by Lisa Rayne
Her verbal excitement drove him to test her internal heat. He found her swollen and damp in that wondrous place males dream about from the instant they hit puberty. He strummed her. First, he stroked and rubbed her outer folds. Then, he filled her with a long finger. She pushed against his hand, revved to near breaking. He increased the pressure—and her pleasure—by adding a second finger. Her moans rose in a steady crescendo as he toyed and worked her.
Deep pants and whispered pleas soon replaced the throaty moans. “Dash,” she whispered.
He ignored her first call.
“Dash.”
“Umm.” He acknowledged her need, but didn’t deliver her.
“Dash, please.”
“Not yet.” He turned his mouth’s attention back to her breasts and began to suckle in concert with his finger play.
He tortured her in bursts that brought her to the edge but backed off before she could fling herself over and fly. He amped her thusly thrice until her voice broke on a sob of his name. Relenting, he added another finger and pressed his thumb against the nerve bundle at the apex of her core. She released hard, shuddering around his fingers. One of her hands clasped his head firmly to her breast. The other grasped at his back. The violence of her spasming body revealed the depth of her orgasm, but not her cries. She flung them full but soft into the darkness, blanketing the moment in the erotic stillness of enchanted moonglow.
Feeling the perfection of the moment, a greedy beast took him over. He wanted to experience her fulfillment again in isolation from his own. Before her body recovered, he slid down, pushed her knees up and open, and kissed her in that central spot between her thighs. Her feet rested flat on the mattress and she pressed up startled as if lightning flashed through his tongue. He languished there, feeding her and drinking from her simultaneously until a ripple started in her thighs then blossomed through her legs into a full-blown quake.
Hearing her cry out her second release eased all the remaining anguish inside him. Every muscle in him relaxed except the one at attention between his legs. He crawled up her torso, kissing as he went, until he could slip his tongue inside her mouth again.
She tongued him back aggressively and tugged his body farther up hers. She reached for the rod pulsing against her abdomen and stroked. Dash pumped into her caressing fingers until his control hit the breaking point. Reaching for protection, he tore a packet open then slid it on with one hand.
Impatient, Naomi reached between them to guide him into her. A slow controlled thrust sealed the connection, pulling a duet of sound from their throats. Seated deep inside her, Dash wrapped his arms around her and held on. Neither moved. He tucked his face against her neck and breathed deeply of the perfume and musk combination that was uniquely her.
She gripped him tightly. When his lips began to peck along her neckline, she moved beneath him. He joined her with slow controlled thrusts. Their tempo built gradually to an intense steady rhythm as did their breathing. Dash drew their joined hands up above her head and concentrated his strokes at an angle he knew would guarantee her pleasure. When the contractions deep inside her started squeezing against him, his hips accelerated, driving them both higher and higher into a mutual starburst of energy that pulsed and flared. Together, they erupted.
Heated and spent, they took care of their post-coital needs then wrapped themselves around each other. For the moment, nothing could destroy his emotional peace. His current physical lethargy transcended all his earthly concerns. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought, Tomorrow might be another story.
*
Naomi shifted in Dash’s arms. The warmth from their entwined naked bodies made her feel cozy and languid. Making love with Dash had always been an emotional experience for her, but last night had been amazing even for them.
After the slow, heart-searing coupling they’d explored in almost complete silence, they’d slept for hours. But sometime in the early dawn, Dash had awakened her with a fierce driving need that led to a tempestuous, almost frantic lovemaking. She hadn’t minded. Once she’d come fully awake, her need for him had surprised her with its matching intensity.
She wondered now how much of last night’s passion was simply a residual effect from the emotional turmoil Dash had faced upon learning he had a brother. She’d liked to think that some of the magic had been about her. That maybe he’d missed the physical expression of their feelings for each other as much as she had.
“What are you thinking about so hard?” His husky, morning voice intruded on her thoughts.
She looked up to find his eyes focused intently on her face.
She shifted so that she could look comfortably up at him. Moving her hand back and forth over the light hair dusting his chest, she contemplated whether or not to tell him the truth. Opting to be brave, she said, “How much I’ve missed being in your arms while you do wicked things to my body.”
His eyes darkened to a smoldering caramel. “That goes double for me,” he whispered then bent his head and claimed her mouth with his. When he finally lifted his head, he ran his thumb across her bottom lip. “I’m wondering how much of our being apart is my fault.”
“What do you mean?”
He scooted up and adjusted his pillow so that he could rest upright against the headboard. He pulled her up beside him and adjusted her pillow for her. “I’m ready to hear your explanation about why that story got published.”
A tension mounted in her chest. He’d asked her about that two days ago then bolted before she could give him an answer. It seemed cruel for the subject to come up again after they’d spent long hours into the night and early morning getting lost in each other. She wanted to hold on to the closeness they had right now, not go back to an awkward cordialness.
Her eyes skirted his then looked down. She pulled the sheet up over her nakedness. Somehow, this didn’t seem like a conversation she could get through in her birthday suit.
He placed a bent finger under her chin and pushed up. “Naomi.” His voice was gentle. “I’m not going to run off this time. I’m sorry about the other day. I wasn’t ready to face the truth even though I desperately wanted you to answer me.”
Her shoulders lifted and fell.
He dropped his hand to cover the hand she had in her lap. “Somehow, I get the feeling my anger towards you wasn’t completely justified.”
“Maybe it was … in a way. I was careless, Dash. And for that, I’m really sorry.” She tucked the sheet under her arms so that she wouldn’t have to hold on to it.
“Careless how?”
“I was upset about something one day.” She had planned to talk to him back then about that something—that she’d slipped up and fallen in love with him—but the foster care story had blown up before she could. Her focus had shifted to doing damage control. Once the story went live, he’d refused to talk to her at all, and he didn’t respond to any of the correspondence she’d sent him later when she realized her problem was so much bigger than she’d originally suspected.
Clearly, her other little issue hadn’t concerned him much, which pricked at her old personal wounds. It wasn’t a wound she wanted to reopen right now so she’d stick to the story he wanted to hear. “My mom called me at the Daily that day, and I spilled my guts.”
“I don’t understand what Peyton’s and my story had to do with you being upset.”
“Mom encouraged me to talk to you about what was bothering me, but I was afraid. I knew your childhood experiences colored your opinion about many things, but she didn’t understand my hesitancy so I tried to explain. She kept asking me questions about you and I answered. Before I knew it, I’d told her the whole story.”
She glanced at his face. “I took the call in a conference room thinking I’d have more privacy there, but it didn’t work out that way. One of my co-workers, David Anderson, picked up the line in another room and listened in on my call. I later found out that he’d done it before. He did it to get a bead on my stories and undercut me when he cou
ld.”
He wore a blank mask. “So, you told your mother, but this guy was listening in the whole time?”
“Yes.”
His brow creased. “But Anderson didn’t write the story. It had your and Ray Jackson’s bylines on it.”
“A few hours later, I overheard Anderson talking to the editor about the story he was working on. He put a decidedly perverse twist on it. I tried to convince him not to publish the story, but he was too excited about the possible boost to his career with the buzz he knew he’d generate with the story.
“I went to Jackson for help. He did some checking regarding Anderson’s alleged sources for the story and figured out how Anderson really got his information. I went to the editor. He reprimanded Anderson for his behavior, but the editor wouldn’t can the story. In fact, he was peeved to learn I knew unpublished details about your foster care background and had kept quiet.
“I was beside myself. Freaking out because I knew you’d hate me for what I’d let happen. Then, Jackson came to me with an idea for how to neutralize the effect of the piece.”
“Neutralize it?”
She nodded. “He figured if we broke the story first, with a more conscientious tone and human interest spin, then Anderson’s story would become old news and lose its punch. Jackson wrote the story and passed it by the editor, who not surprisingly didn’t care who wrote the piece as long as he got his exclusive scoop.”
“How did your name end up on the piece?”
“Jackson wouldn’t publish it any other way. He said it was my information and he wouldn’t take sole credit for the story or uncovering those facts. The editor was supposed to give me twenty-four hours to warn you the story was about to break. I came looking for you, but your team commitments that day kept you occupied until late evening. Unfortunately for me, the editor lied and uploaded the story early. So, by the time you got home, the story was out, and to my horror, you’d already heard about it.”
“And I wouldn’t let you explain.”
She bunched the sheet around her with one hand and let her head fall back against the headboard. “Yeah.”
“Did Anderson pull that underhanded crap with the other guys at the Daily?”
“No. Not that I’m aware of.”
“Probably because he knew they’d kick his ass if he tried. Jackson, in particular, would have beat the crap out of him.”
“Probably so.” Ray had played running back for Dallas during his younger years. After he retired from pro football, he put his journalism degree to work. He’d gotten on in years but still kept in shape. Though fifteen years Anderson’s senior, Jackson would most likely crush the younger reporter like a bug.
“I should have broken Anderson’s nose when I had the chance.”
“I think you did quite enough with the split lip, black eye, and two bruised ribs you gave him.”
David Anderson had been the reporter Dash had hit after finding him on Peyton’s front door step, harassing her and calling her all kinds of sleazy names in an attempt to browbeat her into revealing something shady about her past relationship with Dash. When he couldn’t claim the exclusive on Dash’s side of the story, Dave had gone after Peyton’s story. Dash’s foster sister was an extremely beautiful woman. Anderson had hoped to use innuendo to spin the relationship between Dash and Peyton into something more torrid than simply two foster care kids who’d had each other’s backs. He’d hoped to uncover some juicy tidbit like sexual experimentation between the two teens or possibly statutory rape since Dash was two years older than Peyton.
“When I found out what he was putting Peyton through, I could have killed the SOB.”
She reached over and turned his face towards her. “I’m glad you didn’t. Then, you wouldn’t be here with me now.”
He placed a hand over hers against his face. “I’m sorry. I should have let you explain a long time ago. Forgive me?”
Fighting dampness behind her eyes, she nodded. “Forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive you for.” He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her down onto the mattress back side up.
“But if I hadn’t told mom—”
“You have a right to talk to your mom when you’re upset. He had no right to intrude on that.”
“But I told her your story.”
“Naomi, I trust your mother. She would have never sold my story to the tabloids or used it against me. I know that. And you knew that when you confided in her.” He pulled the sheet from around her and covered her with his body. “By the way, what were you so upset about that day?” He slid a thumb over a plump nipple.
Naomi gasped. “That’s none of your business.” Actually, it was, but she wasn’t ready to reveal that particular secret just yet. If ever. This was a temporary interlude. A chance to save her career with a key story and a chance to make peace with Dash. He didn’t need to know that he’d had her heart back then or that, much to her chagrin, he still had it.
“I say it is my business.” He tickled her stomach.
She laughed and swatted at his hands. “I’m not telling and you’re not going to be able to tickle it out of me this time.”
His smile took on a predatory edge. “Then, I guess I’ll just have to seduce it out of you.”
Chapter 12
Dash revved Naomi’s body with intimate touches and wayward kisses. The lighthearted play turned hot and heavy in a flash. By the time she screamed his name and he shuttered out his release, he had no recollection that he’d supposedly been after a confession. They drifted off in each other’s arms, uncaring that others were stirring for the day.
The buzz of Dash’s cell phone woke him a short while later from a sound sleep. He rolled over, grabbed his phone off the night table and checked the time before answering the call. The display glared noon. “Hello.”
“It sounds as if I woke you. Given the hour, I hope you’re not alone in that bed.”
Dash glanced down at Naomi who shifted against him but didn’t wake. “If I weren’t, I wouldn’t tell.”
“Ah, a lady you respect. The lovely reporter perhaps?”
The humor in Tatum’s voice annoyed Dash even as it amused him. The guy had called him out about Naomi the first moment he’d met him. Dash might be able to shield his feelings from Naomi, but apparently he wasn’t hiding them well from his new brother.
“What can I do for you this morn—afternoon, Tatum?”
“I have to head back to the States tomorrow so I was hoping to spend the day together. I could show you and Naomi around the island. Show you some of the non-touristy places to eat and what not.”
Dash liked the idea. His curiosity about his brother overrode the emotional uncertainty he’d felt last night. He looked back down at Naomi and ran a hand over her hair. He had a feeling she had a lot to do with that. “That sounds like a good idea. I’ll have to check with Naomi, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Tatum cleared his throat. “Why don’t you just reach over and wake her, I can wait.”
“Tatum,” Dash warned.
“Fine. Fine. But if you have to indulge before getting dressed, make it a quickie. I’m already downstairs.” The sound of Tatum’s laughter floated through the phone right before the click of his disconnection.
Dash shook his head and returned the phone to the night table.
Naomi’s head turned. “Who was that?” she said in a deep, raspy voice.
“Tatum. He wants to show us around the non-touristy parts of the island. He’s downstairs. You game?”
She rolled over and smiled. “I’d definitely game.”
Despite his brother’s lovely idea of a quickie, they got dressed without a dalliance and headed downstairs within twenty minutes.
Naomi positively glowed. Nothing like a few orgasms to make a woman’s natural beauty shine. That he’d been the one to give her those orgasms lent an added strut to his walk.
When they reached the lobby, Tatum gave him a knowing smile. Dash wanted t
o slap him against the back of his head, but their relationship hadn’t progressed to that point yet. If Tatum said anything to embarrass Naomi, however, their physical relationship would evolve real quick.
Tatum grabbed Naomi’s hand and pulled her against him for a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. “Naomi, you look absolutely radiant this morning. I’ll be the envy of every straight man on the island with you on my arm.” Tatum tucked Naomi’s hand into the crook of his elbow and walked her towards the hotel exit.
Naomi’s laughter floated through the lobby and tickled along Dash’s spine right to the tip of his manhood. He’d had her repeatedly over the last twelve hours. How could she still tie him in sexual knots with just a laugh?
And what the hell was Tatum doing flirting with her?
He’d told the man they weren’t an item, but everything Tatum said to Dash yesterday and this morning on the phone made it clear the guy didn’t believe him. So, if he knew Dash was hung up on the lady, what was he up to? If Tatum thought he’d take advantage of Dash’s slow foray out of the doghouse to make a play for Naomi, this family reunion would be over before it started.
Dash lengthened his stride to catch up with the exiting couple. As he got closer, he heard Tatum ask Naomi if she’d been shopping since she arrived on the island.
“Yes. We walked along the promenade the day we arrived.”
“That’s not shopping. Checking out the tourist traps doesn’t count. I’m going to take you to where the locals shop. I’ve got a place in mind I know you’ll love.”
Tatum escorted Naomi to his rental car and helped her into the front seat. He skirted along the front of the car and opened the driver’s side door. He gave Dash a look over the hood before he got in.
Dash interpreted the look for the challenge it was. Fine by him. His lips curved into a grin and he folded himself into the back seat.