Good Girls Don't (19 page)
“It isn’t the first time I’ve given you roses.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said. “I swear I don’t. But I can’t do it. It seemed wonderful, having a week of phenomenal sex with the most incredible guy in the world, but I don’t think I’m cut out for it anymore. Or at least not with you. At the end of the week, it’ll be time for me to go back, and it’ll be over. I’m getting too attached, Bill. And when it ends, it’ll kill me. In all honesty, the more I’m with you now, the more it’ll hurt. I—I guess I’m wanting more than sex.”
She expected him to remind her she’d known from the beginning what this was. A week of fun while she “visited” Atlanta. Old friends connecting again, and in the process, fulfilling their basic physical needs.
Nothing more, nothing less.
What she hadn’t expected was Bill Brannon, crossing the room to kneel in front of her, taking her hands in his and saying the words she longed to hear.
“I want more too, Lettie. And I want it with you.”
Her lips trembled, eyes watered. What exactly was he saying? “You’re sure?”
“I know we have a lot to discuss. The distance factor, your job, my job, what we would be willing to do to make this thing work. But I’m willing to work on those things if you are. Tonight, I’d planned to try to show you, tell you, how special you still are to me. But I botched it by letting the date move back to sex again. Honestly, Lettie, I’ve wanted you for so long, cared about you for so long, I couldn’t resist if I tried.”
A warm tear trickled down her cheek. “I’ve wanted you too.”
“Tomorrow, let’s spend the entire night together, at my place. I’ll cook, we’ll talk, learn about each other again, beyond the way we can set sheets aflame.”
She smiled, and the movement pushed a few more tears over the edge. “We haven’t actually made it to any sheets yet,” she reminded.
His laugh was low and easy. “Tell you what. Let’s change that tonight.”
Lettie tilted her head, wondering if he’d changed his mind about moving beyond sex.
“Not what you think,” he clarified. “Let me sleep with you, hold you while you dream.”
“Nothing more?” she asked, not completely certain that was what she wanted, but intrigued by the thought of spending an entire night merely sleeping in his arms.
“Unless you change your mind. Then, of course, I’m happy to oblige.”
Bill watched the first golden rays of morning spill into Lettie’s bedroom. The light moved along the sheets, emphasizing a long leg she’d uncovered during the night and playing with the highlights in her hair. He leaned up on an elbow and watched her sleep. She was beautiful, and she was his.
Finally.
She snuggled against him, creating a perfect fit. A perfect bond.
“I guess I’m wanting more than sex.”
More than three words this time, but they’d packed a wallop. Hell, he’d nearly blown it. By trying to prove he could be more than a friend, he’d led her to conclude that he only wanted her body. And she had decided she needed more.
Thank God.
Tonight, he’d make every effort humanly possible to pay attention to her heart. Now that he knew that’s what she wanted as well, he believed he could pull it off. And then, when she saw he was smitten by the whole package—the friend he’d known for years and the lover he was still getting to know—they could move forward. To more heated nights
and
more commitment.
Lettie twisted in the sheet, scooted against him and mumbled something incoherent.
His dick, in typical sleeping-next-to-a-naked-woman mode, translated her murmur as an invitation and pushed against her leg.
Fluttering her eyes open, she gave him a slow, sleepy smile. “I thought you said we were just going to sleep.”
“I did, and I meant it.”
Her leg moved against his hard cock. “Then what’s this?”
He smiled, shrugged. “A wish?”
She laughed, snuggled closer and moved a hand between them to curl around his length. “Mighty big wish.”
“Lettie,” he said, warning. “I really want to prove it isn’t just sex.”
With a look of pure seduction, she pulled her hand to the end of his erection, swirled a finger around the tip. Then she brought it to her mouth and licked the moisture away. “I know, but . . .”
“But?” he asked, his voice tense under the strain of his need.
“But I really need to come.” She stretched in the bed and the sheet skittered below her pink-tipped breasts. “I mean, I can take care of it myself, in the shower, but—”
“Not while I’m here, you won’t.” He rolled over, spotted the single pink rose with its surplus of soft petals. “Perfect,” he said, withdrawing the flower from the vase. Then he leaned toward the floor and withdrew a handkerchief from his pants pocket.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice still sleep-sexy.
“I’m doing what any man worth his salt would do in this situation.”
“Which is?” she asked, raising up on her elbows and staring at the items in his hands.
“I’m going to make you come.”
“Just me? You’re not going to?” she asked, looking extremely skeptical.
“No, I’m not. Until you see I want more than my own gratification from this relationship,” he said, tying the handkerchief around her head, “I’m not going to indulge. But, you do realize, I don’t expect it to take long for you to see my intentions are good.”
She smiled and settled back on the pillow with the blindfold in place. “In other words, I shouldn’t wait too long to figure it out.”
“Hell, I hope not.”
Her laugh teased his senses, made him smile and almost—almost—made him forget his straining dick. No doubt, the drive back home to get dressed for work would be hell. And his own morning shower would be frigid.
“I—”
Bill waited. One word, but he’d known where it was heading. She was nearly there, nearly ready to say what he longed to hear. But she’d stopped.
“Yes?” he asked.
“I . . . can’t wait.”
“Neither can I,” he admitted, though what he waited for went well beyond the climax she was about to experience.
Well beyond.
Grabbing the top edge of the sheet, he slid it slowly down her body, making certain to touch every curve, every indention, every nuance making up the perfection of Lettie Campbell.
She shivered when it hit the floor and moved her hands to her stomach.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“A little.”
“Then I’ll make sure to get you good and warm.” He moved up the bed.
“I’m counting on it.” Her hands fisted, then slowly opened again.
Bill watched them, practically shaking on her flat abdomen, and he knew what they longed to do. Placing the rose on the side of the bed, he took her hands in his and slid them upward, until her fingertips touched her nipples. “Go ahead.”
She bit her lip. “I want
you
to touch me. I’ve always had to help things along. This time, I want it to be you. Just you.”
He’d misread the signal, and he couldn’t be more pleased. No one else had been able to get her there without her help?
Good to know. Because not only would he get her there on his own, but he wouldn’t lay one finger on her until she climaxed. As long as Lettie’s body was indeed as responsive as he believed. He’d felt her responsiveness, knew how strong her sensuality was. With the blindfold increasing her awareness of every touch, he had no doubt he’d get the job done.
And get it done right.
“Okay.” Taking her wrists, he slid her hands away and placed them at her side. “Hold on to the sheet, and whatever you do, don’t move your hands. I don’t need your help to get you exactly where you need to be.”
A slight smile played with her lips as she gripped the sheet in her fists.
Bill held the rose directly above her face, waited until he saw her inhale its sweet scent.
“I love roses,” she whispered.
“I know.” He lowered the soft petals to her forehead, eased them across the top of the blindfold.
She sucked air through her teeth as the flower crossed one cheek, skimmed the bridge of her nose, then moved to the other cheek. Bill twirled the stem as he passed over her mouth, letting each opened petal tease her lips.
“I’ll do that again,” he promised as her hands tightened their grip on the sheet. “But lower.”
Nodding, Lettie licked her lips as the petals continued down her slender neck, then to one ear, teasing the sensitive shell before venturing to the other side to do the same.
Her breath came in short, urgent gasps, and her breasts urged upward with each inhalation.
Bill slid the rose to one breast, covering her areola completely with the full bloom. It was beautiful, the full breast, rising and falling beneath a cascade of pink petals.
He shifted on the bed and totally believed his dick was ready to explode on its own accord. Gritting his teeth, he battled his worthiest opponent and, amazingly, kept from climbing on top of her and letting his dominant extremity have its way.
“Bill?” she panted as the rose settled on the opposite breast.
“Yeah.”
“Have. To. Come.”
Not one to disobey a direct order, particularly when it came from Lettie, he trailed the petals down her quivering stomach, watching her abdomen dip inward as he passed.
“Spread your legs.”
She moaned, an urgent sound from deep in her throat, and spread those perfect long limbs. Opened her delicate center like the petals currently caressing her thigh.
He inhaled the intimate scent of her essence, sweet and alluring.
“Please.” She inched her legs even wider and tipped her hips in palpable invitation.
Bill brought the head of the rose to her wet opening, twirled the stem and watched the petals moisten.
Her fingers opened, then grabbed tighter to the sheet. “I’m—close.”
He continued to twirl the petals, teasing her sensitive folds, then easing it toward her swollen pink bud. “Tell me what you feel.”
She thrashed her head back and forth on the pillow, her blond waves tousling around the white handkerchief. “I can’t.”
Bill watched her try to hold back on her impending climax. She was fighting it, trying to make the moment last.
“Do you want me to tell you?” he asked, more than eager to help intensify the sensation by talking her through the culmination.
“Yes,” she said, her hips pumping against the petals now, her core dripping, so very close to bursting free.
This would be the toughest thing he’d ever done, no doubt. Talking her through what would possibly be her strongest climax ever—without touching her physically. Without giving into his needs.
Sweat beaded on his brow, above his lip, but he swallowed through it. Taking a deep breath, he proceeded to drive the woman he loved—and he did love her—over the edge.
“You feel soft, velvet petals, dampened from your sweet juices, teasing your most intimate flesh,” he said, taking the rose from her clit and sliding it along her labia. He put pressure on the stem when he reached her vulva, allowing the petals to graze inside; then he turned the stem.
She inhaled, then held her breath through the sweet invasion.
“Now the petals are teasing you, coming inside, but not nearly enough to reach that burning spot, the one you let me find, the one that sends your body soaring. You want to be touched there so badly, it hurts. And yet, the petals continue to twirl, teasing and edging you closer. Closer, but not nearly close enough.”
She licked her lips, moved her head again from one side to the other.
“But there’s another spot, isn’t there, Lettie? One that will get you there. And one that’s totally open, completely visible to me while I look at you. Every part of you. Beautiful and hot and wet. You are hot. And wet. Aren’t you, Lettie?”
She nodded, capturing her lower lip with her teeth.
“Now you’re waiting, because you know I won’t let you down. And you feel the petals easing their way back to that spot, the one you know will take you where you want to go. The rose is there now, and you feel it. Every damp petal.” He flicked the head of the flower over her clit, slowly, then quicker, then faster still. “It’s pulling at your core—that mad, pulsing rush, that urge to set it free and let everything go. Spiraling from your most intimate center, pushing outward, screaming for release.”
And as the rose petals continued to flick and twirl and tease, Lettie did exactly that. Her scream echoed through the room as her body convulsed and her release drenched the sheets.
I
thought that kind of thing only happened in romance novels or B-grade movies—” Cassie said, her eyes popping at Lettie’s confession.
“Excuse me,” Amy interrupted, “but any kind of morning orgasm qualifies as an A-plus movie in my book. I mean, really, Lettie? He got you off with a
flower
?”
Lettie was seriously rethinking her decision to invite Amy to join them for their daily lunch gossip. Particularly since her sister had more than her share of cheerleader spirit left over from high school, and her voice carried pretty dang far. But Amy had voluntarily manned Lettie’s phones last night, and had willingly offered to return them at lunch. Now Lettie realized Amy wasn’t here solely to return the phones. She wanted the scoop.
“Wait a minute,” Lettie said. “Can you repeat that, please? I think someone at Turner Field actually didn’t hear you.”
Amy casually removed her jacket and hung it on the chair. Then she popped a chip in her mouth and grinned, thoroughly pleased with every customer’s attention zeroed in on her sister. She gave a little one-arm shrug, and the tiny straps of her layered tank tops, one lime green and the other fuchsia, slipped off her shoulder. With a flick of a finger, she tugged them back in place.
Even in a black pantsuit, Amy still pulled off the sexual presence associated with a sex toy designer. “You should be proud, sis. Shouting from the rooftops, even. Heck, Jeff never pulled it off with his own equipment, did he? And Bill did it with a flower?” Marveling, she tossed two more chips. “Heck, I may have to come up with a petal-tipped vibrator.”
“I’d buy it,” Cass chimed in, almost before the words left Amy’s mouth.
