Not that he’s making a nuisance of himself or anything. After the initial hug in the church, he hasn’t touched me again. Does he know how much I want him to? I’m sure he does. I think he’s doing it on purpose. He knows I’m getting dizzy just from having him next to me. He’s on good form tonight. He’s funny and witty, and he constantly makes me laugh.
Dear God, I want to get in his boxers more than anything in the world.
Only when it grows late and the band plays the first slow song do I get my hands on him again. Colette, Gaby, Roxie, and I have been dancing all evening, and I’m out of breath and hot when the singer starts the first few lines of George Michael’s Kissing a Fool. I feel a hand on my waist, and as I turn, Kane pulls me neatly into his arms, and within seconds we’re moving to the music.
“I need a drink,” I tell him. “And a rest. I’m puffed out.”
“Nope.” His hand tightens on mine. “Not now I’ve finally got you in my arms.”
My heart’s hammering, but I try to cover it with a sassy glance. “You’re not the boss of me,” I tell him, lifting my chin.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, fixing his gaze on my lips.
They part automatically--ohhh… I want him to kiss me. He doesn’t. He just stares at my lips as if he’s thinking about sliding his tongue and maybe other things between them, and I give a little whimper. “Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper.
He just smiles, and carries on.
For the next two hours, every time the band plays a slow song, Kane’s there, pulling me into his arms. Outside, the twilight deepens, the stars pop out onto the black velvet sky, and the night grows cool. But inside, the heat between us just intensifies, until I know there’s only one way the evening can end.
We make it to eleven p.m. The others are still dancing, and I think the party is probably going to go on for another few hours.
Kane and I are dancing, again. We’re so close, we’re practically one person. He’s spent most of the evening staring into my eyes, and therefore it doesn’t surprise me when, as one, we move apart and study each other for a moment. I nod, and we walk back to the table. I retrieve my purse and we grab our jackets.
We pause, and I glance across the dance floor, seeing Seb and Colette wrapped around each other, and Harry and Gaby dancing, and the bride and groom absorbed in each other in the middle, under the flashing lights. Nobody’s going to miss me.
He holds out his hand. I place mine in it. And we walk outside.
Chapter Eleven
Kane
We don’t speak in the car. Not because there’s nothing to say, but because the atmosphere between us is so tense that I think we both know that small talk is going to sound ridiculous, like having a one-time opportunity to sit with a great theologian, and only asking him what he had for dinner.
All evening, I’ve not been able to think about anything except Elen, and how it will feel to kiss her, to take off her clothes, to hold her naked against me. She’s been on my mind a good proportion of every day since I started at the company, but now, having seen that light in her eyes when we were in the church that told me she wants me as much as I want her, it’s as if my libido is like a lion that has snapped his chain and is running across the plains roaring his head off.
She’s looking out the window, seemingly calm, but she’s breathing quickly, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. I change gear and return my gaze to the road. I need to concentrate until I get us home.
Luckily, it’s only ten minutes before I pull up just down from my apartment block. I park the car, and turn off the engine. I unclip my seat belt, and so does she, but she doesn’t move.
We sit there for a moment in the semi-darkness, and I watch a handful of leaves dance across the front of the car.
I turn in the seat and look at her. She’s staring at her hands in her lap, still breathing fast. Is she having second thoughts?
“Elen?”
She looks up at me. Her eyes are huge and dark.
I lean forward, stopping when my mouth is an inch from hers. Her lips part, but she doesn’t object or try to move back, so I close the distance and kiss her.
At last…
I close my eyes. Her mouth is so, so soft. I take my time, kissing her gently. Her window is half open, and the autumn evening air filters in, fresh and earthy, with a hint of wood smoke. She tastes of the Chardonnay she was drinking earlier and a touch of the mint chocolate we had for dessert at the wedding.
“Mmm…” she murmurs, lifting her hand to rest against my cheek. “Kane…”
Encouraged, I brush my tongue across her bottom lip, and she opens her mouth to me. I slide my tongue inside, and we deepen the kiss, exploring each other, arousing with our lips and teeth. Heat sears through me, and I lower my arm around her shoulders and pull her against me.
She murmurs again, and I feel her hands tugging my shirt out of my pants. Once it’s free, she slips her hands beneath it, and her fingers skate across my skin, sending shivers through me, and making me hard in seconds. I groan against her lips and brush my thumb across her breast, and she arches against me. Ohhh… she’s hot, small and vulnerable in my arms. Her waist is narrow and I love the way she curves in and out. She’s so feminine, so womanly, a wonderful example of her gender, strong, brave, and capable, yet gentle and compassionate with it. I slide a hand up her silky legs and, to my delight, discover she’s wearing thigh-highs, the stretchy lace at the top leading to a strip of even silkier skin.
It’s like Christmas Day, and she’s a present that’s been sitting beneath the tree for weeks, glittering and tempting me every time I walk past. I don’t know whether to unwrap her slowly, revealing an inch of skin at a time, or just rip all her clothes off and have her naked in seconds.
Neither prospect is appealing until we get out--the days are long gone when I might have considered having sex in the car. I lift my head and look into her eyes, and she sees the question there and gives a little nod.
We get out, and I lead the way to the front door and unlock it. We go in and the elevator doors open as if the apartment itself is calling to us to get there as quickly as possible.
When the doors slide shut, Elen moves toward me, lifts her arms around my neck, and kisses me again. Her tongue delves into my mouth, firing me up, and I push her backward to the wall. It’s a little further away that I thought, and she meets it with a bump hard enough to make her exclaim.
“Sorry,” I mutter, but her mouth is already on mine again, and when she lifts a leg to wrap around me, I slide my hand up her thigh and cup her bottom beneath the dress as I press my erection into her soft mound.
“Oh God,” she whispers, “I want you…” Her hands are in my hair, clutching, pulling my mouth to hers, and she rocks her hips against mine, arousing herself on me. I don’t know whether it’s because I haven’t had sex for a long time, or if it’s just Elen herself who’s firing me up, but I’m burning inside, raging with a desire I can’t ever remember feeling so intensely.
The elevator dings and the doors open. There’s an elderly couple waiting outside, and as Elen and I tear apart and exit with a mumbled apology, they give us wry smiles that make us giggle like a pair of sixteen-year-olds on their first date.
“Shit,” Elen says after the doors close and we walk down to my apartment, “my dress was tucked in my panties.”
I laugh. “Sorry about that.”
“No you’re not.”
“No, I’m not.” I pull her hard toward me and capture her lips again, fumbling to get the key in the lock, move back with a curse when I can’t manage it, and throw open the door.
We stumble in together, and I kick the door shut with my foot, then wrap my arms around her and kiss her again. She starts undoing my shirt, and I let my jacket slip to the floor, then shudder as she pushes apart the sides of my shirt and slides her hands over my ribs. I cup her breasts and rub my thumbs across her nipples, and they harden beneath my touch, making her moan against my lips
.
I should step back and offer her a drink; I should take her into my bedroom and undress her slowly. I should take my time to love her the way she deserves--I mustn’t lose control and fuck her like a caveman who’s managed to drag a woman from the tribe next door back by her hair.
But her mouth is as insistent as mine, and when her hips give a little wiggle, I realize she has hooked her fingers in her panties and is pulling them down. She steps out of them and wraps her leg around me, and this time, when I slide my hand up her thigh to her bottom, I find it bare and silky smooth. I move my hand over her thigh so I can slip my fingers down into her, and I find her swollen and wet, more than ready for me.
With a feral growl, I lift her up, and she wraps both legs around my waist and kisses me hungrily. I stride through the living room and into the bedroom, and I toss her on the bed. She bounces and squeals, then gasps as I climb on the bed and kneel between her thighs. I take a condom out of my wallet and toss the wallet on the floor, rip off the packaging, and within seconds I’ve released my erection and rolled the condom on.
I lean over her and pause, looking into her eyes. Her face is flushed, and her hair is spread out around her head. Have I moved too fast?
Chapter Twelve
Elen
Oh my God, don’t tell me he’s changed his mind. I look up into his eyes, and feel my insides burning up at the heat within them.
“Please,” I whisper, more desperate to have him inside me than I’ve ever been for a man before. “Please, don’t stop.”
His lips curve up a little, and then he guides the tip of his erection into me, and pushes forward.
I close my eyes and arch my back, giving a long moan at the sensation of him filling me, stretching me. It’s blissful, and for a moment I just revel in the joy of being with a man, of doing what comes naturally.
“Ah, Elen,” he says, and he lowers on top of me and starts kissing me again as he moves inside me.
I sigh and stretch out beneath him, loving the fact that we couldn’t even wait to undress properly. Part of me wants to feel his body against me, to touch my lips to his naked skin, but equally there’s something so erotic about this. It’s like he’s desperate for me, and I’m burning for him.
His hair falls across his forehead, and his brow creases with a frown of pleasure as he pulls back, then sinks into me. He’s hardly taken his eyes from me all night. I feel as if it was inevitable that we’d end up here. From the moment he walked into the church and sat beside me, I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist him.
His gaze is still fixed on me, intense and hot, and I stare helplessly into his gorgeous blue eyes as he makes love to me. He kisses me, kisses my face--my cheeks and my nose, up my cheekbone to my ear, and down my neck, making me shiver. His thrusts are long and slow, and I wrap my legs around his waist and lock my ankles, tilting my hips up to encourage him to move faster. He mumbles something and obliges, speeding up, and I roll my head to the side and let him place kisses down my neck, feeling myself spiral out of control.
It can only have taken us five minutes to get from the elevator to this moment, but my muscles are starting to tighten, and as he obviously senses the approach of my orgasm, he lifts onto his hands and thrusts with purpose, grinding against me. I can’t believe I’m going to come with hardly any foreplay and barely a brush of his hand on my breast, but my muscles tighten, and I cry out as I clench around him, pulse after pulse of exquisite pleasure.
Thrusting faster and harder, he practically shoves me across the bed with every move of his hips, and soon my head is hanging just over the edge, my hair dangling toward the floor. Still he thrusts, and I open my thighs wide to him, cry out his name, and dig my nails into his back as he stops and shudders, his muscles hardening to rock as he swells inside me.
“Wow,” I say when he finally breaths out and lowers down. “Holy fuck. I thought you were going to thrust me off the bed.”
He laughs and kisses me. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I need to return the blood to my head.”
He chuckles and nibbles my bottom lip, and then we exchange a long, lingering kiss.
Finally, he withdraws and moves across to give me room. I roll onto my side and close my knees together, waiting for him to rise, go into the kitchen, and get a drink or something. Dan would have grabbed his iPad to check his emails.
But Kane takes my hand and pulls me to my knees, and then he lifts my dress and peels it from me.
“Sorry for the creases,” he says, leaning over to lay it across a chair before coming back to me.
“It was worth the dry-cleaning bill.”
He smiles and slides his hands around my back, unclips my bra, and draws the straps down. Then he tosses that onto the chair too.
Leaving me in just my thigh highs, he slides off his pants and boxers, and pulls me back onto the bed, half on top of him. We kiss for a while, hot skin sticking to hot skin. It’s a lazy, just-fucked kiss, and yet it still feels erotic, my skin hypersensitive from my orgasm, so much so that as he strokes me, I feel the first stirrings of pleasure once again.
His fingers trail up and down my back, and then he brings his hands forward to cup my breasts. He murmurs his approval, brushing his fingers over my nipples, but soon he’s skating over my back and hips again. He touches me as if I’m something precious. It makes me want to cry.
I refuse to, though. I lift my head and look into his eyes and try a sassy joke. “Want me to leave?”
He gives me a wry look and presses his already growing erection against my thigh. “Does it look as if I do?” He brushes my cheek with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry that was so fast.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m embarrassed. I wanted to take it slow, but it’s been a while, and you’re sexy enough to make a man self-combust.”
“I came, didn’t I? You pleased your woman. Doesn’t that make it a success?”
“Well, there’s more to sex than an orgasm.”
Now I’m baffled. “What?”
He laughs and kisses me. “My woman?”
“It was a turn of phrase.”
“I’m not complaining.” He cups my breasts again, and teases the nipples gently with his fingers.
“You want to see me again?” I whisper, my eyelids lowering to half-mast.
Now he looks amused. “Of course I want to see you again. You thought I’d bring you home for the night and then look the other way at the office on Monday?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t really discuss it.”
“I want to see you again, Elen. When I first saw your picture in the Hearktech brochure, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. When I saw you in the bar, and you told me you were single, I knew it was only a matter of time before you were mine.”
“Yours?” Now it’s my turn to be amused. “We’ve had sex once.”
“So far, and I intend to remedy that very soon.” He kisses me, deep and lingering, while his hands continue to skate over my skin.
I let him, drifting into a netherworld where all that exists are Kane and his hot mouth and his gentle hands. My head is spinning though, like the leaves outside caught in the autumn breeze.
I honestly hadn’t thought further than getting him into bed. Do I want another relationship yet?
I went out with Dan for three years, on and off. He was, on the whole, a good guy, upfront and honest, maybe a little too so, not afraid to speak his mind, and with a blunt, almost cruel dislike of pretentiousness that meant he was dismissive of anyone who claimed an interest in anything he saw as ‘artsy fartsy’. He disliked religion with a passion, hated paintings that were more metaphor than pictures, laughed at literary fiction, scorned any music that didn’t have a pounding beat and a guy screaming down the mike, and wasn’t interested in travelling anywhere that didn’t have a five-star hotel and ice-cold beer. He was organized and efficient, and he abhorred lateness.
He would hate Kane, who loves fantasy stories and f
olk music, who enjoys discussing philosophy, and who believes that ideas exist separate from the mind, like artifacts waiting to be uncovered in an archeological dig. He’s often late for meetings because he’s gotten caught up in his work, and he believes that planning kills creativity. He’s the strong, silent type, unlike the loud, opinionated Dan. How odd that I’ve picked two such different guys.
I can’t decide right now whether there’s any future in this relationship. Maybe I should have thought about it before I went to bed with him, but I didn’t, and I’m not going to think about it now, with his hands on me and his erection pressing eagerly against my leg. I’ve spent my whole life being responsible and practical, and for once I’m going to live by the seat of my pants and enjoy just being.
Chapter Thirteen
Kane
For a moment, I worry that Elen is going to get up and leave, but to my relief she’s showing no signs of moving. When I palm her breasts and roll her nipples between my fingers, she sighs against my mouth and arches her back. I have her for a while, at least, and I intend to do everything I can to convince her in that time that she’s going to want to see me again.
Her bafflement when I said there was more to sex than an orgasm intrigues me. Orgasms are great, but they’re the end product of a fantastic process. Writing a book isn’t all about holding the printed copy in your hand, and painting a picture isn’t just about hanging the framed canvas on the wall. The beauty is in the journey. Why race to the end for ten seconds of pleasure when you can spend hours enjoying the delights of the woman in your arms?
I regret sating my lust so quickly, but I have to be kind to myself--I haven’t had sex for a long time, and I wanted Elen so much that it was all I could to hang on for that long. At least it means I can now take my time the way I wanted to from the start.
Rolling her onto her back, I lift up and look down at her for a long moment. I’ve kissed her lips free of lipstick, and her eyes are lazy with passion. Her hair is mussed, and she’s lying with her arms above her head, relaxed and dreamy. How many times have I fantasized about this moment?
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