by Jo Leigh
Still holding his neck, her other hand swept up his back to his shoulder. Small, delicate, yet strong enough to grip him, to keep him right there.
It was impossible to stay still. He wrapped his arms around her, careful not to squeeze too tight. Not to expect too much. He’d never imagined he could have her like this. That he could know what it was like to feel her press against his body. Kissing her was better than any of his fantasies. Of course, he’d cut those short, never daring to go past a look and a touch when he was conscious. In his dreams, however...
Now he was desperate to feel everything he could before it all disappeared.
She jerked back, gasping for breath, and Sam panicked until she kissed him again.
The body pressing into him was small and firm and there were too many clothes. Even so, the feel of her back, the way her waist tapered only to swell with the curve of her hips, hit him hard. His imagination had kept her distant and cool, something to yearn for, never to hold.
Christ, his palm nearly covered her entire buttock. Of course he knew she was slender, petite. When he was younger, he’d pictured himself lifting her. Carrying her away from some vague danger, and she’d been light in his arms. But nothing compared to the reality of her small breasts rubbing against his chest. He couldn’t be sure if he really felt the points of her hardened nipples or if his mind was thoughtfully filling in the details.
The urge to lift her now burned from the inside out. It about killed him to hold himself in check. But this was Emma and he had to be careful. He’d take whatever she wanted to give and nothing more. And he’d be damn grateful for it, too.
Their mutual panting grew suddenly loud, as if speakers had been turned up. Then her hand moved from his neck, her left leg shifted back. The kiss ended.
He might as well open his eyes. It didn’t matter if they were red and betrayed his traitorous emotions, he needed to see her. To freeze the image of her swollen pink lips, the darkness of her pupils, the flush of blood as it swirled so close to the skin.
Her gaze held more compassion and understanding than he knew what to do with, but before he could run, her hand was in his, tugging as she took a step closer to the bedroom.
“Wait,” he said, the word turning to ash on his tongue, but it had to be said. “Are you sure?” was all he managed, even though he meant, Is this just pity?
Her smile dimmed, but her eyes never left his. She didn’t drop his hand, either. Instead, she studied him. Maybe her own motives, as well. “I’m sure. Are you?”
He couldn’t have not kissed her then. Not for anything. Their lips met, hard and hungry, and he was still utterly amazed. But far too quickly, she was tugging him again, abandoning his mouth to hurry him forward.
He thanked everything that could be thanked that he’d made the bed. Of course, he had to tear it down again, but only so he could push back the covers.
Then he was in front of her, staring down at her face, memorizing her chin, her cheeks, her delicate little nose. She had thick eyelashes that curled up and a light smattering of freckles across her cheeks. Unable to resist, he touched her hair, feeling clumsy and oversize as he let her short tresses slip through his fingers.
“I think I’m going to start a little lower,” she said, pausing, but if she was waiting for an argument from him, she wouldn’t get one.
He only smiled, then felt her tug the bottom of his shirt from his pants. Once she had it free, she undid the top button and kept on going. Somewhere around his belly, he realized her hands were trembling.
He abandoned her hair, took her hands in his. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “It’s been a while,” she said. “That’s all.”
“You sure? Say the word and we stop. No matter what.”
Dragging him down to her lips, she whispered, “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” until the kiss took over. Long and deep, both of them teasing and thrusting in a frenzy, he lifted her T-shirt up and away. Promising himself that he’d continue the kiss the second they were in bed.
She went back to unbuttoning his shirt and it didn’t take long to finish. He let it drop where he stood, mesmerized by her sexy little bra. It was light green, and it did absolutely nothing to hide the hardness of her nipples.
He wanted to see her breasts bared, but he also wanted to see her in her underwear. Yeah, naked could wait a minute. His hands went for the button on her jeans, but all he managed to do was get in the way of her trying to do the same to him.
Their tussle sounded like a slap fight for a few seconds, but she stopped him with a growl. “I’ll do mine, you do yours.”
He grunted his assent, too busy toeing off his shoes and unzipping to form words.
He stopped breathing when her jeans dropped to the floor. Shit, she wore bikini panties, strings on the sides, the V like an arrow showing him the way. They were white. Perfectly plain, and devastatingly sexy.
His erection had reached critical mass, and he wanted more than anything to strip off his boxer briefs. Well, not quite. With one step, he was inches from her, and then he was on his knees. He leaned into her, his face pressed into the tender flesh of her belly. Inhaling her scent made his cock jump with nowhere to go.
Her hands touched his head. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply as she petted him, the moment surreal and perfect. When he had gathered enough of his wits to move again, he went lower, catching the elastic of her panties and tugging them down. He felt more than saw her neatly trimmed hair, her scent getting stronger, so intoxicating he felt light-headed.
Inelegant and impatient, he gave up the slow tease and used his hands to finish the job. Naked from the waist down, she spread her feet apart. He had to stop again, just stop.
He couldn’t help it—his own situation was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Burying his nose at the top of her mound, he quickly pushed down his cursed briefs, moaning as his erection bobbed against his stomach.
When he leaned back to get his bearings, he saw that her blond thatch was one shade darker than the hair on her head. She was impossibly beautiful. He wanted to kiss her until they were both breathless, but that would mean standing and he wasn’t sure he could, even if he was willing to abandon the pleasure before him.
* * *
IT WAS ALL Emma could do not to pull Sam’s hair. She was shaking as the heat of his breath got closer. And then, a kiss at the top of her sex. Chaste in its own sweet way. Which only made her tremble harder.
She wanted more. Everything, in fact. Just this time. Just this once. She wanted him to forget that he couldn’t have his jets. For him to wipe her mind clean of anything to do with shoulds and shouldn’ts.
As if he’d heard her silent plea, he spread her open with his thumbs and chaste flew out the window. Her hands tightened in his short hair, her moan starting low but getting louder the second he focused the hard tip of that wicked tongue on the exact perfect spot.
Her head fell back and her eyes rolled as she let the waves of pleasure wash over her. This was it, the mindlessness she’d wanted for both of them. Time out of mind, out of thinking and worrying.
Turning grief into comfort, pain of the heart into bliss of the body.
His fingers were suddenly inside her, two of them, pushing up and in, and she bucked, couldn’t help it. He followed her, never losing contact, and how were her legs holding her upright when all her bones were melting? “God, Sam. Please.”
“What do you want?” he whispered, leaving his post.
It might not have been a delicate move to guide him back into place, but she didn’t care. She could already feel the beginnings of an orgasm gathering like a storm deep inside. “This,” she said, although the word turned into a hiss when he pushed and pressed in a way that made her give up all illusion of control.
Perhaps he understood that standing wouldn’t be an optio
n soon, because he sped everything up. Clenching his fingers wasn’t a conscious choice, and oh, there. It began, and she rose up on straining legs, held her breath and gripped his shoulders as if he could save her.
Her body contracted on a pulse that shot from her toes all the way up. Sparklers lit the inside of her eyelids, and her mouth opened on a silent cry that reverberated in her chest.
She nearly screamed when he was suddenly standing, lifting her up onto the bed, next to her, over her. When his knees touched the inside of her thighs, she reacted in slow motion, spreading then bracing her heels on the mattress.
A sharp curse made her open her eyes. Blinking, she watched him lean over the side of the bed. His thick erection bobbed underneath him, his foreskin retracted completely, the head glistening with his want of her.
As he came back, a condom packet held like a trophy in his upraised hand, she lifted her hips, telling him to hurry. He got the message.
One last yank of a pillow from the head of the bed to under her butt, and then he straddled her, his biceps bulging when he braced his hands on either side of her shoulders.
He lowered his head just as she raised her own, and they kissed. Deeply, and for longer than she thought possible. The man had patience and fortitude, she’d give him that. Finally, it was she who broke away. “Now,” she said, her voice a scratchy mess. “Please.”
“God, yes,” he said, using one hand to guide himself into position.
He looked into her eyes before he pressed in. His pupils were huge, his breath frantic. She stared openmouthed as he filled her. As his eyes squeezed shut and his lips peeled back revealing his gritted teeth.
She almost contracted around him, but held off. He was clearly using all his self-restraint to resist, and not just come with the first thrust.
It wasn’t easy for her, either. Her body had its own agenda, which she had to fight. The only thing to do was close her own eyes, use her hands for something that wouldn’t make him crazy, if that were possible.
She ran her palms up steely arms, then gently over the plane of his back. She hummed at the feel of his warm skin, at being this close to him. “It’s all right,” she said, looking once more at his face. It could have been pain and not desire written in his closed eyes and in the grimace of his mouth. Maybe it was. Maybe they were destined to feel both at the same time. She’d lost Danny and all the dreams that she’d placed in him, and Sam had lost his planes, and the rosy picture he’d painted of his future.
Maybe this moment was meant to remind them that there was still joy to be wrung from tragedy.
She watched his face relax in stages. Caught the second he figured out that it was okay to move. The first new thrust was slow and deep. The second made her gasp.
His gaze on her face was as penetrating as his cock pushing inside her; she held on for all she was worth, unable to look away or speak. The thought that she might be hurting him was gone in a flash. Then he moved in, lifting her legs so they wrapped around his hips, and he was rubbing against her again, not as narrowly as with his tongue, but who the hell cared when it was sending her out of her mind.
His moaning made her open her eyes, and only then did she realize she’d shut them again. He was still staring at her, but the moan was her name. Her name, over and over again. Emma, Emma, Emma, and that was all it took.
She arched up, gripping the linens now, and she was coming. Hard, God, it was like earthquakes and lightning.
He froze, and all she could see were the tendons straining in his neck, the flush spreading from his chest, the tight groan trapped behind pressed lips. They stayed that way for a few endless seconds, her letting herself savor her release, him looking at her as if he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life.
It was a scary thought, and probably entirely off base.
She dropped her legs, and he fell to his back, gasping loudly. Or maybe that was her. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t think anymore, or move, or catch her breath. Not while the aftershocks kept rolling through.
The next thing she knew, there were blankets and warmth, and she turned to press herself against his body. His arm pulled her closer, and she muttered his name, but couldn’t stay awake long enough to see if he’d heard.
* * *
HE WOKE TO THE SCENT of Emma. Before he opened his eyes, he accepted each inhale as a gift, a mix of sex and her. Just...her.
That this was all a dream was very likely. He’d had a number of them over the years. But none of them had been so detailed.
All he had to do was look down, see if he was truly holding her as she lay against his side. He could even feel the pressure of her head on his chest, her arm around his waist, and yes, her leg halfway over his thigh.
No, this had to be real. He opened his eyes, unprepared for the rush that coursed through him. The jolt was similar to how he felt taking off in an F-16, to the moment he punched through the clouds. All right here with Emma curled into him. Nothing had ever come this close to flying before. It probably should’ve scared the hell out of him. Not made him smile.
A shaft of sunlight sneaking between the blinds shone like a spotlight on her face. While he liked seeing her in such amazing detail, he carefully edged his shoulder up so that she wouldn’t wake to that kind of intrusion. Now she looked softer. Very tousled. Damn, but he finally knew what her hair felt like. For real.
It had been real. He’d been in pain, and she’d come to him. Her beautiful face concerned and caring. He remembered the first touch of her lips more clearly than his first solo flight. It had felt impossible. So long out of his reach that he’d trained himself not to believe it could ever happen.
Tempted as he was to run his hand down her arm, he held off. He needed the time to adjust to this new world. A world where it wasn’t all self-restraint and wishing for something that could never be his.
She was here. In his arms. And they’d made love.
Actually, he’d have thought this would be weirder. That guilt would have taken over and left him broken, but instead, he felt peaceful. As if this was meant to happen.
Danny had been gone awhile, and maybe, if he could see, he’d be pleased that Emma was taken care of now. Sam wasn’t one for superstition of any kind, and he hadn’t believed in the afterlife since he was a teenager. Oddly, that didn’t matter. Because it all made sense now. His transfer to Alamogordo, of all the bases in the world. That Emma would still be here three years after Danny’s accident. Destiny? He had no idea. Whatever it was that brought the two of them together, he wasn’t about to complain.
Damn if he didn’t think this might have a real shot at working. Him and Emma. They were already friends, so there was that. And now it was clear they were compatible in the bedroom.
She moved her hand, and then her head, and Sam froze. He wasn’t sure if he wanted her to stay asleep longer, or wanted to revel in her waking up in his arms.
He let it happen naturally, and what a sight. Her nose scrunched up for a second before she tucked her face right in the crook of his shoulder. When she straightened her leg, it caught him off guard, but he didn’t jerk too hard.
There was a muffled something, not really a word, and then her hand went to her head and she turned once more, face up, eyes opening once, twice. He thought she might yawn, but it stopped with a clench of her jaw.
She seemed to get her bearings a bit at a time, as well. When she finally looked up at him, she smiled, and yeah, it was the best thing ever.
“Morning.”
She sniffed. “Morning. What time is it?”
“Don’t know. The clock’s behind me. I think.”
Emma lifted her head, but then the sun hit her square in the eye and she let herself drop. “I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
“Right. It’s Sunday. No work.”
She nodded. “Sorry
I crashed so hard. I guess all the work of the day caught up with me.”
“I followed right after. No problem.”
She shifted against him and it finally registered how very naked they both were. He’d love to go again, but he had the feeling that it might be better to wait. Given what he remembered about her and mornings, she’d probably appreciate caffeine first. At least he hoped that was what the brief but awkward silence was about.
“Hey.” He gave her a hug, kissed her forehead and then, as much as it pained him, moved over to give her space. “I’ve got a cup of coffee with your name on it coming right up.”
She rose up on her elbows, the sheet covering her breasts, squinting, even though his body still blocked the sunlight.
“You’ll have to settle for regular sugar this time,” he said, not bothering to locate his jeans. “But I’ll pick up the dark honey you like for next time.”
Something shifted. One second to the next, and his heart stopped. It was in her eyes, in the wince she tried to hide. And there, when she ducked her head and looked away.
What had he done? God, he’d just taken the ball and run the full nine yards with it. And he hadn’t even been close.
“Thanks,” she said, still not looking at him. “But since I’ve been running in the mornings, I have coffee after.”
“Right. Of course you do.” He was off the bed before she could say anything else. He was a moron, a stupid fool for jumping the gun, for thinking for a minute that everything would suddenly come his way.
She’d felt sorry for him. That was all.
He pulled on a pair of boxers as quickly as he ever had, cursing to himself because he was half-hard and she had to have seen it. Before running out of the room, he picked up her clothes, put them on the bed. The little green bra underneath her T-shirt. “I have an extra toothbrush,” he said. “I’ll put it on the bathroom counter. It’ll only be a minute.”
“Wait.” Her hand touched his arm, and he almost jerked it away. “Sam, please. You don’t have to rush. It’s all right. I know it’s a bit awkward now, but last night was really special for me. I hope it was for you, too.”