Men of Courage II

by Lori Foster

  She was wet for him, he could smell the heady musk of her. He jerked with the need to bury himself there, his body screaming to be released from the confines of his clothes, so he could tumble her to the floor and sink every aching rigid inch of himself deep inside her waiting body. It would be like before, only better. He knew this with a certainty he didn’t question.

  Which, perversely, was what gave him the strength and patience to slow down. He didn’t know what the hell would happen when they got out of here, so he was going to savor every last second of what was happening right now. And so, if he had anything to say about it, would she.

  With the tip of his tongue, he ran a wet trail from her navel downward. He slid his hands to her hips, then shoved her pants and panties all the way down to her ankles. She shuddered hard, bucked against him, fists so tight in his hair now he was surprised it hadn’t come out in clumps. That only served to jack him up higher, punch more adrenaline into his system. Her need ate at his already ragged control. So he fought that much harder to contain it.

  He smoothed his palms down the outside of her thighs, then slid his fingers around behind them, nudging her legs apart, so he could reach what he so badly wanted to taste.

  She was trapped by the tangle of clothes, unable to shift her thighs apart. With a grunt of impatience, she levered out of her shoes, then stumbled and kicked her way out of the clothes pooled at her feet. The instant she was free she spread her legs wider. And an instant later, he’d speared her with his tongue.

  The shelter filled with her long, keening moan, matched only by his growl of triumph. Sweet, perfect. Ready. And all his. He slid his tongue free, shifting his hands around the backs of her thighs far enough now so that he could replace his tongue with the smooth length of his finger. She cried out, clenched around him, wet and hot and so tight he thought he might come before he got his pants off. Undeterred, he shifted his attentions higher, flicking the tip of his tongue over her until moans turned to gasps, gasps to whimpers.

  This was insanity. The more he had, the more he wanted. And when she climaxed, her nails digging half-moon welts into his scalp as she convulsed again and again, he knew the time of savoring was over.

  But his plans to pull her down to the blankets and get out of his pants as fast as possible only went half-accomplished. She sank down into his arms as if she were melting over him. He could feel the aftershocks of her orgasm still shuddering through her. The limp weight of her forced him backward, and they landed in the heap of blankets with her naked and half sprawled across his lap and chest.

  But before he could recover his balance, she rolled him to his back and straddled his thighs, shoving his shoulders to the floor when he tried to sit up. Her hair was a snarled tangle around her face, her eyes, so big and full of determination, gleamed in the lantern light. But it was the wicked grin that curved her lips that had his body jerking to full attention. As if it wasn’t already there. He hadn’t known he could be this hard.

  But given the very intent look on her face, he was thinking that might not be such a bad predicament.

  “Fair is fair,” she informed him, then quite deliberately undid the buckle of his belt and flipped open the button of his pants.

  He twitched hard, a certain part of his anatomy in complete agreement with her assessment. Her eyes widened at his involuntary movement, and her grin spread wider.

  “I seem to recall last time we didn’t allow ourselves the luxury of exploration,” she told him, toying with the zipper tab.

  “We were a little impatient,” he agreed, completely unable to dredge up a single image of their first time together. He was too fixated on all the new ones they were rapidly piling up. Her nimble fingers were carefully easing open the strained zipper of his pants. And he was having no problems whatsoever coming up with quite detailed images of what was likely to follow.

  She left his pants unzipped, but instead of pulling them down and mercifully freeing him to, God, do anything she damn well wanted, she scooted up a bit, so the apex of her thighs snugged just below his zipper, cupping him so perfectly he groaned and bucked helplessly against her.

  “I could take my pants off if you’d like,” he offered, thinking it might have sounded more like begging. He was beyond caring.

  She merely smiled. “I seem to recall you took off my shirt before my pants. I got a bit ahead of myself.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  She said nothing, but scooted up just a bit more, tucking her body around every rigid, constrained inch, making him swallow a long, deep growl of half frustration, half absolute pleasure, before she lifted up on her knees and bent over him. She yanked his shirt from his pants, letting him press between her spread thighs when he lifted up his hips so she could untuck the back. His body shuddered at the too-brief contact, but he was rewarded with her soft little moan.

  She pushed up his shirt, but batted his hands away when he tried to expedite the mission. “I can handle this.”

  “I know,” he bit off. “That’s what I’m both praying for, and half-afraid of.”

  She laughed. “I’m making you nervous?”

  “You’re a little more aggressive than I remember.”

  “I’m not a dewy-eyed coed any longer. Does that bother you?”

  He glanced down at the very obvious bulge in his pants, then grinned back up at her. “Apparently not.”

  “Good. Then you’ll have to get used to sharing control.”

  It was a little punch of reality, the idea of doing this again with her. And again. Learning more about her, her likes, her dislikes. And maybe learning about himself in the process, as well. Sharing, she’d said. Sharing her, sharing himself. It hit him with surprising force just how excited he was by the mere prospect.

  For the first time he let himself consider that maybe this promotion was actually a gift in disguise. He’d been bitching about not doing for himself. As a director, he’d be out of the lab, yes. But that had the added benefit of giving him the luxury of time to focus on other more personal, intimate avenues in his life.

  Maybe he hadn’t thought about it that way before because up until about an hour ago, he’d had no intimate personal life.

  He’d always enjoyed the process of focusing his analytical mind on solving the mysteries of storm development. Now there was another mysterious force of nature developing on the horizon, capturing his attention. And he couldn’t imagine a more seductive mystery begging to be unraveled than the whirlwind that was Marty McKenna.

  Any further analysis of that little epiphany was lost as she leaned over him far enough to push his shirt up past his shoulders and over his head, forcing his arms upward while the tips of her breasts grazed along his now-bared chest.

  If he hadn’t been hamstrung by the straitjacket she’d made out of his shirt, he’d have grabbed her and rolled her under him before taking so much as another breath. But, once again, control of the situation was not his to claim. He wasn’t as upset by that as he might have been.

  His arms remained where they were. Mostly because she was presently drawing the tip of her tongue in a lazy trail down the center of his chest. She casually drifted her clever little tongue over to circle first one nipple, before shifting quickly to flick the now rigid tip of the other. He gasped at the shock of pleasure that zipped through him, bucked a little, but otherwise did absolutely nothing to stop her.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been the subject of foreplay. But as Marty continued to play with his nipples—something no one had ever done—while she drew her ever-questing tongue lower and lower, he began to wonder what he might have been missing out on. For a guy with a scientific mind and an endless curiosity about things, how had he managed to entirely bypass this field of study?

  When she gently freed him, then shoved his pants down, he raised his hips to help her, thereby thrusting himself quite neatly into her waiting mouth. He actually shouted a rough groan of deep satisfaction. And decided right then and there that
he could devote a great deal of time and attention to rectifying the serious lapse in his education.

  Marty was definitely no fresh-faced coed. And hallelujah for that, he thought, as she very enthusiastically circled him with her hand and drew her tongue in wickedly pleasurable circles around the head. In fact, he could think of no better instructor for his newfound interest. God knows he would be a very willing, enthusiastic student.

  Occasionally she’d take him deep in her mouth, get him groaning, make his hips start to piston uncontrollably, then go back to circling him, teasing him, until he thought he’d go mad. Much more of this and this was all they would do. And while a large part of him—a large throbbing part—thought that was a most excellent idea, the rest of him had long since decided this was only going to end one way—with every one of those aching, throbbing inches buried fully inside what he already knew was a very wet, hot, tight sanctuary, ready and waiting to accommodate him.

  He started to struggle with the sleeves of his shirt, trying to push it down off his arms, even as he continued to jerk beneath her decidedly skilled manipulations. But she surprised him by taking him deep into her mouth and keeping him there. Squeezing and stroking. And he was already so damn close—

  “Marty,” he choked out. “I’m not—I can’t—”

  But she didn’t stop, gave no indication she was planning to, either. And then he felt the pull, the sweet, sweet building of pressure, and he was arching his back, his eyes shut as it punched through him with a force so intense it was like his own personal supercell, taking him over in an abrupt, exquisite, powerful rush that had him shouting and bucking, unable to stop or control himself.

  He might have seen stars. Or blacked out momentarily. Either or both were entirely possible. Damn.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t make his eyes open. Nor, it seemed, could he muster even the slight amount of energy it would take to move so much as a pinky finger. A groaned “My God” was pretty much all he could manage.

  After pressing a very soft, sweet kiss beneath his navel, Marty rolled off of him, slid to her side and scooted up just enough so she could press her cheek to his chest. She didn’t say anything.

  Leaving that momentous task to him.

  Last time she’d been the one to talk, almost eager to shift the conversation back to the amazing spectacle they’d witnessed…and away from the amazing spectacle that had just occurred in the back seat of his truck. Only now he knew she’d done that out of nerves, and fear. So what was she thinking now? What did she want him to say? Or do?

  He managed to get his shirt off, with every intention of pulling her more fully into his arms. He wanted to erase any chance of her pulling away from him physically, and then go to work on making it impossible for her to shift away emotionally, too. He wanted to make her desire what he desired, fill her with the same goal he’d already decided to pursue.

  Yes, it would be complicated, meshing his life with hers, dealing with the potential fallout of office politics. Handling the frustration of leaving lab work behind. But what goal worth having wasn’t? He wanted to unravel every secret she’d ever harbored. He wanted to understand every how and why of his complete and absolute attraction to her.

  But the way she was tucked against him, her face angled away from him, made him pause. And once again he was faced with the confusion of not automatically knowing how to go about getting what he wanted.

  “You didn’t have to—” he began, only to stop when she gave her head one little shake.

  “I wanted to,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Really wanted to,” she added, and he could have sworn he heard a thread of smug satisfaction.

  It made him smile. And relax. A little anyway. He propped one hand behind his neck, and let the other come to rest on her hair. He stroked it gently, toyed with it, as he toyed with exactly what he should say to her. How he handled the next few minutes could decide everything. Just thinking about it should have given him pause, made him question everything about this sudden decision. Logic would tell him it was the orgasm talking, and the desire for more just like it. But all he had to do was glance down, feel the warmth of her body curled into his, enjoy the pleasure that filled him as she drew aimless patterns on his chest with those clever, determined fingers of hers, and he knew the grin that spread across his face had little to do with mind-blowing sex. Okay, it had something to do with it. He was human. And male.

  Yet, he realized there was more anticipation, more excitement, in simply waiting for her to look up at him, smile, make some smart-ass comment, do or say something completely unpredictable, than there was a desire simply to come again.

  When the board had asked him for his input on hiring her, he’d spoken easily and at length about her qualifications, about what a wonderful woman she was, what a valuable addition she’d be. And he’d meant every word. He should have realized then just how thoroughly she’d captivated him, how deep his feelings still ran.

  If he’d been able to be at all objective that afternoon of her graduation, maybe he’d have understood it six years ago. And in the weeks, months, years that had followed, when he realized he’d never been able to get her completely out of his mind, he should have known it then.

  Now, there was no denying it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHE WAS HIDING. She knew that. And, like before, she felt like the worst kind of chicken. But that didn’t make it any easier to look up at him. Much less tell him what she was thinking. Feeling. Wanting.

  Last time she’d purposely guided the conversation away from the personal, and he’d allowed her the escape. She wondered if he’d let her escape again.

  Part of her didn’t want him to let her off so easily. The same part of her that hoped he wanted what she did. So she was waiting for him to say something. Anything. To give her some insight into what he was thinking. After all, why was it up to her to make the first move?

  She’d been worried about what would happen if they started something, only to have it flame out, thereby making working together awkward, or downright untenable. Now? Now they’d already started something, hadn’t they? The risk had been taken. And the alternative—not even trying to make it work—was untenable. Because, when it came right down to it, she really hated being a chicken.

  So they hadn’t had sex this time. Technically. That didn’t matter. It was the way being with him made her feel. He’d been just as confident a lover now as before. And then, when she’d taken over, he’d looked uncertain, almost vulnerable. Which had both surprised and encouraged her. He’d done what felt right and natural to him while making love to her, so it was only right she do the same. This time was about not being a chicken, about not having regrets.

  Of course, at the time, taking charge hadn’t seemed so risky. He’d been every bit as caught up in her as she’d been in him. She’d trusted he’d enjoy her attention as much as she’d enjoyed his. Why not trust herself—and him, now?

  Her thoughts in a jumble, she became increasingly aware of his touch as he slowly stroked her hair. And she gladly let her focus shift outward, until she became aware of the exact pressure and placement of each of his fingers, of even the slightest brush of his fingertips along the nape of her neck, of every beat of his heart, steady and strong beneath her cheek.

  She was also aware of her own heartbeat as it began to pick up speed. Did she want to spend the next six years as she’d spent the last six? Wondering what could have been if only she’d just up and told him how she felt? She took a breath of courage and lifted her head so she could look at him. “Cooper, I—”

  At the same moment, his chest rose as he took a deep breath and blurted, “Marty, I have something I need to say.”

  “Go ahead,” she told him, relieved to be momentarily released from taking the next step, yet frozen with fear at what it was he suddenly had to tell her.

  “No, that’s okay,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “Ladies first.”

  He sounded almost…nervous. Could it be
they’d both been wrestling with the same thing? There was only one way to find out. She pushed her hair from her face and scooted up a bit more so she could really see him clearly.

  His expression was both intent and wary. But more telling was that as she’d shifted her body, he’d immediately—instinctively?—reached for her, holding her as if he had every intention of keeping her close.

  She had to find a way to make sure that didn’t change.

  Watching him closely—although truthfully she was unable to tear her gaze from his, anyway—she said, “I know we talked about what we face ahead, in our respective careers. You’re not sure about this new direction you’re taking and—”

  “I’m keeping the job,” he said flatly. “As director. It’s the right step.” There was absolute certainty in his voice.

  “You’re sure?”

  He cupped her cheek then, drew his fingers along her hairline. And the look in his eyes made her forget her own name, much less whatever it was she’d been worried about.

  “I am the right man for this job. I know that.”

  “But what about the lab time? Your research?”

  “I’ll miss it. There’s no way around that. I can hope that I’ll find a way to keep my hand in, but I know that realistically, with my new responsibilities, at best I’ll be involved peripherally with the actual ongoing accumulation of data, and development of new ideas. But there is an upside to the promotion, too. One I really hadn’t thought about before now. The responsibilities are greater, but far more structured, in terms of work hours. I’ll actually have more free time. I can take weekends off for a change. Most evenings will be my own. I could even have a real vacation.”