by Jane Graves
She put her fists on her hips. “Okay. I’m naked. Have we taken care of your stripper fetish yet?”
He jerked his head toward the bed beside him. “Lie down.”
With as much dignity as she could muster, she circled around to the other side of the bed and sat down.
“Okay,” she said. “It’s your turn. Take off your clothes.”
“In good time.”
“But—”
“I told you to lie down.”
“You’re not playing fair.”
“Did I ever say I would?”
“Damn it, John, you’re doing it again! Do you always have to be in control of everything? When do I get to be in control?”
“When I say you can be in control.”
She drew back with disbelief. “Did you just hear yourself? I’m not putting up with this!”
“Fine. Get up, get dressed, and leave.”
His words jolted the indignation right out of her, because leaving was the last thing she wanted to do. She just wanted to have some kind of say-so in this situation. Just a little. Was that so much to ask?
Evidently so.
With a breath of disgust, she scooted forward and lay down on her back. He stretched out beside her, propped on one elbow. With him fully clothed and her stark naked, she felt completely at his mercy. Then again, she could be wearing a full-length parka and still feel as if she was at his mercy.
His gaze played slowly over her body—her face, her breasts, her hips, all the way down her legs to her feet—stopping here and there for long, concentrated stares.
“John? What are you doing?”
“Looking for the part that’s not perfect. You’re forty, you know. There has to be something.” He sighed. “But I’m afraid I’m not having much luck.”
“Then why don’t you get naked and I’ll see how lucky I can get?”
“Oh, no. Since my visual inspection came up empty, it’s time for hands-on.”
Darcy swallowed hard. Just the words hands-on made her skin quiver with anticipation.
John looked up and down her body, as if trying to decide where to start. Finally he put his hand on her shoulder, then ran his palm down her arm all the way to her fingertips, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. Reversing the process, he grazed his hand back up her arm. He did the same to her other arm, then picked up a strand of her hair and twirled it around his finger. Tiny tingles raced across her scalp.
She knew what he was doing. This was thinly disguised foreplay. Long, drawn out, agonizing foreplay with a featherlight touch. And it was making her crazy.
He rested his palm against her chest, then dragged it downward, circling it around one breast, then the other, brushing his thumb lightly over her nipples. She closed her eyes, her breath coming faster.
“Hmm. No problem areas yet.”
He stroked her abdomen, then ran his hand all the way down her leg past her knee. As he brought it back up, he shifted it inward, teasing his fingers along her inner thigh. Almost involuntarily, she opened her thighs a little more. Higher, she thought. I think that’s where the problem is.
Instead, his hand glided around to her hip, and he leaned in to press a kiss to the side of her neck.
“What was that?” she whispered.
“Taste test.”
Her heart jolted hard. He could do all the searching he wanted to with that truly gifted mouth. As she imagined it moving over every inch of her body, so much heat pooled between her legs that she thought the bed was going to catch fire.
John froze suddenly, raising his head and glancing down at her hip. “Wait. What’s this?”
Her eyes sprang open. “What?”
“I think I feel something.”
He ran his hand over Darcy’s hip again, and when she realized what he must be talking about, her heart seized up. She sat up suddenly and pulled his hand away, looking at what was beneath it. She was barely able to croak out the word, it was so horrific. “Cellulite?”
“Yeah,” he said with a grin. “Imagine that.”
“You weren’t supposed to actually find something!”
He pushed her down on her back again. “Thank God I did. I was beginning to think you really were perfect.”
“I am perfect!”
“Stop with the body-image issues, Darcy. You’re almost forty. You’ve got to expect a little imperfection. And perfect women are boring, anyway.”
“Okay. Fine. You want imperfection? Well, I’m starting to get a muffin top, too. You missed that. Does that make me even more interesting?”
“What’s a muffin top?”
“The part of your waist that squishes over the top of your pants.”
“Darcy, you’re a lot of things, but squishy isn’t one of them.”
“I was thinking about getting liposuction this fall. Now I’d be lucky to afford a girdle.” She sighed. “And what about my flabby arms? And then there are my saggy knees—”
“Okay, sweetheart. You’re interesting enough. Let’s get on with this.”
He rose from the bed and moved to the foot of it, where he peeled off his T-shirt, revealing a body that was even more impressive in daylight than it had been in the dark. Contrary to her body, she didn’t see anything even remotely interesting about his.
He threw the shirt aside and took off the rest of his clothes, and what lay beneath his jeans told her she hadn’t been the only one getting turned on by his bodily inspection. He looked exactly like the dark, mysterious lover who had lived in the shadows of her mind for years. How was she to know he would actually come to life?
After putting on a condom, he pressed her legs apart, then put one knee between hers. Bracing a hand on either side of her shoulders, he loomed over her, fixing his gaze on hers.
“I want you to be still,” he told her. “And when I say still, I mean no purposeful movement whatsoever. Do you understand?”
“But—”
He clamped his hand over her mouth. “And just a reminder. If I didn’t induce it, I don’t want to hear it. Got that?”
She nodded.
Slowly he removed his hand. “Last night I asked you to tell me what you wanted. I think you lied to me.”
Darcy swallowed hard. “I . . . I just didn’t know what to say.”
“Clearly you didn’t. So this time I’m not asking.”
Which meant he intended to take her any way he wanted to, and her whole body flushed with anticipation. She waited for him to enter her again, but instead he angled his head and kissed the side of her neck. Then her collarbone. His lips would have felt heavenly, if only her nerves weren’t tied up in knots from wondering what he was up to.
Rocking back on his knees, he circled his hands around her breasts, kissing the hollow between them, then trailed featherlight kisses down to her navel. He smoothed his hands along her sides, kissing her abdomen at the same time. But it wasn’t until he grasped her hips and moved his mouth even lower that it finally dawned on her what he intended to do, and every nerve in her body tightened like a bowstring ready to snap.
“John—”
“Shhh . . . ,” he said, his warm breath fanning her inner thigh. He parted her gently with his fingers.
“No, really. I can’t. I just—” She gasped. His tongue. Oh, God. She’d never felt anything so incredible in her life.
“Please . . . ,” she said, her breath coming faster. “Please don’t . . .” But her plea must have sounded weak and unconvincing, because he showed no signs of stopping. Not that he would have stopped no matter what she said. That was John. He was a great big bully who insisted on having his way no matter what. So it would be silly of her to try to fight it, wouldn’t it?
Oh, yes. It would.
As he stroked her with his tongue, Darcy’s fingers flexed, drawing up handfuls of that ugly chenille bedspread. She’d always wondered about this. Listened to other women talk about it. But she’d never actually . . . oh, my God.
Her head felt as
if it were in a hazy cloud of pure pleasure, her body rigid, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. He’d told her not to move, but she couldn’t help it when her hands strayed to his shoulders, clutching, her fingertips digging in. Soon a faint vibration took hold of her nerves, setting off a tremor of arousal that grew hotter every second. He licked and teased and flicked in just the right place, and she squirmed against him because it was so good she almost couldn’t stand it, but he held her tightly and tormented her relentlessly until she was clawing his shoulders, arching up to meet him, begging for more, breathing harder as he pushed her higher. A deep, raspy moan rose in her throat that sounded as if it came from somebody else, a carnal, wanton woman so filled with lust she was ready to explode with it. She was close . . . so close . . . so close . . .
And then he backed away.
She reached for him. “John! No! Don’t stop! Oh, God. Please—”
He rose above her, parted her thighs, and plunged inside her, and that was all it took to send her over the edge.
A burst of energy shot through her, becoming a hard pulsing rhythm that took hold of her nerves and wouldn’t let go. Tiny lights flashed on the insides of her eyelids, and she couldn’t breathe. But she didn’t care. Maybe he was killing her, but it didn’t matter. He thrust inside her like a man possessed, reaching for release at the same time he forced every bit of pleasure from her body that it had to give.
“God . . . oh, God, Darcy . . .”
His muscles tensed and tightened, and then he fell forward and clung to her, a fierce groan rising in his throat as he came. She lifted her hips to take him as deeply as possible, relishing the feeling of her body joined so perfectly with his.
Finally he slowed, then stopped, turning to kiss her neck before falling to one side, his breath still coming in sharp gasps. She thought she must be dreaming because it just didn’t happen like this. She felt as if he’d wiped her out completely, like a tidal wave crashing through a sea wall and leaving it a crumbled wreck. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and streaked down her temples.
“Darcy?”
She wiped away the tears. Oh, God. Where had those come from?
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know . . . I just . . .”
A sob choked her, and she clamped her mouth shut, knowing if she tried to talk again she’d only babble like a baby. She was the one who was supposed to turn men into blithering idiots, not the other way around. But John wasn’t like other men. He stripped away every pretense she had. Yanked her out of every comfort zone. He was just so big and so there and so capable of rendering her into a sobbing frenzy of runaway emotions that she didn’t know which way to turn to get away from the overwhelming feelings.
She only knew she had to. Right now.
She flung her legs over the side of the bed. He reached for her, but she wiggled out of his grasp and hurried into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and locking it.
A few moments later, the doorknob rattled. “Darcy!”
“Go away!”
“Go away? What the hell is the matter?”
“Please just go!”
Darcy grabbed a bath towel, wrapped it around herself, and sat down on the edge of the tub, feeling weak as a wet tissue. Why was she acting so weird? Why couldn’t she have held it together long enough to smile sweetly and say something like, Real nice, baby. What do you do for an encore?
Instead she’d locked herself in the bathroom like some kind of emotional wedding night virgin. He already thought she was half crazy. This confirmed that there was no “half” about it.
He knocked on the door again. “Darcy! Tell me what’s wrong!”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“When a woman locks herself in the bathroom and cries, there’s something wrong!”
“No! I told you nothing’s wrong!”
“It was good for you. I know it was. You can’t tell me it wasn’t!”
And that was the problem. It was good. So unbelievably and unexpectedly and overwhelmingly good that she’d lost her mind. Completely lost it.
“John! Just please go away. Please!”
“Where exactly do you expect me to go? It’s my house!”
What a dope she was. Stuck in a man’s bathroom, telling him he needed to leave?
“I don’t get you, Darcy. Since when is great sex a problem? I never had a woman complain before. But what are you doing? Crying and locking yourself in the bathroom!”
“John, please . . .”
“I don’t know why you’re doing this, but you can be damned sure I’m getting to the bottom of it!”
She could hear it in his voice. He was going to claw through the door with his bare hands and then torture the truth right out of her. The average man wouldn’t tear up his own house, but she wasn’t so sure about John, and she waited for the door to come crashing down.
But now she heard nothing. She listened closely for a minute. Still nothing.
She dropped her head to her hands. He was probably just sitting out there, waiting for her to come out, and she’d have to eventually. But what then?
No man had ever made her feel like this before, as if she’d clawed her way through a barbed-wire fence to be with him again. Was she turning into one of those women who lost their heads over men? Look at Carolyn. Was she not telling the whole story? Did she put up with Ralph because once they slipped between the covers, he made her feel like this? Was that why he could control every other aspect of her life? Why she loved him when there was no obvious reason she should? If so, it had turned her into a mind-numbed idiot. And Darcy had the horrible feeling that she wasn’t far behind. One cataclysmic orgasm, and she was on the verge of becoming a female fool.
The doorknob rattled again. Darcy jerked her head up in time to see the door swing open and John come into the bathroom.
She gasped. “John! How did you—”
“Bathroom doorknobs might as well not even have locks.” He tossed a screwdriver onto the bathroom counter, wearing his usual hard-ass expression that said he was getting to the bottom of things no matter what.
Darcy sniffed a little and staggered to her feet. “I know I’m being dumb,” she said through her tears. “Please don’t kill me.”
John opened his mouth to say something, only to clamp it shut again. As he stared at her tear-streaked face, his warrior stance slipped a little. Finally his whole body slumped with resignation.
“I just want to know why you’re crying,” he said helplessly. “That’s all.”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“You make me crazy. You know that?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I haven’t had a clear thought since the moment I met you.”
“I know.”
“I’m not used to that.”
“I know.”
“Do you suppose all this crazy stuff is going to get better anytime soon?”
She shrugged weakly. “I don’t know. But if I were you, I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
He shook his head slowly, then looked heavenward as if searching for a little divine guidance. When that didn’t seem to be forthcoming, he let out a long, weary sigh and held out his arms.
“Come here.”
She wobbled forward and fell against him, curling her arms around his waist and sobbing against his shoulder. He held her close, and she clung to him, overcome with the relief of being in his arms when she thought he might never want to hold her again. He stroked up and down her back, making little shushing sounds, and pretty soon her crying wound down.
“I just don’t understand you,” he said.
“I know. I don’t understand me, either.”
“Then how am I ever supposed to?”
“I think you understand more than you know.”
“How’s that?”
“You told me last night that I didn’t like sex. You were right. Up to now, there hasn’t been much
about it to like.”
“I’m trying to change that.”
“I know. What happened just now . . .”
“Yes?”
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s never been like that for me. Never. It was just so . . . so . . .”
“Good?”
“God, yes.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“I don’t know. It just . . . happened.”
He enveloped her in his arms again, kissing the top of her head. “Just don’t lock me out,” he said. “Okay? Never again.”
She nodded. After all, what would be the point? No matter how much she tried to hide herself, he always found a way in.
On Monday morning, John got to the office early to look over some quarterly tax reports before heading out on a few repossessions, but his brain just wasn’t in the game. Yesterday had been so good that he hadn’t stopped thinking about it for two minutes. He hadn’t wanted Darcy to leave his house last night, but she had to let her dog out, and quite frankly, she’d just about worn him out. Once she’d gotten over the hysterical crying fit he still didn’t totally understand, she’d become like a kid in a candy store, going after him like a woman possessed. And that had been just fine with him.
Not that he didn’t know the limitations of a relationship with a woman like her. He knew what kind of man she was looking for in the long run, and it wasn’t one like him. And he wasn’t looking for anything permanent at all. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy things in the short run. There was nothing wrong with a relationship that was based on sex. It came with no strings attached. Baggage didn’t matter, because it was temporary. And then when it was time to walk away, nobody got hurt.
He looked back down at the pages on his desk, only to see he’d pulled out the report for the wrong quarter. It had taken him ten minutes to realize it, since all he’d done from the time he sat down at his desk was sip coffee and stare off into space. This wasn’t like him. Tax reports, by God, were serious business. But right now all he could think was, To hell with Uncle Sam.
No. Get it together. You have a business to run.