Deliciously Obedient (7 page)

So
why wasn’t he cold? The crisp, cold air seemed not to bother him in
the least. Which was good, right? It boded well for the future.

Whatever
that might be.

The
rustle of kitchen supplies and then, within a minute, the beginning
gurgles of a coffee maker made Lydia deliriously happy on top of
being ridiculously satisfied.

“
There’s
no cream or sugar in here, so I hope you’re okay with black,”
Jeremy said, walking from around a large hutch in the single-room
cabin, completely naked and holding two hot mugs of coffee, and
shivering.

“
Are
you insane?” she said, enjoying the eye candy. “Everything’s
smaller in the cold, isn’t it?”

“
Hey!”
He recoiled, as if offended. “I resemble that remark.” He looked
down. “Really resemble that remark. Now get over so I can get under
the covers.” Setting the hot mugs of coffee down on the end table,
he scurried under, ice-cold hands sliding between her thighs, making
her yelp. “Consider that
payback,”
he growled, and then nipped at her neck.

His
thighs pressed against her, calves entangled between, their feet
jockeying for warmth. That smaller, shriveled member rose up as her
own heat infused his body, and she realized once again her power.
Snuggling under the covers, she wanted nothing more than this. He
kissed her neck, sat up and handed her a cup of coffee. “We both
need this and we should drink it before it’s too cold.”

“
This
is nothing like the coffee in Iceland,” she said, suddenly wistful.

“
I’ll
bet if you asked your parents to build you a garden-top lounging area
with a coffee shop underneath, they’d do it.” He snickered, and
the first sense of unease on this trip, other than the drive into the
campground, hit her.

“
What
do you mean by that?” she said, trying to cover it, using a jocular
tone that was more fake than sincere.

“
I
mean your dad adores you.” His voice went husky. “And your
mom…God, I got the third degree last night.” He rubbed his eyes
and took a sip of the coffee, staring straight ahead.

Lydia
didn’t know what to make of it. Was this good? Was this bad? Was he
afraid? Was he going to run away? Everything was so new, and unlike
with Matt, this felt more like real life. Everything during her short
time with Matt—no,
Mike
—had been a wonderland, completely
divorced from who she really was and how she really lived. Having
Jeremy here in her bed, naked next to her, having just made coffee
and bringing it to her, making comments and asking questions along
with astute observations—it all struck home. Home. That was what
this was about. She was home.

She’d
never been home with Mike, had she? Never had a chance to see how he
would operate with Pete or Sandy, or Miles, or any of them. There was
no awkward meshing of her past and her present.
That
she was
forging with Jeremy, wasn’t she? The unease, then, was the feeling
of letting a man in. Bringing him here was an enormous step, and one
that Sandy had acknowledged, and Krysta, and Miles, and Pete, and all
of them. Because Lydia didn’t
do
that.

She
drank her coffee and stared straight ahead. The silence was
overwhelmed by the chatter of birds and squirrels, and other forest
critters. Leaves wisped against the cabin, falling softly to the dirt
ground outside. The shouts of small children running about, and the
occasional whir of a bike wheel flying past, were all she heard.

Something
dull and checked out in Jeremy’s eyes faded as he turned and looked
down at her. Sitting up in bed, with the comforter pulled up to their
chins, one arm looped out for the coffee mug. She felt like a couple,
like a
settled
couple, and yet what was she supposed to do
with the dreams?

It
was not as if Mike and she and Jeremy were going to live in some
happy, unconventional polyamorist vision of perfection, right?
Gulping her coffee, she damn near burned the back of her mouth,
Jeremy’s eyes questioning, but his mouth remaining firmly shut.

“
Where
are you taking me?” Jeremy demanded, Lydia’s silence driving him
nuts. The campground was growing on him—especially the crisp autumn
air and making love under the thick down comforter in their cabin
last night. And this morning. And, hopefully, tonight…

He
hardened at the memory of her soft moans and hips rising up to meet
his tongue, how her hands roamed his back and squeezed his ass while
he pumped into her, the way her eyes closed and lips parted in deep
concentration right before an orgasm…

A
man could definitely get used to this.

The
Lydia she’d become in one short day was remarkable. A blend of the
woman he’d met and who had unfolded before him in Iceland with
someone more textured, more centered, Lydia scampered ahead of him on
a trail that seemed abandoned, the skeletal echo of foot traffic
reflected only in a thin strip of bare ground, not quite the width of
his foot, that snaked between overgrown brush and tiny pine trees.
Whoever had traversed this path last had done so with light feet.

“
You’ll
see in a minute,” she called back. Worn jeans cupped her ass like a
man’s grateful hands, the faded denim contouring in all the right
places. He nearly drooled, marveling at that lush ass and the flannel
shirt that flew with her movement, the tails behind her, flapping as
she half-ran to her destination. She wore boots purchased in
Iceland—strong, black things that she’d fallen in love with on
her second-to-last day in Reykjavik, babbling a series of words
involving hiking details as if speaking another language.

For
Jeremy, boots were boots. They covered your feet and made it easy to
manage trails. Done. End of discussion.

Sure-footed
and swift, she moved with a catlike grace that surprised him.
Accustomed to seeing her in Iceland, in the city, a fish out of
water, the ownership she possessed here at her family’s campground
was so different. Lydia didn’t walk in the woods like someone on a
simple stroll. She claimed the land with each footstep, dominating it
the way someone who has memorized every inch of territory
demonstrates mastery without needing to try.

Just
like she did in bed.

The
morning’s activities took over his body like a flash mob of lust,
his dick hardening and blood pounding. That made hiking more of a
challenge, and he lagged behind as he willed himself down just enough
to keep walking at Lydia’s determined clip.

“
Slowpoke!”
she called back.

If
only you knew.

Long
legs gave him an evolutionary advantage, and with a few tight
squeezes that made his testicles cry “
Uncle!”
, he
contorted his body under some brush to catch up to her, finding her
perched at the edge of a breathtaking alcove, the ocean’s water
like rippled mirrors against the backdrop of a burnished gold island
behind it, the sun still muted in the sky. Saltwater-flavored air
licked at his lips, and when he inhaled deeply, it was as if he took
her in along with the ocean’s taste. The Lydia he’d met at that
charity ball, the one he’d known in Iceland—was she the real
self? Because the woman he’d been shown this past day was more
layered and nuanced than he’d suspected.

And
it pleased him.

She
snuggled against him, tucked nicely at his rib, and he welcomed the
affection as much as the warmth. “How are you so hot?” he asked,
surprised by the volume of body heat she emanated.

“
I’ll
bet you say that to all the women,” she said in a seductive voice.

“
Only
the ones who wake me with morning sex in the equivalent of an igloo.”

“
Given
your travels, that makes me the third?”

He
snorted, completely taken off guard. “That makes you the
only
.”

Her
grip on him tightened, her shoulders relaxed, and they melted into
each other’s warmth, the sun poking its head out from behind a
cloud. In the still of the woods, at water’s edge, the ocean lapped
a quiet, meditative chant against the shells and jagged rocks on
shore, birds in the distance and the scent of burning firewood making
its way to them.

Both
inhaled deeply, the rise and fall of Lydia’s chest under his
fingertips so lovely he almost couldn’t stand it, then he heard a
muffled “That’s what she said.”

Unable
to leave that unchallenged, he turned and kissed her fiercely,
pulling back and achieving his goal: a shocked, aroused Lydia stood
before him, arms wrapped around herself, cheeks pink and eyes wide,
as he pulled her to the ground on a bed of leaves, her body pliant
and willing.

More
willing than he’d thought.

“
Again?”
She laughed, the sound throaty and seductive, making him hard again,
making him sure of himself and of her. “You ever make love outside,
Jeremy?” His name rolled off her tongue like a lick of his cock,
like the feel of her mouth wrapped around him, the hot, wet truth of
the universe in one package.

Lydia.

Plenty
of times
, he thought, but he didn’t want to say that. Ten years
of enjoying the carnal side of life dissolved into a sense of a past
age, a time when following his dick seemed pass
é
.
Why buy drugstore chocolate when you could get fine cacao from an
exotic, shade-grown artisanal estate?

“
Never
at a campground in Maine,” he murmured against her neck, fingers
diving into her hair, sliding the long, silky strands behind her ear,
reaching up to kiss her neck. She shivered, half from the air’s
chill and half from—

Her
hips pressed into his thigh, finding his own arousal. “You really
are ready,” she whispered, the surprise drained from her voice, a
new infusion of interest making him shut up and just kiss her,
stopping all the words that were getting in the way of sinking into
her and being enveloped by that gorgeous body, curves so womanly and
making him want her more than he knew he could want anyone.

Leaves
mixed in her hair as his hands plunged in, savoring the richness of
her, bringing her closer to him, tongues dancing with a familiarity
that said having more was fun and good and celebratory. Her name
thrust into his thoughts like a chant, a mantra he couldn’t
control, his entire life taken over by her as much as his body was
consumed by her as well.

He
was a goner.

Lydia
.

The
skin along his legs was chilling, her cold hands now snaking under
his sweatshirt, sweater and thermal shirt, the clash of the cold
outside air and her icy hands making him gasp.

“
I
asked if you’d ever done this before. Prepare to freeze parts of
you that aren’t meant to be exposed to the cold,” she murmured
against his mouth as his own frozen hands found her breasts. Her turn
to gasp as he pushed the underwired cups up, popping warm, lush lobes
out of their confinement, wanting his mouth on them but knowing even
that would be too much.