Nightfall (9 page)

“Not afraid. Not restful.” She laughed, the sound tangled up in her throat with a sigh. “Somewhere in between.”

“How do you want to feel?”

It was such an obvious question, but she found she hadn’t thought about it. Not in a very long time. She took a moment to examine her body, her heart, the shivers that were running through her at the heat of his mouth as he taunted her through her silk blouse. “I want— I want to feel wild. I want to feel free.”

“Do you push for it? When I was touching you before, when you were grinding into my thigh.” His words brought back the sensation, the flurry of hot need that had been surging through her core back in the other room, and her back arched, pressing her against him. “Did you feel like you had to hurry, you had to come before I got sick of waiting for you?”

“Yes,” she sighed, even though she hadn’t known it until the whisper of sound escaped her lips.

“Can I offer you a piece of advice?” he asked.

“As long as you keep doing that to my nipples,” she sighed, shifting under him again, heat starting to climb through her body again. “You can offer me anything you want.”

“Don’t reach. I’m not going to get tired of waiting. I love being with a woman who is enjoying herself. The longer you take, the more I get to touch you, the more I get to watch you, the more I get to enjoy you. There are no rules, no time limits.”

“I have to get to work in the morning,” she said, hearing an edge of whimper slipping into her tone as she shifted against him again.

“Other than that,” he amended. His hand left her face and he kissed her deeply, but there was no urgency, no push. She was free to float in the sensation, the wash of emotion and sensation that was splashing through her. It was more delicate than anything she’d ever felt before. More tenuous. But the slow and easy motion of his tongue over hers, tracing her lips, then moving along her jaw to tease at her earlobe, somehow told her that he was true to his word; he had no intention of stopping any time soon.

“If you’d like,” he said as she twisted under him again, soaked with the waves of excitement that were washing over and through her. “We could move to the bedroom. It’s more comfortable. But if you’re more comfortable here—”

“No,” she said. “That’s better. I want to stretch out under you.” This time her thigh came into contact with him, long and thick and hard in his jeans, and he groaned, his mouth locking onto hers with more force this time. Only for a moment, only briefly, but the intensity and unbridled lust in his kiss in that moment left her crying out, clinging to him.

“Bedroom,” he said, his voice filled with a growl. He stood, holding a hand out to her, and led her through the house.

They walked up the flight of stairs at the center of the house. The house was impeccably clean, not a hint of dust on a picture frame or a cobweb in a corner. It added to the sense, somehow, that no one had lived here in a very long time. It felt more like a museum than a home.

When he opened the door to the bedroom, though, that feeling vanished. Here was the place where he lived, even if it had been only for a day. The sheets on the bed were rumpled, tangled, as if he had come back here, and then slept poorly. There were clothes in a dresser, the top drawer partially opened, and clothing in disarray. “Do you keep a wardrobe in all your houses?” She asked, her tone light.

His answer surprised her. “Yes. Nothing fancy, of course, just a few changes. Jeans, shirts, necessities.” He said this like his response was completely normal.

“How many houses do you have?”

He shrugged. “My family has traveled over the years. I travel as well. For business. It’s easier than hotel arrangements.”

“No one has lived here as long as I’ve been in Sweetwater. The house has just… sat empty.”

Julian’s gaze sharpened somewhat. “It’s been many years between visits, yes.”

“You weren’t here before your— rock climbing adventure.” She crossed her arms under her breasts and shook her head. “I would have known if the house had been opened. Someone in town would have known, and I know everyone in town.”

“People tell you things, I take it?”

“I have one of those sorts of faces.”

“You do,” he said, smiling. “I’m sorry that I can’t explain in detail. Please believe me when I say that it’s for your safety, no matter how odd it seems.”

He stayed where he was, and she didn’t uncross her arms. “Are you some kind of secret agent? FBI? CIA? S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

The serious expression that had covered his face cracked, and he laughed too hard. “No. No, not at all.” A moment of silence, considering, and then he drew closer to her, running his hands down her arms. “Well, actually, not entirely unlike that. Not for a government, and not in the capacity that you’re thinking. But talking about it— it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

She laughed, something easy and quiet slipping through her body. “So if you tell me, you’ll have to kill me, that’s what you’re saying?”

He rolled his eyes and moved towards her, fast as running water and twice as smooth. He kissed her, his mouth teasing over hers again, and she relaxed into the kiss, letting her fingers slip up his arms, pushing up the sleeves of his T-shirt, then tighten a little so that she could drag her nails ever so lightly over his skin.

He sighed, and then, between one blink and another, her vision was darkened. She felt fabric fall over her eyelids. It was lightweight, but when she tried to look through the darkness, she didn’t see a thing. It tightened behind her head as he knotted it in place. “All right?”

She let herself take stock for a moment, surveying the extreme pace of her heartbeat, the way her breath had climbed up high in her chest, and the way her fingers were tingling with energy, so much so that she wondered if she’d see it sparkling between her fingertips, if she held them up to her eyes. “Yes,” she said.

“The bed is just behind you. Take two steps back, and you’ll be at the edge.” There was a command in his voice. It was odd to move when she couldn’t see, to trust that the floor would be there when her foot reached for it. But it was, and when the back of her knees hit the bed, she sat. “Shame you’re wearing jeans,” he said. His fingers traced from her collarbone down to the top of her breast, and she shivered. The contact was so intense when it was just his fingertip, just that one point of contact, with no context or warning. “I think we should get rid of those. What do you think?” His voice stroked the inside of her thighs, tracing up towards her wet center.

“Yes,” she whimpered. Her hips shifting again. “Yes.”

“Lay down,” he said. “Put your hands above your head. Clasp your hands.”

His tone was so calmly definitive that she followed his instructions without much question. She put her hands behind her head, clasping her hands as if she was praying, and then laid down on her back.

It felt like he was standing over her. It felt like the bed shifted, but she couldn’t tell in which direction. Was he kneeling over her, or resting on his elbows near her head, or—there was no way to tell.

She waited for panic to rise through her, to feel the thrill of the unknown, but instead, she found a quiet, restful silence. She wasn’t in charge. It was okay for her to peacefully, quietly wait for him. It was a relief.

His fingers, just his fingers, traced down her body, from the tips of her breasts—he swirled her shirt around her nipples without ever touching them—following a path over her ribs and down to her navel. His fingers danced around her skin for a moment, dragging her shirt up out of the way of her belly button, riding the edge of tickling her and making her giggle. She sighed in contentment, and then felt his fingers dip below her waistband. Giggling wasn’t anywhere on the menu.

It took him approximately forever to undo the button on her jeans, to drag the zipper down tooth by tooth. He kept taking time to find her skin again, to reconnect to her. He didn’t say anything, but just his touch was reassuring, delicate, and careful. She felt pleasure washing through her, but for the first time, she saw what he meant about not reaching for it—about just letting it be.

Perhaps he saw the understanding and the relaxation in the lines of her body; his movements became quicker, more directed. He tugged at the waistband of her jeans, and she lifted her hips just a little to let him pull them off. His fingers traced over her thighs, and then, more firmly, dug into the flesh of her body in a way that made her hiss and sigh. She could hear small sounds from him, in time with her own. His fingers moved to her inner thighs, dragging down from the vee covered by her panties to her knees, over and over, with such force and such speed that it was completely unexpected when her pussy was covered by hot warm heat. She gasped as he breathed over her, inhaling her deeply and then exhaling. When her body bucked, his mouth was there to meet her, tonguing her forcefully through the cotton lace. She murmured sounds that were supposed to be words as he slipped his shoulders under her knees, tipping her hips up to meet his mouth. His teeth skimmed over her, worrying delicately at her clit. The sensations were roiling through her now, faster and harder, and she felt frustration rolling right along with them, surging through her, ready to be angry, ready to give up when the release didn’t happen. She growled at the sensation, low in her throat, trying to force it off and away.

“I agree,” he whispered into her skin. “These absolutely are in the way.”

She knew he understood the real source of her sounds, and she adored that he gave her another way to redirect the irritation. She expected him to back off, pull her panties off, and then continue what he was doing to her—god, she hoped he’d keep going—or maybe find a condom and fuck her senseless—but what she never expected was the way he simply moved her panties aside and pressed the flat of his tongue against her. She roared as she was swamped with intensity, coils of electricity twisting down into tight, intense points of light circling his tongue, which was now flicking over her clit with deliberate pressure.

She felt the orgasm, just on the other side of this breath, and she soared towards it, but crashed as it brushed her fingers. “Fuck,” she panted, and felt him pull back from her just a little, his thumb taking the place of his tongue so smoothly that she didn’t have time to give up.

“I’m here,” he said. “I’m with you. You’re not done, and I’m okay with that, I love that, I love that you’re still going, that I get to do more, that I get to do this—” His thumb kept up its circles, but his tongue dipped lower, entering her, plunging into her, fucking her, and she was soaked, drenched, crying out. Her hands were clenched in her hair, tearing at her scalp in a desperate attempt not to grab his hair and grind into his face. Her hips were wild, rocking, thrusting up into him, and he whimpered, groaned, growled as he tongued her, fucking her with his mouth until she screamed, surging up into him. And this time, this one time, instead of the pleasure plateauing and dropping off, she felt it crest and felt herself fly into the air above him, soaring. She went totally silent, and the entire world went quiet, nothing but static. Her hips were inches off the bed, her ass cupped in his hands, and his tongue was deep inside of her, lapping at her as she came and came and came.

It was only as the pleasure eased back and the aftershocks came, as intense as the orgasm itself, that she found enough breath to scream.

He nursed her through it, the heel of his hand pressed gently into her pussy as he came up to kiss her. His mouth was soaked with her, and she found herself kissing him eagerly, something that had always made her feel strange and awkward before. But he tasted like himself, warm and woody, and now he tasted like her, spicy and warm. The mix of them together was the most erotic thing she’d ever had on her tongue.

He nursed her through when the tears came, when her body was wracked with sobs that she couldn’t control, as if something deep inside of her had been torn open, and a flood of sadness was released, assuring her that she was not, in fact, broken. He stroked her hair and wrapped his arms around her, holding her just firmly enough that she felt secure without feeling trapped.

When her breath had steadied, and her heart no longer felt like it was trying to dent her ribcage, Roxanne reached down below his waistline. She was surprised to find that he was still wearing his jeans. “You should take those off,” she said, stroking the rigid length of his cock behind the denim.