by Nina Lane
Then he came over me, bracing his hands on either side of my head, easing himself inside me. His lips captured mine, and the press of his body sparked renewed need through me.
I lifted my legs to hug his hips, and then we rocked and thrust together in a rhythm that felt so right, so natural, that I never wanted it to end. I came again, intense and sharp, tightening my muscles around him and feeling him convulse in response. He thrust deep, his own orgasm shuddering through him with a force that matched my own.
He rolled over and hauled me against him, his breath stirring the tendrils of my hair. I burrowed against his side, pressing my face to his shoulder.
And so it was there, lying entangled with Professor Dean West at an old motel in the only town I’d lived in for longer than a few months… that was the moment I finally knew I was home. I was loved.
Loved.
I hadn’t even realized how desperately I’d wanted love. How much we both needed to know that in a world of dark corners and sharp needles, there really is a place where kisses taste like apple pie and where stars spill like sugar across the sky.
A place where unknown roads no longer scare you because you have another hand to hold. A place where butterflies always flutter whenever you see each other, and a single touch tells you that you are not alone. A place where every kiss still feels like the first.
In that place of us, Liv and Dean, love has its own poetry and language. Allure, quatrefoil, fleur-de-lis. Right here. PR9199.3 R5115 Y68. My white knight. I’m yours. Give me a kiss. Pie love you. I remember. Professor. Beauty.
The sound of textbook pages turning as rain pours outside the window. The twist of a string around his long fingers. That tight, knotted ball inside me opening, flowering into pleasure for the first time ever. Papers about library collections, medieval architecture, database systems, and archeological surveys.
Quiet weekends, board games, take-out pizza, houseplants, and boring foreign films. The soft, gentle healing of old wounds. The glide of his palm over my skin, his deep voice whispering in my ear. The easing of my heart.
The way he smiles at me. The way I look at him. The way we can always just be us.
Thank you for reading ALLURE. Please consider providing a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. I hope you enjoy Liv and Dean’s story.
“’TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, AND all through the house, Dean was feeling Liv up under her blouse.”
Dean’s deep voice rumbled over my skin as he slipped his arms around me from behind. I giggled, even though I knew I shouldn’t encourage him. I moved a few gingerbread men and women from the baking sheet onto the cooling rack and tried to ignore the fact that a gorgeous medieval history professor was starting to fondle my breasts. It was like trying to ignore fireworks exploding in the night sky.
“Mmm.” Dean nudged my ponytail aside and kissed my nape. “Can I have some?”
“When they’re cooled and decorated, yes.”
“I wasn’t talking about the cookies.”
“I was.” I gave him a half-hearted shove with my hips. “Don’t distract me.”
“I’m seducing you, not distracting you.” He rubbed my nipples through my shirt.
Delicious tingles rained through me. I picked up another baking sheet and slipped more gingerbread onto the cooling rack. The sweet, spicy aroma of ginger and molasses filled the apartment. Colorful lights, tinsel, and ornaments glowed from the ragged little tree we’d purchased from a Christmas tree lot, and a ribboned wreath decorated the front door. Fragrant pine garlands lined the fireplace mantel, above two plaid stockings with Liv and Dean written in somewhat uneven glitter paint.
The atmosphere was warm, lovely, and as fragile as a snowglobe. Dean and I were spending our first Christmas together while knowing it could be our last.
I pushed that dark thought aside, absorbing the sensation of him behind me.
“God, you feel good.” Dean slipped his hands under my shirt and touched the skin of my torso.
My breath shortened. His body heat spread through my veins, and already a pleasant ache was burgeoning between my legs. Not that my reaction was any surprise. In the four months Dean and I had been dating since we first met at the university registrar’s office, our physical chemistry had been growing stronger by the day. And now it was more potent than ever, since I had agreed to stay with him for two weeks of the month-long university winter break. This time together was a kind of test—a powerful declaration of how we already felt about each other, but edged with the painful understanding that our relationship had a time limit, one that had almost come too soon.
Dean and I had come perilously close to a break-up over the Thanksgiving holiday, when we had gone to visit his family in California. The weekend had ended in a brutal fight between Dean and his estranged, deadbeat brother—and their mother believed I was the cause of the conflict. Appalled at the implication I was responsible for family strife, I had been prepared to leave Dean for good.
But he refused to let me go.
“For two weeks of winter break, I want you to live with me,” he said. “Twenty-four hours a day. You and me. No classes. No work. Nothing and no one else.”
I pressed a palm to my chest. Electricity crackled in the air. Dean stepped closer to me.
“I want you for two weeks, Liv. Completely. I haven’t even begun to show you everything we’re going to do together. At the end of those two weeks, you’ll know exactly where you belong. And you won’t want to walk away.”
As a girl who’d had a lifelong struggle with belonging anywhere, the fact that I might belong in a university apartment with a medieval history professor who knew esoteric details about the Crusades and castle architecture… the thought alone was both a revelation and an uncertainty.
So I’d agreed to give Dean two weeks, and I fully expected that time to be filled with warmth and magic. But after the new year, Dean would be leaving for a research trip to France for the remainder of winter break, and I’d return to my tiny apartment near campus and my job at the Jitter Beans coffee house.
And I knew, not without regret and sorrow, that leaving the safe haven of us would let loose all the prickly fears and worries that had plagued me since that Thanksgiving weekend. Even if I could come to terms with Dean’s family difficulties, even if I didn’t want to walk away from him, the stark fact remained that he was a visiting professor with a one-year contract at the University of Wisconsin. In June, his contract would end and he would go… somewhere else.
But that was in the not-too-distant future. And in the here-and-now, an involuntary sigh escaped me at the sensation of his lips on my nape and the scrape of his whiskers against my skin. I was wearing red pajama pants and a matching shirt emblazoned with the message Merry Me, and I could feel every inch of his warm, hard body through the thin cotton.
“Dean.” I tried to inject a note of sternness into my voice. “I need to finish decorating these cookies for the cookie exchange tomorrow.”
In addition to stopping at a co-worker’s house for the cookie exchange, I was planning to do some shopping in downtown Madison. Christmas was the day after tomorrow, and I had yet to get Dean a gift. I’d been thinking about possibilities for most of the month, but had only come up with gift ideas that seemed either obvious or uninteresting—books, reproductions of medieval manuscript pages, a copy of one of those boring foreign films he liked so much.
I knew he’d love whatever I gave him, but since this was our first Christmas together, I wanted to give him something especially memorable. Heaven knew he’d made the last four months the most memorable of my life.
“You have plenty of time to make the cookies.” Dean nuzzled the sensitive juncture between my neck and shoulder. “I’ll even help.”
He spread one hand up over my midriff to my bare breasts. Shivers rained down my spine.
“This isn’t t
he kind of help I need,” I remarked.
“It’s working out well for me.”
I reached for a tube of white frosting, trying to ignore the sensation of Dean’s mouth sliding over my collarbone. I nudged my hips backward again as if to push him away, but of course the movement brought my bottom right up against his thighs. He murmured a noise of appreciation low in his throat. When he started to slide his other hand into the waistband of my pants, I felt my defenses sliding away like ice on hot glass.
“Dean…”
“Beauty.” He found the edge of my panties and dipped his fingers lower and lower…
I groaned inwardly, parting my legs to allow him access even as I told myself I needed to resist the temptation.
“I really need to decorate these cookies,” I said.
“I really need to finger your sweet, hot pussy.”
Heat bolted through me. “God, Dean.”
I felt his smile against the side of my neck as he slipped his fingers between my legs and found me already damp.
“Hmm,” he observed. “Baking cookies gets you hot, huh?”
I had the sudden sense that we were engaging in an erotic competition to see who would surrender first. And while I was pretty sure Dean had the advantage, I was determined to hold my ground for as long as I could.
I uncapped the tube of frosting and started outlining one of the gingerbread men. As if mimicking the movement, Dean ran his forefinger around my cleft, his touch deliberately slow and teasing. Little fires ignited in my veins. I licked a drop of icing from my finger and started spreading a round cookie with a green circle like a wreath.
“Can I have some yet?” he asked, pressing a row of kisses over the side of my neck.
Wordlessly, I held a cookie over my shoulder. He bit into it, rumbled a noise of pleasure that echoed right to my core, and eased his finger into my slit.
“Dean!” I dropped the frosting and grabbed the edge of the counter to steady myself.
He chuckled, moving away from me only so he could take hold of my waist and turn me around. My breath caught in my throat as I looked up at him—this brilliant, gorgeous man who gazed at me with such warm tenderness in his chocolate-brown eyes. His thick, dark hair was rumpled from him raking his hand through it, and his jaw was dusted with the coating of stubble I’d come to expect on long, lazy weekends.
“Hi,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
I smiled. “Hi.”
He moved closer, backing me against the counter. He was wearing a T-shirt and flannel pants, the front already bulging with an impressive erection. Anticipation lit in the air between us as he slipped his hands under my shirt. I gasped, my whole body zinging with pleasure as he massaged my breasts and rubbed my peaked nipples.
He moved closer, pressing his cock against my belly. One hand still under my shirt, he put his other hand beneath my chin and lifted my face for a kiss. A whimper escaped me when his mouth touched mine.
Oh bliss. He tasted like sugar and gingerbread, his tongue flicking out to press against the seam of my lips. I opened my mouth and let him in, my blood heating as he caressed my lips with his and delved his tongue inside for a deep, intense kiss. He gripped me around the waist and lifted me onto the counter before tugging at my shirt. I resisted a little, some part of my mind still focused on the cookies and the belief that maybe I shouldn’t cave quite so easily.
“Come on,” Dean murmured, tugging the hem of my shirt again. “Let me see your gorgeous breasts.”
Oh, all right…
Obediently I lifted my arms so he could pull the shirt off me, baring my breasts to his hot gaze. He let out a groan of appreciation. I looked down and watched his strong hands moving over me, fondling my stiff nipples, sliding into the crevice beneath my breasts, cupping their weight in his palms. Goosebumps prickled my skin. His erection was so hard against my thigh, his breath coming faster, as if in rhythm with the increase of my pulse.
Dean released me only long enough to grab a tube of green frosting from the counter. I stared at him as he uncapped the tube and squirted a stream of frosting right around my areola.
“Dean!”
He gave me a wicked smile and lowered his head to capture my nipple between his lips. Desire zinged through me. He sucked my nipple, then applied frosting to my other one before licking that off too, his tongue warm and wet on my sensitive flesh. I was almost panting by the time he finished cleaning the frosting off me. Then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my pants and pulled them right off my hips, leaving me completely naked. I blushed, squirming as my bare bottom pressed against the cold granite counter.
“Ah, fuck.” Dean raked his eyes down the length of my body. “I never get tired of looking at you.”
He eased his hands between my thighs and pressed my legs apart. A rush of cooler air brushed against my damp cleft. I shivered. Dean muttered a curse, slipping his fingers into my pussy. Oh, he knew what he was doing. He’d always known. My breath came faster, quivers rippling through me as he fingered me, circling his thumb around my swollen clit before moving to the tight opening lower down.
“Let me in, beauty,” Dean whispered hotly against my ear, his finger still gently teasing. “I’ll make it so good for you.”
He trailed a line of kisses over my cheek before covering my mouth with his. I moaned, relaxing my lower body. My slit opened, and he eased his finger inside me.
“Oh…” I gasped against his mouth, wiggling my hips to encourage his deeper penetration. He circled his thumb around my clit again while he thrust his finger in and out of me. A thousand shivers rained down my spine.
I gripped his strong arms, feeling my body tense and stretch toward the release of pleasure. A fire scorched me from the inside out. He rolled a swath of my hair around his hand and tugged me closer. Our mouths met, eased apart, and met again. He bit down gently on my lower lip. I slid my tongue across his.
Touch, lick, kiss, touch…
“Come on, beauty,” he whispered, his breath hot against my lips. “Nice and hard. Work yourself on my fingers… yeah, that’s it. So fucking sweet.”
I arched against his hand as my urgency built higher and higher. Within seconds, I came with a shriek of pleasure, my pussy clenching around his fingers. Explosions went off in my blood. Dean continued stroking me gently, easing the last sensations from me before lifting his head, his expression hot with lust and satisfaction. I reached up to kiss him and pressed my hand to his groin. His erection pulsed against my palm.
“Sofa,” I whispered.
He lifted me off the counter. I wrapped my legs around his waist, shuddering when my pussy spread open right against his torso. He grabbed my ass to hold me in place and strode to the living room, where our little Christmas tree glowed red, green, and gold in the corner. The room was warm from the wood fire crackling in the hearth, and the fresh scent of pine filled the air.
Dean lowered me onto the sofa, his hot gaze still on my naked body, his expression almost feral. He looked as if he were ready to devour me. My breath stuck in my throat when he shoved his pants down. His cock bobbed upward—thick, long, and fully erect. Tension and arousal spiked inside me again as he wrapped his hand around his shaft and stroked. The movement of his hand was so rhythmically sinuous that I was filled with the desire to watch him masturbate until he came.
But that wasn’t going to happen this time. Dean eased between my legs, reaching up to slide his hands up and down my torso. My skin was shiny all over with perspiration, and I could still taste his spicy, gingerbread kisses. I reached for him again at the exact instant the phone rang, the jangling noise cutting through my sensual fog.
“Ignore it.” Dean cupped my face in his hands and brought our lips together.
“Dean, it’s your mother.” Joanna West’s voice crackled over the speaker.
Dean bit out a curs
e and closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to mine. I tightened my hands around his wrists, my desire curdling into regret. If anyone could douse our lust with iced water, that person was Joanna West.
“Your aunt is so disappointed you’re not home for the holidays,” Joanna continued stridently. “And I need to know if Archer—”
With a groan, Dean pushed upward and grabbed the phone.
“What?” he snapped into the receiver.
A chill rippled over my skin. I pushed to my feet and retrieved my pajamas from the kitchen. I slipped them on and picked up a tube of frosting. My hands shook as I tried to refocus on decorating the cookies. Dean’s voice hardened.
“You really think he’d call me after what happened?” he asked his mother. “No, I’m not looking for him, and no, I’m not coming to California.”
He turned, catching sight of me at the kitchen counter.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Mom,” he said into the phone. “And I guarantee that if Archer wants you to know where he is, he’ll call you.”
He ended the call and tossed the phone on the coffee table. “Sorry, Liv.”
I shook my head. “Are you all right?”
Dean nodded, coming into the kitchen. Though I was uneasy at the reminder of his conflict with his family, I went to slip my arms around his waist. He hugged me against him, rubbing his cheek against the top of my head.
“Well, that killed the mood,” he muttered.
I eased back to look at him. Faint shadows clouded the golden flecks in his eyes. I patted his cheek, as always wanting to banish the darkness that lingered after he had confrontations with his family.
“I need to finish the cookies anyway.” I poked him gently in the stomach with the tube of frosting. “That’s what you get for distracting me.”
“You, gingerbread, and frosting is a combination I can’t resist.” Dean leaned in to brush his lips across mine. “Hot, sweet, spicy, all rolled into one delicious package.”