Secrets Vol 2

  "Sexy," she finished.

  He hadn't been able to keep his mind off her, had barely kept his hands decent, and she'd only felt sexy for a moment? He'd been doing a terrible job. "You are sexy."

  "Yeah, right. That's why you've barely looked at me since we got in the car."

  That cynical tone stung him. He never wanted to hear it again, not from her.

  "I thought you were cold and wet and miserable," he said. "I was trying to give you a little space. A little privacy."

  She studied his face, as if trying to gauge his sincerity. "I'm still a little cold," she said.

  Was that an invitation? He'd take it as one. They moved at the same moment, and she was in his arms, her mouth damp and cool against his.

  He wouldn't rush a thing, not this time. He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, expertly, holding back the urge to taste her with his tongue, to press her chest against his. He gave her lingering kisses, gentle nips, soft murmurs of encouragement.

  And when she started gasping against his mouth, out of breath, he trailed kisses across her jaw, along her collarbone, as far as the gaping neckline of his shirt would let him. She tilted her head back, giving him better access to her neck, and he used it, used his lips to tease her skin, to explore the hollow at the base of her throat.

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  She sighed, although with the noise of the rain he could barely hear it, and he felt her fingers weave through his hair, cradling his head.

  "I think this was a teenaged fantasy of mine," he said against her neck.

  "What?"

  Ah, he'd almost forgotten to use fantasies, even though she was fulfilling one for him. "Kissing a half-dressed woman in my Chevy, in the rain." He grazed his teeth over the soft skin of her neck, letting his tongue trail along behind. "Wondering how far she'll let me go."

  "How far do you want to go?"

  All the way. He was more than ready. His traitorous body hadn't cooled off since he'd held her in the park, before the rain. Mind over matter But if that didn't work, he'd make damn sure he kept his pants on. He wasn't going to blow it this time.

  "This far?" He moved his hands to her breasts, touched them through the big shirt, felt her nipples rise behind her bra. Irresistible. He lowered his head and took one in his mouth, sucking strongly, using his teeth so that she'd feel him even through all that fabric.

  "More," she moaned.

  She sounded so desperate, so demanding. She wanted him. He knew it.

  He slid to the middle of the seat and lifted her onto his lap so that she faced him, her thighs straddling his. She didn't protest, and her eyes were closed, but he could still read the desire on her face. He reached for the top button on her shirt and undid it, then the next, his fingers clumsy. No hurry. He wanted to stretch out the moment, to give her time to savor the anticipation.

  Slowly, so slowly, he spread open the shirt. Sarah seemed to be holding her breath, waiting for his touch. And he wouldn't disappoint her. He stroked her breasts lightly, tantalizingly, through the satin barrier of her bra. She strained closer, seeking more contact. Her bra hooked in the front, and he undid the clasp, then brushed

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  membered, with the same large, velvety areolas. So beautiful.

  When he kissed her breasts, she caught her breath. When he licked, she sighed. And when he took her in his mouth and suckled, she gave a tiny little cry, almost a moan. She wanted him. Only him. When she climaxed for the first time, his arms would hold her. Soon. Very soon.

  He stroked her back, her arms, surrounding her with his touch as his mouth lavished attention on her breasts. She moved against him, urgently, as if she wanted more but didn't know exactly what.

  He knew. But he wouldn't give her more, not yet. Before he moved on, before he stepped up the pleasure, he wanted her aching for him, wanted her body to need him so much that her brain couldn't interfere. He panted against her chest, let her feel his hot breath on her sensitized, wet skin.

  She squirmed in his arms, gasping, pleading without words. Almost ready. Almost. Gently, carefully, he put his right hand on her thigh. Her hands moved suddenly, going straight for his jeans and struggling to undo the snap. Not this time. No way. He grabbed her hands and moved them to his shoulders. "Not yet," he said. And then, before she could object, he reached between her legs and gently touched her.

  She jerked and stiffened. Had he rushed her again? No, she felt hot and wet against his hand. Obviously ready, physically at least. But mentally?

  He stroked her gently. She made no protest, offered no encouragement. "You feel so good," he said.

  Still no response. He lowered his mouth to her breasts, tasting them again, and she came alive, moving rhythmically against his hand, showing him exactly what angle she liked, how much pressure she needed. Here? No, here. Like this? Yes, just like that.

  And when she finally grew tense and still, he didn't stop, didn't skip a beat. Any second now. "Yes, yes," he murmured against her breast, encouraging her. She cried out, the sweetest sound he'd ever

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  heard, then shuddered and trembled for endless, precious moments, taking her pleasure from him, giving her pleasure to him.

  And finally, she collapsed against him in exhaustion.

  Adrian hid his smile against her breasts. His groin throbbed, his body ached for release, his head filled with the enticing scent of Sarah, of her arousal. But he was satisfied.

  Sarah had climaxed. It was enough. For now, it was enough.

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  Chapter Three

  She stirred after a while, and shifted so that he could see her face. The sun had nearly set, and he could barely make out her features. She looked dazed and happy.

  "Is it always that good?" she asked.

  Her curiosity made him smile. "Yes. Sometimes it's a little different, but always good."

  "Different how?"

  "Different depending on lots of things. Your position, how long you've been excited, how tired you are."

  "Would it feel different with you inside me?"

  His mouth went dry. She still sat across his lap, knees spread, her breasts easily accessible behind the gaping folds of his shirt. And she had no idea how much he wanted to open his pants and thrust up into her. "Yes," he managed to croak.

  She leaned forward, until her hair brushed his cheek and her lips rested against his ear. "I want you inside me," she whispered.

  He pushed her shoulders back, and searched her face. Her eyes looked clear and bright. No passion, just residual satisfaction. She'd said it just to please him. Just because she could tell how damned horny he was. Just because after last night, she probably thought he was a rutting beast who couldn't last an hour without coming.

  "I'll wait until you're ready again," he said.

  She frowned. "That doesn't seem fair to you."

  She tempted him. Thank God she wasn't trying to seduce him, or he'd cave in like quicksand. But he couldn't use her for his own

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  pleasure again. Never again.

  "I don't mind," he said. "I want to wait."

  "Why?"

  She sounded plaintive, as if she really didn't understand. If he wasn't careful, if he bruised her ego, he'd undo all the progress she'd made today. He touched her face, gently cupping her jaw. "I do want you." Understatement of the year. "But more than that, I want to please you."

  "And I want to please you."

  He bit back a sigh. "I know you do. But unless you really wanted me, I'd feel like I was using you. And it's a little too soon to make you want me again."

  She still looked puzzled, but she shrugged and smiled at him. "Whatever you say. I feel too good to argue with you."

  "You look good, too." And she did, with her eyes shining and her hair spread around her face in a wild cloud.

  She smiled wider. "I feel like I've finally broken free of my parents."

  "No more shame?"

  She laughe
d and kissed him, full and wet. 'The next time we're in public together, I'll give you a great big kiss."

  Her voice sounded strong and confident. Too confident. He'd better set her expectations to a reasonable level. "I'm glad you're feeling more comfortable about public displays of affection," he began. God, he sounded like a prude. Like a wooden therapist, not a living, breathing man who had just made the woman in his arms cry out with pleasure.

  But he couldn't take the words back now, even though Sarah was looking at him as if he'd just grown a second head. He cleared his throat. "It may take a little more practice before you have an easy time reaching climax."

  Her smile didn't dim. "I don't know about that. I think I've found the secret."

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  "Secret?"

  She shook her head, and dropped her gaze. "I can't tell you."

  He should insist. As her therapist, he should use whatever technique she needed to help her. For his last patient, he'd actually impersonated Brad Pitt. Oh God, could Sarah have been thinking of another man? She'd kept her eyes closed. Maybe she hadn't wanted to see him, to ruin the fantasy.

  It shouldn't bother him. Hell, he'd done the same thing himself at times. He would not be jealous of Sarah's fantasies. If he started thinking of her as his exclusive woman, as his lover, he'd have to quit seeing her.

  And he couldn't quit now, not when she was so close. She'd had her first climax, and he needed to build on that milestone, to make her comfortable with her passion.

  She shifted her weight, lifted herself off his lap and sat next to him on the seat. "My legs were falling asleep. And I'm sure yours were, too."

  They had been, but he hadn't noticed. He put an arm around her shoulders, and she turned to look at him. Her mouth met his, and he let her lead, let her deepen the kiss, let her tongue steal out to touch his lips, then dart away.

  After a few moments, she sighed against his mouth and moved away.

  He opened his eyes. Her face was turned away from him, but something in the set of her shoulders, the arch of her neck, told him she felt sad. And just a moment ago she'd been laughing. What had he done?

  "What's wrong, Sarah?"

  "Nothing."

  She even turned and looked at him, smiled at him. But her eyes held sadness.

  He'd get to the bottom of this. "Is something bothering you?"

  "No."

  "Please, Sarah. Be honest with me."

  "I kissed you, and you didn't kiss me back."

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  "I thought I did."

  "Well. . . you didn't seem very interested."

  He held back an exasperated sigh. Here he was, trying to cool off, and kissing her wasn't helping. "Just because I wasn't aggressive, that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy the kiss."

  "Are you going to make me blurt it out?" she said, frustration ringing in her voice. "I want to make love again."

  Her signals sure were subtle. From that tentative kiss, he was supposed to figure out that she wanted to make love?

  "And not just for your sake," she added.

  The defiance in her voice made him smile. "Do you honestly believe that I'm going to put up a fight?" he asked.

  "I thought you might."

  He gave a deep, theatrical sigh. "I'm just afraid you'll wear me out."

  She chuckled. "You have only yourself to blame. Now that I know how good it can be.. .I want to practice."

  Practice. She was practicing on him. Practicing for another man. Thinking of another man while she satisfied her curiosity with a mere therapist.

  He wanted her to think about him. Only him. Not Brad Pitt. Not some worthless ex-boyfriend. Him, Adrian Ross. Not her therapist, but her lover.

  Now there was a fantasy.

  Just for tonight, he'd indulge himself with one harmless fantasy, pretend that they were lovers in truth. He'd take her home with him, make love with her in his bed, on his couch, in his shower. But if he did that, if he allowed her into his private life, he'd be crossing a dangerous line, breaking an ethical code he'd sworn to uphold. No, he couldn't even have this one fantasy. He'd take her back to her own home, keep things safe, protect them both.

  He opened his mouth and said, "Let's go to my place."

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  By the time they got to his house, the rain had stopped and the sky was pitch black. Adrian pulled into the garage and turned off the car, then reached into the backseat and grabbed his soaking wet jacket.

  "Don't forget your dress," he said as they got out of the car.

  He crossed the garage and threw his jacket into the dryer. Sarah put her dress in too, and he shut the dryer and turned it on.

  He led her up the narrow flight of stairs to the door, jingling his keys nervously. Hard to believe he'd actually brought Sarah home. No doubt he'd regret his impulsiveness later, but for now, he'd enjoy having her with him. She wouldn't need him much longer. Tonight might be all he ever had.

  He opened the door to the house and switched on the light. When he paused, Sarah bumped into his back.

  "Sorry," she said breathlessly.

  He turned and pulled her into his arms, kissing her with the passion he'd been restraining all day. She pressed herself against him, reaching up to pull his head down, to seal their mouths more tightly.

  He let his hands move down her back, over the sweet curve of her ass, not quite covered by his shirt. Irresistible. He hauled her up against him, and she gave a squeak of surprise, breaking their kiss and holding on to his shoulders for balance. He lowered her back down until her feet touched the floor, loving the way her body slid against his.

  Whoa. He forced himself to take a deep breath. If he didn't slow down, he'd end up taking her against the wall here in the hallway. Not a bad idea, but he wanted the next time to be special, not a hurried frenzy of lust. And he'd already promised himself the shower, the couch, and the bed.

  He moved back just a fraction, just enough so that he could see her face. Her eyes slowly opened, looking up at him with a dazed expression.

  "I can't believe how excited you make me," she whispered.

  "I know the feeling." Great, he'd said it out loud. He'd better watch himself. He could live with making Sarah part of this fantasy,

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  but only if he was the one who paid the price. If she got hurt, if she became attached to him, he'd never forgive himself.

  She tugged on his shirt, and he let her pull it over his head. Then she lowered her face to his chest, rubbed her cheek against his skin. She sighed, the barest hint of breath. "Now that I know I can do it, I'm not afraid to let myself feel."

  "I'm glad." He stroked her hair, tangled and damp from the rain. "You still have a ways to go, though."

  "I know." He felt her smile against his chest. "I'm looking forward to it."

  So was he. And he couldn't wait another minute. "Come on."

  He took her hand and led her upstairs to his bedroom. She didn't hesitate, and when they were inside she laid down with him as though they'd been lovers for years. As though she belonged here, with him.

  She kissed him softly, briefly. Then again. And a third time. Hesitant kisses. Innocent kisses. He kissed her back, just as cautiously, but he cupped her face in his hand, stroking her, gently holding her mouth to his. She felt so delicate, and her kisses were so fresh and sweet, she could almost be a virgin.

  And he'd treat her like one. He'd make slow, sweet, burning love to her. No skillful, practiced caresses, no thrusting kisses, no lustful demands. Just ardent gentleness.

  Each move he made was slow, cautious. He kissed her all over her face and neck, endlessly, brushed his lips across hers in gentle strokes. Such soft, soft skin. No one could kiss like her, with those shy, tentative little movements that made him wild to please her.

  He touched her breasts through his shirt for long moments, waited an age before he reached underneath the fabric to touch her bare skin. When he finally pulled the shirt of
f her, he kissed her breasts softly, suckled gently, and her fingers slowly wove through his hair, as if she didn't know where else to put her hands.

  He stroked her from her hair to her feet, slowly, slowly memorizing the texture of her skin, the shape of her body. Her skin looked

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  flushed, felt hot, and she shifted restlessly under his hands. If only she would open her eyes.

  He slid down and nuzzled at her thighs, felt them tense for an instant, then part. What he wouldn't give to taste her. But no, he had to move slowly, couldn't startle her. He used his hand, his fingers, set a teasing, tempting rhythm. And he waited, waited until she moved impatiently, urgently, until she wanted more, needed more. Then he touched her sex with his mouth, kissed her, and she writhed beneath him, moaning, desperate.

  He couldn't bear to tease her any longer. He knew her body well, better than she did, and he used that knowledge to push her straight to the edge. But he wanted more from her than this, more than just a quick climax. He stripped his pants off in record time, almost forgetting the obligatory condom.

  She held her arms out to him as he rose above her, welcoming him. But she seemed so tiny beneath him. He felt like a big oaf, crushing her, smothering her. He wanted to give to her, not dominate her.

  He rolled onto his side, taking her with him, drawing her leg up over his hip. She moved against him, aligning her body with his, slowly, slowly taking him inside.

  Look at me. He rocked his hips in a slow, steady rhythm, watching her face. Her lips parted, her breath came in short, swift gasps, but she kept her eyes closed. He brought his hands to her breasts, teasing them. Ah, she liked that. Her hips met his thrusts, quickening the pace.

  Suddenly she hid her face against his chest, and her whole body shuddered and trembled as her climax hit. He felt the convulsions along the length of his body, and as all her tiny feminine muscles contracted around him, he closed his own eyes and rode the wave himself, pouring everything he was, everything he hoped to be, into the milking heat of her body.

  He held her close as his heartbeat slowed to normal speed. Even coming down with her felt like pure bliss. But she pulled away from