Dreams of Her Own (13 page)

Chapter 16

God, she was sweet, Ian thought. He’d never been with a woman who exuded such innocence, yet harbored such passion. Kneeling, he removed her pants, socks, and shoes, and then he stood and stepped back to appreciate her. She hid her beautiful little body so well. No one would ever know what treasures lay buried beneath the brown wool surface.

Lifting his gaze to her face, he saw her eyes squeezed shut. “Millie. Look at me. Open your eyes and look at me.”

“I can’t.” Her head was back, her open fingers spread against the door at her hips.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m afraid of what I’ll see.”

“Lust? Desire?”

“Disappointment.”

His chest tightened again. How could she be a disappointment? And what asshole said she was? “Millie.” Stepping closer, he took her hand and placed it over his screaming erection.

She gasped, and her eyes flew open.

Yes, it had been a while, but that wasn’t the only reason. “Does that feel like a man disappointed?”

She shook her head, then her eyes drifted to her hand on his crotch, and damned if she didn’t blush again.

“Come here.” He grasped her wrist and led her to the bed in her tidy apartment. “Sit.” He lowered her to the bed and made quick work of his jacket, shirt, and boots. Wearing nothing but his jeans and a hard on, he knelt in front of her and opening her legs, reached around to tug her to him. “Do you need these?” he asked, indicating her glasses.

She shook her head.

“Good. I’d hate to break them.”

She inhaled sharply her eyes wide.

He carefully removed her glasses, placing them on the shelf by her bed. Lifting the camisole over her head, he tossed it behind him.

Her smooth, creamy skin looked luminous in the soft lighting from the bedside lamp. He tugged her bra straps down her arms, then reached behind to unsnap it. Her beautiful bare breasts, taut rosy nipples, begged for his mouth.

“Beautiful.” Lathing her nipple with his tongue, he reveled in the way she arched into him, as her fingers curled into his hair. Showing the same attention to her other breast, he glided his hands down to her slender waist, felt the erratic movement from her panting breath.

He wanted to take it slow, but her moans were pushing him close to the edge. Slipping his hands into her panties, he tugged them down, kneeling back so he could remove them, and his breath caught at her natural beauty. No spray tan, no bikini wax. Just Millie. Breathtakingly honest, stunningly genuine.

His gaze traveled up her body to her face, where her eyes were closed, her mouth swollen from his kisses, and her hair tumbled all around her. Tightening the leash on his desire, he parted her legs.

Millie
found herself adrift. Lost in sensations, both new and overwhelming, all building, tightening, focused on her core. A spring so tightly coiled that it must surely break under the pressure.

His calloused hands grazed her thighs, spreading her before him. She clenched the comforter beneath her, biting down on her lip, the desire to open herself to him warring with the instinct to close herself off, to hide from his prying eyes.

Already on sensory overload, she nearly came unglued when he put his mouth on her. One stroke of his tongue sent her into orbit, as the tightly coiled spring finally released. He continued to bathe her with his tongue, sending shockwave after shockwave through her. When the shudders receded, she lay staring at the ceiling in absolute wonder, certain no other orgasm in the history of human sexuality could have ever been as powerful as that earth-shattering experience.

Ian pressed soft kisses to the inside of her thighs, murmuring tender words that washed over her like spring rain. His stubble grazed her skin and the spring began to coil low in her belly once more.

He rose, then shucked his jeans and boxers. When his erection sprang free she nearly gasped. Rising up onto her elbows, she couldn’t tear her gaze from him. While she’d never seen a naked man in the flesh, she knew this man was perfectly made. All hard muscle and sinew, smooth skin and powerful thighs. Michelangelo’s
David,
only hot flesh rather than cold stone. A
frisson
of desire coursed through her. She spied another tattoo, this one across his lower abdomen. And five inches? Try more like seven.

She watched in rapt fascination as he ripped open a packet and rolled on a condom.

Crawling up her body, lowering her to the bed as he went, he positioned himself between her legs.

Hissing in
a breath when his throbbing erection made contact with her warm thigh, Ian knew this wouldn’t last long. He’d make it up to her the next round.

He pushed into her, gratified by her indrawn breath.

Sweet Jesus, she was tight! Gritting his teeth, he held back a moment before pushing deeper.

He lifted up on his elbows, brushing the hair out her face. “Am I hurting you? How long has it been, babe?”

“No.” She bit her lower lip, her eyes wary, but she didn’t answer his other question.

“Millie?”

She thrust her hips up, crying out, her eyes wide in shock.

Ho-ly hell.
“Be still, Millie,” he said as he gripped her hips, holding her to him. Then he kissed her temple. “Let your body adjust to me.” Sweat covered him as he held himself in check. Torture. Pure torture.

He pressed his mouth to hers, coaxing it open for him, and as his tongue tangled with hers, he began to move. Slow, easy strokes until she relaxed and her hips kept rhythm with his.

Pure sensation took over. Overcome by the snug feel of her. Overcome by the surprise that lit her face. She clamped on to his ass with her hands, wrapped her legs around his waist, and thrust upward again, and he quickened the pace.

“Oh, God, Millie.”

Her cries grew more fevered with each thrust, his tight rein slipping with each counter thrust. His name escaping her lips proved his undoing, and he poured himself into her, stunned by the all-consuming release.

Ian collapsed
on top of her, his breathing raspy and labored. The same could be said for her.

So this is what post-coital bliss felt like
. Her mind drifted as her body melted into a boneless heap into the bed. Her arms slid off Ian’s back, as if too weak to be lifted. Sex with Ian had definitely not been all take. He’d given until she’d been dizzy with need. And fulfillment.

Overcome by emotion, her rational brain told her what she was feeling was simply oxytocin flooding her body, intensifying the connection to Ian. She’d read all about it. But nothing she’d read had prepared her for this . . . complete and total loss of control. This pure and unadulterated pleasure.

She had no comparison, but she could measure, and he definitely wasn’t average. Still, after the initial pinch of pain, her body had expanded to accommodate him.

“You okay?” Ian asked from where his face was buried in her hair.

“Yes. You?”

He nodded, and rolled off her and over to her side, then gathered her close, and propping his head on his hand he gazed into her eyes. “More than.” His mouth lifted at the corner, and she wanted to kiss it.

Heat flooded her face as modesty returned with a vengeance. He’d just had his hands, his mouth, and . . . other parts on . . . or in . . . her body. How could she look at him again?

“Millie, you’ve never had sex before.”

It was a statement, not a question. She rolled over, facing away from him, and curled into a ball, attempting to cover her face, as well as the rest of her body. “No.”

She heard him mutter something under his breath, then his arms wrapped around her waist and he tugged her back against his warm, hard stomach, his legs bent around hers, spooning. “Did I . . . did I pressure you?”

She shook her head.

“Did I hurt you?”

Another shake of her head.

“How is it that you haven’t had sex before now? And why now?”

She shrugged. “No one’s been interested.”

“I call bullshit on that,” he muttered.

For some reason, his vociferous response made her smile.

“Maybe
you
hadn’t found someone who interested
you.
Did you ever think of that? And why now? Why me?”

Oh, God. How was she supposed to answer that? She thought he was the sexiest man she’d ever seen? She wanted to see him in nothing but his tool belt? She liked him? She . . . what? Needed to cross sex off her list?

Be bold.
She twisted to face him. “I like you. And . . . you’re nice to me,” she whispered.

“So, you had sex with me because I’m nice to you.”

“Well that . . .” Thinking of what Gloria had said about Ian being able to show a girl a thing or two, she continued, “. . . and I figured you would know what you were doing.”

He chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest. “If your moans and cries were any indication, I guess that’s true.”

Mortification swept over her again and she covered her face with her hands.

“Millie, enjoying sex is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact,
I’d
be ashamed if you hadn’t enjoyed it.”

She giggled, relieved by his statement.

He pulled her in tight against him. “Thank you.”

Thank you?
He’s
thanking me?
“For what?”

“For giving me the honor of being your first.” His lips brushed her temple.

Her eyes filled at the sincerity in his voice. Oh, God. Warning bells clanged in her head. If there was anyone she might fall in love with, it was Ian Brand. And there was no doubt in her mind that the feeling wouldn’t be reciprocated.

Ian woke with a warm, naked woma
n by his side. Cracking open an eye, he saw the room was still dark, streetlight cast a faint glow through the slats in the blinds. Gingerly, trying not to wake Millie, he rolled over and found his jeans on the floor. Digging his phone out of his pocket, he checked the time. Two-twenty A.M. He needed to head out. He had an early meeting with a plumber in Westchester. Even so, the thought of stepping out into the frigid night held little appeal, especially when Millie sighed and snuggled closer.

Debating about whether to wake her and say goodbye, or just leave, he decided on the former. She didn’t need the first guy she’d ever slept with sneaking out in the dead of night without so much as a goodbye.

Rising, he stepped into his boxers and jeans, found his shirt and jacket, and threw them on. Sitting on the bed, he put on his socks and boots, then twisted around to gaze at Millie.

She slept on her side, facing him, her dark hair swirling around her. The blanket had slipped off her shoulder, exposing the top of her creamy breasts. He shook his head. Who would have thought those baggy, bulky clothes she wore hid such femininity and sexiness?

He leaned over and placed his hand on her shoulder, “Millie.”

She opened her eyes, gasped, and sat up in bed, holding the blankets to her chest like a shield. Then recognition flooded her face.

“Sorry.” He stroked her cheek where a pillowcase crease marred her beautiful skin. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I have to go. I have an early meeting.”

She rubbed her eyes, nodding. Not, “Please don’t go,” or “Why can’t you stay?” Just a nod.
Hmm
. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at Darcy’s?” Ian asked.

“After I go to the hospital,” she muttered, her husky voice thick with sleep.

“Right.” He’d almost forgotten how they’d ended up here in Millie’s apartment in the first place. He pressed a kiss to her delectable mouth. A mouth that learned quickly, he thought as he recalled round three. Round two, he’d shown her what else his mouth could do. “Lock the door after me.”

“Goodnight, Ian.”

Why did that voice make him want to stay?

Chapter 17

Stretching, Millie peeled open an eye to see bright sunshine spilling in through her blinds.
Cheese and crackers!
She glanced at the clock. Eight-o-nine. She’d forgotten to set the alarm.

Did she dream last night? Or did Ian Brand really take her to bed and do delicious things to her very willing body until the wee hours of the morning? Lifting the sheets to reveal her nakedness, she realized it was no dream. She was a tramp. A slut. A trollop. A big grin split her face as she resisted a fist pump.

Then the soreness got her attention. Nothing bad, just a heaviness between her legs, and a twinge of her little-used inner thigh muscles.

She remembered Ian leaving, the way he’d caressed her cheek and kissed her goodbye. Oh, the things they had done! The heights he’d taken her to! She had no regrets.

Rising, she blushed at her own nakedness. She always slept in a nightgown. Feeling wicked, she smiled to herself as she padded barefoot into the bathroom. She spotted a trail of her clothes from the front door to her bed.

Hugging herself she stood in front of her bathroom mirror searching for any change in her appearance. She felt so different, how could she possibly look the same? Recalling Ian’s moans, the way he’d growled her name, when she . . . when he . . . God, she’d felt empowered. She’d done that to him. Silly Millie Stephens had made a man like Ian Brand lose control.

Her hair swirled around her, a tangled mess. Her lips were swollen, and she had stubble burn down her neck, across her breasts . . . and inner thighs. But the change she noticed more than anything else was the broad grin she couldn’t seem to wipe off her face.

Then she remembered Darcy. Her motionless body lying at the bottom of the stairs, and her joy turned to disgust. How could she be so happy when her pregnant best friend was lying in a hospital bed with a concussion?

Yanking a towel off the rack, she covered her nakedness and hit the shower.

An hour later, she stepped off the elevators at New York Methodist Hospital and turned left. Finding Darcy’s room, she heard Laura’s laughter.

“Can I come in?” Millie asked as she pushed open the door.

Darcy sat up in bed, her round belly covered with a sheet, a smile on her face. “Of course!”

“How are you feeling?”

“A little sore, and a mild headache—”

“She’s got a lump the size of a golf ball on the back of her head,” Laura interjected, frowning in a rare show of emotion.

“I’m fine, Millie.”

Relieved, Millie’s eyes stung with tears. Blinking them back, she gazed around the room. The pullout couch was littered with bedding, a rumpled pillow at one end. Laura sat in a chair next to the bed, her ever-present smartphone in one hand, a coffee cup in the other. No Josh.

“He went downstairs to get some breakfast,” Darcy volunteered. “They’re springing me from the joint after my doctor sees me this morning.” Darcy held out her hand for Millie. “I can’t thank you and Ian enough.”

Millie took Darcy’s hand, but at the mention of Ian’s name, her face heated.

Laura glanced up, narrowed her eyes at Millie, and said, “You had sex,” her tone accusatory.

“Did not,” Millie blurted.

“Did to,” Laura returned.

“Laura’s Super Sex Sensor never lies.” Darcy studied Millie’s face. “Trust me.”

Warmth flooded Millie’s cheeks. Why, oh why, did Laura have to be visiting? “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh no, missy.” She wagged her finger in Millie’s face. “Laura Danforth Armstrong Maxwell always knows what she’s talking about when it comes to sex.”

Millie rolled her eyes. “You know what they say about people who use illeism.”

Laura’s eyes closed to slits. “No. And what is illeism?”

“Referring to yourself in the third person. And it shows conceit and an overblown sense of greatness. Or a dissociative disorder.”

“Pfft.” Laura waved her hand in the air. “Nice attempt at deflection, but it didn’t work.” Wagging her finger in Millie’s face again, she continued, “You had sex and don’t try denying it.”

“Well, if it isn’t three of my favorite women,” Josh said, walking into the room.

Millie mentally groaned, wondering if he’d heard Laura’s last comment. He looked exhausted, but relieved, and no trace of shock over the conversation about Millie’s newly discovered sex life.

“The nurse is preparing your discharge papers,” he said as he approached the bed and kissed Darcy’s forehead.

“Good. I’m ready to get home to my own bed.”

Relieved to see Darcy doing so well, Millie said her goodbyes, both to escape Laura’s Super Sex Sensor and to prepare the house for Darcy’s return. First stop, Aunt Butchies.

The house stood silent and empty when
Ian unlocked the door. He thought about Darcy and hoped she’d be home soon. It might be best if he took a few days away from the job when she returned so she could have peace and quiet. Nothing like trying to recover from a concussion while someone hammered nails and ran a table saw.

Guessing Millie was still at the hospital, he climbed the stairs with a little spring in his step and went straight to work.

After he’d gotten home from Millie’s and crawled into his big cold bed, loneliness had settled over him. He didn’t usually stay the night with women, so why he felt so different with Millie he couldn’t say.

Switching on his iPod, he stuck his earbuds in his ears as the strains of Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons
began.

Prying open the can of sunny yellow paint Darcy had picked out for the nursery, he recalled how Millie’s breath hitched when he traced her jaw with his lips, how his name sounded in her husky fuck-me voice, how her skin tasted under his tongue, and how she looked when he’d left her. All bedhead and drowsy.

He poured paint into the tray then dipped the roller in. As he worked the paint onto the wall, he thought yellow was the perfect color for a boy or a girl. The Winnie the Pooh theme Darcy had planned for the room would also work for either gender.

His thoughts circled back to Millie and the fact that she’d been a virgin. How was that even possible in the twenty-first century? It was refreshing. And that she had bestowed that gift on him tugged at his heart.

But.

He needed to tread carefully. Millie wasn’t a one-night stand, or even a one-week stand. She deserved a man who could give her a home, a relationship, kids. Something he wasn’t capable of giving to her or anyone else, for a variety of reasons, but primarily because he couldn’t enter the relationship with the secret hanging over his head. And he couldn’t bring himself to tell anyone and see the disdain, or worse, the pity, in their eyes.

He was about as close to Ruby as he was to anyone. Even Caleb. He’d been close with Curtis, too. But of those three people, only Ruby and Curtis new about his dyslexia.

He rubbed his hand over the ache in his chest. Ruby was holding her own, and while she wasn’t losing any more weight, she hadn’t put on any either. It tore him apart to see her so frail. And it pissed him off that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He couldn’t stop the cancer, and he couldn’t slow it down. All he could do was make her comfortable, be with her, and cherish the time they had left.

Maybe that philosophy would work with Millie.
Cherish the time they had together, and don’t think about the future
. Not even in Asimov’s alternate universe would that work.

Was it wrong to want to lick him like a Popsicle? Millie w
ondered as she watched Ian work the paint roller along the wall. The muscles contracted and expanded in his back. His arms flexed and unflexed, the tattoo on his bicep peeking out from under his sleeve.

To think she’d been pressed against that naked body last night. Memories flooded her brain. Him kneeling in front of her, his lips on her stomach. Him balanced above her as he drove into her. She laid her cold hands against her overheated face.
Anastasia and Christian!
She’d become a nymphomaniac.

She hadn’t even checked sex off her list. Maybe because having sex with Ian meant more than just an item on a to-do list.

Unsure how to act around him, she turned to go before she had to face him in the light of day. But before she could make her escape, Ian twisted to dip the roller back in the paint and caught a glimpse of her.

Her face flamed at being caught staring at him. He drew the earbuds out of his ears and stuffed them into his jeans pocket. “Millie. Hi.” A soft smile lifted the corner of his mouth. He rarely smiled, but when he did, her heart soared.

Then a frown creased his brow as he took a step toward her. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Really good. Great.”
Stop stammering.

He grinned and her knees threatened to buckle. “How’s Darcy?”

“She’s fine. She’ll be home later today, but she’s on bedrest for the next two days.”

He nodded. “I’ll either take off a few days or work on the quieter aspects of the job”—he indicated the wall behind him—“liking painting.”

She wanted to tell him how much last night meant to her, but she didn’t want to come off needy and desperate, even if that’s what she was. How did women do this? She should take a few courses from Laura. “Well, I won’t keep you. I have a long to-do list in preparation for Darcy’s return.” She turned to go.

“Millie?”

She stopped, but didn’t look at him.

“I enjoyed last night.”

A broad grin swept across her face. “Me, too.” She beat a hasty retreat before she could do anything to embarrass herself, but she practically floated down the stairs.