Explosive

by BETH KERY

  “Thomas?” she repeated, sounding slightly exasperated. Her sneaker thumped onto the tile floor, only to be followed by its mate.

  He glanced up at her before he stood and grabbed for the hem of her T-shirt.

  “What?” he asked as he pulled the wet, soiled shirt over her head. Sophie sputtered into the fabric before she lifted her arms and he drew off the shirt. She grabbed at it when it crossed her hands and threw the shirt to the floor.

  “Stop it! Thomas, what’s wrong with you?”

  He looked into her face incredulously.

  “How can you ask me that?”

  “I . . . I’m not sure ...” She glanced around helplessly. “I’m on the pill. Is that why you’re so anxious?”

  Even though relief swept through him, so did another surge of regret. His fingertips grazed her damp cheek before he nodded toward the tub. “Why don’t you get in the tub? I got you all dirty.”

  “I don’t care about getting some dirt on me. You didn’t hurt me. I enjoyed it as much as you did,” she said in a rush. “And as far as not using a condom, I can assure you that I’m perfectly healthy and always have been. I just had my regular doctor’s appointment two weeks ago—”

  “You think that’s what I’m thinking about?” he interrupted.

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking about. I usually don’t, you know? You’re like some kind of . . . human jigsaw puzzle,” she snapped. Something must have occurred to her because she started back suddenly. “Wait, you’re not . . . are you trying to tell me you’re not healthy?”

  “Of course not. I practice safe sex. Religiously. Always.”

  The one exception being out there in the grass with you not five minutes ago, he thought.

  “Oh . . . well ...” Sophie glanced away in discomfort. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was. Why the hell had he made an exception for her?

  Why the hell did he want to make that glorious mistake all over again, even knowing that she was lying to him . . . keeping secrets. His throat and chest tightened as he studied her profile, making it difficult to inhale for a second.

  “Get in the bath, Sophie.”

  For several seconds she seemed undecided. But then she made to stand and he moved back, granting her space.

  “Let me,” he said gruffly when she reached for her only remaining clothing—her bra. He unfastened the hooks with a flick of his wrist and pulled the garment off her. Her breasts trembled slightly once they were liberated, the flesh looking firm and tender, the nipples delicate. His hand itched to touch her, but he remained at a distance.

  “Go on,” he said quietly.

  When she stepped into the steaming water and lowered, he knelt next to the bathtub. Only about two inches of water had filled the tub so far, but the steamy mist made things warm and comfortable. Neither of them spoke as he wetted a clean washcloth. He sensed her watching him as he moved his hand over her knees and thighs, washing away the grass and dirt.

  “I can bathe myself, Thomas,” she said breathlessly when he gently bent one knee and washed the streak of dirt off the back of her thigh.

  “I know that. I want to do it. I’m the one who got you dirty,” he mumbled gruffly.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Only the sound of the water trickling from her body back into the tub interrupted the silence that followed as he ran the warm washcloth over her shoulders and neck. Thomas was completely focused on his task: the gentle drag of the wet cloth across her smooth skin, the pulse that throbbed with increasing rapidity at her throat, the rise and fall of the round, pale globes of her breasts.

  When he lifted the washcloth, a fat drop of water fell onto an erect nipple. His gaze remained fixed on the compelling sight as he draped the washcloth on the side of the tub and fumbled in the soap dish.

  He dipped into the warm water, wetting the soap, before he lathered it between both hands.

  She gave a furtive cry when he held both of her breasts in his shaping palms and lathered the nipples with gentle rubbing fingertips.

  “Your breasts are almost indecently beautiful,” he murmured distractedly as he coaxed the nipples into peaking higher for him.

  Her hips shifted restlessly in the tub.

  “Indecently?” she asked with a small smile.

  He nodded.

  “Are you flattering me, Thomas?”

  He glanced up at her face, noting her wide eyes. “That would surprise you, wouldn’t it?” he asked regretfully.

  “No, it wouldn’t,” she corrected, her low voice tickling the back of his neck. A quiet, sensual spell seemed to have settled. He filled his hands with her firm, warm flesh, gliding his hands over the lather and soft skin, but his stare was locked with Sophie’s. “I think it surprises you more that I have good expectations of you, doesn’t it? That I could possibly be thinking that you’re anything besides a confused, angry, grief-stricken man?”

  “A grief-stricken animal, you mean?” he asked as he lowered his soapy hands over her rib cage and worshipped her unique shape and texture.

  “No. I meant man,” she whispered.

  He didn’t believe she could see much more than all the toxic emotional trash he’d been spilling all over her, but he didn’t want to argue at the moment. Not when he’d fallen under the sensual spell Sophie always cast over him.

  Neither of them spoke as he lathered his hands again and washed her stomach. Her belly and curving hips struck him as powerfully erotic for some reason, a soft harbor, a miracle of feminine curves and planes and tender patches of skin that made her catch her breath when he rubbed them with his fingers. He found those sweet spots everywhere on her body; the patch of skin a half inch above her pubic hair, for instance, or the spot on the inside of her right knee.

  He pulled the plug on the tub after he’d finished washing her feet, letting the steamy water drain when he saw Sophie’s cheeks had grown bright pink from the heat.

  He moved back to the center of her body and once again dipped his hands beneath the surface of the water. A glance up at her face told him that her gaze was fixed on him as he lathered the soap and set it aside.

  He’d saved her genitals for last. As he stared at the juncture of her thighs, he wondered why. Would he regret washing his semen off her body?

  She moaned shakily when he opened his hand, fingers downward, and cradled her outer sex with a warm, soapy hand. After several delicious, taut moments, Thomas had his answer.

  He’d wanted to see his come on her . . . wanted to smell it twining with Sophie’s clean, floral scent.

  He washed her anyway, subtly moving his hand, using the pads of his fingertips to discover and cleanse the delicate petals of her feminine flower. He heard her soft cries and moans as if from a distance. The feel of her sensitive flesh thrilling beneath his fingers left him spellbound.

  His hand dropped lower between her thighs, his fingers gently seeking. She opened her legs wider, granting him permission and access. She whimpered when he ran the tip of his forefinger over her slit. It aroused him beyond measure, the feeling of the ample lubrication seeping from her pussy, the thick fluid feeling different than both the soap lather and the water.

  He glanced up at her face, realizing for the first time that her pink cheeks and flushed breasts were the result of desire, not steamy water.

  He held her gaze and inserted his middle finger into her snug slit, drawing a tiny circle in the narrow, silky confines, before he withdrew and repeated the process. She bent her knees and planted her feet, lifting her hips slightly, granting him free reign. His gaze fixed on her white front teeth biting at her lower lip as he gently attempted to rinse his ejaculate from her vagina.

  Not that it would work, he thought with a grim sense of satisfaction. He’d exploded so deep in her, his semen would be in her for days to come.

  When he realized the bestial direction of his thoughts, he glanced away from her face.

  “Sore?” he asked gruffly as he watched himself fingering
her.

  “No. It feels so good,” she said huskily as her hips made small gyrations against his finger.

  “I’m trying to clean you,” he said as he penetrated her vagina again, but it was a lie, and he suspected she knew that, especially when he pressed the heel of his palm next to her tender cunt and began to stimulate her clit, as well.

  He was becoming lost in another dense, thick haze of blinding need, the lure of the ecstatic void he’d found in the depths of Sophie’s body beckoning him yet again.

  The water level had fallen below her pussy now. He cupped his hand in the warm water and rinsed the soap from her pubic hair and labia. When he corkscrewed his finger in and out of her slit, he saw that his skin glistened with her abundant cream. He growled low in his throat at the sight. He opened his palm behind a smooth, warm thigh and tilted her hips back farther.

  His focus on her was absolute as he pressed his fingertip to the delicate, tightly closed ring of her rectum.

  She groaned shakily and he felt her thigh muscles stiffen in his grasping hand. Still, he continued to stare, held mesmerized by the vision of his finger sliding into Sophie’s most private place. She felt smooth and tight . . . tight enough to squeeze his finger; hot enough to melt a stiff cock into limp, quivering, thoroughly sated flesh.

  His mouth formed into a snarl at the heady thought. He used his hand to tilt her back more, until he held her with her knees bent, her legs suspended in the air. He pushed his forefinger into her clamping channel all the way to the knuckle, his way made easy by her slick juices on his skin. He paused to enjoy the heat that resonated into his flesh.

  It was the second time this evening he’d held her like this, open and vulnerable, while he penetrated her body.

  His gaze leapt to her face. She watched him with wide, glazed eyes.

  “Are you all right?” he rasped.

  She just nodded her head, apparently unable to speak.

  He withdrew his finger and pushed it into her ass again.

  “This is okay with you?” he asked as he slid his finger in to the hilt and began to draw tiny little circles over her clit with the pad of his thumb.

  She gasped and nodded once again.

  “Good,” he murmured, watching her face for a reaction to his intimate caresses. He learned she liked it the best when he kept his finger deep in her ass and pushed on her clit subtly like a little button, vibrating his thumb tip over the well-lubricated, nerve-packed flesh. She gasped when he did that and the color rose in her cheeks.

  “Do you want me to make you come like this?”

  Her dark pink lips mouthed the word yes.

  He moved his hand a bit more stringently and shook his head. “I wanted to make you clean, Sophie. I wanted to,” he told her in a choked voice.

  “I believe you, Thomas. But I like it when you make me feel dirty.”

  Her dark eyes rolled back in her head. He muttered a curse when he felt her body shudder. Maybe it was his imagination, but his finger seemed to burn inside her ass.

  He wanted to nurse her through her orgasm, to feel every shiver of pleasure vibrate into his hand and then coax more from her body. But the red haze of lust had once again clouded his vision. He stood and placed one foot in the now-drained tub. He reached for her hands and pulled her to a standing position.

  She just stared up at him, disoriented, still under the influence of her orgasm. He brushed her damp hair off her cheeks and kissed her parted lips softly.

  “I don’t know what’s happening between us, Sophie,” he muttered near her lips. “I would stop it if I could, but unless you tell me ‘no,’ I don’t think I can stop myself.”

  She blinked and brought him into focus. “I don’t want you to stop.”

  He just stared down at her for a few seconds, his brain buzzing and his cock humming like he’d been plugged into a low-grade electric jack. He finally stepped out of the tub and steadied her while she followed him. She said nothing, but he saw that her breath was still coming fast and choppy from her climax as he dried her off with a towel.

  She put her hand in his when he extended it and he led her to the cool bedroom.

  He hesitated when he got to the edge of her bed. A rage of lust roared through his veins at that moment, but he was hyperaware of Sophie, too, of everything he’d put her through tonight with his chaotic grief. He went still when she reached up and touched his jaw with warm fingertips.

  “Do you want to tie me up, Thomas?”

  His eyes went wide. What the hell had made her say that?

  How had she so perfectly guessed the truth?

  “It’s all right, if you do.” Her whisper in the dim room made a ripple of excitement course down his spine, ending in a tingling sensation in his cock. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. Her fingertips whisked over his opened lips.

  “I’m not afraid,” she said quietly. “I’ve never done it before, but I want to. With you.”

  “Never done what?” Thomas asked cautiously, wanting to make sure they were on the same page. Was she talking about being restrained, or—

  “I’ve never had anal sex.”

  He swallowed with difficulty. Her eyes looked enormous and dark in the dim room, enigmatic and trusting at once.

  “It won’t be like . . . out in the yard,” he said in a rush. “I promise. I don’t know what came over me.”

  She nodded, her solemn stare humbling him.

  He licked at his upper lip and tasted sweat. He glanced down, realizing she was damp and naked in the chilly air-conditioned room while he was fully dressed.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Here. Get under the covers. Let’s get you comfortable while I get a few things ...”

  His voice trailed off as he pulled back the comforter and sheet. Sophie slid beneath them and he covered her. He bent to kiss her—once in thanks for her generosity, once in rising need.

  He walked over to her dresser and opened the top draw. In the dim light he made out some neatly folded stockings. He lifted one and wrapped his hand in it, testing its strength, its flexibility.

  The feeling of the soft, stretchy material aroused him for some reason; probably because he knew the fabric had once swished between Sophie’s silken thighs, existed within inches of her sweet, aromatic pussy.

  He grabbed the stocking’s mate and made his way over to the bags of items he’d collected when he drove into town. He already knew where the lubricant/scented massage oil was, noticed where the middle-aged cashier had bagged it while she gave him a speculative glance, which he ignored. At the time, he’d wondered at his nerve, buying lubricant given his new and strange relationship with Sophie.

  But maybe it was the uniqueness of their relationship that had made him do it. Or maybe the animal in him just wouldn’t be denied.

  He thought once again of how he’d fucked Sophie out there in the yard.

  Would he really be able to control himself? His level of arousal was different than his frenzied need to mate had been earlier, but Thomas couldn’t say that it was milder in intensity, just more focused . . . more deliberate.

  He moved aside a package of T-shirts and found the bottle. He felt Sophie’s gaze on him as he placed the combination of lubricant and massage oil on the bedside table.

  It was amazing, the stuff you could find at Wal-Mart.

  He turned to her, the stockings lying in his hand.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked when he stared down at her in indecision.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Sophie?” he asked hoarsely.

  She nodded.

  “No. Say it,” he demanded, needing to hear it in words.

  He saw her throat convulse. “Yes, I want to, Thomas.”

  He exhaled slowly. “Okay. Well . . . usually it would require you helping me to get as stiff as a pike, because it works best that way,” he told her, giving her an apologetic glance when he recognized his crudeness. When he saw her lips tilt in amusement, he continued, “B
ut considering I’ve been stone-hard for a while now, I don’t think we’ll have any problems in that department. So how about if we just concentrate on you.”

  She bit at her lower lip. “Okay.”

  The small evidence of her anxiety made him forget his hesitancy about taking her in such a volatile act of sex when he himself was like a bomb that was about to go off. He promised himself then and there that if he did anything in the next few minutes that even hinted at harming Sophie, he’d leave.

  And never come back.

  That was dire enough of a consequence to ensure him that no matter what secrets Sophie might hold, she was completely safe with him.

  “Reach up and grab the bedposts.”

  She did without pause, making his cock throb more insistently.

  He leaned down and restrained her with the hose, his fingers going clumsy and stupid as lust pounded through his veins. After he’d affixed her wrists to the bedpost, he turned his attention to the end of the bed. He pulled back the bottom of the comforter and sheets and tied two stockings on the metal bed frame. She made a soft little sound in her throat when he spread her legs wide enough to reach the nylon restraints.

  “Okay?” he whispered, as he held one of her elegant, arched feet in his palm. “I don’t have to restrain your legs if you don’t want me to. Just say the word.”

  “No, it’s all right.”

  He shivered slightly at the sound of her low voice in the dim, silent room. He told himself to focus on his task instead of the arousing sight of Sophie, naked and tied spread-eagle on the bed, awaiting her pleasure.

  When she was tied up, he straightened, one knee still on the bed.

  “Nylons make a tight hold, Sophie. But ...”

  “What?” she asked shakily.

  “You can pull loose of them. I tied you tight, but the loop will stretch. If you want it to.”

  “I understand, Thomas.”

  She’d sounded breathless, Thomas thought as he peeled the damp T-shirt he wore off his skin. He kicked off his tennis shoes and examined her as he unbuttoned his shorts. Was she aroused by the idea of being tied up, not only at his mercy, but at the mercy of the desire he planned to awaken in her body?