Move Me (11 page)

Wanting to discover how aroused she could
get, Dubhghall slipped his thumbs into her.

“Oh God,” she groaned, her hands clutching at
his hair. She was forgetting her inhibitions, urging him on with
increasingly wild motions.

Loving that, he sucked her clit with more
energy. The sweet spot on the front wall of her vagina swelled
beneath the gently pressing pads of his thumbs. Her groans morphed
into a strangled snarl, her hips very close to humping his mouth.
He gave her G-spot a teeny bit more pressure.

“John,” she cried, high and thin.

His thumbs were tingling. Evidently, his
senses thought her sweet spot was a treasure too. He licked her
little rod with the point of his tongue, determined to ignore his
annoyance that she’d called out the name of another man.

“Please,” she groaned, her head thrashing on
the pillow. “Oh my G-od.”

He licked lightly up her clit again.

He wasn’t exerting sufficient pressure to
make her come, though she did tremble on the verge. Her
surprisingly strong thighs tightened on his ears. Dubhghall’s blood
roared under them like the sea.

“All right,” she gasped. “I’ll give you
anything you want. Please stop torturing me.”

The air rippled palpably - or palpably to
him. She’d satisfied the conditions to seal their deal. He’d earned
the prize he wanted. He should have been elated. Instead, he felt
surly enough to smash something. Because Belle’s orgasm was the
closest item, he smashed it.

A scream tore from her as he sucked her clit
in an inhumanly quick rhythm. The strength he used was as hard as
he’d have employed on a fae. He knew it didn’t hurt her. Her spine
bowed off the bed, the brief scream stopping so she could gulp for
air. Judging his timing to cool perfection, he depressed the
vulnerable engorgement of her G-spot.

This time she wailed when she came, fluid
spurting from her as she lost herself in the throes. Her sheath
contracted so strongly on his thumbs he wasn’t certain he could
have pulled them out, even if he’d wanted to.

Grimly pleased, he milked her climax to the
last tremor. Her enjoyment had a predictable effect on him. Stone
hard, he released her hips, his cock shaking and aching with the
immensity of his lust. He couldn’t recall desiring a woman this
ferociously before.

He was pretty sure he resented it.

Whatever his emotions, they showed on his
face.

“Phew,” Belle said, opening dazed eyes. Her
expression changed as she got a look at him.

“Hey,” she said so softly her voice was a
caress. “Come here, you. Let me hold onto you.”

He didn’t know how she’d interpreted his
reaction. No doubt she’d come up with an explanation that made
sense for poor abandoned John Feeney.

He sank into her arms anyway, letting her pet
him and stroke his hair.

“I don’t know you well enough to guess what’s
going on with you,” she said, “but I’m pretty sure your ex-wife was
an idiot.”

Dubhghall dug his arms underneath her until
they were hugging each other. Despite his agonizing arousal, at
that moment, holding her while she held him was all he wanted in
the world.

“Sweet man,” she crooned, the tiniest hint of
a laugh in it. “Don’t you know you’re a genius-and-a-half in
bed?”

She made him chuckle, which eased some of his
anger. “You bring the genius out in me,” he mumbled into her long
hair.

“Hah,” she said. “Me and the thousand other
girls you’ve told that.”

But Dubhghall was fae and could lie least of
all to himself. Because of this, he knew she was his true
inspirer.

~

Belle liked holding John, liked his weight
and his solid muscles and the unexpectedly frantic pulse of his
erection against her thigh. How could he snuggle her this sweetly
when he was that aroused? Did he think she wasn’t ready for more?
Was he being extra considerate because he really did have a crush
on her?

“I saved your second condom,” she said, her
voice fuzzy with pleasure. “It’s in the nightstand drawer if you
want it. I’ve never heard of
Tiger!
brand. Is it good?”

“Mmph,” John said against her breast, his
arms not loosening their hold on her.

Because he wasn’t moving, Belle squirmed
upward to sit. His cheek was turned sideways on her thigh then, his
arms hugging her knees like she was a child’s stuffed toy. Belle
smiled even as her view of his muscular back and rear stole her
breath. It really wasn’t fair that he was cute
and
stunning.

Reluctant to dislodge him, she twisted around
to open the nightstand drawer.

Something funny happened to her perceptions.
The drawer began sliding out as she pulled, making the scraping
noise old drawers do, and suddenly John’s weight was simply gone
from her. Between one blink and another, he’d moved from clinging
to her legs to standing beside the bed with his hand slapped around
her wrist to stop her.

He couldn’t have moved as fast as he’d
appeared to. Belle’s brain must have been addled by her orgasm.

“I’ll get the condom,” he said.

His cheeks had flushed a red she’d never seen
on them before. Belle gaped at him a second before her mind resumed
clicking.

“You don’t want me to read the note. You
don’t want me to know what I promised to pay you.”

His face grew stormy but no less flushed. “We
can deal with that later. We haven’t finished what we started
here.”

She supposed they hadn’t. His cock thrust
thick and high from his groin, that crazy pulse she’d felt on her
thigh making it wag mesmerizingly. Experiencing a need to calm him,
Belle stroked his hip and looked up into his eyes. “All right, but
-”

The front doorbell rang. John cursed in a
language she didn’t recognize.

Deciding this was a sign they needed to take
a breather, Belle swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I’m
sure it’s Susi. I left a message for her earlier.”

She found her sweatpants where he’d flung
them across the floor.

“You don’t have to answer,” he said.

His arms were crossed. To her dismay, she saw
her sweatshirt lying next to him on the bed. Mightily aroused and
gleaming like a gladiator, he was too sexy in his anger to risk
more proximity. Never mind his control, Belle didn’t trust her own.
Her sex quivered at the sight of him, urging her to attack. She
yanked a fresh T-shirt from the bureau as the bell rang again.

“I do have to answer the door,” she said,
dressing awkwardly. “Susi is my only real friend in Kingaken.”

John sat stubbornly on her bed, his
formidable biceps still bulging, his scrumptious erection doing its
best to impersonate a flagpole. “I’ll wait here for you to come
back.”

Belle’s knee-jerk reaction was to say
screw you
and kick him out. She restrained herself by a
hair. Obnoxious though he was being, something in him called to
her. He was wounded and moody and weird as all get out, but if
there weren’t more to him than that, she wouldn’t be feeling this
connection. One of her New York friends liked to say every girl-pot
had a boy-lid.

God help her, but John Feeney might be
hers.

“Suit yourself,” she said with less temper
than she usually would have shown. “But if it turns out there’s
pie, don’t expect me to rush.”

~

Susi had brought two pies and a chilled box
of chardonnay. She displayed them proudly when Belle opened the
door.

“Peach and apple,” she said, beaming the same
as if she hadn’t been kept waiting for five minutes. One of Susi’s
best traits was her slowness to anger. “The apple pie is Mom’s
classic, but the peach is her latest recipe. It’s fabtastic, I
promise you.”

Disarmed by her guest’s bubbly humor, Belle
stepped back and let her in.

“Kitchen?” Susi said, already headed there.
“I know the old freak didn’t have a microwave. He complained often
enough about me selling those soups you heat up in one - as if no
one should be allowed to buy them! Never tipped our boy Jaime when
he drove the deliveries out here either. I’d have cut the old coot
off if I hadn’t worried he’d starve.”

This was prattled good naturedly. Belle hoped
her uncle’s ghost wasn’t lingering invisibly. The last thing she
wanted was for him to apparition or whatever around her friend.
Blithely unaware that Uncle Lucky might take offense, Susi set her
offerings on the kitchen table, then shrugged off her wool coat and
draped it over a chair. Arms free, she looked around the place like
a general taking stock of a country she planned to invade. “We’ll
warm these in the oven.”

Strategy set, she turned back to Belle.

“Hey, girlfriend,” she said, pulling her into
a hug Belle found more comforting than she expected. Sleeping with
John must have left her shaky. After a too-short embrace, Susi
pushed back with a clucking sound. “Omigosh, you smell good! You’ve
got to tell me what perfume you’re wearing. I could totally make
Hank crazy next date night.”

Belle wasn’t wearing perfume. She was wearing
John Feeney’s sweat - and her own, of course. “Um, maybe it’s my
shampoo.”

“Your shampoo,” Susi scoffed. “Fine. Keep
your fancy New York secrets.”

“I’ll get plates and glasses,” she said, not
wanting Susi to spy her blush. She was happy to see her friend, but
unsure she wanted to explain the John Feeney situation. She
wondered how long she could count on him to stay upstairs.

As she searched cabinets for wineglasses,
Susi bustled around with her own agenda, turning on the oven,
opening the seal on the bargain brand chardonnay. “Sorry I didn’t
answer your call earlier. Jaime got into a fistfight at school, and
I had to reassure the teacher his butt really would be tanned -
after which I had to reassure Jaime I understood his position even
if I was grounding him.”

“Sure,” Belle said, handing Susi two juice
glasses for the wine, since her uncle seemed to have nothing
fancier. “I understand. Actually, I ... I wasn’t certain you really
wanted to strike things up again.”

Susi let up on the wine box spigot and shot
her a surprised look. “You’re kidding, right? Don’t you think I
remember how fun it was to be friends with you?”

Had it been fun? Belle’s memories of her
childhood were overshadowed by Danny’s disappearance, making it
hard to be objective. “It
has
been a long time. And I never
did answer your letters.”

“Forget it.” Susi plunked a half full juice
glass in front the chair nearest Belle, taking the one with her
coat on it for herself. “You’re stuck with me as a BFF no matter
what you do.”

Belle sat and sipped, meaning to hide her
eyes. Susi saw they’d welled up anyway.

“Oh honey,” she said, covering Belle’s hand
like the mom she’d become. “I know it’s hard for you to be back
here.”

Naturally, Susi’s kindness made the tears
overflow. “I’m okay. I just ... I think I have a bad crush on John
Feeney.”

For once, her friend was struck speechless.
Susi sat back and gaped at her.

“I know,” Belle said, drying her cheeks with
her palms. “Having a crush is so high school. And believe me, it
hasn’t escaped my notice what an odd duck he is.”

“Odder than you know,” Susi said, her voice a
little strangled when she found it.

“He
is
good at his job,” Belle said,
unsure if she was defending John or her own poor judgment. “He’s
gotten a lot accomplished these last two days. I know his home
situation is ... delicate, but at least he’s divorced.”

“Belle,” Susi said in the tone women use when
they’re about to break bad news. Belle’s heart went cold in her
chest.

“Oh God, he didn’t lie about that, did he? He
isn’t still married?”

Susi put her second hand on top of Belle’s.
“John Feeney left town first thing in the morning the day after you
arrived. I know this because he bought car snacks on his way out.
He said he had a sudden urge to visit his brother in Utah.”

Belle blinked. This wasn’t what she’d thought
Susi was going to tell her. “He must have come back.”

“Not that I’ve heard. Besides which -” Susi
hesitated. “Belle, unless your tastes are broader than I’m giving
you credit for, you don’t have a crush on John Feeney. The wife who
left him was a good bit younger. He’s in his late sixties.”

“Late sixties?”

The John Feeney she knew was right around her
age, but Susi’s emphatic nod said there could be no mistake. Belle
looked up at the ceiling. She understood how the three bears felt.
Who the hell had been sleeping in her bed?

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice echoing
hollowly in her ears. “I need to go upstairs for a few
minutes.”

DUBHGHALL
rubbed his breastbone, no
longer able to deny the reason it was aching.

“I’m not imagining it,” he announced to the
empty room. “I’m in love with Belle Hobart.”

The soreness in his chest wasn’t joined by
one in his head, giving him the only validation of truth fae
required. He loved Belle. He wanted to marry her.

He covered his face and groaned. Faeries had
dalliances with humans. They didn’t give their hearts to them. He
had everything he needed to return home safely. He should go now,
before Belle came back upstairs. She was, that very moment,
speaking to a woman who knew the real John Feeney. Every minute he
delayed increased his risk of discovery, and he wasn’t a fan of
awkwardness. Climbing out a window before Belle confronted him was
the smartest course of action.

In his mind, he saw her reactions when he’d
prevented her from opening the nightstand drawer: confusion,
suspicion, hurt that he’d hide things from her. She’d fallen for
him as surely as he had for her, and probably as reluctantly.

His mother liked to say every girl-flower had
its boy-bee. She was the only fae he’d ever heard make the claim.
Their kind didn’t have many romantics.