Their mother had been beautiful, with a sweet, angelic face, a kind face. She looked like a real mother. There was a picture of a man who might have been their father, but the photo was faded and of poor quality.
A door slammed and Daniel reappeared in the living room. “Ready?”
She moved down the hall with trepidation, while he opened the door and stepped aside.
In the bedroom, he’d given her the darkness she’d asked for the night before. And in that darkness, he’d lit perhaps a half dozen candles. From the far side of the room came a steady whooshing sound she couldn’t identify. Drifting out the door, swirling around her ankles, was fog.
“Fog machine.” He applied gentle pressure to her shoulders. She moved forward, stirring the fog around her ankles. He shut the door behind them. “I came across it at a garage sale back when Beau was putting together a magician’s act. He never did get the hang of any magic tricks, but he sure could wow ’em with the special effects.”
He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, pressing a flat hand to her lower belly. She felt his breath against her ear, his lips against her neck.
Fog. Imagine that.
She turned in his arms, loving the solid warmth of him, loving the smoothness of his satiny skin under her palms. His lips found hers, and the kiss was a tender surprise.
Clothes were shed.
She was weak, shaking. She sank into the fog, sliding along his body. He followed her down until they were knee to knee, chest to chest. She felt his fingers against her bottom and against her neck. She heard his labored breathing, felt his trembling muscles.
He pressed her down until she was lying on her back, the fog swirling around them, enveloping them. At one point, he laughed, a low sound, full of wonder and delight, that filled her head, that melded perfectly with the tone of their coming together.
This time there was no anger. No resentment. No holding back. It was all sweet, open, aching vulnerability, a hoping, a wanting, a dreaming in a dark room with no walls, in a dark room with no color, with magic swirling about them.
Chapter Nineteen
For about five minutes Daniel couldn’t move. But, after a while, he became concerned because Cleo wasn’t moving either.
“Cleo?” He lifted a hand to touch her temple. Her riot of hair was damp with sweat. His fingers followed a strand to the end, where a chain lay against her collarbone, stuck to her damp flesh.
“Hmmm?” she asked vaguely.
“You okay?”
“You could say that.”
He didn’t want to let her go, didn’t want to break the mood, but he had to deal with the rubber. He kissed her long and deep and tender, in case this was it. In case it was their last kiss. In case she jumped to her feet and darted away, which would be very like Cleo. And then he slipped away from her, her body imprinted upon his where cool air met hot flesh.
He took care of business, then turned off the fog machine, the absence of the rhythmic drone plunging the room into an ear-ringing silence. Then he dropped backward on the bed, one hand tucked behind his head, the other resting on his rising and falling chest. Would she join him? Or would she leave?
She joined him.
The bed dipped as she settled herself beside him, curling up next to him, her breast pressed against his rib cage, one leg draped across his knees, her foot tucked under his ankle. He brought his arm from behind his head and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she let out a deep breath and snuggled closer.
His fingers once again finding the chain around her neck. He followed it until he reached a small ring. “Does this have any significance?”
She was quiet a moment. “No,” she finally said.
He might not know anything about Cleo’s life-her past, her plans for the future-but he knew a lie when he heard one.
Maybe she
He groped the surface of the bedside table, his fingers coming into contact with the packet. He peeled it open, but before he could pull out the latex, she took it from him.
“I don’t think I’m ready,” he said, hoping he didn’t have to go into some lengthy explanation of how it takes a guy a little while to get wound up again. At that very moment, he realized he
With her knees clasped against his hips, her bottom resting on his thighs, she wrapped her hand around him. His breath caught. She began with the condom, struggling to unroll it.
“Here. I’ll do it.”
“I want to.”
“You’re not pushing hard enough. You aren’t going to hurt me.”
She shoved harder, the latex finally sliding into place. And then, before it even entered his mind to do anything, she came down on him, her hands gripping his waist.
“Don’t move,” she commanded.
She slid her hands up his ribs to his shoulders, following with her body until they were chest to chest.
“Just stay in me like this.”
Her voice had the rhythmic cadence of a hypnotist’s, and for a fleeting moment he wondered if that was what she was doing-hypnotizing him.
“How long can you stay like this, without moving?” she whispered, her breath against his ear.
“I never tried it.”
His head hummed. His heart thudded. His breathing quickened.
And he held on.
She pushed herself upright, her hands braced against his belly. It felt as if she were devouring him, imprinting him. She began tracing patterns on his chest, her fingers circling his nipples, the palms of her hands sliding down his ribs, not lightly, but as if she were trying to memorize the very structure of his muscles, his bones.
“Cleo,” he gasped. He couldn’t lie still anymore.
“Shh. Don’t move.”
He hung on a little longer, until she began to move for him. She pulled herself away, and just when he thought he couldn’t take it any longer, she came down on him. Hard.
He pushed her to her back then followed her over. His mouth found hers while he slipped the crook of his arm under her leg, pulling her knee to her chest, thrusting into her again, never wanting the moment to end, holding himself back, holding, holding.
He felt the tendons in her legs go hard. He felt a quiver run through her as she contracted around him. She took him with her, milking him dry, until he lay a wasted man in her arms, his breathing ragged, his heart pounding in his head.
Mind-blowing.
Five minutes later, she asked, “Did I hurt you?”
He laughed, and felt the sound reverberate between their tangled bodies. He pressed a firm kiss against her damp brow. “Where did you learn something like that?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew they were wrong. He felt her withdraw. Not physically, but mentally, like a door had slammed in his face.
