by Elle Kennedy
He motioned for her to sit up, and she did, letting him pull the shirt off her shoulders. Then he reached for the waistband of her slacks and pulled them off her body in one swift motion.
He groaned. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Travis’s reaction to her erotic lingerie made her suddenly grateful that she’d allowed Suzanna to talk her into this. The tiny panties clung to the triangle of her thighs, the spaghetti-thin straps struggling to hold them up. It would take no effort for Travis to rip those flimsy panties off her, and Rachel flushed at the thought. Not only that, but the wisp of cream-colored lace stitched over the satiny green fabric of her bra scraped against her nipples, making her wonder if Travis’s mouth would feel just as delicious. Every inch of her body sizzled with anticipation.
“Do you like?” she murmured, running her hands over the bra.
He groaned again. “I more than like. Are all your designs this…nice?”
She shrugged. “No. This came from my private collection.”
He grinned knowingly. “You designed it for me, didn’t you?”
Heat scorched her cheeks. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Good.”
The conversation came to a quick end as he slid onto the bed and kissed her. His long, hard body felt so nice against hers, so damn right, and she wanted it to remain there forever. She wanted to feel his thigh pressed against her leg, his chest against her breasts, and his lips to remain permanently against hers.
She twined her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his dark hair. “Travis,” she murmured, but the sound was muffled against his mouth.
She wanted to tell him to undress. Wanted to order him to touch her. To slide inside her.
But Travis had other ideas.
“Seduce me.”
She met his gaze. “What?”
Travis propped his arms behind his head and leaned against his hands. “Rachel, I told you I’d prove I want more than your body.”
“And how is me seducing you going to prove it?”
“Because I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take something from you. I only want to give. So, the way I see it, this is your show, sweetheart. Take what you want.”
His sexy offer both tempted and frightened her. She’d never seduced a man, never even thought it possible. Men were happy enough to lead, to take what they wanted out of sex and the woman’s needs be damned. At least, that’s what she’d always believed. Seeing Travis lying there on his back, telling her to take him, made her realize that perhaps sex was more than a one-sided activity.
“I can wait all night, you know.”
She heard the teasing in his voice and suddenly felt bold. “What if I want you to wait all night?” she teased back.
He never blinked. “Then I would.”
With a small smile, she moved her hands to his shirt and began unbuttoning it as slowly as he’d unbuttoned hers. When she heard his sharp intake of breath as she ran her palm over his defined pectorals, she quickened her pace. Seconds later, his shirt was on the bedroom floor, and she finally got to feast her eyes on his chest. She knew it would look like this. Smooth. Hard. Just the right amount of dark hair feathered over his sinewy skin. Rippled abdominal muscles and trim hips.
Just perfect.
She kissed his left nipple, slowly swirling her tongue over the small nub.
Travis groaned. “Want some advice?”
She lifted her head at the sound of his husky voice. “Advise away.”
“Taking is great and all, but taking too long is likely to make me explode.”
Pleasure fluttered in her belly. “What if I want you to explode?” she asked, drifting her hand lower and sweeping it over his evident arousal.
His features creased as he choked out, “I’d prefer we exploded together.”
“Me too.”
She swiftly unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants down his legs. Not bothering to take the time to admire the delicious way he looked in his black boxer-briefs, she simply ripped them off. And nearly gasped.
Seeing the widening of her eyes, he gave a low chuckle. “Trust me, it’ll fit.” He grinned. “And thanks for the unspoken compliment.”
She rolled her eyes at his arrogant tone. “A little pleased with ourselves, aren’t we?”
“Yep.”
She moved to straddle him again then stifled a moan as she felt his honeyed tip brush over the silk of her panties. Her panties. “Oh, I forgot,” she said with a blush, and quickly shimmied out of the annoying things. She reached for the clasp of her bra, but he reached out and covered her hand with his.
“Leave it on.”
She stared at him. In her experience, a man wanted a woman naked and there was no other way around it. “What?”
Travis gave an impish smile. “I told you, I like satin and lace.”
“Do you have a condom?” she suddenly asked, feeling awkward.
He nodded and reached for the pants she’d tossed aside. He pulled out a foil packet from the front pocket and, before she could blink, he’d opened it and slid the condom over his thick cock. The size of him made her mouth go dry. God, he was big. And it had been a very long time since she’d had sex.
“How long has it been for you?” he murmured, as if reading her mind.
“Four years,” she admitted.
Travis let out a soft whistle. “Shit, that’s like a century in man years.”
Rachel couldn’t help a laugh. “Is it a turn-off for you? Want me to stop?”
“Fuck no. It’s a turn-on, imagining how freaking tight you’re going to feel.”
The huskiness of her voice surprised her as she said, “How about we stop imagining?”
Without letting him reply, she impaled herself on his erection. They both gasped, and Travis let out a soft expletive. “Oh God,” he groaned. “You really are tight.”
And he was huge, his cock throbbing inside her, filling every inch of her. Rachel nearly passed out from the sheer pleasure of it, unable to move for a moment. But then she looked into his brown eyes, blazing with lust, and suddenly not moving became impossible,
With a soft moan, she began to ride him, grinding herself against him, as pleasure thundered through her body like a herd of wild horses.
“Oh my God,” she squeezed out, groaning at each hard thrust. “Why does this feel so good?”
Travis laughed and gripped her hips with his warm hands. “That’s how it’s supposed to feel, sweetheart.”
But it hadn’t felt like that before, not for her anyway. Sliding over him, Rachel basked in the new sensations, the thread of bliss coiling in her belly, circling her breasts, stealing her breath. When Travis reached up and cupped her breasts, she moaned again, leaning into his touch, gasping when he pinched her nipples with his fingers.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Keep doing that.”
“At your service,” he murmured, continuing to fondle her.
She rode him hard, fast. His features creased, making her wonder if she was hurting him, but when she tried to slow the pace, his fingers dug into her hips, urging her to continue. So she did. Keeping up the rough, hurried pace, until an orgasm seized her belly and exploded through her body. Shuddering from the overwhelming sensations, she collapsed on his chest, moaning against his feverish skin. The ripples of ecstasy didn’t ebb, they only intensified when she felt Travis twitch inside her when she heard his low groan and felt him let go. His hands squeezed her ass hard as he came, the pleasure in his eyes so intense she almost climaxed again.
A few long, breathless moments later, he wrapped his arms around her sweat-soaked back and pulled her tightly against his warm body. Then he pressed a kiss to her head and murmured, “Thank you.”
Chapter Eight
Rachel spent the night entwined in Travis’s arms, enveloped in his embrace as his breath warmed her shoulder and his touch warmed her heart. She’d never spent an entire night
with a man. She’d never even allowed a man in her bed. Her bed was her sanctuary. The one place the outside world couldn’t touch, and, until Travis, she’d never let anyone that far into her private world.
She thought about the only other man she’d been involved with. Paul, who’d always ushered her out of his apartment after their lovemaking, claiming he preferred sleeping alone. That hadn’t really bothered her, though, as she could never imagine sitting across from Paul at the kitchen table the morning after, sipping coffee the way she and Travis did now. It would have been unthinkable to do that with anyone. Until Travis. As she studied him, his dark hair tousled from sex and sleep, his eyes sleepy but sated, everything about the situation felt right.
Travis belonged here, and for the first time in her life, she knew it all the way through her soul.
He set the big mug on the table, leaned over and folded his arms over his chest, his dress shirt still open. Rachel gazed at the firm muscles that teased through the folds, remembering how that chest felt pressed against her back, those arms wrapped around her waist. A twinge of heat returned between her thighs, and she wondered how many times they’d have to make love before she could look at his body without growing wet.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his mouth curved in a crooked smile.
“You. Us. Last night.” A thought suddenly flew into her head, making her shift awkwardly. “Can I ask you something?”
“Ask me anything.”
“Did you…were you and Carrie…did you ever have sex?” she finally blurted out.
Travis shook his head instantly. “No. We didn’t. Never even got close to it.” Regret flickered in his eyes. “Does it bother you, that I dated Carrie?”
“No,” she admitted. “Does it bother you?”
Another shake of the head. “Carrie and I…it wasn’t a relationship, just two kids hanging out for a few months.” His mouth curved slightly. “You and I, on the other hand…”
Rachel’s pulse raced. He didn’t finish the sentence, but she knew where it led. Did he want a relationship? Did she?
She opened her mouth to speak, but wasn’t sure exactly what to say. Her jaw bobbed as she struggled with the words, but the sound of the telephone relieved her dilemma. She rose from the table and picked up the receiver to hear the voice of her mother’s neighbor.
“Rachel, it’s Wilma Sanders.”
A chill doused the heat in her veins. Wilma never made social calls, which meant Rachel was about to start her day with some sort of trouble from home. What was it going to be, another one of her mother’s battles with a temporary boyfriend? Was her mother passed out on the lawn, or had she driven her car through someone’s geraniums again?
“Hi, Wilma.” She couldn’t find any words to follow.
“Honey, you need to come home. It’s your momma. The police are here.”
An ache quickly formed at her temples, her jaw clenched tight and the muscles at the base of her neck began to stiffen. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to deal with it. Just the fact that the police were involved meant this was bigger than a few tire tracks through a neighbor’s lawn.
Anger boiled in her chest. Hattie always had a way of ruining every precious moment in her life, and once again, her mother was about to ruin the start of a beautiful day.
“Rachel,” Wilma continued, “I’m sorry, but your momma’s gone.”
Her anger gave way to confusion. She tightened her grip on the phone. “What do you mean Hattie’s gone?”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. The police think she died in her sleep.”
Her eyes moved to Travis, who had risen and was buttoning up his shirt. As usual, he’d read the shock in her eyes and was already moving to gather his shoes.
Her thoughts turned back to Wilma. “I’ll be right there,” she said, clicking off the phone.
Travis slipped on his shoes and stepped to her, placing his warm, firm hands on her shoulders. Concern filled his face. “Are you okay?”
She stood, numb of all sensation. The headache had disappeared, the muscles in her neck had returned to their previous state of relaxation, and despite the shocking news she’d just received, she honestly had no answer. Was she okay? She had no idea.
“I think so.”
He gave her shoulders a squeeze before he turned for his jacket. “Get dressed. I’ll take you over.”
She opened her mouth to object. Rachel had never allowed anyone into her childhood home. Not even her closest friends. It was a place she kept separate from the rest of her life, and in an automatic response, she began to tell Travis she would go alone.
But the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, her mind reflected on the night they’d shared, his tenderness and concern that told her Travis wasn’t like anyone else. She’d already let him into her bed, allowed him access to the deepest parts of her body and her heart. If Travis was the man for her, she would need to learn to share herself with him completely, the dark side as well as the good.
She stood, unable to move. Half of her needed to share this with him, but the old forces were still screaming at her to keep him away.
“My mother’s dead,” were the only words she could speak.
Travis tucked his arms in his jacket and crossed the room, standing over her, his face coiled with uncertainty.
“I’m sorry.” His hand cupped her cheek, filling her with warmth. “Tell me what I can do.”
Perfect words. Travis always had the perfect words. He knew her. He knew the last thing she wanted was a firm embrace and words of consolation. She didn’t need to be consoled. People in sorrow need words of sympathy, and though dozens of emotions were spinning through her chest, sorrow was not one of them. In fact, sorrow was the farthest emotion from her sights at the moment, and the thought sent an icy chill through her spine.
She took a step back, releasing his touch. “I’m not sad,” she whispered. She didn’t mean to say the words out loud. It must be horrifying for him to see the depth of her ability to be cold and uncaring, and she cringed as she waited for his reply.
His words were spoken carefully. “I wouldn’t expect you to be.”
Her breath held tight in her lungs. “No?”
He stepped toward her and cupped her face in his hands. “Rachel, she was never a mother to you. Did she ever once try to straighten herself out for the sake of you and Carrie?”
“No,” she whispered, as tears stung her eyes.
His thumbs caressed her cheeks. “Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t feel guilty because you can’t mourn her death. She doesn’t deserve your sadness or your guilt.”
She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, sinking her face into the well of his hard chest. For the first time in her life, it truly sank in just how deeply she needed someone like Travis Gage in her life. Though she didn’t understand how, in some way, Travis seemed to understand her better than she understood herself.
“Let’s go take care of this,” he said, brushing his hand over her hair.
She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay here, in his arms, where the world was a safe place to live in. When she made no motion to move, he feathered his fingers through her hair and kissed the top of her head.
“Come on, sweetheart, let’s close this chapter of your life.”
His words choked her throat and filled her heart with a sense of love. She pulled her face from his chest, noticing the damp spots where his shirt had soaked up her tears.
“She’s at home. Wilma said the police are there.”
He let out a heavy sigh and turned to grab his wallet. “She died at home.”
“Apparently.”
She didn’t understand his sudden look of concern, but if any doubts remained that Travis shouldn’t go with her, they drained away when he made the statement.
“Does that make a difference?”
He pulled her sweater from the chair and placed it on her shoulders. “It could. We’ll need to find out what h
appened.”
He grabbed his wallet and led her out the door.
Three patrol cars and an ambulance surrounded Rachel’s childhood home. Two others were unmarked, and one simply had a county coroner emblem on the side. Her hands began to tremble as they neared the house. She hadn’t asked Wilma any questions, and had no idea what she would find.
Wilma had said Hattie died in her sleep, but Rachel wasn’t sure. Of all the men who traipsed through the house, Rachel remembered that some could be violent when drunk, and she suddenly wondered if Wilma had told her everything.
As if he heard her thoughts, Travis broke the silence. “This is standard. Don’t be alarmed.”
She clasped his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze, and he responded by raising it to his mouth and pressing his lips to her skin.
“It will be okay, Rachel. I’m here with you.”
Travis pulled up to the curb and turned off the ignition. “Don’t worry,” he said once more, and though they were just two simple words, they filled her heart and relaxed her nerves. If anyone else had said them, they would have been an empty attempt at reassurance. With Travis, they worked.
They stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk. A patrol officer crossed the street to greet them, his hand held up in a gesture that they shouldn’t come near.
Travis held up his badge. “I’m Detective Gage, Chicago PD. This is Rachel Foster, the victim’s daughter.”
The officer relaxed his stance. He introduced himself as Tom Porter, then turned to Rachel and said, “My condolences, Miss.”
Rachel could only nod.
“The coroner is with her now,” Porter proceeded. “She appears to have passed of natural causes, but the autopsy will say for sure.” He looked to Rachel. “Miss Foster, when was the last time you saw your mother?”
Rachel glanced at Travis, who nodded in gesture that she should answer the question. “Last week. I come by every month to collect the mail and pay her bills. She hasn’t been well.”
Porter jotted notes on a pad. “Did your mother suffer from some sort of illness?”