Once we’re done, I take her through to the bedroom. I peel back the duvet and she climbs beneath it, and I slide in next to her. I pull the duvet over us, propping myself on the pillows, and take her in my arms. She curls up beside me, and I rub my hands over her skin to warm her. She places her hand flat on my chest. Her cheeks are pink. Is she embarrassed? I find it difficult to believe that after what we’ve just done.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She lifts up on an elbow and looks down at me in dismay. “Don’t say you’re sorry. Please, please don’t regret what we just did. It was the best thing that’s happened to me in months—in fact years, I think—and I’d feel terrible if I thought you wished it hadn’t happened.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I clarify wryly. “I was going to say I’m sorry it was so quick. I’m hardly Casanova, but I like to think I don’t usually thrust a girl up against a wall and do her in seconds.”
She looks at me in some surprise. Then she shrugs. “Shame.” She props her head on a hand. “I rather enjoyed that.” She grins, and my lips curve to join hers.
Lifting a hand, she traces a finger over my tattoo. “Do you feel better?”
“Is that why you kissed me?”
“No. Or at least, that wasn’t the only reason. I wanted you.” Her eyes are honest. She means it.
I lie back on the pillows and look out of the window at the rain. Lightning flashes, but it’s a few seconds before thunder follows. The storm is moving away. I don’t miss the symbolism of it.
“I do feel better.” I draw circles on her back while I think about it. “At this time of year, it’s as if someone’s slowly tightening a band inside me. It gets tighter and tighter until it snaps on Boxing Day, and then I’m so exhausted from all the emotion I can’t do anything for days.”
“And now?”
“It’s gone.” I feel as if I’ve been carrying a backpack filled with rocks for weeks, months, years even. And suddenly someone—Jess, I suppose—has taken it from me. I feel light as. I feel that if she let me go, I’d float up to the ceiling, and maybe even through it, up into the sky like a released balloon.
“I’m so tired,” I say, overwhelmed in the space of seconds. “Jesus. I can hardly keep my eyes open.”
“Then sleep.” She kisses my forehead.
“That’s so rude though, straight after sex.” But already my eyes are closing.
“It’s perfectly normal. Our bodies release hormones that tell us to rest afterward.”
“Don’t go,” I mumble. I can’t open my eyelids, they’re too heavy, so I concentrate on the feel of her in my arms, her soft skin, her damp hair, her breasts pressing against my ribs. She smells fresh, of the sea, of the rain, of summer. I know that whenever I visit the ocean from now on, I will always think of Jess.
“I won’t.” She leans forward and presses her lips to mine. “Thank you.”
I want to ask her what on earth I’ve done that she feels she has to thank me for, but I’m too tired, and before I can have another thought, sleep overtakes me.
Chapter Eight
Jess
When I wake, I have no idea what time it is. The rain has stopped and the room’s filled with a reddish-orange light, so it must be early evening, maybe six or seven p.m. My body feels rested and limp with the release of tension. My neck’s tender, and I touch it gingerly, remembering Rich’s hot mouth there, sucking hard. Has he given me a hickey? My lips curve up. Naughty boy.
He asked me not to go, so I don’t get up, but I do turn onto my side to look at him. He’s on his back, head turned a little toward me, eyes closed. He’s pushed the duvet down to his hips, revealing his chest, with the happy trail of hair disappearing down beneath the covers. He looks peaceful and gentle. There’s no sign of the passion that cleaved through him, leaving me shivering in its wake.
I hadn’t expected that at all. When I kissed him, I fully expected him to push me away, or at least to want to talk about what I was expecting, to have him specify this meant no relationship, no commitment.
But the way he’d pushed me up against the wall… How he’d taken my face in his hands and kissed me… The speed at which he’d been able to tease me right to the edge…
How had he known that was what I needed? He’d made me feel wanted, and that was the best Christmas present anyone could have given me this year.
I know that nothing will come of this. He lives in Auckland, for a start. He has his own life there, and I have mine here, such as it is. I know nothing about him. I don’t even know how long he’s staying at the beach—he might be leaving tomorrow. There’s no time for anything to develop. This is what it is—a glimpse of sun through the clouds. I’m very grateful for it, and I’m happy to make the most of it while it’s here.
I shift to make myself more comfortable, and Rich’s eyes open. He looks right at me, and he blinks a few times as if puzzled, then his lips curve in a smile.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey. Sorry if I woke you.”
“That’s okay.” He looks out of the window and frowns. “What time is it?”
“I have no idea. Early evening, I’m guessing.”
“I went out like a light.”
“Me too. I guess it was all the exercise.”
He grins. “Yeah.” He shifts onto his side and props his head on a hand, and I do the same.
We study each other for a while. Normally, I’d have felt self-conscious at being scrutinized like this, but Rich makes me feel it’s okay to be silent, and I don’t have to fill the quiet with babbling.
“What is it about you?” he says eventually. He looks curious, puzzled even.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s something about you. Something… calm. Peaceful.”
“I was just thinking the same about you.”
His lips twist. “It’s so odd that you happened to be staying right next to me. Almost as if someone knew what I needed, and put you there.” His smile broadens.
I decide to take the plunge and broach the elephant in the room. “Maybe Will did it for you.”
I wait for his brow to darken, maybe even for him to roll over and get up, angry that I’ve brought up the subject. When he doesn’t, I feel a surge of relief. He looks surprised, then a little wistful, but the dark clouds that have hung over him the previous few nights appear to have gone.
“Maybe,” he says. He looks out of the window, up into the tangerine sky. “He died just before six o’clock. Usually I have to drink myself senseless to get through that point. But it’s passed, and that’s all due to you.”
“I don’t know, Rich. It’s been four years, hasn’t it? Perhaps you were ready to move on, but couldn’t take that step out of guilt or whatever, and I’ve just distracted you enough to get over that bump in the road.”
“You’re being very modest. You’ve been much more than a distraction.”
I’m not sure what he means by that, so I don’t reply.
He lifts a hand to cup my face, the gesture so tender and touching that it makes my face warm. He brushes his thumb across my cheek. “Do you believe in angels?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t, until I met you.”
“Oh, I’m no angel.” I’m the opposite end of the scale from that.
His lips curve up. “The best girls aren’t.”
He leans forward then and kisses me, turning his head to angle his lips across mine. He brushes his tongue against my bottom lip, so I open my mouth, and he slides his tongue inside. My eyes are half open, and I think to myself that I’ll always remember this moment, because all my senses seem alive, from the sight of the bed flooded with orange-golden light, to the feel of Rich’s warm skin and thick, curly hair, to the smell of the evening, washed fresh by the storm. I can still feel the remnants of lightning in the air like static, bringing me out in goose bumps. In the distance, thunder rumbles like the growl of a tiger, prompting dark-blue flashes in the corner of my vision.
As if he’s aware of them, he lifts his head to look at me. “Does my voice make you see colors?”
“Mmm… voices don’t tend to, unless someone shouts or screams or something. But I do get a general sensation of color when I’m listening to people. With you, it’s a deep rose pink, almost orange, very warm and rich.” I smile.
He kisses me again. “And what color are orgasms?”
I laugh. “Silver. The taste of lemon meringue pie. And the number seven.”
“Mmm. Fancy some lemon meringue pie now?”
I feel my eyes widen. “Again?”
“Mmm.” He kisses me, then starts kissing down my neck to my breasts. “Slowly this time. I want to prove to you that I’m not all fast and furious.”
“I didn’t mind…” I protest, but the words fade away as he washes his warm tongue over a nipple, then takes it in his mouth and sucks. “Oh…” I let him roll me onto my back and lay with my arms above my head, and give my body over to his skilled hands.
The orange light is threaded with purple, and my gaze blurs with color as Rich shifts on the bed so he can lean over and capture my other nipple in his mouth while he plays with the first with his fingers. The soft nipple tightens almost painfully as he sucks, and when he tugs it, the resultant ripple of pleasure travels all the way through my body straight to my clit.
He plays with my breasts for a long time, sweeping his tongue over them and teasing the tips, and as I sigh with pleasure, the orange-purple turns gold and it feels as if I’m lying in a golden river, letting the water wash over me. He moves again and kisses down my ribs and over my belly, pausing to place soft kisses there before traveling down. He lies between my legs, and then I feel his tongue brush up over my folds.
Mmm… there’s little so beautiful as oral sex on a warm December evening. I let Rich push my thighs wide open, and I feel his thumbs either side of me, parting my folds. Then he licks up my core before sliding his tongue deep inside me, and I moan, filling the air with ribbons of scarlet.
Aaahhh, he’s good at this. He swirls his tongue over my clit and flicks it through the sensitive layers of skin, filling me with sensations of warmth and richness, as if I’m floating in warmed honey. Everything about this is sweet, and it makes my mouth water. I lower my hands to my breasts, brushing my thumbs over my nipples, and enjoy the way they harden in my fingers as he teases me with the tip of his tongue.
“So good…” I whisper, and he murmurs his approval before sliding his fingers inside me. Now he’s paying close attention to my clit, licking and sucking with just the right speed and pressure, stroking with his fingers at the same time, and I tingle with pleasure, silver sparkles filling the air as I begin to gasp.
Rich doesn’t stop, and the orgasm sweeps over me, deep, fulfilling pulses that make silver fireworks burst around me with every gasp. Ooohhh, that feels good, and he draws it out, until I fall back onto the mattress, exhausted and spent, awash on a sea of bliss.
The silver fades to white, and Rich withdraws his fingers. I drift into the beautiful netherworld of after-sex, eyes closed, only half conscious of him retrieving another condom from his wallet and rolling it on. Ooh, more sex. Nice. Then he’s leaning over me again, and I feel him brush the tip of his erection through my sensitive folds. I lift my legs and wrap them around him, and he pushes in, right inside me, sliding easily to the top.
“Fuck.” His expletive is loud and explodes into the air, adding a shower of red to my fireworks. My eyes snap open, and a spark of excitement shoots through me at the heat in his. This man wants me, and that, more than anything, is the best aphrodisiac.
He braces his hands either side of my shoulders, bends to kiss me, then starts to move, and almost immediately I sense the upward helix of another climax begin to build as he thrusts inside me.
“Oh, yeah.” I push with my heels to encourage him to go faster. “Harder, Rich.”
He shakes his head, amused. “Slow and gentle.”
“I’m not a slow and gentle kind of girl,” I tell him, breathless with desire. “I’m a strip your clothes off in one go girl. A hot and sweaty girl. A bang the top of my head against the headboard kind of girl.”
“I see,” he says, but he doesn’t change his pace, just observes me with his lovely melted-chocolate eyes.
I lift my arms above my head again, stretching out beneath him, trying to tilt up my hips to encourage him to go faster. He captures my hands in his and pins them on the pillow.
“Mmm.” I like the feeling of being powerless in his arms.
Then I realize why he’s done this when he stops moving. He pushes forward, and I feel him swell inside me, a blissful sensation of being stretched to my limits.
“Come on, baby girl,” he says. “You can take it all.”
I flush at his endearment—Alastair never called me anything like that. Rich’s eyes seem to penetrate as deeply as other parts of him, where there’s no hiding place. I almost flinch—there are dark corners inside me I don’t want him—anyone—to see.
I exhale, and it comes out as a moan, which makes his lips curve up and starts him moving again. “Ah,” he whispers, his muscles tightening and bunching as he moves, “Jess. You saved me. You know that?”
I know he’s caught up in the moment, but it’s still a lovely thing to say, and I look up at him, wishing I could pause time and capture this moment. Instead, I take a mental picture so I will remember the way the sun is highlighting his shoulders and neck, and how his damp hair is curling around his temples. I try to remember that look in his eyes, because it makes me feel good, and I don’t feel good that often.
Ohhh… this is slow torture, and it’s blissful but agonizing at the same time. “Please,” I say without even knowing why.
He bends, touches his lips to mine, and whispers, “Okay.” And then he starts to move properly.
He obviously understands what I want because he goes for it, thrusting hard and deep, filling and stretching me, pounding until I can hear nothing but the scarlet smack of his skin against mine, his deep grunts, the bang of the bed against the wall, my own high cries. I tighten my thighs around him, and he moves faster, and then I’m coming again, crying out loud, and Rich is swearing and thrusting and then his whole body seems to stiffen and tighten, his fingers clenching on mine as he shudders and pulses and spills into me.
“Oh, fuck.” I flop back onto the bed, exhausted, and Rich follows after a few seconds, withdrawing and collapsing next to me. “Oh jeez,” I complain. “Are you trying to make sure I never walk again?”
He disposes of the condom, then rolls onto his side to look at me. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. God, no.” I brush my hands down my body, loving the answering aftershocks of sensation that skitter through me. “It was lovely.”
He smiles and stretches out, his fingers following mine, exploring my body. He brushes them over my breasts, down my ribs, circles my belly button, glides over my hips.
He lingers on my tummy.
“Jess?”
“Mmm?” I’m almost asleep again.
“Do you have kids?”
Cold filters through me. I swallow and then open my eyes. “No. Why?”
In answer, his fingers linger on the scar from my C-section. I’d forgotten about it—it’s white now and hardly visible, but he obviously spotted it when he kissed down over it.
My heart sinks. I’ve only known this guy for a few days, but I like him, and I like the way he looks at me. If I tell him the truth, it’ll change that, and it makes me want to cry.
Chapter Nine
Rich
Jess’s face has paled to the color of milk. I’ve obviously touched on a sensitive subject.
“Shit.” I cup her face and look into her eyes, cursing myself at the fear in them. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”
She surveys me for a long time. I feel a pang deep inside at her cautious, wary expression. What’s her secret? Has
she been married? Had kids by another guy, and maybe they live with him? But why the secrecy? Why the look of fear on her face?
I’m curious, and, oddly, I feel a twinge of hurt that she doesn’t want to tell me, but that’s stupid because I haven’t confided in her either. We’ve hardly got to the point of confessions about our pasts or our presents. We’ve skipped the dating process and gone straight to bed, so we’ve had no chance to talk about our likes and dislikes, our views on politics or religion or bringing up kids. I haven’t told her how many zeroes are in my bank account. Why should she have told me her secret?
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” I tell her again. “We’re just friends, right? We didn’t expect this to happen. We’re having fun, and it doesn’t mean we have to tell each other our life stories.”
“True,” she says. She pushes herself upright and leans back against the wall, hugging her knees.
I join her, our shoulders and upper arms touching, her warm skin grounding me. She’s not risen and left, so maybe she wants to stay. I’ll let her sit for a while and think about what she wants to do. And if she doesn’t want to talk, I’m happy to sit here, too.
My gaze drifts out of the window to the bruised sky. I think about Will. As kids, we’d been inseparable. We’d fought on occasion, like brothers do, but we’d also stood up for each other and been each other’s shields against the world. Especially Will for me, I admit. I’d always been the softer one, the one to be pushed around at school, and he’d defended me against a bully on more than one occasion, fierce in his brotherly love for me.
As adults, we’d not been joined at the hip quite as much, especially once he started dating Teddi, at which point Stratton and I had become closer and had gone out more together. But Will and I had worked at the same place and all four of us had socialized together.
Losing him had felt like losing a part of myself, and I’ve been terrified of spending the rest of my life in some kind of half-existence, as if I have no shadow, and no reflection when I look in the mirror. Will finished my sentences, got all my jokes. Our relationship was like a double act, and I thought of us as equals, but it was only when he died that I realized I was the straight man, and he was the funny one. He wouldn’t have felt this way if it had been me who’d died. He would have mourned me, of course, and maybe taken a long time to get over me, but it wouldn’t have destroyed him. He wouldn’t have spent his Christmases drinking himself into oblivion. He’d have gone away with Teddi, and maybe they’d have shared a whisky on the night I died and talked about how great things used to be, before they shook their grief off and got on with their lives.
My New Year Fling: A Sexy Christmas Billionaire Romance (Love Comes Later Book 2) Page 7