All Night Long

by Candace Schuler

  Susannah grabbed at his bare hips to keep him where he was.

  "Condom," he said between gritted teeth. His whole body was shaking with the need to sink into her. "Damned condom is in the drawer."

  He stretched out his arm, trying to reach the nightstand, but they were too far down on the bed. He curled his other arm under her waist and lifted, dragging her with him, still under him, as he moved toward the nightstand. Susannah used her heels, pushing against the mattress for added leverage when she realized what he was doing. Because of the position they were in and the way they were moving—Susannah pushing and arching her body, Matt stretching and straining—those parts of them which were most basically male and female bumped against each other in delicious, maddening counterpoint, heightening the urgency to reach their goal.

  Matt's rough laughter sounded in her ear. "God, we must look like a couple of sex-crazed idiots," he said.

  "I know." She giggled breathlessly and then stiffened as his shaft brushed against her most sensitive flesh. "But hurry."

  His fingers reached the drawer pull and he yanked it open.

  "Hurry," Susannah said again as he fumbled with the little foil packet.

  But his hands were shaking too badly to manage it.

  She reached up and took it from him, tearing it open with her teeth. Then, while he balanced above her on hands and knees, she unrolled it onto his turgid length. It was one of the most erotic acts of her life.

  He sank down onto her then, into her, entering her in a controlled rush, sinking into her to the hilt, stretching her, filling her to overflowing. Susannah planted her heels against the mattress and lifted herself into it, deepening his possession, demanding all of him. He probed her deeply, slowly grinding his groin against hers in an effort to make it last as long as possible. His big hands cradled her head, holding her still for a kiss as carnal as the act itself.

  Susannah ran her hands down his back, seeking the bare flesh of his tight male buttocks, and pressed him closer.

  He groaned into her mouth and ground his hips into her.

  She tore her mouth from his, planting a row of tiny, hot kisses in a line to his ear. "Harder," she breathed raggedly, and pressed her nails into his buttocks. "Faster."

  Matt shivered and stilled, his control pushed to the very edge by her passionate demand.

  "Go on," she whispered. "Take me the way I know you're dying to. I want you to."

  He lifted his head to look at her. "For pity's sake, Susannah," he growled through gritted teeth, "show a little sense."

  She tightened her inner muscles around him in answer.

  He groaned and his hips flexed convulsively against hers, driving her down into the mattress. "If I just take what I want, I'm going to leave you behind," he ground out.

  Susannah smiled that witchy, womanly smile. "No, you won't," she purred and rubbed the back of her stocking-clad calf against his hip.

  Because he desperately wanted to believe it, Matt took her at her word. He slipped his hands under her, sliding them down to cup her buttocks, cushioning and supporting her for a more vigorous penetration.

  "Yes," Susannah moaned when he began to thrust harder and faster against her. "Yes." The feeling was exquisite, building higher, spiraling, tightening until she thought she would faint from the intensity. But she didn't faint. She locked her ankles at the small of his back and reached up behind her to grasp the headboard instead, bracing herself to take even more of him. "Yes, yes, yes, yes..." she began to chant in time with each of his powerful thrusts, glorying in his desperate, frantic need of her. "Yes!"

  Her climax shook her powerfully, just seconds before his claimed him, hurling her headlong into a whirlwind of intemperate feeling and wondrous sensation, leaving her weak and drained and feeling gloriously, giddily replete. She felt curiously euphoric and light, like a bright red balloon bobbing on the end of a string.

  Matt was still for a long moment, his breath rasping against her neck and then he heaved a deep, ragged sigh and levered himself up on to his elbows. "You okay?" he asked, brushing back her tangle of corkscrew curls.

  She smiled up at him. "I'm fantastic."

  "You are that," Matt agreed. He kissed her nose and lifted himself off her, discreetly disposing of the condom before collapsing onto his back at her side.

  She turned her head to look at him. His pale blond hair was damp around the edges. His sharp Nordic cheekbones were flushed. His wide chest was still heaving beneath the pin-tucked pleats of his white dress shirt. And his pants were bunched around his ankles, held in place by the shoes he'd been in too much of a frenzy to remove.

  He grinned at her, his blue eyes glowing with satisfaction and masculine triumph. And a certain particular joy he'd never felt before. "As soon as I get my breath back we're going to do that again." He reached over and snapped the elasticized lace top of her thigh-high stocking. "Again and again and again, all night long."

  * * *

  They made love the second time in the oversized shower stall in Matt's bathroom with the cool tile against Susannah's back and the warm water beating down on their entwined bodies. The third time was on the center island in Matt's kitchen, after an impromptu meal of scrambled eggs and toast. The fourth time was when they awoke in Matt's bed at dawn, with the faint pink glow of the emerging day spilling in through the wide expanse of windows and both of them nearly as needy and ravenous as the first time. The fourth time was up against the inside of Matt's front door.

  Matt was never quite sure, later, what it was that set him off as they headed for the front door. Maybe it was the mere sight of her, dressed again in her evening finery, with her hair tumbling over her shoulders. Maybe it was the way she turned her head to smile at him as she reached for the doorknob. Maybe it was because she was leaving and he didn't want her to go. Maybe it was as simple as just knowing she didn't have anything on under her dress.

  Whatever it was, he was rock-hard in a second, as avid and hungry as if they hadn't just spent most of the night tearing up the sheets. Whatever it was, he put his hand on her arm, turning her around, and backed her up against the door with his body.

  She lifted a teasing eyebrow. "And what do you think you're doing, Counselor Ryan?" she said playfully, putting her hands on his shoulders as if to hold him off.

  His growled response was hot, sexy, and graphic.

  Susannah's hands went slack on his shoulders for a moment and then she slid them around his neck and stretched up for his kiss, suddenly as hungry as he was.

  It happened fast.

  Their mouths met in an avid, eating kiss that was deep and carnal and blatantly erotic. His tongue moved in and out of her mouth and she sucked at it greedily. His hands slid down to her hips, gathering up the layers of her skirt to get at the treasure between her legs. She jerked at his belt buckle and lowered the zipper on his khaki chinos to get at his. His hands curled under her buttocks, opening her legs to his caress. Her fingers slid inside his boxer shorts, freeing his erection into her hands. He lifted her, his hands on the back of her thighs, the weight of his chest holding her against the door, and surged forward, his body seeking entrance to hers. She locked her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and accepted him into her. One stroke... two... three... four, and they both exploded in a white-hot swirl of ecstasy unlike anything either of them had ever known before.

  The trembling aftermath lasted longer than the act itself. They came back slowly, gradually, with baby-soft kisses and gentle nuzzling and sweet sighs of satisfaction. Susannah's legs grew lax and she let her feet drift back to the floor. Matt eased his weight off her, no longer needing to hold her up against the door. They stood there for long minutes, their arms still wrapped around each other and their hearts pressed together. Her face was tucked into his neck, his cheek rested on her hair. Contentment enveloped them like a San Francisco fog.

  And then Matt raised his head and cupped her cheek in his palm, gently turning her face up to his. He waited unti
l she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

  "What?" she murmured sleepily, and rubbed her cheek against his hand.

  "I think I've fallen in love with you," he said.

  Susannah's eyes flared wide. "Matt," she said softly, stunned.

  "No, not think," Matt interrupted, correcting himself before she could form the words to answer him. "I am in love with you." He lifted his other hand to her cheek, cradling her face between his wide palms as he stared down into her eyes. "I want you for more than just a night Susannah. I want you forever. I want you marry me."

  Chapter 8

  "After you've finished with that, see what you can dig up on a girl called Heather Lloyd," Matt said to his assistant. "She's a juvenile. About sixteen. Social Services probably has a file on her. And check with Legal Aid. She's using one of their staffers to file for emancipated-minor status. I want a full report on her case as soon as you can manage it, without neglecting anything else, okay?"

  "Okay." The young black woman nodded her understanding. When Matt Ryan said he wanted a full report as soon as possible, he meant yesterday, no matter how polite the request. "Anything else?"

  "I want you to run a basic background check on a Carlisle Elliott. He's sixty-four. Used to own a nursery business someplace in Iowa. He sold it about six months ago and retired to live on a houseboat in Sausalito. Drives a red Corvette," Matt said with a bemused shake of his head. He rattled off the license-plate number.

  "Priority?"

  "The highest." He flashed a sheepish grin at her from across the desk. "My mother's planning to go out with him."

  The young woman grinned back. "And you want to make sure his intentions are honorable?"

  "Something like that."

  The intercom on his desk sounded. "Mr. Gasparini's here to see you, Matt," the receptionist informed him. "Shall I send him up?"

  "Yeah, tell him to come on up." He looked back at his assistant. "Is there anything else we need to cover right now, Gail?"

  "Nothing that can't wait. For a few minutes, anyway." She pointed at his IN box. "The latest statements from our star witness—" she said the last two words disparagingly "—in the Delaney case are on top of that stack. She changed her story again."

  "What does that make it? The third time?"

  Gail nodded.

  He picked the file up and handed it across the desk to her. "Give this back to Parker," he said. "Tell him to put the pressure on. See if a loss of immunity does anything for her memory. I don't want to see that again," he added, nodding at the file in her hand, "until it's been settled. I'm not taking this case to court with a witness who can't make up her mind about what she saw. Make sure Parker understands my position."

  "Sure thing, Matt." She stood up as the door to his office opened. "Mr. Gasparini," she said, nodding pleasantly at Matt's campaign manager. "You're due back in court at two-fifteen," she said to Matt, the reminder as much for Matt's visitor as for her boss. She exited the office, pulling the door closed behind her.

  Matt waved a hand toward the chair in front of his desk. "So what's on your mind, Harry?" he asked, as if he didn't already know.

  "Susannah Bennington," Harry said bluntly, getting right to the point.

  "My relationship with Susannah Bennington isn't up for discussion."

  "Dammit, Matt. You're running for office. Your whole life is up for discussion."

  Matt sighed, knowing it was true. "All right, what about Susannah?"

  "You serious about her? Or was that little love fest in the coatroom just a bit of slap and tickle?" It was obvious from Harry's expression that he hoped it was the latter.

  "Serious enough that I've asked her to marry me," Matt said.

  "Jesus H. Christ! Marriage? You're giving me a heart attack here."

  Matt raised an eyebrow. "Yeah," he said, amused, "that was pretty much her reaction, too."

  "She turned you down?" The expression on Harry's face was one of renewed hope.

  "She didn't mean it," Matt said, confident that her final answer would be yes. It had to be yes.

  "You wanna be a little more specific here?"

  "What specifics do you want, Harry? I asked her to marry me. She said no. I plan to keeping asking her until she says yes. Is that specific enough for you?"

  "You wanna tell me why?"

  "Why what?"

  "Why her?"

  Matt shrugged. "Hell, Harry, why does anybody want to marry anybody? I'm in love with her, that's why."

  "It doesn't sound as if she's in love with you."

  "Yes she is." Matt stated emphatically. If he knew anything about Susannah, he knew that. "She's just afraid she'll hurt my chances for a political career if she agrees to marry me."

  "She's right," Harry said earnestly. "She'll ruin you, Matt."

  "Be careful, Harry," Matt warned softly. "You're talking about the woman I love."

  "I'm only telling you the truth," Harry said. "Just like she obviously tried to tell you. The woman isn't right for you. She's got a record, for one thing."

  "A record?" Matt said, diverted by that bit of information. Susannah hadn't mentioned anything about a record. "What kind of record?"

  "Protest marches. Civil disobedience. That kind of thing. The woman's a bleeding-heart liberal." It was the worst thing Harry could say about anyone. "She was a rabble-rouser at Berkeley."

  Matt hadn't known she'd gone to Berkeley—that most liberal of liberal colleges—but the information didn't surprise him.

  "A rabble-rouser when she worked for the county," Harry continued. "Always stirring up trouble one way or another. Always bucking the system. Hell, she's got a hooker working for her over at that dating service of hers."

  "Ex-hooker," Matt said, feeling obligated to defend Judy in Susannah's absence.

  "And she's got some hard-case juvenile delinquent living with her."

  Matt grinned. Heather Lloyd was a hard case, all right.

  "It's not funny, Matt. This is your political career we're talking about here."

  Matt shook his head. "This is my life we're talking about here," he corrected. "And if it looks like the two can't be reconciled—" he looked Harry straight in the eye "—then maybe it's time I reassessed my priorities."

  Harry changed tactics. "All right, hold on. There's no need to make any hasty decisions here, Matt. Let me look into the situation a little more. See what I can do to dress her up for the press."

  Matt shook his head. "Susannah doesn't need to be dressed up for anyone. She is who she is. I mean it, Harry," he warned. "I don't want her upset or made to feel uncomfortable. And if I hear that she has been..." He shrugged and spread his hands. "I know my father trusted you to run his campaign the way you thought it should be run. I trust you, too. But Susannah isn't part of my campaign. Leave her out of it."

  "She's out of it," Harry assured him, backpedaling for all he was worth. "Totally. I won't mention her again."

  "I'm glad we could agree on this," Matt said. "I'd hate to lose you as my manager." He stood up and walked around the desk, reaching for the suit jacket hanging on the back of his office door. "Come on, I'll walk you out." He slipped into the jacket. "I have to be in court in twenty minutes."

  * * *

  Matt sat perched on the edge of Susannah's desk, having basically the same conversation with her that he'd had with his campaign manager earlier that same day. The only difference was that it was much nicer arguing with Susannah. The view was better, for one thing. And he had something besides paperwork to keep his hands occupied.

  "You're making mountains out of molehills," he said cajolingly, his hands clasped on either side of her waist as she stood in front of him. "Seeing problems where none exist."

  "Yet," Susannah added stubbornly, refusing to be cajoled.

  Matt laughed ruefully. "You're as bad as Harry." He removed one hand from her waist and lifted it to her chin, gently forcing her to meet his gaze. "What could possibly happen at a simple Fourth of July picnic?"

>   "Nothing. If it was just a simple picnic. But you and I both know it's not. It's a cleverly disguised campaign rally."

  "It's a Fourth of July picnic in Golden Gate Park."

  "Your campaign manager will be there, won't he? And Councilman Leeland? And lots of potential voters?"

  "All right," Matt said, exasperated. He dropped his hand back to her waist, holding her so she couldn't move away. "You caught me. So it's a campaign rally. I'm going to make a speech, shake a few hands, maybe kiss a few babies, and I want you there with me." A crafty light entered his blue eyes. "Think of it as a golden opportunity," he suggested. "A chance to prove to me that you're right and I'm wrong."

  She eyed him suspiciously.

  "You say you won't fit into my world. I say you would." He waggled her back and forth with his hands at her waist. "This is your chance to show me."

  She tilted her head, looking up at him from under her lashes with a considering light in her eyes. Maybe he had a point. Maybe—

  The phone trilled, interrupting her train of thought. She glanced over at it, waiting for someone in the outer office to pick it up. When it rang a second time, Matt reached around behind him on the desk and picked up the receiver. He put it to her ear.

  "The Personal Touch," she said, smiling into his eyes as she reached up to take the receiver into her own hand. "How may I help you?" The smile in her eyes vanished into a frown. "No," she said, annoyance plain in her voice. "You've got the wrong number." She reached around Matt and dropped the receiver into its cradle with a bang.

  Matt raised an eyebrow.

  "I swear," Susannah said in a tone of half-amused exasperation, "there must be a losers' convention in town this week. That's the third call like that today." She shook her head. "The jerk wanted, and I quote, 'a leggy redhead with big knockers,' unquote."

  Matt couldn't help but grin at her indignation. "Maybe he didn't have the wrong number, after all," he said, unable to resist teasing her.

  She eyed him warily.

  He slid his hands up her torso to her breasts. "I don't think these quite qualify as 'knockers,'" he said consideringly, cupping his hands around her gentle curves. "But you've got the legs. And the hair is definitely red."