by Ava Miles
“What happens between us happens between us and no one else. Now, will you kiss me again?”
“If I kiss you again, it won’t stop there.”
She had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. “Clayton, am I not standing in your bedroom in my underwear right now?”
A flicker of doubt came and went in his eyes. “Well…”
“Stop thinking, you infernal man,” she whispered and yanked his head down until their lips met.
His hands slid under her bottom again—something she’d never known she’d like so much—and fitted her firmly against his body. He wanted her. Of that there was no question.
Tonight was their night.
Feeling bolder with each new dance of their tongues, she sucked on his bottom lip. His hands tightened on her flesh, sending a powerful jolt through her body. She wanted him so much, she rubbed herself against him, causing him to groan.
“You are going to be the death of me, woman,” he ground out in a tight voice.
“Oh, I hope so,” she said back.
He kissed her then, deeper, wetter, and more wildly than ever before. Her body grew impatient. She wanted his hands on her breasts, so she pulled them up to her chest and made space for them. He cupped that sensitive flesh, running his hands over the tight nipples under the lace, and she moaned long and deep, wanting nothing more than for him to take her bra off and touch that bare flesh for the first time.
Reading minds must be something he was good at because soon he unhooked the bra and tugged it away. Her breasts scratched against his shirt, and she could take it no longer.
“Clayton, take off your shirt.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his tone playful and seductive.
God, she loved that voice.
He ripped the shirt off, scattering buttons, causing her to gasp and then laugh when he said, “I didn’t like this shirt much anyway.”
He pulled her to his bare chest, and they both groaned at the contact. His body was hard where hers was soft, yet they seemed to fit together like God had intended it.
“Make love to me, Clayton,” she whispered.
“I am, honey. Trust me, I am.”
Scooping her up, he laid her on the bed and lowered himself on top of her. Poised over her, he put his mouth to her breast, causing a whole new level of heat to rise to the surface. The pull of desire had her eyes closing, and she basked in the feel of his touch.
His lips slid lower, down to that tightness in her belly. His hand stroked the lace below, and she knew he was asking for permission to take things further. She took his hand and placed it between her thighs before she could be embarrassed. He slid his hand inside the front, and her body jerked from the electricity of him touching her there.
“Tell me if you want me to slow down,” he whispered, glancing up at her, his eyes the color of quicksilver now.
“Not for a second,” she breathed out.
He rubbed his thumb at the base of her, and she shimmied in place against it. The smile he gave her was pure sin.
“Let’s get these off, shall we?”
She raised her hips as he came up on his knees beside her, and together they brought them down her legs. Again, she felt the flush of embarrassment. Now she was completely naked before him, the firelight dancing on her skin. He tickled her soles, causing her to kick out and giggle.
“Someone’s ticklish.”
“Yes, and that’s not something we need to explore right now.”
“I love that prim voice of yours,” he told her, trailing his hands up her calves now.
“What about your…ah…clothes?”
Oh, the image of him crouching over her as he slid his hands up her thighs was enough to make her mouth go dry.
“Plenty of time for that. I want to see to you first.”
First? Did that mean he was going to…
“Amelia,” he called, almost like it was too much effort in that moment to say her full name. “Trust me.”
Their gazes locked, and she nodded. He seemed to sense she needed him to kiss her now that she was naked. Her body pressed close to his as he claimed her mouth, and within moments, desire was coursing through her body once more.
His mouth journeyed down, kissing her neck, paying homage to her breasts again, and with every slide of his tongue over her, she grew more feverish. It was hard to contain her moans now, and she stopped trying. They slid out as proof that she was exploring passion for the first time with the right man.
When he kissed her belly and stroked lower, she raised her hips to give him the permission she sensed he was seeking. He slid a finger inside her, and the fit was tight, yet oh so arousing. From then on, all her breaths came out as pants. His gentle touch inflamed her, and closing her eyes, she lost herself to the pleasure of it.
His clever finger knew exactly where she needed to be touched and how soft or hard. Her thighs relaxed as he continued to stroke her. Her body curved into him as an ancient knowledge unfurled within her. Though she’d never done this before, she somehow knew what she was doing. It all felt so right.
His mouth returned to her breasts, first one and then the other, and soon she was moving against him urgently as a force grew inside her, waiting to break free.
He seemed to sense how close she was because he suddenly pressed down hard with the heel of his hand on the most sensitive part of her, and she burst open like a star. Her body clenched and clenched, and she felt him shift away from her and rustle with his remaining clothes.
Even with her eyes closed, she knew he was between her legs now. She opened her eyes to look at him, and the sight of his naked body poised over hers sent a fresh bolt of lust into her core. Firelight danced over his skin, making him seem pagan and sexy and oh so manly.
He lowered himself onto his elbows, and she felt him poised at her entrance. “All right, now. Let’s take it easy.”
His body pressed forward, and he slowly slid in a few inches. The feel of him was tight, and she wiggled to better accommodate him.
“Ow.”
His breath was harsh against her neck. “I’m sorry, honey.”
Her desire was receding the deeper he pressed. She hadn’t expected it to sting like this, and the pain was dampening her mood.
“It’s okay,” she lied, praying it would get better.
“Try and relax,” he whispered, kissing her neck.
She took a breath because she seemed to need one, and he slid more deeply inside her. It was impossible to hold back her wince.
He groaned then, a sound so agonized her heart hurt for him. This couldn’t be easy for him either, she realized. Opening her eyes, she forced herself to focus on something other than the tightness of him in her body. Instead she admired how broad his shoulders seemed, how black his hair looked in the firelight all tousled from her fingers. God, he was beautiful. But his eyes were clenched shut, and there was sweat gathering on his forehead like he was in pain.
“Clayton,” she whispered, needing their connection back.
He met her gaze, and her heart stopped right there. Filled with him, seeing him poised over her, she felt it—that semi-mythical joining of bodies and hearts she’d always read about.
Her body relaxed as her heart expanded.
“Oh, Amelia,” he whispered, sliding deeper inside her.
This time it didn’t hurt so badly. She wanted him there, wanted him to be part of her. Ignoring the discomfort, she stroked his back.
“Kiss me.”
The kiss started out gentle, but he quickly took it deeper. It felt like he was a hairbreadth from losing control. Her body flushed again with desire, and the feel of him inside her changed from discomfort to something more urgent.
“Oh, God,” she cried out when he ended the kiss to let them both breathe.
She felt stretched and damp and out of control.
“Is it better now?” he asked harshly, and she gave a slight nod against the pillows.
“Tell me if it hurts to
o much, and I’ll stop again.”
He retreated and then slid back inside her, staring down at her face. The look was the most intimate one she’d ever experienced, and her heart seemed to grow in her chest like a sponge in warm water. Her body stretched with him, and on the third stroke, she no longer cared about the slight discomfort. She wanted him, needed him. Urgently.
“I want…” she whispered, closing her eyes and raising her hips to meet him.
“I know, baby,” he said in a harsh tone. “Come with me.”
As he increased the speed and depth of his thrusts, she could only hold on and try. Everything inside her was gathering again, but this time with a force she feared. It was too much. She pushed at his shoulders.
“Let go, princess,” he said, thrusting deep.
She pressed her head back into the pillows, feeling the burn of it, feeling the electricity course through her body.
“Come on, honey,” he said again, and this time he wedged a hand in between them to touch where they were joined.
She exploded. He rose up on his knees, taking her to a new edge of passion, one that had claws. His thrusts grew less controlled and soon he froze above her and called out her name, awash in the same blind passion raining over her.
He sank onto her and would have crushed her had he not rested his full weight on his elbows.
“Oh, dear God,” he ground out, and she hugged him close, trying to soothe him.
Her body was pulsing, and it felt like the firelight was dancing inside her now. She was burning up. Everything felt hot and heavy except where she pulsed in strong bursts around him.
He took her to their sides and wrapped her close, keeping them joined. The arm he placed around her was gentle, and the gesture made her feel cherished.
All she could think was that everyone who’d written about or described lovemaking had gotten it all wrong. Mere words weren’t enough to convey the power of it, the intensity of this connection between two people. Between them.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his mouth near her ear.
“Divine,” she easily responded. Sure she was sore, but it would lessen. And any discomfort was eclipsed by the feel of him inside her, by this precious new connection.
“Divine, huh?” Making a little space between them, a few inches only, he gazed into her eyes. “I’m mighty glad to hear that since I know it didn’t start off that way. Sore?”
“A little. What about you?” she asked, feeling a blush wash over her again. Part of her wished she were better at hiding her feelings.
A grin played across his mouth. “Divine is a pretty good word for it.”
Well…that was all she wanted to hear. She leaned in and kissed him long and deep. “I know you may not want to hear it, but I can’t hold back.”
His face tensed.
“I love you, Clayton.” She stroked his face. “I won’t tell you again. I just…needed to say it now. This one time.”
“Amelia—”
“Please don’t say anything,” she whispered. “Don’t ruin it. Just kiss me again. Please.”
He pressed his cheek to hers, and she could sense his struggle. “If you knew how much I care for you…”
“Please kiss me.”
He did, and in that moment, it was enough.
Chapter 26
When Clayton awoke the next morning and gazed down at Amelia Ann sleeping soundly in his arms, his heart turned over like an old crank-handle car.
God, she was beautiful.
Her lips were a swollen pink, and there were traces of beard burn on her chin. He’d loved her well. As he’d told her, there was no going back now that they’d made love. Somehow, although she had such limited experience with men, she’d forged him to her in one of the strongest ways imaginable.
Through her trust.
She didn’t know how to hold a part of herself back, so when she gave, she gave everything. He’d never been with a woman like that before, and it only cemented the truth. He loved her.
Every time he’d tried to tell her last night, the words had caught in his throat like he’d swallowed a chicken bone. She’d stayed true to her promise—she’d only told him how she felt once. Yet with her body, she’d written it across his body over and over again.
He had no more defenses against her.
She’d grown bolder throughout the night, and her curiosity was second to none, which had delighted him. Satisfying her on all levels had become his new life’s purpose, and he couldn’t imagine ever wanting anyone else after what they’d shared last night.
His mind shied from that thought like a skittish horse, and he caressed the length of her hair trailing across his chest to calm himself. She smelled like a mix of him, them, and magnolias, and he couldn’t get enough of that potent combination.
“Good morning,” she whispered, snuggling against him.
He kissed her cheek. “Good morning, princess.”
She turned on her back and stretched. A wince crossed the delicate features of her face, and he laughed.
“What?” she asked, her voice still husky from sleep.
“I’m a little sore too,” he admitted, the smile easy on his face.
He was pretty sure he’d never smiled as much as he did around Amelia Ann.
“I’m glad you’re sore,” she said, making sure the sheet was tucked securely around her delectable bosom, he noted. “I shouldn’t be the only one.”
Her lips were too tantalizing, so he laid his mouth over hers. The kiss was soft and gentle, and when he drew back, her hazel eyes held a touch of confusion.
“What?” she asked.
“I told you there would be no going back.” He had to say it. Felt compelled to say it since he couldn’t bring himself to admit he loved her.
“Who’s going back?” She rose up on her elbow and pushed him back against the pillows, leaning over him.
Her sheet slipped, and it took all his self control not to whisk it out of the way.
“We shouldn’t,” he whispered against her mouth.
“I can take it if you can,” she whispered back and straddled him.
She took him slowly into her, riding the waves to her pleasure. All he could do was follow her, swept away in the wake of their powerful connection.
They showered together, and he loved the feeling of washing his shampoo from her hair. As they dressed, he watched her turn from sensual goddess to embarrassed, young woman again.
“I need some new clothes,” she said, shaking out her wrinkled dress.
“You can wear one of my shirts over your dress,” he found himself saying.
Her eyes widened for a moment, and then she smiled. “That sounds lovely.”
He headed into the walk-in cedar closet. “You haven’t seen the shirt I’m going to give you.”
“It better not be ugly,” he heard her say, and he picked out a camouflage one for hunting and held it out the door just to get her going.
“Not in a million years,” she said and sailed into the closet with him.
All the years spent living on tour buses and out of suitcases had made him into a neat guy, so he wasn’t embarrassed about the state of his closet. Her hands trailed over the rows of his shirts until she snagged a navy one off the hanger.
“I like the feel of this one. It’s not as soft as your skin, but it will do.” Then she winked.
He didn’t trust himself to help her button it up, so he left the closet and waited for her to emerge. The shirt was too big and long on her, but she’d tied the ends into a clever knot.
“It smells like you,” she said, lifting the material to her face.
“Talk like that is going to get you undressed right quick.” He put his hands on his waist to let her know he was serious.
“And that would be a bad thing?” she asked with a sugary drawl.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be? School, perhaps?”
“It wouldn’t kill me to miss a class once. It’s never happened
before.”
Yeah, he wasn’t surprised to hear she was the kind of student who never skipped. “Well, some of us can’t miss work.”
At the thought of Rye, the specter of guilt loomed over him. He’d taken his best friend’s sister to bed. He didn’t regret being with her, but he sure wished she were someone else’s sister, someone he didn’t know.
“Let’s grab some coffee and breakfast, princess. I’m famished.”
“All right. I am too.”
She skipped across the room until she stood in front of him. For a moment, they just stared at each other, aware of how messy the bed was behind them. Then she impulsively wrapped her arms around his waist. He kissed her wet hair.
“Clayton, I’m so happy.”
There was a question in her voice, so he lifted her chin and kissed her again, long and deep.
“Me too, princess.”
“Please tell me you have a blow dryer,” she said.
“Now why would I have one of those?” he drawled, loving the frown that formed between her eyes. “Come have some breakfast while it air dries like the hair of the rest of us mere mortals.”
She shot him a look, but she still took the hand he held out. He made coffee for them, and she hopped up on his granite countertop to drink it, her feet bobbing to the tune she was humming. The fact that it made him smile to discover she took her coffee black scared him a bit.
Since she didn’t cook much, she declared, he made them simple dipper eggs and toast while she cut up some apples and bananas.
“I expected it to be awkward,” she said, rinsing off her hands, “but it isn’t.”
His hand went lax, and he almost dropped the spatula on the floor. She was right. He’d had his fair share of awkward morning-afters.
“No. No, it isn’t.”
When he brought their eggs over to the kitchen table, he found himself wishing he had flowers for her. Something to dress up the table. Well, he could always buy her flowers later.
She sat and bowed her head for a moment before eating, and it did something to him, seeing that simple measure of grace. Then she opened her eyes and smiled at him. He was too focused on watching her eat her way happily through the meal to pay attention to his own eggs.