fingers into his hair, both disconcerted by the fact that they were trembling as strongly as they were, and proud of herself when she continued anyway. Because it wasn’t like she’d never done this before. She’d done this plenty. Just…with only one person. Ever. Well, if you didn’t count her initial loss of virginity, at the startlingly advanced age of twenty-four, with her college roommate’s brother, Mike, at their graduation party. She certainly didn’t want to count anything about that horribly awkward, fumbling night. Getting her master’s degree had been easier than achieving orgasm. Or even faking one. Maybe if he’d taken his horn-rimmed glasses off…and his socks.
Still, it was like riding a bike, pretty much, right? Even if this bike was flashier, shinier, faster, and built for a far more experienced rider. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t coaxing, either. He was simply taking, enjoying.
So, she would, too.
She took a breath that was supposed to be steadying, but instead was remarkable only because she could suck in a breath at all, and shifted his head down…and then down some more.
He caught on quickly, her shiny new bicycle did, and he worked open the buttons on the front of her camp shirt, kissing her along her collarbone as he did, then pushed up the thin, long tee she wore underneath till his warm palms bracketed her waist. She held her breath for the moment when he inadvertently hit her scratched skin, not wanting to ruin the building moment with a moan of pain versus pleasure, but that moment never came. He slid his hands-and her tee-slowly up her sides, as his mouth moved lower along the scalloped edge of the deep neckline.
She’d never felt so intensely female, or desirable, as when her fingers slid from his hair to his nape and became aware of the insistent throb of the pulse along the side of his neck under the pad of her thumb. His hands were so gentle, but that rapid beat against her sensitive fingertips told another story. It shouldn’t have been so thrilling. Given what she’d felt pressed against her earlier, she knew she wasn’t the only affected party here. Still…
Kirby arched her back as Brett slid her tee higher, finally pushing it over her barely there bra that she barely needed. Her lacking there didn’t seem to slow him down in the least. For which she was profoundly grateful. Size didn’t alter sensitivity or need…which he seemed quite in tune with.
She closed her eyes as his mouth enveloped one tightened nipple while his fingers played with the other. Honestly, it was like she’d dreamed him up. Maybe she was dreaming. Hell, maybe she’d really fallen out of that tree and was dead and this was all happening in her afterlife.
Well, if that were true, at least it was good news. She’d gone to heaven.
He unclasped the front of her bra and slowly peeled the now damp, flimsy fabric from her skin. She gasped as he closed his warm lips back over the taut bud. And then, when she wasn’t sure how much longer her trembling legs would hold up, he moved lower, placing the softest of kisses in between the scratches on her stomach. There was something both tender and erotic about the way he moved down along her torso. His wide palms were bracketed low on her hips as he pinned her back to the wall and continued downward.
Kirby purposely kept her thoughts focused on the moment, in the moment. If she allowed herself to think about what she was doing, in her own kitchen, with a guest, no less…
Brett plucked open the button at the waistband of her khakis, and any concern she had about the choices she was making were drowned out by the strident demands of her body. It had been too long…and this was simply too good. So…so good. She released a long, shaky breath as he dropped heated kisses along the tender skin of her lower belly being slowly exposed as he pulled down her zipper. His lips were warm, firm, and in command…and he was taking so damn long to get to where she needed him to be, she had to curl her fingers inward against her palms to keep from sinking them back into those thick curls and urging him to get on with it already.
His own low groan of appreciation as he tugged her pants down to her hips, hooking his fingers around the thin band of her panties and taking those down, too, had her splaying her palms flat against the wall, digging her fingertips, seeking for purchase, anything to help keep her upright on shaking thighs and-Oh! “Yes,” she gasped as he found her.
Her hands moved instinctively then, fingers sliding through his silky curls, not urging-no need, he was doing everything right-but simply for balance, to keep from sliding down the wall and into a-“Oh!” Her hips bucked against his hands, her whole body trembling now as he slid his tongue against her…then into her. She moved against him, with him, establishing a rhythm that drove her easily, swiftly, straight up to the edge. Right there, she thought. Right. There.
And, keeping the dream lover scenario alive and screamingly well, he moved right there…and her gasps quickly turned to loud moans as the climax roared through her. She bent over as he continued driving her well past the point she thought she was capable of going. Her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, her blunt nails digging into the firm muscle there as he wrenched ridiculous amounts of pleasure from her body. “You…wow,” was as coherent as she could be. When the rippling waves finally peaked and began to subside, he surprised her by pushing her pants and panties the rest of the way down her legs, urging her silently to step clear of them.
No fool she, she did anything he asked.
As he stood, he pushed off his own jeans, and even in her post-climactic, pleasure-drenched state, she paused to marvel-okay, possibly it was more like goggle-over his unbelievable physique. Hanging from a tree, a twenty-foot drop from death, she really hadn’t had time to appreciate him the first time she’d seen him naked.
She most certainly was appreciating him now. Wow. Santa hadn’t come through with the snow, but he was damn well making up for lost time right now. In fact, she owed Santa a present. Big-time. Big, being the key word there.
His hands came back to her hips, and her gaze finally lifted to his. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to see there. Probably not arrogance or cockiness; he hadn’t struck her as the type. A knowing smile perhaps, a sexually charged twinkle in his eyes…something like that. A silent, perhaps even humble acknowledgment that if she’d experienced pleasure so far, she could definitely look forward to more of the same.
What she found was his focus entirely and directly pinned on her. As if his godlike body wasn’t really a factor here, other than how it was about to be directly involved with hers. There was nothing nonchalant or offhand about it, either.
No, there was…a whole lot of other things going on there. Personal things, deeper thoughts, thoughts about her.
As if reading her mind, and perhaps he could-nothing would surprise her at this point-his hands tightened on her hips. “Upstairs? Or your room?”
She’d been thinking that right here up against the wall would work just fine. Possibly the counter. Or the floor. His eyes flared and she really started to wonder if he could read her mind. He might be focused quite intently on her, but there was no lack of sexual desire. Which was easily proved by his ready-very ready-body, but somehow, seeing it there, in the way he looked at her, pushed it beyond the merely physical. Made it personal. Which made her nervous.
And, perversely, that turned her on even more.
“I-uh-” was pretty much the extent of her verbal ability.
He moved in closer then, the extremely hard length of him pushing up against her belly, reminding her just how much taller and bigger he was than her. He pushed his hips in, pinning her to the wall, then slid his hands up the sides of her waist, brushing his thumbs over her still tightly budded nipples, making her twitch, gasp, then framed her face. Her gaze was riveted to his, her body his to do with whatever he pleased.
“I want you right here…right now. But while spontaneity is great…I didn’t come down here prepared for this.”
Oh.
“I am, too. Safe, I mean.” He slid his hands into her hair. “Will you trust me, then?”
He was a biker, from Vegas. She had no reason to trust him. For all she knew he’d slept his way across the country. But that’s not what her instincts told her. And certainly not what she wanted to believe. And…he’d asked. He could have just taken. But he’d asked.
And then that twinkle surfaced, glittering playfully, and she was so gone, and not just her body. “Race you to my bedside nightstand,” he said, giving her the graceful out, and in such a way as to make it fun, easy. Not awkward.
And she knew then that it was never going to be awkward. Not with Brett.
