Champagne Rules (28 page)

He lifted his glass. “What’s the toast, Suzanne?”

Damn it, between Tonya’s excellent zinfandel and Jaxon’s excellent body in red silk, her brain was too fuddled to come up with something special.

She tried to channel the sexy twin, and inspiration hit. She raised her glass. “To silk. To sensual, sexy, seductive silk. And to you wearing those boxers into your office next week.”

“That’ll be the day.”

“You really are chicken.”

He made a low, growling sound. Then he touched his glass to hers.

They both sipped. She closed her eyes, savoring the intense, peachy flavor. Essence of summer in the Okanagan. When she opened them again, Jaxon was smiling appreciatively. “That’s fine stuff.”

He took another sip. “Almost as fine as you, Suzanne. Did I mention how much I like this sexy top? And the thong?”

“Do you want me to take them off?”

He put his glass down. “Not yet.”

He reached out and, with one surprisingly delicate finger, traced the outline of her left breast through silk. Her nipple sprang to attention. He circled with his finger, drawing the broadest outline, then narrowing in, narrowing again, until finally he was rubbing her nipple. He joined his thumb to his finger and squeezed gently, and heat zinged down her body. 

She let her head fall back, her hair hanging free. Boldly, she thrust up against his fingers, inviting him to take more, reminding him she had another breast too. He shifted position, kneeling now, so both his hands were free to caress her. She glanced down and saw how his erection distended the silk shorts. One day, she’d like to catch him unaware, unaroused, and bring him to that state with her touch. But he was always a few steps ahead of her. She kneeled too, cupping his head with both hands, feeling the delicious springiness of his short curls. She touched her lips to his jaw, just below his ear. She nibbled a trail upward, circling his earlobe. He moaned. “God, I want you.”

“And you’ll have me.” She darted the tip of her tongue into his ear. “Eventually.” She drew the word out and he moaned again. “It was your idea,” she murmured, “to take it slow.”

He gave a rough chuckle. “Are you protesting?”

“No way. I think it’s a fine idea.”

“Do you now?”

He bent his head. Then his lips were on her nipple, through her camisole. He sucked, licked, sucked. It was tantalizing, having him that close but not yet touching her flesh. Sensation zipped through her, and arousal heightened. Could she
do
slow, with Jaxon?

She needed a breather. Besides, it was time to turn the tables. Gently, she pushed his head away.

“What—”

Before he could finish the question, she had a hand on his chest, pressing him down. “My turn.”

She bent over him, letting her hair tickle his chest, then his stomach. She leaned closer, to follow with her lips. He had nipples too, and she reminded him of the fact as she sucked them until he groaned.

She pressed a finger to his lips. “Ssh. The neighbors.”

She felt his silent laugh against her fingertip. Then, “I’ll be good.”

“I’m counting on it,” she whispered back. She drifted a hand across the front of his boxers, across the rigid flesh of his erection, and then away.

“What do you want, Suzanne?” And, suddenly, he was sitting up, taking control. “Do you want my lips? Here?” He leaned over and again sucked her nipple through her camisole.

“Or, do you want them here?” He slid both hands into the sides of the silk garment and lifted it over her head.

“Anywhere. Everywhere.”

His lips claimed her mouth and his tongue thrust inside. In and out, then circling, withdrawing, plunging in again, mimicking sex. His taste—sweet and fruity from the wine—was intoxicating. She moaned when he pulled away; then stretched back to give him better access, moaning again as his mouth moved down her body. Inch by inch. Tonguing, nibbling, sucking every bit of flesh he encountered.

“And maybe here?” His tongue swirled her navel and she gasped, “Oh yes.” She pressed her shoulders and feet into the mattress, lifting her stomach toward him.

“Or here?” He breathed hot air across the front of her thong. Her thighs parted as she welcomed his touch, her pelvis writhed against him, demanding more. His tongue probed the soaking wet strip of cloth between her legs and she whimpered, feeling her body reaching, nearing the point of climax, just waiting for—

Suddenly, he drew back, grasped her by the hips, and turned her on her stomach. His finger traced the lacy line of fabric that bisected her buttocks and she writhed helplessly. For a moment, she felt no touch at all, and she glanced over her shoulder. He was kneeling beside her, his body upright as he looked at her. More precisely, at her butt. He bent down to nip a cheek, and she buried her face in her folded arms, giving in to the sensation. Little nibbles and sucks that made her clench her muscles, and at the same time his finger traced the line of her thong as it disappeared between her legs. Her concentration focused, tension building between her legs.

“Jaxon!” she panted.

“What do you want, Suzanne?” He leaned down to whisper in her ear, as his finger continued its relentless pressure. Two more strokes, and she’d come. She knew it, she could feel it, she was so close and . . . He gave her one stroke, then stopped. She groaned.

He touched his tongue to the inside of her ear. “Do you want to come now? Or wait?”

“Yes, now.” How could she bear another moment of waiting? And yet, anticipation really did fuel desire. . . . “No. Oh, I don’t know, I want—”

He stroked again and her body clenched, waiting for the final stimulus that would bring release. He stopped.

“I want to see your face when you come,” he said, and now he had her by the hips, rolling her over on her back.

“I want you to come inside me.”

“Not yet. First, let’s concentrate on you.”

He reached for his glass but, rather than drinking, he dipped his finger in. Then he ran the damp finger over one of her breasts. He leaned down and licked, flicking her already-erect nipple. “So that’s ice wine. I like it.”

Her hips came off the cushion as she pressed her breast against his lips. He sucked hard, then left her nipple and trailed his tongue down toward her navel.

His fingers tugged at the sides of her thong. He eased it down an inch or two and tangled his fingers in her curly hair, but he didn’t strip the thong all the way off. He bent and applied his mouth again, to the silk at her crotch. 

“Oh God!” Her body bucked, on the edge of the peak yet again.

She couldn’t stand it any longer. Desperately, she grabbed his head, holding it still as she ground against him, demanding what she needed.

This time he didn’t leave her. His fingers stroked, his tongue pressed the silk taut against her swollen clit, his breath was hot against her own heat. She strained upward, twisting against his mouth, and felt the climax begin to take her. When it was finally done, her body collapsed and he followed her down, lying beside her. After a long minute or two, she managed to roll onto her side and look at him. “Your turn?”

“No hurry.”

She glanced down the length of his body, then followed her gaze with her hand, stroking his chest, his ribs, his hip through red silk. He was fully aroused, yet he said there was no hurry. Maybe this time they really would take it slow.

“Roll onto your stomach,” she murmured.

Suzanne’s small hands stroked his back in butterfly caresses, then kneaded his muscles with surprising strength. After all the hours he’d put in at his desk, the massage was welcome. For a moment, he imagined coming home every night to a woman’s caressing touch.

He almost laughed. What woman in her right mind would stay up until midnight to massage a career-obsessed lawyer?

No, this might well be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, so he’d better enjoy every moment.

He was torn between the sensual pleasure of her hands and the sexual press of his engorged, silk-wrapped penis against the cushion. As Suzanne’s fingers squeezed into his muscles, his body pressed against the cushion in small nudges, a tantalizing friction.

Her hands moved lower, into the small of his back, just above the waistband of the boxers and he squirmed. Would she remove the shorts?

Instead, she caressed and kneaded his buttocks through the silk and he had to admit the feeling was novel—as erotic, in its way, as the direct touch of her fingers.

She sure was taking her time. She moved down his thighs to his calves, and even spent a little time massaging his feet. He knew the next gift he’d be buying Suzanne. Massage oil. And he’d be inflicting this sweet torture on her body. She leaned over his head, her hair tickling his back. “Feel like rolling over? I’ll do your front.”

She would do his front. Oh man, yeah, he felt like rolling over.

When he did, her gaze went straight to his groin. She grinned. “Still with me, I see.”

“Begging for attention.”

“Mmm. Well, I’m not starting there.” And she was back at his feet again. Gradually, she worked up his shins, then his thighs. His erection battled against its silken prison, but she ignored it. This was torture, but he was enjoying every minute. Her deft fingers stroked between his legs, just brushing his balls, and he squeezed his thighs together involuntarily, trapping her. He forced his muscles to relax and her fingers drifted free, again brushing him, as if by accident.

She sat back on her heels and studied his body. “Shoulders next, I think,” she murmured, and he groaned with frustration.

“What’s the matter, Jaxon? Weren’t you the one who wanted slow and sensual?”

Oh God, he was going to get her for this. Just wait ’til he got that massage oil.

She bent over his shoulders, then made a dissatisfied sound.

“It’s hard to reach, leaning from one side. I think I’ll have to . . .”

And she straddled him, her buttocks neatly trapping his cock. He thrust upward. She shuddered, then tapped his hip.

“Settle down, I want to massage your shoulders.”

She might sound cool as a cucumber, but her silken thong was saturated, her inner thighs beaded with moisture. It seemed she was torturing herself too. He loved knowing his body turned her on.

She rested her hands on his shoulders and he said, “This is familiar. From the cave. Remember?”

She smiled down. “I do. But then, you were inside me.”

“I could be now,” he said eagerly.

She brushed his lips with hers. “Not yet.”

She kneaded his shoulders, then ran her hands across his chest, flirting with his nipples, exploring his ribs. He tried to hold still, but when she moved so her crotch pressed against his groin, he had to thrust again. Two thin layers of silk separated their most intimate parts and the musky scent of arousal filled the air.

She pressed tightly against him and squeezed his hips with her thighs. Her body began to move rhythmically, riding his erection, and her thighs clenched tighter. He glanced up, saw her hard nipples, and heard the little panting sounds she made. She was on the verge of orgasm.

He wanted her to have it, but if she kept this up much longer, he’d come himself. And he didn’t want to until he was inside her. He thrust a hand between them, finding her clit.

“Oh,” she moaned as he rubbed against her.

“Come, Suzanne,” he murmured. “Come now.”

And she did, grinding her body against his so it took all his will power to hold himself back from joining her. He gritted his teeth and locked every muscle, resisting, restraining himself, until finally it was over. Her muscles began to relax and her body drooped. He gripped her hips and eased her upward, away from him.

“Jaxon?” she murmured, her expression dazed.

“Get up,” he grated out.

“Oh sorry.”

She leaned down to put her hands on the cushion, shifted her weight, lifted one knee and started to clamber off him. Every movement, every change of pressure, challenged his control.

“Sorry I’m so heavy.”

When she was finally off, he croaked, “You’re . . . not . . . heavy.”

“But . . .” Perhaps she finally noticed his clenched muscles.

“Oh. I was selfish. You were close too. Jaxon, let me . . .”

She reached toward him and he grabbed her wrist. “No! I want to be inside you.”

“I want that too.”

“Give me a minute. If you touch me now, it’ll all be over.”

Suzanne sipped wine, watching him, seeing the tension in his body slowly ease. Finally, he sat up, reached for his wineglass and took a sip. She felt the lush heaviness of physical satisfaction in her body. She was so relaxed, the wine so delicious, the stars so bright, she could almost curl up and drift off to sleep. Except that she and Jaxon had unfinished business. She’d been saving the best for last. Ever since she’d first raised the subject of silk boxers, she had been imagining how he’d feel through silk. “I didn’t finish my massage. You distracted me.”

“
I
distracted
you
?”

She giggled and put both their glasses down. “Lie back.”

“Do you want to use protection? I have condoms in my pants, but they’re inside.”

Rubber sex versus the joy of naked sex with Jaxon? “I want you. Just you. Is that all right?”

He groaned. “More than all right.”

He stretched back on the cushion and she touched him gently: his hair, those tight, wonderfully springy curls; his face with its strong planes; and his broad shoulders, muscled chest, taut stomach. Then she trailed her fingers lightly across the front of the boxers. He was so big, he stretched all the way to the waistband, lifting it away from his skin. Just looking at him made her satiated body stir to life again. She cupped his balls, felt his crisp hair through the light fabric, then again traced the hard length of him. The slippery silk, the hard heat of him underneath—the contrast was perfect, just as she’d imagined. She curled her hand, encompassing as much of him as she could, and squeezed lightly. He gave a low, shuddery groan.

“When you’re in your office,” she whispered, “wearing these shorts, remember me touching you this way.”

She slid her hand through the front slit and gripped him, flesh to flesh. “And this way.”