She nodded, opening and reaching for him with every part of her whole self. “Yes,” she demanded emphatically. “Harder. Now, Seth.”
He thrust deep, his body slapping against her backside, jerking a sharp cry out of her throat. “Like that?”
“God, yes.” She sought his rhythm and lifted herself up to meet him. With each stroke she was more soft and wet and wanting.
“Look at us,” he demanded. “How your tits swing forward every time I put it to you hard, like…this.” He punctuated his statement with a hard thrust. “God. It’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”
She stared at herself, dazed. The sight was more erotic than the most uninhibited sexual fantasy she had ever permitted herself. Her hair hung over her face, her breasts dangled and swayed, her legs were opened wide, her bottom high. And Seth behind her, as beautiful as a god, his muscular golden body driving into hers, gleaming with sweat.
He was so sexy, so strong; his big hands dark against her white flanks, the tendons standing out on his throat. He studied their image in the mirror, fascinated, one brown hand sliding up to caress her breasts, the other delving into her damp puff of blond pubic hair.
She watched herself, astonished. Her face was rosy, wanton, almost frightened. And as she watched, he reached around and pulled her up against him, her head flung back against his shoulder, open and arched back like a bow. He pulsed his hips against her with slow, controlled strength while his long fingers coaxed, caressed, undid her. Sent her flying over the top in an erotic cascade of hot, bursting pleasure.
When she could frame a coherent thought again, he had pushed her back down onto her hands again, and was thrusting hard and deep. “So beautiful,” he muttered. “Your cunt clutches at me like a wet little fist when you come. I love it. You are unbelievable, Raine. Red hot.”
Amazingly, the fierce desire began to spiral up again. She arched back and worked herself against him frantically, frightened at the intensity of the explosion gathering inside her. He followed, his instincts unerring, gathering speed and force and giving her exactly what she needed to detonate the charge. One final hard, relentless push, and she hurtled, headlong and yelling, into another orgasm.
He grabbed a handful of her hair, winding it through his fingers. “Open your eyes,” he urged. “Watch me while I fuck you, Raine.”
She opened her eyes, gasping for breath. “Oh, stop being a cave man,” she snapped. “The hair-pulling is over the top, even for you.”
He grinned, tightened his grip on her hair and pulled her head to one side, biting her on her damp neck. “You love it,” he said, watching her with each hard thrust. “Me Tarzan, you Raine.”
The goofy little line was so out of context in the dark, complex dynamic of their love play that it shocked a peal of helpless laughter out of her. Her laughter melted instantly into tears, and she collapsed forward, laughing and sobbing. She heard his voice against her ear, but couldn’t understand his words. Then his anxious, pleading tone sank in.
“Don’t cry on me. Raine, for God’s sake. Please. I can’t handle it.”
“That’s just tough,” she said, laughing through her tears. “If you don’t like it, go find some girl who doesn’t care as much.”
He pushed her down until she was lying on her belly and covered her gently from behind, curving around her and surrounding her with his warmth. The carpet scraped against her cheek, the tears unraveled her. The sensations thundering through her body were almost too intense to call pleasure. He surged into her, tight and hot and unbearably intimate, his arms locked around her as he finally let himself come. His hips pumped furiously, his energy blasting through her body, lighting her up like a torch.
When she opened her eyes, she was lying on her side, her face wet, still shaking with tiny sobs. He stroked her hair, her shoulders, hugging her against him tightly. Nuzzling her neck with little, pleading kisses. She breathed deeply, and let the shuddering vibration subside.
Sweat began to dry upon them. He withdrew himself, got to his feet without a word, and went into the bathroom.
She tried to move, but couldn’t. Her will was severed from her body. She just lay there on the carpet, limp and spent. She listened to the water run in the bathroom sink, her hair draped over her face. The door opened. He crouched down beside her, lifting the hair off her face and turning her face so that he could look into her eyes. She smelled her own fruit scented hand soap on his hands. Rosehip Raspberry.
“I’m wiped out,” she whispered. “I can’t move.”
“You need food,” he said.
She grimaced. “Wilted apples with mustard? Ick.”
“Not. I ordered out,” he announced, his voice triumphant. “There’s bread, potato salad, turkey, pastrami, roast beef, ham. Sliced cheddar and Swiss. Some of that bottled fruit tea stuff. And brownies.”
She actually managed to lift her head at that. “Brownies?”
He slid his hands beneath her shoulders and knees, and scooped her easily into his arms, looking pleased with himself. “Yeah. Two kinds. Double fudge walnut and chocolate cheesecake swirl.” He carried her to the bed and laid her down. “I’m going to make you a sandwich. Then we’ll try to get some sleep.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t remember inviting you to spend the night in my bed,” she said without real force.
“Official boyfriends get to spend the night,” he said, tucking the duvet carefully around her. “It’s one of the perks of the job. Part of the standard contract. It’s also covered under the rules of civilized society. It’s very bad form to throw a man out the door after he’s made you come…was it three times? Or four?”
Raine betrayed herself by giggling. “I really should throw you out. Just to teach you a lesson.”
“Yeah. You and what ten big guys with Uzis and duct tape?”
She giggled again, and he followed up his advantage with a kiss that bloomed swiftly into something hot and sweet and sinuous. He drew back with difficulty, his breathing uneven. “Besides, who would feed you sandwiches and brownies if you threw me out?”
“You’re terrible,” she told him. “You really are an opportunist.”
“You’re learning, babe. You’re learning.” His grin slowly faded as he gazed into her eyes. “If you really wanted me to go, I’d feel it. I’d go. I don’t stay where I’m not wanted. But you want me to stay. Just like you wanted me to take you on the floor just now. Like a wild animal.”
She sat up, stung, and the duvet slipped down to her waist. “Don’t you dare tell me what I want, Seth Mackey.”
He reached up, touching her bared breast, and she smacked his hand away. He shrugged, aggrieved. “I just followed your cues, that’s all I meant. I didn’t mean any offense.”
She pulled the duvet up over her chest and slanted him a narrow look. “I thought you did that to punish me. For calling you an animal.”
His eyes widened, horrified. “Punish you? Fuck, no!”
“That’s how it felt,” she murmured. “At least at first.”
“You call screaming multiple orgasms punishment?”
She almost laughed at the bewilderment on his face. “The orgasms are beside the point.”
“The hell they are! If that’s your idea of punishment, then I’d by God like to know what constitutes a reward!”
“Seth—”
“It would probably kill me,” he went on, his voice incredulous. “My head would explode. And I didn’t know being called an animal was an insult, either. On the contrary, I kind of liked it. It turned me on.”
She grabbed a pillow and swatted him with it. “Oh, please. Everything turns you on,” she snapped.
He jerked the pillow out of her hands and climbed onto the bed. He pushed her onto her back, straddled her and seized her chin, forcing her to look straight into his eyes. “Look, sweetheart. If I’m too weird, or too rough, or too over the top for you in bed, I’ll tone it down. The sex doesn’t have to be wild and crazy all the time. I
f you want it sweet and soft by candlelight, that’s fine. I’ll give it to you sweet and soft.”
“You will?”
“Sure. Sweet and soft is fine with me. I like it all ways. Anything you can dream of, that’s my fantasy. Got that?”
She nodded. He stood up, looking relieved. “Now relax while I go fix you some food.” He grabbed his jeans and tugged them on. “What do you want on your sandwich? Spell it out for me, babe. Don’t make me guess. I don’t want to lose any more points with you. Before I know it I’ll be thrown out the door for pissing on the rug.”
“Oh, stop it,” she snapped.
“Little of everything? Mustard, mayonnaise, or both?”
“Both are fine.”
“Lemonade or peach tea?”
“Lemonade, please.”
He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but stopped himself. He picked up the pillow, tucked it tenderly beneath her head and smoothed her hair over it. “I won’t be long.”
The door closed after him, and she slid down beneath the duvet, shivering in the cool sheets. She stared up at the ceiling fan, and struggled to comprehend what was happening to her.
And if it was a good thing or a bad thing.
Chapter 13
Boyfriend. He was Raine Cameron’s official boyfriend. He rolled the word around in his mouth, trying it out. Sure, it was just a cover, but what a kick-ass cover it was. What better cover for a bodyguard than the role of jealous, possessive new boyfriend? No one would think twice about him hanging all over her. They’d take one look at Raine’s gorgeous tits, her soft pink lips, her glowing eyes, and assume that he was madly in love with her. Who could blame him?
He felt giddy and wired as he padded barefoot through her house. He pulled the small bag of equipment out of the top shelf of the coat closet where he had stashed it, stopped and listened carefully for sounds of movement from upstairs. Nothing.
He opened up his kit, sorting through Colbit beacons of various sizes and ranges. One slid unobtrusively into an unused pocket of her wallet. Another screwed into her pen. He ripped open the seam of the lining of her purse with his penknife and slipped one into the hole. He took out the sewing kit in his case, sewed the hole deftly shut and stitched another one into the hem of her raincoat.
That was enough for now, along with the cell phone. He could get more creative and ambitious later on, when he had the time and the privacy. He winced as he caught sight of himself in the mirror in the foyer. He sure didn’t look like an official boyfriend. Wild hair, beard shadow, bare chest. Smelling of sweat and sex. One of his ex-lovers had once told him that he would be really handsome if he could manage to be a little less scary looking. When he demanded to know what the hell she meant by that, she’d hedged and stammered, regretting the thoughtless statement. Finally she said she thought it was his eyes.
The relationship hadn’t lasted much longer. In fact, now that he thought about it, that might have been the very last night. He stared at his eyes in the mirror. They looked pretty much like they always did, if a little more bloodshot and shadowed than usual. Raine hadn’t complained about them yet, thank God.
He padded into the kitchen and proceeded to build four massive sandwiches with the same methodical attention to detail that had made him such an excellent thief, spy and techno nerd.
Hot damn. Official boyfriend. He had never voluntarily sought the title from anyone in his life. He’d always been brutally honest with his lovers about his preference in keeping things light. He liked sex just fine, but he could rarely be bothered with the rest of it. Jesse had teased him about that. Teased him hard, like he thought it was a real problem, though they usually ended up laughing about it. Jesse had thought that Seth’s difficulty with trust and bonding with women was because of his relationship with his mother, blah blah, snore, zzzzz. Jesse had been heavy into psychobabble for a while. College had that effect on some guys who had more brains than were good for them. Usually Seth had managed to tune him out.
He braced himself for the burning stab that came along with thinking about Jesse. It didn’t happen. Or rather, the feeling was there, but different. More like a hand pressing down hard on his heart. A hot, hard ache. Almost…bearable.
He’d enjoyed a whole lot of women, some of them very thoroughly, but as soon as they invited him to Mom and Dad’s silver anniversary bash, or whatever, he was outta there. Which was doing them a favor, really, since it always went to hell anyway. Inevitably the day arrived when he opened his mouth, let whatever he was thinking come out of it, and kaboom. Screaming, tears, and scenes that ended with go to hell, you rude, insensitive bastard. Doors slamming, tires squealing, and him standing there with his dick in his hand, back to square one. Big bummer.
The hell of it was that he never quite knew what exactly had set them off. It was a mystery.
God, what an idiot. He was a wild animal, dreaming about being domesticated. He stood in front of the refrigerator door, mustard dripping off the knife and onto the floor. Stupefied by the realization that he would say anything, do anything to keep this woman close to him. He was even willing to meet her parents. He stared at the splotch of mustard on the floor tile, transfixed. He would even put on a big show for them. Lie about his background, clean up his language. He would suck their goddamn toes, if that was what it took.
He was losing it. This wasn’t about a cover, and he didn’t even need Jesse to tell him so. He was terrified of wrecking this thing. It was so tenuous, so fragile. And it was all that was holding him together.
He shook that alarming thought out of his head, and gathered up plastic spoons and napkins. He stopped. Montserrat had liked candles. Chances were there were still a few of them floating around. He’d seen her loading up her witchy candelabras all the time.
He found five crimson candles in a kitchen drawer, along with a box of matches. He shoved it all under his arm, loaded himself up and carried it all up to the bedroom.
Raine had fallen asleep, one hand cradling her flushed cheek. Her plump, childlike cherry-red mouth was slightly open, lashes sweeping the bluish shadows under her eyes. She was so beautiful, and she looked so exhausted. The protective tenderness that rushed through him made the plate of sandwiches shake.
He laid it on the bedside table, sank to his knees and lit a candle. He dripped hot wax onto the plate and set the candles in it. He liked them. Like a little wine-red grove of trees. They smelled faintly of honey, just like she did. He stroked her hair with his fingertips, hating to wake her. “Hey,” he said softly. “Sustenance.”
“What?” Her eyes fluttered open. She looked dazed.
“It’s your new boyfriend,” he informed her. “Bearing dinner.”
She propped herself up on her elbows, saw the candles. Her smile of delight was so bright, it hurt. She was so easy to please. He had to look away for a second, blinking away a stinging dampness in his eyes.
She gasped when she saw the plate of towering sandwiches. “Good God. Who’s going to eat all that?”
He grunted, amused at her innocence. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll polish off whatever you don’t want.”
Not since Jesse had been too little to forage for himself had he prepared food for someone else. Breakfast stuff and sandwiches were pretty much the extent of his culinary repertoire, but Raine seemed to enjoy it. They feasted, sitting cross-legged on her bed. She got around an entire sandwich, and watched, fascinated, as he devoured the other three. Then he got the bright idea of feeding little pieces of brownie to her by hand, but that backfired on him because it was a flaming turn-on to place crumbs of fudgy cake in her soft mouth, to feel her hot tongue greedily licking off the crumbs and glaze, to watch the pleasure blooming on her face.
“Sugar orgasm,” she moaned. “Give me another piece, quick.”
“Cheesecake or fudge?”
“I want to finish with the fudge, so make sure that’s the last piece you give me.” She opened her mouth, accepting another mouthful. “Who would
have thought that such a strange day would end so well?”
He tucked another gooey crumb between her lips, and his whole body tightened as she licked the chocolate off. “Are you referring to the sex, or to the brownies?” he asked.
Raine stretched and smiled in a way that made his cock swell up again, poking dangerously close to the opening of his unbuttoned jeans. “Why? Are you feeling insecure and competitive?”
He was foolishly delighted with himself for making her smile. “I would never ask you to choose one over the other,” he assured her. “I’ll keep you well stocked with both.”
She trailed her fingertips over his torso. Her eyes dropped, widened. He looked down, realizing that he had exceeded the waistband limit. His flushed, swollen cock was poking its head out hopefully.
“Don’t worry,” he said thickly. “I know you’re tired. I won’t bother you again. I just want to hold you while you sleep.”
She swirled her fingertip tenderly around the head of his cock, her eyes fascinated. “Bothering me? Is that what you call it?”
He stared down at her circling finger, fighting for self-control.
“Bother me again, Seth,” she whispered. “Just bother me sweetly and softly. Like you promised. OK?”
He was off that bed in an instant, scooping paper, cutlery, condiments, all to the carpet. Stripping his jeans off and sheathing himself in a condom, in flat-out record time.
She lifted the duvet, inviting him into the dark, fragrant warmth of her secret female self. It made him drunk, crazy-wild with lust and longing. Sweet and soft, he repeated to himself, thinking of his promise, the candles, the chocolate. Sweet, soft and romantic. That was what she wanted from him, and that was what she’d get. The duvet floated on his back as he mounted her, as light and puffy as a cloud.
She was so silky-soft and warm and strong, cradling him. Her slender arms wrapped around his neck and her legs twined around his. Sweet and soft, he repeated to himself. Official boyfriend-type sex. Not power games, or moon-crazed animal, or Conan the fucking Conqueror, or any of the other assorted craziness that his perverse sexual imagination could churn up at a moment’s notice. He wanted to hold her, as close as he could. He wanted to make her feel incredibly good.
Behind Closed Doors (The Mccloud Series Book 1) Page 20