Emma Holly (31 page)

"Optimistic," she said.

His eyes tilted with amusement as he helped her drag the stretchy shorts down her legs. "I've noticed a tendency for overindulgence when I'm with you."

"All the same, four is a lot."

He laughed and kissed her belly. "Maybe," he whispered against her navel ring, "my eyes are bigger than my… stomach."

When he flipped her piercing with the tip of his tongue, a tremor snaked down her spine. Feeling her reaction, his hands tightened on her hips. He used the hold to tug her to her knees, the evidence that he was plenty big enough brushing past her abdomen. With one arm to support her back and the other lifting her rear, he took her mouth in a deep, tight kiss.

For long, yummy moments, she let him have his way.

"You're still wearing your clothes," she pointed out when she could bear to interrupt the kiss.

"Take them off," he said. "I want you to make me naked."

She was happy to oblige, button by button and piece by piece, running her hands over each stretch of skin she bared. His chest was wonderfully solid, its hair curly and warm. That on his arms was silky, on his legs crisp, and on his groin—where it surrounded his upcurved cock—it was the roughest of all. She was glad he didn't shave like B.G. It would have been a shame to hide how masculine he was.

She even loved when his stubbled cheeks scratched back and forth across her breasts.

He said her name between soft, sucking kisses, his hands gently cupping her shoulder blades. "Oh, Charity, how could anyone get enough of you?"

She wouldn't have told him even if she knew. She sighed with pleasure as he laid her back and claimed her mouth again. The glass of the catwalk was cool beneath her, a shocking contrast to the heat of his big body. She gripped his buttocks to pull him closer, reveling in the way it made his muscles clench.

"Not like this," he said, pushing gently back from her hold. "I'd like to take you the way I couldn't that first time."

Her skin seemed to pulse in tandem with her heart. She hadn't forgotten lying on her bed with him behind her, telling her the story of his first sex with B.G. Now he was on his knees, thighs spread, sex hard, his phallic skin so richly red the color needed a different name. Without a word, she reached out, drew the circle of her fingers down his silken shaft, then turned onto her belly.

"Charity…" he breathed, clearly shaken by her compliance.

"I'm yours," she said, meaning it more than she'd ever meant anything. "You can take me any way you want."

He sucked in a breath but didn't answer. Instead, he pressed his mouth to the dip where the top of her buttocks met her spine. From there, he trailed slow, wet kisses down the backs of her legs. Her ankles merited a gentle bite. She tensed but couldn't contain a moan when he reached her feet. The pressure of his thumbs did magical things to her arches. When he massaged the pads beneath her toes, tingles swept straight from there to her groin. Surprised by the strength of the effect, she had to gasp.

"Just what I love," he chuckled darkly. "A girl with sensitive feet."

By the time he kissed a return path up her spine, she was more than a little wet, her body writhing restlessly on the glass. He made a prop for her hips with his rolled-up trousers, still pleasantly warm from his wearing them. Satisfied with her position, he lowered his weight over her. He must have sheathed himself at some point. His latex-covered crown teased the tip of her clit, slipping with embarrassing ease in her arousal.

"Nice," he growled, the sound thrilling through her as he eased the broad, curved head just inside her sheath.

"I thought—"

"Sh," he said, hushing her confusion with a kiss just beneath her ear. "That's for later. When you're relaxed."

She liked his method for inducing it. He filled her smoothly, thickly, in a single, breath-stealing stroke.

Now inside her, his pulse beat as steady as a metronome.

"Oh, boy," she said and felt him smile into her hair.

His hands slid up her arms to twine their fingers into fists. She wondered if his
eyes
were closed, if he dared look through the glass to the gallerylike room below. Then she simply wondered when he would move. She sighed in relief when he did.

"Tell me when you need me to rub you," he said. "I'd like to warm you up a bit before you come."

She was warm already, but not crazy enough to rush. He felt too good pushing steadily in and out, growing harder by the second. He almost made her climax from that, seeming to know exactly where she was sensitive. Before he'd always been a little out of control. Now his experience was on display. When he finally did help her over with his hand, her orgasm was explosive.

He held her up for it, tilting her perfectly against his hips.

"Good," he praised next to her ear. "Let's see if you can't do that once or twice more."

He had a surprise to ensure it. He released his hold on the softness between her legs, fumbled in the breast pocket of his discarded shirt, then brought his hand back with what felt like flexible rubber thimbles covering each of his fingertips.

"What—" she had time to say just as the thimbles began to buzz. Then she couldn't speak at all.

"Battery-powered massage aid," he said, amusement warming his voice. "B.G.'s friends at Scarlet Creations want to call it the Handy Kit."

"Um," she said, arching her back uncontrollably as he slid his fingers into a different, even more effective position. That he was inside her at the same time, rigid and throbbing, perfected the sensations.

He chuckled at her reaction, finding all her good spots—the ones that liked a light touch and the ones that liked a hard press—each buzzing finger spreading the pleasure until she had to cry out with the sweet, building sharpness. It broke in what felt like handfuls of orgasms all at once.

"Your turn," she slurred in the boneless aftermath. "I swear I'm relaxed enough."

He pulled out and switched condoms, the second noticeably thicker than the first. Despite her lassitude, she was able to crane her head just far enough to watch him lube up.

"I love that," she said in sleepy enjoyment. "Someday you'll have to let me watch you jack off. Maybe you could use that Handy Kit on yourself."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, the words arousingly tight. "And maybe you'll return the favor for me."

She'd prepared herself to tolerate what he did next. This particular pleasure seemed better suited to men. All the same, when his well-oiled thumbs found a set of nerves she hadn't known she'd had, she couldn't help but jerk.

Her body was suddenly a lot more eager than she'd expected.

"Everything all right?" he asked.

"Um, yes," she said, wriggling a little. "That feels good."

He heard her surprise, and it made him laugh. "You haven't done this before, have you?"

She shook her head and bit her lip.

"I'm glad." He leaned closer. "They say women remember all their first times."

She didn't think she could forget anything he did, but the way he groaned when he eased inside was memorable. He seemed bigger this way. Harder. The pressure was strange for a moment, but it quickly turned interesting. Once he was fully in, the tremors that went through him felt electric. He was so worked up, he had to stop for a bit.

"This will be slow," he warned. "I want to be certain you aren't hurt."

She saw little danger of that, not with his caution. Each stroke was a slow journey, one that spread and multiplied the sensations that gripped her sex. Her craving for an orgasm was soon frighteningly strong.

"Touch me," she said, fumbling for his hand. "Put your fingers inside me."

She didn't want the toy that time, just his naked touch. Seeming to know this, he slid two fingers into her as gently as he thrust. His care couldn't save her from her emotions.

Without warning, she was overwhelmed. It was as if he
owned
her now, as if she'd given him possession of more than her body. He lifted her backward as she shook, tipping her up until she sat on his lap. His second hand came around her to cup her breast.

She couldn't speak; she could only gasp for breath as he pushed into her from both sides. His thumb caught her clitoris beneath its pad. Pleasure streaked up her nerves.

"That's it," he said, feeling her quiver. "Be sweet for me. Be wet. I've wanted you so bad, Charity. Oh, God, you feel good."

She climaxed beneath his hand, her cry coming out a sob. As long as he'd waited, this was too much for Eric. He didn't even have to thrust again. She felt him swell inside her and then he went over, too. His pleasure was hard and long, nearly silent but intense. When it finished, he took a minute to loosen his grip. Unfortunately for her, the end of their lovemaking didn't stop her hormonal storm.

"Don't cry," he crooned, pulling out of her and turning her around. "It's all right, sweetheart. It's all right."

Embarrassed, she dragged the back of her hand across her cheek. "Sorry. I don't know why I'm being a drip."

"Because trusting me to do this is a big deal."

"I liked it," she admitted.

He laughed and kissed the next tear away. "I know you liked it. I was there. I'm very grateful and very glad."

She played with one of the curls matted on his chest. "You made it easy. You were nice."

"You're easy to be nice to."

His words fell sweetly on her ear, maybe too sweetly. Rather than steal a glance at his expression, she let her fingers drift down his midsection. "There's still two condoms left."

"So there are." He bent to nuzzle her neck. "What do you say we find a shower and see how well they work wet?"

She nodded, happy but shy. Now that she could ask for anything, she found it strangely difficult to speak. She hesitated, then plunged ahead. "We could see if B.G.'s shower is available."

"We could," he agreed.

From the warmth of his expression, she sensed she'd suggested the perfect thing.

The
next two weeks were the closest thing to heaven Charity had ever known. What worries she might have had failed to gain the slightest grip on her mind. Did Eric care for her beyond a temporary fondness?

Would he want her in his life once she returned to her own? And what did it say about her character that she was increasingly drawn to B.G.?

These questions seemed unimportant in the face of having two strong, sexy men cater to her erotic whims. Her memories alone would supply her fantasies for years. It might not be enlightened to admit, but one halfway decent lover boosted a girl's ego. A pair of really good ones shot hers into the stratosphere. Between the two of them, she felt wonderfully spoiled and wonderfully motivated to spoil them back.

This, she thought, was a glimpse of the very best she could be. She was holding her own with them in bed and out—as if B.G.'s magic wand had been waved over her brain. She'd never be as smart as him but, for the moment, she felt smart enough.

With that rarity to buoy her, nothing could dampen her high spirits, not even the realization that she was recklessly close to falling in love with both men. She was simply too happy to count the potential cost.

By the end of the second week, she was grinning everywhere she went, her body as sleek and relaxed as frequent lovemaking could make it. Her thoughts were relaxed, too. The more she practiced B.G.'s eccentric brand of positive thinking, the more it changed her mood—until she felt very pleasantly unflappable. She was beginning to hope she'd put her ghost-phobia behind her.

"I am a quantum sex kitten," she teased herself, tossing an apple she'd nabbed from Mrs. Alvarez. "I am a hot little bundle of happy things."

On the final toss, the fruit bounced off her fingertips. She'd been walking down the corridor to her room, weighing the possible benefits of a pre-dinner nap—an important consideration when so few nights were taken up by sleep. When her snack rolled to a stop at the door to B.G.'s romance library, she realized she might kick off her rest with some light reading.

Who knew what new fantasies she might pick up? It seemed smart to have a few stockpiled with the chance for their fulfillment so close at hand.

She bent to scoop up her apple, then opened the door. The possibility of finding someone inside was the furthest thing from her mind. As a result, when the figure at the window turned, it nearly stopped her heart.

"B.G.!" she exclaimed, her hand to her throat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude."

"You're not." Before she could withdraw, he pulled one ice-cream-parlor chair out from under a lace-draped table. "I was thinking of having tea."

Because he obviously meant her to take the seat, she did. "Tea sounds nice."

"And biscotti," he mused, sitting opposite. He didn't move to call for either, merely smiled at her in his gently interested way. Charity fought a twinge of awkwardness. Despite all she'd done with Eric and B.G., she hadn't spent much time with her host alone. He seemed comfortable among the room's frills, not less masculine but oblivious to any threat to his identity.

Scrounging for conversation, she nodded at the colorful paperbacks on the shelves. "Do you read these books?"

"Occasionally." He stroked the tablecloth idly. "I like having a window into women's minds."

"I guess you're not a serious romantic then."

He shrugged one lean shoulder. "More serious than some. Less serious than others."

Charity laughed. "There's a nice, committed answer."

He propped his chin on his hand, a rueful slant entering his smile. "I thought you'd have noticed by now that commitment isn't my middle name."

"You sure? Because you seem pretty committed to your work, not to mention loyal to your friends."

"That's a different species of commitment than women write about in these books."

"Well, I admit I haven't read them all, but from what I have read, I suspect their idea of commitment isn't all that far off from yours. You never know, you might find a happily ever after someday yourself."

B.G. shuddered comically, as if to say,
God forbid
. Since his eyes were sad, she let the matter drop.