.
His gaze searched hers and Rowan felt as though invisible threads looped out to cast around her and back to him, gathering them into a tight, inescapable cocoon. There was such smouldering sexuality in his face she feared for a moment that she was about to be overtaken by him, captured and smothered.
“Second thoughts?” he asked with gruff coolness.
Rowan looked down at the threshold she couldn’t bring herself to cross. “Suffering a bit of performance anxiety. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
Nic surprised her by lifting her hand to press soft kisses on her cool fingers, his lips twitching with amusement. “You’ve come a long way. Twenty-four hours ago you didn’t give a damn what I thought.”
Rowan couldn’t speak. The truth was too revealing. She’d always cared. This was just the first time she was admitting it. The back of her throat stung. The moment was huge.
Nic’s fingers tightened on hers. “You won’t disappoint me,” he said. “I’ve waited too long for this to be anything but completely gratifying.” He leaned down and took her mouth in a slow kiss.
She clung to his lips with her own, prolonging the exquisite rightness, letting the soft kiss play out into intensifying rhythms that made her hurt inside. It was so good.
Nic was barely hanging on to a rational thought. Rowan’s mouth was petal-soft and she smelled like a warm summer garden: earthy and rosy and fresh. He could feel little tremors striking deep within her as he kissed her. That delicious quiver fed the answering energy prickling under his skin as the taste of her nape was imprinted against his open lips. When she lifted her arms around his neck and pressed closer, delicately clashing into his achingly aroused flesh, his mind exploded.
He tightened his hold on her, reveling in the restless, inciting quest of her mouth. With a groan, he picked her up, never having done anything so feverish in his life. She leapt into a firm bundle against his chest, like she’d done it a thousand times—which he dimly supposed she had, on the stage and possibly for other men.
He ducked the thought, concentrating on how she was light and slender and so much more earnest than he’d expected. Performer, he reminded himself, but he responded to her passion all the same, fu
lly involved in their kiss as he carried her into the room.
He should have kept this on neutral territory, he thought dimly, but assured himself that Rowan wouldn’t have unrealistic expectations. She’d been around the block.
Setting her on her feet, he pressed her away long enough to open her jacket. They were both breathing hard, and she shrugged out of the short coat to let it fall to the floor with an impatience he applauded. He wished he could muster a smile of satisfaction, but desire was throbbing in him like an imperative. He threw his own shirt off and kicked away his shoes.
Rowan grasped his arm and bent one leg to unzip her long boot. The second one was released and she stepped out of them, so much shorter than she seemed when her larger than life personality was on full display. This Rowan was …
Vulnerable.
For all her urgency there was a shyness in the way she hesitated with her hands on the snap of her jeans, her pillowy bottom lip caught between her teeth. “Should we … um … close the door?”
Her modesty took him aback, turning over places in him he’d buried under years of jaded enjoyment of women without engaging with them. He had a distant thought to drawl a somewhat tasteless, Who’s going to come in? but found a shred of a gentlemanly behavior instead. He turned to press the door closed.
And as the click echoed in the silent room the word gentleman mocked him. “What are your intentions, Nic? Men like you …”
Nic curled a fist against the seam of the closed door, fighting the invasion of the dark memory. He and Rowan had cleared the air. He believed her. They wanted each other; it was as simple as that. This had nothing to do with intentions and futures. It was two adults coming together in mutual desire. Not the sort of thing Olief should have had any disdain for, given the way he’d fathered a child from one mistress and lived in sin for nearly a decade with another.
Rowan had fumbled her jeans open, but couldn’t bring herself to peel them down while Nic had his back to her. Having him watch her wouldn’t make it easier, but her self-confidence was draining fast as he leaned on the door like that, tension gathering across his naked shoulders. He had such a beautiful back, strong and tanned, powerful muscles shifting as though he was bearing up under a great weight.
“Nic? Are you—?” Having second thoughts? She would die.
He brought his head up and turned. Desire flared past whatever dark thoughts had taken him for a split second. His avid glance made her feel beautiful even though she wasn’t any kind of sex goddess. Her hair was wind-whipped, she wore next to no makeup, and was probably pale with the stagefright that was threatening on the periphery. But he strode forward with purpose and cupped her head, kissing her like he had in the car—like he would spontaneously combust if he didn’t do it this second.
It was the reassurance she needed. Grasping his head, she kissed him back with all the passion in her, grateful and excited and swimming in rising desire. When he began to peel up her top she lifted her arms to help him. It landed in a purple stain in the middle of the floor and was quickly topped by her bra.
Nic dragged her close, and the contact of his hard, hair-roughened chest on her breasts undid her. She melted, fingers splaying wide to touch as much of him as possible, while she slowly writhed against his sensuous heat and turned her lips into his throat.
He said her name and swore, then said raggedly, “I’m trying to find a little finesse here, but—” His fingertips swept her spine and shoulderblades before he brought his hands forward and sweetly captured her breasts.
“It’s okay. I’m in a hurry too …”
He groaned and his hands gently crushed her curves as he crowded into her, covering her mouth once, hard, before he stepped back and pulled off his jeans. He skimmed his shorts off with them and knocked the crumpled heap away with his foot, straightening before her with feet braced.
A purely female ache of longing clenched deep inside her as she took in his wide chest and taut flat stomach, powerful thighs and even more powerfully thick erection. She swallowed as she measured him with her eyes, intimidated.
Nic opened hands that had curled into tense fists and stepped close to begin easing her jeans down her hips. He loomed tall and potent, his penis brushing her stomach as his mouth touched her shoulder.
Rowan made herself breathe, but it was shaky, and she wasn’t getting nearly enough oxygen. As he lowered the clinging denim down her thighs she trembled, wriggling to help him and stepping out of them quickly so she could rush back against him, hiding, but deeply affected. She had never been naked with a man, never touched one like this, and she desperately wanted to give Nic pleasure.
Pressing for a little space, she clasped him lightly and gasped, shocked by how silky he felt. Satin over steel. He seemed to thicken and harden in her tentative hold and his big hand covered hers once, the single stroke a too brief lesson before he peeled her hand away and brought her palm to his mouth.
“I don’t want to disappoint you either,” he said wryly, and edged her backward, effortlessly levering her onto the bed beneath him.
Rowan couldn’t find her voice, too besieged by each tiny sensation she was trying to memorize. Nic’s weight beside her on the mattress. His hand massaging her belly as he kissed her again. His tongue stroking over hers so it felt like hot honey gathered between her thighs. His heavy thigh rested across hers, holding still the legs that wanted to pedal in sensual pleasure. The burning rod of his penis was rampant against her hip. She couldn’t touch enough of him, couldn’t process all the delicious parts of him when her blood pressure was rising in relentless increments.
He slid down a little, his tongue going to her nipple, his knee pressing between her thighs to part her legs. He very lightly stroked the crease where her thighs met plump folds. She grew acutely sensitive under his barely there fondling, her tangled nerve-endings gathering in a storm of greedy hunger. She tried to turn into him, wanting more contact, but he took her nipple deep in his mouth and parted her with knowledgeable fingers.
Pleasure struck like a hammer-blow, making her groan unabashedly. He deepened his caress, stroking and circling, gently invading, then teasing again, repeating the play so the meltdown became a build-up.
“Nic,” she moaned, dragging at his hair to lift his head.
He looked at her like he was drugged and swept a hand out. Efficient and quick, he protected them both, then shifted to cover her.
She experienced a stab of nervousness again. Her legs twitched as they parted on either side of his hips. She bent her knees, instinctively wanting to embrace him with her thighs. Every part of her wanted to gather him in. He was so strong and fiercely beautiful with that intense expression on his face, looking down at her like she was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen. Her nipples were shards of crystal that wanted to pierce into him as his chest came down on hers, heavy and firm.
And then he pressed into her.
Rowan caught her breath, startled by the shocking intimacy of the act. It hurt a little, but she was so aroused she didn’t care. She ached for the stimulation of pressure and stretching as she felt the thickness of him invade.
“Rowan,” he said raggedly, his expression a little bewildered beneath his flush of extreme arousal, “you’re—”
“Don’t be mad, Nic,” she urged, curling her legs around him in a vice-like trap, using her lean strength to pull him in and impale herself a little more. She couldn’t help the gasping cry that left her. It felt so extraordinary. “I want this. I want it to be you.”
“—so tight,” he ground through clenched teeth, demonstrating how strong he was by keeping her from forcing the penetration. He shuddered and gave her an incredulous look. “You liar,” he breathed, then kissed her possessively while he very, very slowly and oh, so carefully let the weight of his hips settle on her.
And gently, inexorably, his flesh drove all the way into hers.
Rowan tipped back her head and moaned in exultation.
She belonged to him.
Now and forever.
Nic kissed her again and again—long, languorous kisses on her lips and sweet caresses down her throat and across her shoulders. Rowan melted under his attention, not realizing how much tension her muscles had gathered until it eased away.
That was when he groaned and started to withdraw, making her protest and cling to him in ways she hadn’t realized she could. He came back, body trembling with the effort to discipline himself. It was a control she instantly felt compelled to shatter.
Rowan stroked her hands over his arms and shoulders, lightly raking her nails down to his buttocks. Nic’s hips jerked into hers. It hurt, but the friction, the fullness, was so good at the same time. The conflict of wanting to self-protect and yet let him push her toward the pinnacle made her scrape her nails down his back again. He caught her wrists and flattened her hands beneath his, sealing their palms together. With a glitter of pure animal need in his flame-blue eyes he increased the pace, becoming relentless and remorseless, feeding her tension until everything in her began to gather.
It was astonishing. She couldn’t hold on, couldn’t hold back. “Nic!” She squeezed her legs around him, suddenly feeling the heart-stopping culmination very close. She didn’t want it to end! She fought giving in, but wanted it so badly. He kept thrusting and her body clenched on his shaft, as if she could hold him forever. He drew her nerve-endings to their very limit …
And then …
Release.
Everything dimmed for a heartbeat before the cataclysm struck deep within her. Shattering pleasure was carried outward in waves of abject joy. Rowan could only receive him, feeling the writhe of his hard muscles as he released a guttural shout and drove deep. The pulses of his tremendous climax were visceral, playing against her own so they were locked in an exquisite paroxysm. She’d never felt so close to anyone in her life. His name pulsed in her head with the crashing throb of their mutual release. Nic, Nic, Nic.