Second Time Around

by Nancy Herkness

  “I’ll handle this part,” she said, maneuvering so she got one leg free, leaving them around the other knee.

  At the same time, he had unzipped his jeans and rolled on a condom.

  “Guess you like it when I’m on top,” she said, remembering the night before.

  He slid a finger inside her, making her contract with pleasure. “You do, too.” He pulled out his finger and sucked it into his mouth. “God, that just makes me harder.”

  She braced her hands on the leather upholstery on either side of his head, while he positioned his cock at her opening and curved his fingers around her hips. In one explosive motion, he pulled her down while he thrust upward, seating himself inside her with swift efficiency. Nothing like the slow sensual entrance of the night before, but just as insanely arousing.

  And then he held her while he drove into her in a relentless, ever-accelerating rhythm, his breath blowing sharp and fast against her cheek. All she could do was dig her fingers into the leather and hold on as his motion sent tendrils of arousal whirling through her to wind together in her belly.

  “Ahh!” He threw back his head against the seat cushion and pumped inside her, the force of his orgasm pushing her toward the limo’s ceiling. She tightened her inner muscles, giving both of them an extra boost of pleasure. “Ahh,” he murmured more quietly, lowering his hips as he came down from the high of his climax.

  She was so close to finishing that she considered reaching down to touch herself. But she’d rather have Will’s clever fingers on her, so she waited while his breathing slowed. It was hot to feel him soften inside her while he idly stroked over her hip bones with his thumbs.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “It wasn’t gentlemanly to come first.”

  “I liked it,” she whispered into his ear. “I made you forget your manners.” She took great satisfaction in her ability to unravel his smooth, polished control. It struck her that maybe she was making a mistake. Maybe he didn’t like what she did, since he’d been brought up not to give in to his feelings.

  “It was the waiting,” he said, his eyes still closed. “Waiting and thinking about you. That would bring out the caveman in anyone.” So he recognized the primitive side of himself.

  “Delayed gratification is good for the soul.”

  His eyes opened and something wicked lurked in them. “Then your soul must be very noble at this moment. Time to change that.”

  His grip on her hips tightened, lifting her so he could slip out. He set her beside him on the seat, her skirt still rucked up to her waist, before he stripped off and disposed of his condom. Then he pivoted and came down on his knees on the limo’s plush carpeting. He hooked his hands behind her knees and spread her thighs so he could kneel between them.

  “A delicious chaser for me,” he said, pressing her back against the seat while he pulled her knees up onto his shoulders.

  “Will!” Her position opened her to his gaze and she felt a flush of shyness.

  “I want to taste you when you come,” he said. And then his mouth was on her. It took only a few strokes of his tongue on her clit before her muscles convulsed with a wrenching burst of release, sending her arching up off the seat. She felt his tongue spear inside her as she clenched and eased, his touch driving her to another mind-bending orgasm.

  As she relaxed down again, her body still rippling with aftershocks, she felt the palms of his hands against her bottom, supporting her. He lowered her to the seat and then gave her buttocks a lingering squeeze before sliding his hands out from underneath her. The feel of his palms against the rarely touched flesh sent another flickering response through her glowing insides.

  Will slipped her knees off his shoulders, so she sprawled on the seat, her legs still on either side of his thighs. Sitting back on his heels, he licked his lips and gave her a lazy, satisfied smile. “Andrew Marvell would be proud,” he said. “‘Thy willing soul transpires at every pore with instant fires.’”

  “‘Let us roll all our strength and all our sweetness up into one ball,’” she quoted back. “‘And tear our pleasures with rough strife through the iron gates of life.’”

  “Was I too rough?” He sounded concerned.

  “I’m quoting Marvell, not commenting on your technique.”

  “In that case, ‘Thus, though we cannot make our sun stand still, yet we will make him run.’” He moved to the seat beside her, pulling her onto his lap once more. “Marvell had an interesting idea about using sex as a defense against time.”

  “The little death to ward off the big death,” Kyra said, snuggling in against the soft cotton of his polo shirt. “I’m not sure that threatening her with worms and the grave sets quite the right mood for hot sex, though.”

  “It speaks to the most basic human instinct, the survival of the species. When faced with imminent death, we are driven to have sex one last time. It’s a powerful persuasion.”

  “I feel like I’m back in lit class. I miss those days when we threw around words with wild abandon.”

  “You’ll do it again,” he said, his voice ringing with certainty.

  She felt too mellow to argue with him, but that dream had slipped away. She banished the niggle of sadness that threatened to make her eyes tear up. Or maybe that was just the postcoital blues.

  “I miss it, too.” He sounded surprised.

  The limo stopped and the driver’s voice sounded through the intercom. “We’re home, sir.”

  Kyra sat up and realized that her panties were still looped around one knee. “Oops, gotta get these back in place,” she said, reaching for them.

  But Will was quicker, his arm snaking out to pull them down to her foot. “You won’t need these anyway,” he said, working the red lace over her ankle boot. He stuffed the panties into his jeans pocket with a wicked smile. “It was your idea, after all.”

  “That was a one-time offer.” But her body prickled with awareness that she was naked under her skirt.

  “You can ransom them inside.” He pushed open the car door.

  Kyra swung her legs out the door with knees pressed together like a movie star at the Oscars. Of course, no one was wandering down the sidewalk in front of Will’s ultraexpensive address at this hour. But she felt the watchful eyes of security cameras, even though she had no idea where they were hidden.

  Will waved his magic wristband and they were inside the spectacular foyer. As they walked toward the back of the house, every step brought a brush of air that reminded Kyra of where her panties weren’t.

  “Would you like a drink?” Will asked when they reached what Kyra thought of as the garden room.

  “Point me to the bar and I’ll make you whatever you want, if you have the ingredients,” Kyra said. That was one skill she could bring to the table.

  Will shook his head. “You are off duty.” He swung open a panel to reveal a wet bar. “What’s your pleasure?”

  “I’d love a really crisp, dry white wine.”

  “I have the perfect bottle but it’s in the wine cellar. Excuse me for a moment.” He strode out of the room.

  Kyra walked to the garden door, sliding it open so the soft spring air wafted over her skin, bringing the splash of falling water from the fountain and the scent of earth and growing things. She closed her eyes and inhaled. The empty lot next to the Carver Center exuded the same aroma, especially after the grass had just been mowed. With the raised beds nearly finished, they would soon be planting vegetables and herbs to use in the center’s kitchen. A couple of the kids’ parents turned out to be enthusiastic gardeners and had worked with her to choose what to plant, since they knew what would thrive in the New York City climate. Their excitement at having a place to grow things was infectious.

  Melancholy seeped through her as she stood in the doorway of Will’s extraordinary home. She’d been happy with her life until she’d sat down at his table in Ceres. The kids at the center amazed her. Emily was a wonderful boss who was becoming a friend. Kyra’s hard-won expertise as a bart
ender gave her satisfaction. And the debt diminished every month, even if the pace seemed glacial.

  But Will made her long for things she thought she’d put behind her. Things she no longer believed she could have.

  “Sorry to leave you alone.” His voice made her turn to see him striding to the bar with a bottle in his hand. His usually well-groomed hair was still tousled from their lovemaking in the car, but that just made him look sexier. He walked with such confident grace that even in his faded jeans he personified power, decisiveness, and intelligence.

  The simmer of dissatisfaction with her life boiled into a haze of yearning. She didn’t just want to go back to school. She wanted this man. Wanted him to be waiting for her outside Stratus every night. Craved his brilliant conversation. Ached to watch the color of his eyes shift with his emotions. Hungered to have the right to touch him wherever and whenever she chose.

  She must have made a sound because Will looked up from pouring the wine. “Do you want to take it outside?” he asked, finishing his task and picking up the two glasses.

  As he walked toward her, his eyes glittering in the low light, his sculpted lips curved in a seductive smile, the muscles in his thighs propelling him forward with an easy strength, she just plain wanted.

  “Kyra? Are you all right?”

  She jumped. He was holding the glass of wine out to her, but she’d been too absorbed in her longing to reach for it. “Sorry, just wondering what kind of wine it is,” she blithered.

  His smile turned anticipatory. “Taste it first and then I’ll tell you.”

  She lifted the glass to the light and swirled it gently as she’d been trained to do in the wine class she’d taken for Stratus. “Beautiful color and nice legs.” She held it under her nose and took several quick sniffs. “Lovely but powerful. Definitely aged in oak.” Will’s gaze locked on her as she took the first sip. When the flavor swirled over her palate, she forgot all her fancy training, closing her eyes as she swallowed the nectar. “Oh God, this is unbelievably fantastic. What is it?”

  “Le Montrachet. The wine of kings.” Will took a sip from his glass and closed his eyes. “My favorite.”

  Of course Will would have what was arguably the world’s greatest dry white wine in his cellar. That he had chosen to share it with her made her heart do somersaults. “I’ve never had a white wine with this kind of complexity. It’s like a great red, only better.”

  “I knew you’d appreciate it.” He kissed her, his lips cool from the wine. “I suggest we take the bottle upstairs so I can lap it out of your navel.”

  Kyra hissed in a breath as his words drew trails of heat through her. “I’m not sure you should treat great wine that way.”

  “Your body deserves nothing less than the finest.” He kissed her neck just under her earlobe.

  Arousal flared in her belly, as much from his words as his kisses. “As long as I get the same privileges.”

  He dipped his finger in the wine and drew a line down between her collarbones, then bent to lick it off, the heat of his tongue contrasting with the coolness of the wine. “Something like that?” he purred.

  She nodded, her throat clenched against the moan that tried to work its way out.

  “Privileges granted,” he said. “Maybe I should get another bottle out of the cellar. Because I want to lick it off every inch of you.”

  Even as pure desire rolled through her, something else twined with it, something sweeter but much, much more dangerous.

  Something that even Petra had seen in Kyra’s eyes when she looked at Will.

  Chapter 12

  Kyra put down the knife on the kitchen island at the Carver Center and rested her pounding forehead on the back of her hand for a moment. Last night seemed surreal in the cold light of day. She’d poured several thousand dollars of wine on the naked body of a billionaire CEO and then lapped it off him, all while cavorting on a giant bed in his multimillion-dollar Manhattan townhouse. Not to mention what he’d done to her body with the other bottle of wine. Yes, they’d drunk two bottles of Le Montrachet, although drinking was a term she had to use loosely in this scenario.

  The wine-infused lovemaking was only the tip of the iceberg. Early this morning she woke up wrapped in his arms with his long, strong body pressed against her.

  She’d held herself still so she could drink in the beautiful planes and angles of his face while he slept. With the attention-grabbing hue of his eyes hidden behind his eyelids, she could focus on the different shades of gold in his hair and the shadow in the cleft of his chin. Generations of breeding had created a perfect bone structure that was elegant yet utterly masculine.

  Finally, she could restrain herself no longer and traced her finger along one sharp cheekbone. His eyelids flickered open, and the brilliance of them speared her. “I like waking up to find you staring at me,” he said, his voice raspy with morning and seduction.

  “I was just thinking that your DNA should be put in a vault for future cloning.”

  “I, er, will take that as a compliment. I think.” He rolled so that she lay on top of him. She felt his cock stir against her stomach while he stroked down to caress the curve of her backside. And she’d forgotten her hangover headache for a while.

  He’d insisted on fixing her breakfast, so they’d sat across from each other at a granite-topped table in his sleek, modern kitchen, she with her oatmeal, he with his omelet, sipping coffee and sharing the newspaper.

  Now she moaned out loud at how right, how comfortable, how perfect it had felt. But it wasn’t Kyra’s world. It was the castle in the clouds that Will strode through with exquisite, well-bred women like Petra gliding along beside him.

  Lifting her head, she forced herself to concentrate on cutting the cantaloupe into uniform bite-size chunks. The kids would help her wrap the chunks in thin slices of prosciutto and skewer them with colorful toothpicks. They were part of the array of hors d’oeuvres she’d planned for Max Varela’s official induction into the Carver Center’s board of trustees tonight.

  She’d come up with recipes that offered the children a chance to contribute since the whole Carver Center community—children, parents, staff, and trustees—was invited to attend. She was also offering deviled eggs garnished with little swirls of smoked salmon, fresh fruit skewers, and figs stuffed with robiola cheese, all things that required lots of assembly that amateur hands could provide this afternoon. Emily had authorized extra funds to purchase the ingredients, so the celebration would be especially festive.

  Thank goodness she’d taken the entire evening off from bartending because of the party. Maybe she could go to bed early. Of course, Will appeared to expect her to spend every night with him now. His casual assumption was both thrilling and unnerving. She wondered if she should insist on a night to herself to actually sleep.

  Who was she kidding? She was going to take every minute she could get with Will. Because there wouldn’t be that many more.

  She finished the cantaloupe and sliced open another one with her favorite large supersharp knife that only she was permitted to touch. The kids were not allowed to slice and dice for their own safety and to protect the center from liability.

  “Wow, what did that melon do to you?” Emily strolled in as Kyra started speed chopping a slice into chunks.

  “Just trying to get things ready for when the kids arrive. We have a lot of goodies to put together for the reception.”

  Emily plunked the shopping bag she was carrying onto the counter. “A gift from Max. He said you mentioned something about crab not being in the budget, even with the supplemental funding.”

  Kyra dropped the knife and reached into the bag, pulling out a container of premium lump crabmeat. “Oh my God! Tell Max he’s the best.” She hugged the plastic tub before peering into the bag to find five more. “Should I make crab cake bites or crab salad on minibuns or crab and artichoke dip? I can’t decide.”

  “They all sound scrumptious, so go with your instinct.” Emily sat down o
n a stool and held up her phone. “I got an e-mail from a Farrington Lange—who prefers to be called Farr—about a fact-finding visit here for the Thalia Foundation. Which just happens to be funded by Cronus Holdings, which just happens to own Ceres. Any connection between you and Farr?” Emily was grinning.

  “I was afraid he was being polite about his interest in the Carver Center, so I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” Kyra said. “But yes, he’s a friend of Will’s and heads up the foundation’s trustees. I saw him at Stratus last night, which must have prompted him to get in touch.”

  “Thank you.” Emily stood to give her a hug. “A personal connection is the best.” A light flush showed on her cheeks. “Something I counted on as well.”

  “Is it true that you shoved aside Max’s secretary, burst into his office, and forced him to give you the money to buy the empty lot? He claims it is, but I can’t picture it.” Max liked to tease his fiancée, which was really cute in such a brilliant, intense man.

  The flush brightened but Emily snorted. “Shoved is too strong a word. Brushed would be more accurate. I wanted that lot for the kids and the dogs, and we were running out of time and options. But no one can force Max Varela to do anything he doesn’t want to, trust me.”

  “You’re pretty fierce when it comes to the kids.” Kyra admired Emily’s devotion to the center, a devotion that had led not only to the founding of the K-9 Angelz program but a fairy-tale second chance at love. Someone should write a book about it.

  “Back to Farr. I’d like you to join the tour, if possible, since you know him. Do you have a preference on the date?”

  “You know my schedule better than I do. I’m fine with any day we aren’t having a special meal.”

  “I appreciate all your work on the food for Max’s induction. Your fancy hors d’oeuvres will make it so joyful.” Emily swiped a chunk of cantaloupe and popped it in her mouth. “Mmm, how do you find such sweet ones?”

  “I thump a lot of melons. And sniff them.”