“If I’m your measure of athletic prowess, then you’ve got problems,” Whitney said with a laugh. She found a fairly dry spot on a fallen log and sat. Only a little moisture seeped up through her jeans, and it was hopefully too cold for bugs.
Matt proved surprisingly adept at flying a kite—the result, she was sure, of hours of playing card games with children and watching patterns of cloud animals march through the sky. He’d gotten the string unwound and was testing the kite by tossing it into the breeze when he turned to her.
“Why are we doing this again?”
“I like to watch you work with your hands. It’s sexy.”
He stopped, staring at her with the fixed intensity he always got when she dared to talk dirty to him. A mixture of suspicion and rampant sexual interest, that look curled through her belly with a slow, steady burn.
“What? You have the most dexterous fingers of any man I’ve ever met. When you do that thing—that one where you pin me down, spread me wide open and massage my clit with your thumb—I always think what a shame it is you never thought about becoming a surgeon.”
“You use that time to think about my choice of careers? That’s one of my best moves.”
Her own sudden burst of laughter caught her off guard. “It’s a very brief thought, I promise. Want to know what else I think about?”
“No. I want to get this over with.” He jiggled the kite. “It’s cold, Whitney, and this contraption is a piece of crap.”
“How’s this, Galahad?” She uncrossed her legs and watched him struggle with the flimsy material. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t make today about sex, but damn. With that dimple peeping out and the slow, careful way he licked his lips, it was a wonder she’d waited this long. “Every second you keep that kite in the air is a second I will spend with my mouth wrapped around your cock. We can pretend we’re in a real cabin, all cozy and warm and rolling around on a bearskin rug.”
He paused, head tilted. “I’ve always thought bearskin rugs were a little creepy. Especially if they keep the head on.”
“Afraid of a little bite?” she asked, her voice low.
Matt’s dimple deepened, and it was all Whitney could do not to launch herself across the beach and take him right then and there. He was being coy on purpose.
Men didn’t normally do that—at least not with her. They took what she offered and reveled in it, like dogs and their favorite rubber chew toys—always a little fearful that if they let down their guard, she might take away their privileges.
Not Matt. She had a feeling she was the dog and he was the treat. He had the power here—he set the pace of an arrangement that was verging fearfully into courtship territory. Today was clear proof of that, and even though danger flashed a warning red right in front of her, she was powerless to stop it.
She could feel the danger as he sat on the log next to her and worked at the knots of the string, slowly and leisurely, a man who didn’t have a care in the world. She leaned in and kissed him just below his ear, a spot she knew was sensitive and normally had him growling and throwing her to the bed.
“It’s not going to work,” he said pleasantly, though she noticed his hands stilled as her teeth nipped his lobe. “I’ve been issued a challenge, and I intend to meet it. Did you bring a stopwatch?”
“I can count.” She moved a little lower, her lips against his neck. He smelled of the outdoors and Irish Spring—by all accounts the most basic of scents a man could possess. But as he did in the case of all things commonplace, Matt made them his own. Comfortable and tantalizing and somehow the best smell in the entire world.
“There! I got it.” Matt sprang to his feet, ignoring her.
“You tell me when to start.” She slipped her hands into her armpits. The day grew colder as the sun dipped farther into the trees. There better be firewood inside the cabin. Gathering sticks would take up valuable sex time.
“No counting super slow.” He lifted the kite. “Okay. Go.”
With a quick flick of his wrist, the kite was out of his hand and into the air. For a moment, Whitney was sure it was going to take a nosedive right for the water, but he pulled at the last second, and it rippled against the wind, shooting straight up to the top of the tree line.
She began counting out loud, purposefully inserting “Mississippi” between each beat. He ignored her, unwinding the string so that the kite moved higher into the sky. There were a few moments when she thought the kite might snag on a tree, forever lost to the chipmunks and evergreens, but he always seemed to pull up at exactly the right moment.
At six hundred and five seconds, she stopped counting and called out, “Okay. Now you’re showing off.”
He turned, grinning. “No. This is showing off.” Wrapping the handle of the kite deftly around the branch of a tree a few times, he effectively made the kite a permanent fixture in the sky. “Do you want to keep counting?”
“You cheat!” Whitney squealed as he came up behind her, wrapping his hands just under her breasts and burrowing his face in the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply, seemingly content for the moment to smell her hair.
She’d always wanted that—a man who smelled her hair. It was a simple gesture but an intimate one, one that signified a subconscious need that was out of his control. But when he remained there, embracing her, not pulling her toward the cabin where she could make good on the kite’s promise, she stiffened.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice muffled.
“It’s cold. Let’s go inside. You can build me that fire.”
He remained in place a moment longer before grabbing her hand and leading her back on the path. His hand was strong and sure; her legs wobbled.
They almost gave way entirely when he leaned in close and whispered into her ear, “With what I have planned, a fire is the last thing we’ll need to stay warm.”
* * *
Whitney always made good on her debts.
She sent faithful student loan payments on her massive medical school debt every month. She repaid people who helped her move with generous purchases of pizza and beer. And when she lost a bet, she paid in full.
“But I never concede to cheaters,” she explained from their twined position on the dirty cabin floor. “Not even cute ones.”
“You’re just a sore loser,” Matt teased. He spoke directly to her breasts, taking his time kissing each one. The slow, lazy circles of his tongue were agony. She wanted him to suck, pinch, play. Instead, he gazed worshipfully at where the mounds of flesh swelled before his eyes, his breath warm as he lightly flicked a tongue over the protrusion of her nipple.
“Less talking. More sucking.” She arched into him and fisted his hair, forcing his mouth closer. When he finally clasped her nipple lightly between his teeth and suckled, she let out a cry that probably frightened all the wildlife within a mile radius. An explosion of pleasure swept through her, throbbing as it forced its way to her achingly empty core.
Always, it came to this. Always, she felt the void of Matt much more painfully than she thought possible.
With her hand still gripping his hair, she yanked him back. “You know what? No. I don’t owe you a single lick.”
His dazed expression sharpened. “Of course you don’t. I was just kidding with the kite back there. We can stop.”
Oh, sweet Jesus. This man could not be any more adorable if he was wrapped in bacon. “Oh, we’re not stopping until I’ve had at least three orgasms. But after your little stunt outside, I think I’m placing a strict fellatio embargo on today’s activities.”
“Mmm,” he agreed, his lids heavy as he appraised her. “I think I can handle that.” He licked his lips and allowed his gaze to travel southward, not stopping until he reached the juncture of her jeans-clad thighs. Moisture steeped her panties as his meaning became clear. He’d do it to
o. Dive between her legs and not come up until she could no longer think.
“You’ll be handling it all right.” She rolled and rose to unsteady knees. So far, the only clothes they’d managed to lose were her shirt and bra, which suited her current purposes just fine. She needed the denim barrier below if she intended to remain firm. “Across the room. Five paces.”
His lips quirked in a question, but he did as she commanded, counting them off like a dueler of old. When he got to the end, he swiveled on one foot and made a gesture toward a fake gun. “Okay. What now?”
“Take it out.”
His eyes flared for a moment, desire lighting his face. “You’re serious?”
“Unbutton. Unzip. Oh, and take off your shirt nice and slow first.”
Matt must have realized her delicious, wicked intentions, because a smile worked slow and satisfied across his face. Without another word, he began at the top button of his shirt, taking his time with each one.
There was something about Matt that made him a natural stripper. A big part of it was his lazy confidence, which didn’t balk at behaving a little ridiculously from time to time. But that wasn’t all. Maybe it was the rough forest of hair extending into his jeans, promising so much more. Perhaps it was that he knew how much she loved every second.
Most likely it was just that he knew what awaited at the bottom of that treasure trove of a body of his. How could he not? Thick and strong, his erection had such a powerful effect on her she could barely breathe at the sight of it. And she wasn’t attached to the damn thing. Walking around with that cock every day of the year must be some kind of torture.
“What now?” he asked, his voice hoarse. With his chest exposed and his jeans open at the fly, he wasn’t technically naked, but it was pretty cold in here. And his erection sprang from his nest of dark hair with so much glorious promise the rest of the room fell away.
“I want you to take your dick in hand and stroke it. Tell me how it feels.”
She half expected him to be shy about being so vocal, but Matt was a creature of contradictions. He didn’t swear in public, he didn’t like talking about sex in a casual setting and he had a delightfully small vocabulary when it came to her vagina. But as he wrapped his fist around his cock and began an agonizingly slow motion up and down the length of it, he showed no restraint.
“It feels incredible,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Hot. Hard. Heavy.”
Whitney felt herself squirming under his concentrated stare. “Yes. It’s definitely all those things.” It was the most beautiful cock she’d ever seen, all thick and veiny and strong. “Faster. I don’t want you to hold anything back.”
He groaned and pumped harder, never once losing eye contact with her. A lock of hair fell into his face as he concentrated on the task, and his body jerked with each movement.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Whitney commanded. “Tell me what you want.”
“I’m thinking of you. Naked. Sitting on my face.”
The unexpectedly blunt reply caught Whitney by surprise in the best possible way. She had to remind herself to breathe. “What else?” she asked, her voice almost a croak.
“I’m remembering how you taste, sweet and hot. Delicious.” His hand moved faster, driving against his erection with intense focus. “I’m thinking about how smooth your legs are when I force them open, how you get so wet I can barely stop myself from licking every inch of your thighs.”
“Don’t stop.”
“Your breasts. God...” he groaned. “The perfect weight in my hands—I dream of them sometimes, of the way they swell when you breathe heavily, like they can’t get free fast enough. And when you moan like that, I swear your nipples get darker and tighter, begging for my touch.”
Unable to prevent herself, mesmerized by his words, constricted with need, Whitney flew across the room.
He caught her, mid-flying-tackle, providing a cushion when they both fell. And even though the breath flew from their lungs, neither one of them cared enough to stop the crashing of their mouths in a passionate, searing kiss. Whitney couldn’t open her mouth wide enough, her tongue couldn’t get deep enough. She wanted to devour him.
Reaching down, she grabbed the brawny heft of him and finished the job he’d started. It didn’t take much—just a few pumps—and he was groaning into her mouth, spilling hot and sticky over her hand.
She waited just long enough for him to catch his breath before reaching for her jeans and practically ripping them off her body.
“I want what you said. All of it. Right now.”
He took her face in both hands, his eyes kindling fire at her. “Nothing on this earth would make me happier.”
She sighed and gave in to the heady rush of Matt’s hands forcing her legs apart. He moved both of them closer to the wall, allowing Whitney to brace herself with both hands as he lowered her to his mouth.
He kissed deeply, almost hungrily, as if drawing the blood from her whole body and forcing it down to meet his lips. Before Matt, she’d had no idea that a man could kiss a woman as passionately at her entrance as he could her mouth. But he did. His tongue delved in, sweeping along the inner folds of her labia, enjoying every taste. He nibbled and nipped at her clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure when she cried and ground harder against him.
And best of all, he never loosened his possessive grip on her thighs. He pulled her away and brought her closer on his own terms, refusing to let her simply take her pleasure. Instead, he gave it.
She cried out and slapped her hand on the wall as she came. The resounding sting in her forearm did nothing to still the crash of sensation that moved through her. In fact, she slapped the wall again and laid her head against the splintery wood, groaning as he continued providing pressure to the sensitive nub, her body jerking with a few more final twinges of pleasure.
When he pulled away, he left her cold and empty in the glorious space where his head had just been. But not for long.
“Well,” Matt said happily. “That makes one.”
Oh, God—had she really commanded three of those?
His fingers traced a slow and careful pattern up along her lower belly, reigniting the fire that hadn’t gone completely out. She groaned again and sank farther to the ground.
Yes. Yes, she believed she had.
* * *
There was a stitch that ran about two inches along the length of Matt’s side, and he was pretty sure he was going to need Whitney to check his toes for frostbite later, but he didn’t dare move. She’d fallen asleep, exhausted, in his arms, nestled up against him in an unprecedented moment of intimacy even though the blankets they’d spread out over the floor smelled of death, and a frightening rustling in the vicinity of his head signaled that a nest in the nature of the rodent family was located nearby.
Also, Whitney was a blanket hog.
Of course she was—he could have guessed that weeks ago. She was exactly the type of woman who would sleep horizontally and snore and otherwise make sleep inconvenient.
He didn’t care.
He ran a hand gently along the curve of her bottom, which was bare and pressed up against him, stirring his groin despite several hours’ worth of backwoods cavorting that left his whole body numb. He loved the sight of her naked, the feel of her naked. Soft, responsive, a seemingly endless bounty of curves and nooks to explore. Even now, as he ran a hand over the softness of her belly, she murmured and purred, shifting against him.
How easy it would be to get used to this. Or to slip even further into the incredible gift she offered him by moving their sexual relationship to the next level.
Naturally, he’d thought about it—all the time, he thought about it. Maybe he’d take it slow, kissing her entire body from head to toe, savoring all his favorite parts before finally entering her. Possibly he’d pus
h harder. Probably he’d push faster. He’d be unable to control himself as he took his pleasure in the hard, frantic thrusts his body demanded. Over the table, on the bed, up against the shower wall. The seemingly endless loop in his head was nothing if not inventive.
He groaned. Either the noise or the fact that he’d grown rock hard against her signaled the end to her brief nap. As sleep ebbed away, her body stiffened against his.
Wisely, Matt kept quiet and didn’t move his hand. A man didn’t work in his profession without learning a little patience. Letting him talk about Laura had been an act of kindness, bringing him here for a change of scene even more so. Whitney might like to drive home the temporary nature of their relationship whenever she could, but she was warming to the idea of more. She had to be. He wasn’t sure he could bear it otherwise.
Whitney pretended to be asleep for a few more minutes, unnaturally still and tense. When she finally turned, it was with a forced stretch and a yawn, her smile tight.
He leaned in and kissed her nose. “My toes are freezing.”
It was the right thing to say because she laughed and relaxed a little, though she pulled away enough that his body felt the loss of her heat and softness. “Get one of those single moms to knit you some socks—I’m not contributing to anything that covers you. I like you much better in the nude.”
Whitney was nothing if not predictable—that was a classic Step One. Put him in his place. Matt was a sex toy, an object of lust and welcome to encourage the attentions of others as long as it didn’t interfere with their arrangement.
“By the way, we’re going to have to cool it a little this week.”
Step Two. Set more boundaries.
“That’s fine,” Matt said congenially, rolling over and stretching his limbs. His toes were cold but not discolored. Still, he pulled on his boxers and jeans, comfortably half-dressed while he searched for his socks and shirt. “Give me a call when you’re free.”
“I mean it, Matt. Don’t stop by or anything. My parents are visiting, and I don’t want to have to explain...” Her voice trailed off and she waved her hand between the two of them. The movement brought to mind just how cold it was, and she shivered, all of her body covered in a ripple of goose bumps, which didn’t fail to take hold of her nipples, pointed skyward and tempting.
The Rebound Girl (Getting Physical) Page 18