Nightfire (18 page)

Her hand lifted, hovered over his head, unsure. Then—
to hell with it—
she placed the palm of her hand on his hair, ran her fingers through his scalp. The hair was warm and soft. A minty shampoo smell wafted up.

Something came out of Mike’s throat, a sound like a big cat purring, and he moved his head under her hand, the invitation clear. He liked it when she touched his hair. She spread her fingers, curled them, letting the short strands tickle them.

Mike let out a whoosh of air. “I like that.” His voice was deep, almost guttural.

“I’m glad,” Chloe said simply.

He stayed kneeling before her another minute while she ran her hand through his hair, then reached up and slid her panties down her legs, lifting first one foot, then the other.

Chloe moved her hand from his head to his shoulder, for balance. His hair had felt pleasant under her fingers, but his shoulder . . . well, pleasant wasn’t the word for it.

She’d held him in her arms six long months ago, and it had been wonderful. But it had been so fleeting, so brief. She barely remembered kissing him, except in her dreams.

But now—ah, bliss. Steely muscle, pure male power flowed up through her fingertips, almost like a transferal of force.

Mike slipped her sandals off, but didn’t rise. Instead, he brought his head forward and nuzzled her belly. His face was warm against her belly. He had just a little beard stubble and it tickled against her skin.

He licked her, right next to her belly button, and the tickling sensation morphed into a rush of heat so intense it was like a door opening onto a bonfire. He licked again, opened his mouth against her skin and bit, just a little.

Chloe shuddered. Heat was blazing inside her. He nipped again, just a little bite that sent electric sparks through her. When he licked the tiny bite mark, her vagina pulled, muscles clenching around an invisible penis. The pull was so strong her stomach muscles moved.

Mike blew out a breath against her belly and leaned his head back to look at her face. He’d seen—he’d probably
felt
—what he did to her. But he didn’t have that smug male look of a man who’d turned a woman on. His face was pulled down in lines that looked almost like pain.

He blew out another breath and rose stiffly, as if his muscles ached. A glance down and Chloe could see why. Mike didn’t have his usual jeans on. He had on tan chinos and she could see him outlined against the lightweight material.

Wow.

“I turn you on.” She couldn’t believe she’d said those words. She almost looked around the bathroom to see if anyone else was there. But there was only Mike.

He winced. “You have no idea, Chloe.”

“Then why—” This was so
hard
. She wasn’t used to expressing her desires. This would be embarrassing if she didn’t need to know like she needed to breathe. It hadn’t made any sense to her then and it still didn’t. All she knew was that his distance these past six months had been so painful, like a sharp barb stuck in her heart.

“Why did you stay away? I mean, you didn’t stay away, you were around, but—” The words stuck in her throat but she had to get them out. No more swallowing what needed to be said. So she looked him straight in the eyes and opened herself up.

What could be the worst thing that could happen? Well, he could rip her to shreds . . . no, never mind. Even if he ripped her to shreds, she’d survived worse.

“You kissed me that day, at the Del Coronado. You remember, don’t you?”

Silence. Only the sound of the water hissing as came out of the showerhead, splashing onto the tiles. Mike’s jaw muscles jumped. “Oh yeah, I remember. Until the day I die, Chloe, I’ll remember.”

He sounded so sincere. And yet—“So
why,
Mike? It hurt me so much.” The words came out harsh and raw, against the closed muscles of her throat.

She remembered it so clearly, that day. The magic kiss, as she now thought of it. Something enchanted, golden. Gone. Like a dream, long ago. When Amanda’s work proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Mike couldn’t have beaten up that poor woman, Chloe had been waiting with Ellen and Nicole. Both had jumped up to join their husbands, embrace them.

Chloe had jumped up, too, to run to Mike.

And he had taken a step back, eyes shuttered and blank, and broken her heart. Arms that had been outstretched to hold him fell back down to her sides.

He had stood there stiffly, eyes on the ground, thanked her formally, and disappeared. Chloe had stood there, shocked, unable to move.

The others had looked at her, the women with pity in their eyes. Harry had put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you, honey, for what you did,” he’d said, and she had nodded, unable to speak. Because if she spoke, tears would have burst out of her.

The rest of the evening had been a blur as they sat back down at the table, without Mike, and finished the food. Chloe had much experience with feeling out of place, so she’d choked a little food down, spreading the rest around her plate, counting the seconds until she could say she was tired and would like to go to bed.

Where she cried herself to sleep.

And then Mike showed up the next morning, having called up the condo manager and found her a flat on Harry’s floor. He accompanied her to every furniture store in San Diego, or so it felt, worked alongside the delivery guys bringing in the furniture and, where necessary, assembled it, and had her set up in less than three days. She’d seen him every day since, and he never touched her again.

“Why?” she whispered.

He shook his head, eyes never leaving hers. “That’s not important now, Chloe. What’s important is that things have changed. It’s not like that anymore. Here.” He kissed her forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

In the shower, he gently placed her injured arm on his shoulder. “There you go. We need to keep it dry.”

Chloe had been washed before, of course. Plenty of times, in the hospital. Hospitals. But never like this.

Mike pumped some minty-smelling soap onto a washcloth and ran it over every inch of her body, followed by warm water and then his mouth. Long, sensuous strokes of the cloth followed by long, sensuous strokes of his tongue. Her neck, her shoulders. The warm cloth went lower, circled her breasts while he watched her so very carefully.

Chloe could see the skin move over her left breast, in time with her heart. Did he understand the effect he was having on her?

She looked up to find him watching her carefully, face tight, eyes like blue fire locked onto hers.

Oh yeah. He understood.

He bent her slightly over his left arm and with his right washed her belly. Chloe felt unbalanced, in every way there was, unsure of her footing. But Mike had her. She wasn’t going to fall down.

He nuzzled the underside of her left breast, the one that was pounding, lips brushing lightly over her skin while taking light little tastes. A flush went through her at each touch of his lips, stroke of his tongue. And then—oh God!—he was suckling her nipple, long, hard pulls of his mouth echoed in her vagina, internal muscles tightening with each tug of his mouth. Her breathing became ragged and if she didn’t have his strong arm holding her up, she’d slide down to the tiles, unable to stand.

Her hands slid from his shoulders to his head, holding him as he suckled her. His mouth pulled back, he gave her nipple a last lick, which she felt down to her toes, and straightened.

She didn’t have to look down to know he was aroused. His nostrils were flaring as he breathed in and out heavily, underneath his dark tan he was flushed and his lips were red, engorged.

His eyes suddenly widened.

“What?” Chloe asked.

Mike gave a half laugh, which sounded as if he were choking. “I can’t believe this. I have not been without a condom in my pocket since I was fifteen years old. Ever.” He closed his eyes in pain, then opened them again, blue and fierce. “And now I am without a condom. Totally. Don’t even have one in the house. Haven’t needed one these past six months. Fuck.” He blew out a big breath. “What are we going to do? I can’t make it to the drugstore. Closest one’s about a mile and a half away. Just can’t do it. Can’t ask Harry or Sam, either. And don’t ask me to pull out because I don’t think I can. Once I get in you, I’m not leaving for a good, long while.”

Chloe stroked his shoulder, then ran a fingernail along the top muscle, hard and bulging, slowly going from the ball of his shoulder up his neck to behind his ear. She wasn’t hurting him but he could feel the bite of it.

It excited him. His breathing speeded up and his lips grew even darker. “This is torture, right? You’re going to torture me because we can’t make love. But even if we can’t, you’re going to keep me in this state. There are rules, Chloe. There’s even a Convention. The Geneva one.”

She laughed. Leaned forward and bit him gently on the jaw. He shook. Looking down, she could actually see his erect penis move inside his pants.

He was completely at her mercy. A plaything. This powerful man was in
her
power now.

There were things she needed to tell him, but not now. Now was not the moment for darkness, now was the moment for heat, and light.

She leaned forward again, kissed him gently. Pulled away a fraction of an inch; he would feel the puff of her breath against him. “It’s not a problem, Mike. Make love to me now.”

His face changed, grew darker. Gazing into her eyes, he undressed. Threw his shirt open, the ping of the buttons off the tiles loud enough to be heard over the roar of the shower, unbuttoned his pants, dropped them and his briefs, stepped out of them, stepped out of his shoes, toed off his socks, all without wavering his gaze.

He stepped into the cabin, right under the showerhead, the water turning his hair dark, sluicing down his chest, straightening out his chest hairs so they arrowed down, as if to showcase that huge penis.

He backed her up against the tile wall and placed a huge hand on her chest. She was sure he could feel her heart pounding against the palm of his hand. Watching her carefully, he ran his hand down the center of her body, slowly, the calluses on the palm of his hand raising goose bumps.

At her hips, he turned his hand around, moved lower, cupped her. Every sense she had was concentrated there, where his hand was. He held it there, warm, pressed against her, then stroked her gently, running a finger around her labia.

At the touch of her, the skin tightened around his eyes and over his high cheekbones. He didn’t need to ask if she was aroused. He could feel it against his hand.

The finger dipped inside, moving slowly up inside her. Her legs started trembling.

“Mike.” Her voice was a whisper, not out of sexiness, but because she couldn’t draw in enough breath to speak normally. “We need to get to a bed because I don’t think my legs can hold me.”

His jaw muscles jumped. “No?” His fingers opened, spreading her. “I like it fine here.”

Now all of her was trembling. All her breath left her body as he fit his penis to her and slid inside, slowly, completely. He was huge, but she was ready. In a very real sense, she’d been waiting all her life for this moment.

He moved his big hands to her hips, then around to her buttocks, and lifted her until her legs went around his hips. He leaned heavily into her, so deep inside her now it was as if he reached her heart.

She felt everything. His dark chest hairs against her breasts, rough and prickly, the hard defined muscles of his abdomen against her belly, the rough mat of his pubic hairs against the sensitive skin of her sex.

She could feel the beat of his heart in his penis, buried deeply inside her. Her sex contracted sharply and he moved inside her, becoming somehow larger, thicker. It made her contract again.

“God,” he muttered.

They were staring at each other. Chloe had never watched another person’s face from so close up before. Everything that happened—every time she tightened around him, every time she shuddered, every time her fingers clutched his arms, her legs tightened—she could see the effect on him.

“If I move, I’m going to come,” he said, his voice strained.

She huffed out a laugh and his penis surged in her as she moved. “If we stay here, we drown.”

“Stalemate,” he whispered.

“Not quite,” she whispered back, and tightened around him deliberately, milking him while rising against him, pushing him even deeper inside her.

Mike threw back his head, groaned, swelled inside her and finally moved, short, hard, fast strokes, the friction creating immense heat, heat that was going to make her explode.

It was Mike who exploded first, though, one hard deep thrust, gritting his teeth against a shout while jetting inside her, the strokes and the jets of semen somehow exactly in time with the pulses of her sex, and it went on and on, each stroke, each contraction feeding the pleasure.

The back of Chloe’s head thudded against the tile wall as hot water sluiced down over her upturned face and her head disappeared as her body simply took over, rubbing against the wall in time with Mike’s thrusts until it all became one big blur, her body contracting, Mike coming, the water falling, heat exploding inside her in a fireball of sensations. She forgot who she was and became a creature of instinct and of sensations.