Between the Sheets (7 page)

Then he stood, wrapping his arms around me and crushing me against his body. He paused with his lips so close the warmth of his breath brushed over me, and then he dove in. This was no tentative will-he-or-won’t-he press on my lips. No, the hunger in me roared from deep in my belly, heated by parts of my anatomy even further south. It knocked us both sideways, landing us on the bunk.

Randy squinted, as if he couldn’t quite bring me into focus without his glasses. He lay beneath me, stretched full out and apparently enjoying his fuzzy view. “You’re making it hard to keep my pants on,” he said.

I quieted him with another kiss, playing with his lips, nipping at the corner of his mouth. His hands slipped under my shirt and molded to my back.

“No bra,” he said, the words more of a gasp against my neck.

I just smiled and worked my legs in between his, pressing my belly against his hard length and continuing an onslaught of kisses. I wanted him, plain and simple. The retreat, Kirk, his past and mine all faded, softer than the sound of the waves out on the beach. My inner Sex Diva came out and I didn’t even try to fight her.

It was time to make something new.

“You’re a good kisser,” I said, easing away so I could meet his gaze.

He smiled, a look both mocking and amused. “Horn player.”

“And your good hands?” I gasped as he tweaked my nipple.

“Piano.” He shifted his weight, pushing our groins together and leaving no doubt as to what his little head wanted. “Let me see you,” he whispered, reaching for the hem of my stretchy top.

He pulled it off over my head and his low whistle told me all I needed to know. He rolled us both to the side, one arm under my shoulders and the other hand doing amazing things to my breasts. This time his kiss had more intention, his tongue thrusting, both of us panting. I scooted his shirt up as far as I could and we broke the kiss so he could pull it off over his head.

We lay pressed together, my nipples tingling where they rubbed against the ginger hairs on his chest. He ran lazy kisses over my chin and down my neck. “Are we having sex or not?” he asked, his lips moving just above the base of my throat.

I curled my upper body so I could whisper into his ear. “Do you have a condom?”

He dropped onto his back, laughing. “One.”

I shifted, curving myself along the side of his body and fighting a squeal of excitement because we were talking about having sex. My heart beat faster than any Irish reel, and the slippery heat between my legs needed Randy’s attention. Badly.

Trailing gentle circles through the hair on his chest, my fingers stopped at his belt buckle. “You weren’t a Boy Scout, I guess.”

“Hell, yes. That’s why I carry one. I just didn’t figure this weekend would put a big demand on my supply.”

“But you thought you might need one?” I went to work loosening the buckle of his belt.

He pulled me down for a kiss. “Be prepared.”

A brand-new box of condoms was hidden in the bottom of my bag, but if I ran over to my cabin, would I lose my nerve completely?
Hmm.
According to the
Cosmo
article, I needed to find a frenulum to flick. We could deal with the issue of prophylactics later.

“Come here,” I whispered, then slid to the floor on my knees.

Eyes narrowed in a thoughtful skepticism, he swung his legs to the floor in front of me, close enough to run my fingertips along his belly. I pulled the band out of my hair and shook it loose, then scooted over, inviting him to stand. Using my shoulder for leverage, he did, and I went work on his jeans, button after frustrating button. He
would
wear vintage Levi’s. I dragged his pants over his butt, feeling around for his nonexistent boxers.

Oh.
Commando.

He chuckled, the sexiest sound ever, and scuffed his jeans off the rest of the way. “What are you up to?”

“Shh.” I lay a fingertip on my lips. His wicked smile gave me all kinds of encouragement, but still I paused, eye level to one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.

A band matching the one on Randy’s upper arm had been tattooed just above his right knee. A trailing vine rose from it, wrapping around his thigh and creeping up. The vine became a serpent, climbing over his hip and ending just above his pubic bone. I couldn’t actually see the serpent’s head through his erection, but made a leap of logic from my position on the floor.

I traced my fingers along the tattoo, the motion punctuated by his sharp intake of breath. Leaning forward, I pressed my face against him, nuzzling the coarse curls at the base of his shaft, breathing in the musky masculine smell that had nothing to do with cigarettes or salt water.

I cupped his balls with one hand and grasped the base of him with the other. His muttered “shit” sent a buzz of excitement to my happy place. Good. He liked my idea. I needed this, needed him, needed to be in charge of how I got new memories.

“You put your mouth on me,” he said, drawing in a quick breath as I ran my fingertips along his shaft, “and we’re pretty much going to be having sex.”

“Yeah.” I turned the word into a soft whistle, blowing over the head. He pulsed in my grip, and after culling the memories of the
Cosmo
article for a few more ideas, I took him in my mouth.

The last time I’d given a blow job, I was so scared I’d do something wrong, neither of us had much fun. This time I let the sounds he made and the shivery tension in his thighs guide me. His hands wandered through my hair and stroked my shoulders and I lost myself in the taste and the feel and the gorgeous energy surging between us.

Making him happy gave me joy, a rosy pink light filling me and stretching my lips in a smile even as I opened up to swallow more. His hips rocked, little waves in sync with my rhythmic moves. I pulled off him, swirling my tongue over the head, his salty pre-come a reward for my effort.

I could have kept at it a lot longer when he gripped me with both hands and pulled away. “God, stop. I’m going to lose it if you don’t.”

“’S okay.” I reached for his hips, but he jerked aside.

“Nah, baby, this first time I want to come inside you.”

He pulled me to standing, diving into my mouth with a series of ferocious kisses, shoving me against the dresser. My yoga pants evaporated and without taking his mouth off me he magic ked the condom from somewhere. I snatched the foil packet, tore it open, and stretched the rubber over him, nearly destroyed by the melting burn only his touch would relieve.

Hitching my thigh over his forearm, he ran light fingertips over my lower lips, setting off a whirlpool of shivers. I sucked on his tongue, driving my hips up, forcing his fingers inside. He took the hint and teased me, moving in and out, going deeper each time. With something close to a sob I brushed his hand aside and reached for his cock, aiming it where I needed it to be.

Groaning against my mouth, he plunged in, taking me in one strong thrust. I arched into him, jaw quivering against the burn. Yeah, it hurt, but in the best possible way, and I flashed on Krista in the bar, reminding me how good it could be.

Randy took off, rocking me, rocking the dresser, rocking the world. Every thrust radiated strength, and instead of tomboyish, I felt powerful and feminine. I might have had sex before, but this was the first time I felt like a woman doing it.

And it was
so
good.

All musicians can keep a beat, and there was definitely some motion in Randy’s ocean. Pretty soon he’d doubled the pace of the waves outside, and a glorious heat started spinning from deep inside me, deeper than any man had ever reached. He gripped my neck, driving the movements of my hips with his other hand. One of us whimpered.

It was me.

He tipped his head, sweat glistening at his temples. “You’re unbelievable.” His words were barely more than a gasp. “You really are.”

Before I could answer him, the heat grabbed me and all I could think about was faster and harder and more. On a breath, the bottom dropped out and I tumbled over a waterfall of excruciating pleasure. He slowed his pace, laughing, and asked if I was okay.

“Your turn,” I said, clinging to his shoulders to keep myself upright. He reached for my other thigh, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, hitching my butt further up on the dresser.

Resting his forehead against mine, he really started to rock. His climax was so intense it all but brought me there again.

This was what I’d been missing: the sharing, the giving. We staggered over to the bunk and curled around each other, and somehow the peace in his breath against my skin made me feel like we’d been doing more than screwing a stranger. We might not quite be making love, but it was close. A deep happiness—tinged with relief—sent me drifting off to sleep.

The bunk was only wide enough for one, though, and the mattress could have doubled as a yoga mat. After a while I struggled out of the warm snuggly bed and gathered my things. Randy mumbled something at me, and I told him I was going to my own cabin. He didn’t try to make me stay.

Just about the time I fell asleep in my own cabin, Krista showed up. It took a solid twenty minutes for me to get more than “Tommy” and off-bombs out of her. I might even have seen a tear. Or two.

Go figure.

“What are you even doing here, anyway?” Krista had reached the pissing and grumbling stage, which I knew from experience would be followed by a flurry of texts, then sleep. She tossed herself dramatically across her bunk, phone in hand as if to verify my claim in real time.

“I just got here a little while ago.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell her what I’d done. I wanted to keep the beautiful memory shrouded in privacy. I mashed on my woefully understaffed pillow for a second and snuggled in. The past hurt. The future scared me.

The right now was too gorgeous for words.

I drifted off before Krista pulled far enough out of her internal vortex to ask any questions about my night.

The next morning I gave myself a break from the dress-up games and wore a pair of cotton shorts, a simple crew-neck shirt, and a pair of sturdy walking sandals, the kind with Velcro straps and a layered sole. Krista would have had a cow if she’d seen me, but she was asleep when I headed out for breakfast, so too bad for her.

I scuffed along the pathway of broken shells and gravel, headed for the lodge. Randy stood on the beach smoking a cigarette.

Breakfast could wait.

I jogged over to him, smiling like a middle-school girl. I had my hands on him before he even turned around, and went up on tiptoe to give him a big ol’ morning smooch.

He tipped his head at the last second and I bussed his cheek.

“Morning,” I said, though his reserved expression damped my smile.

“Hi.”

His tone was flat, off. “What’s up?” I asked.

“Nothing.” Moving slowly, like something hurt, he shifted toward the ocean. “Just … nothing.”

One of my hands fluttered like a bird who didn’t quite know where to land. “I was …” I squelched a sudden sob. “Just headed in to breakfast.”

“Sure. Sounds good.” He took my hand, just like he would have before. He walked with me to the lodge, just like he would have before. He even nuzzled my ear and murmured something not quite intelligible. When others could see. His behavior was the same, but his energy was utterly, completely different.

The dining room was crowded and we grabbed a couple of seats at one of the big tables on the perimeter. Right after we sat, Pregnant Sue and Jessica Freeman claimed the last two open chairs. They shared smiles with several of our table-mates, a cross-section of teachers from different ages and genders and fashion orientations. People made innocuous conversation, and Randy sat silent, and I let my eggs get cold.

“Are there many sessions you want to see today?” he finally asked.

“A few.”

He swallowed some coffee and gave me a crooked smile. “I’ve got to go to my cabin for a minute. Let’s connect at lunch, okay?”

“’Kay.” Probably take me that long to get all the hurt cried out of my system. He pressed a kiss on the top of my head on this way to standing and before I could respond, he strode out of the room.

I kept a placid smile in place, though it cut my heart out to do it. See, getting stood up at the altar had taught me a thing or two about handling rejection. I had no idea what had twisted Randy all sideways, but I’d be damned if I let him make me look bad in front of my colleagues.

I was still shoving eggs around when Jessica started talking.

“So did you and Randy start”—she tapped her fork on one side of her plate, and then the other, making a meaningless gesture feel dirty—“seeing each other, I mean, before this weekend?”

I straightened my shoulders and stared her down the way I would an annoying helicopter parent. “Before.”

“Oh good.” She covered her heart with her hand. “Because you know how guys like him are.”

I lowered my fork with as much care as I could muster, a safer choice than stabbing her in the eyes.

“I mean, I’m sure he’s changed.” Her smile had so much slime in it I half started looking for tadpoles.

“He’s a nice guy,” I said, willing this conversation to end before the tears flooding my heart leaked out all over the table.

“Oh, very nice. Very, very nice.” Two-handed pat-down for emphasis. “It’s just, well, he might have hooked up with someone at this event before.” Her prom queen glow said she enjoyed eviscerating me. “But I’m pretty sure he didn’t even ask for her phone number afterwards.”

Placid smile. Placid smile. Placid smile. Placid, placid, placid. Don’t freak out.

She and Pregnant Sue cleared their dishes away and sailed across the room. I exhaled and caught the eye of the woman sitting next to me. “The food’s been pretty good this weekend, don’t you think?”

She agreed, and I stuffed a forkful of pretty good eggs in my mouth and managed not to spew across the table. One voice in my head was calling her a liar, since Randy’d never been to this retreat before.

Another voice kept pointing out that so far he hadn’t asked for my phone number, either.