One Hot Winter's Night (12 page)

She couldn’t believe she was letting a man do something so personal, so intimate to her.
This is a mistake!
she thought desperately. Not because it wasn’t nice. But because it was like eating from the tree in the Garden of Eden. Surely once she’d let a man do this, she’d want him to do it again. Because she’d never guessed it would be so wonderful, so incredibly exquisite.

But she couldn’t bring herself to stop him.

It wasn’t long before the welcome bliss of an orgasm began to bloom like a flower opening up inside her, the delicious warmth budding low in her stomach before blossoming throughout her like the rose he’d talked about earlier, and as she came, his hands were warm on her thighs, and his mouth was hot and gentle.

Chapter 15

As the tremors inside her died down and her heart rate began to return to normal, Heath shifted on the bed, moving up beside her. She shook one hand free of the tie and covered her face with her arm, scarlet with passion and embarrassment. He propped his head on a hand, trailing his fingers lazily across her abdomen, seemingly content to wait until she was ready to talk.

Slowly, he began to kiss the arm lying across her face, pressing his mouth into her palm, licking her fingers, until she gave a small laugh and finally moved it away. He kissed her lips, and she giggled. “You’re all sticky.”

“I wonder why.”

She ran her fingers over her stomach, pulling a face. “I’m going to stick to the sheets.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you like that. Come on, in the shower with you.”

She sat up and released her other hand from the tie, looking pointedly at the tent that had formed in his boxers. He pulled her to her feet and said, “Well, what did you expect after what I’ve just done?”

Pleasure rippled through her at his words. He’d enjoyed satisfying her. The thought made her glow. She let him lead her over to the bathroom, feeling sleepy and sticky. He turned the shower on and kissed her as he waited for the water to heat up before opening the door.

He went out for a moment and came back with the box of condoms. She arched an eyebrow. “Well I’m sticky too,” he pointed out. He removed his boxers, followed her into the cubicle and closed the door behind him. “And I’ve got eleven condoms burning a hole in my pocket. Well, my metaphorical pocket.”

She backed up to the tiles and looked up at him. “There’s not a lot of room.”

“We’ll have to huddle up.” He ducked his head under the water and ran a hand through his wet hair, smoothing it back. Then he took the soap from the dish. He put his arms around her, and she could feel him turning it over in his hands behind her back, working up a lather.

She looked up at him, and he smiled and winked at her. He was so gorgeous he took her breath away. She wanted to say something witty and amusing, but once again, he seemed to have extracted her ability to put one word after another.

For the first time since she’d met him, she realised just how tall and broad shouldered he was. In Sweden, they’d been encased in bulky outerwear, and then they’d got into bed before she’d had much chance to admire his body. Earlier in the bedroom, she’d been wearing three-inch heels, and they hadn’t taken the time to remove their clothes. Now, he towered over her, and he seemed to fill the small cubicle, his arms surprisingly powerful, his chest wide with well-defined muscles. He was so gentle and unassuming—she hadn’t noticed he was so…well…magnificent.

“How tall are you?” she asked.

“Six three.” He looked down at her. “How short are you?”

“I’ve five nine and a half, thank you very much—I’m hardly short for a girl.”

“I hear that half inch is very important.” Laughing at her mock glare, he put the soap down. “Now, then.” He placed his hands on her breasts and she arched an eyebrow. He grinned. “They’re sticky.”

“Then you’d better wash them.”

“That was my dastardly scheme all along.”

She caught her breath as he slid his slippery hands across her skin, brushing her nipples. Stepping closer, he kissed her for a while, gently washing her clean, running his hands up her body, along her arms, down her back, and then returning to her breasts. As she’d already been aroused before they’d even walked into the cubicle, it wasn’t long before she sighed and grabbed the soap, then started on him; washing his body, enjoying the feel of his muscles under her fingers.

Her hands gradually worked lower and grazed his thighs, slipping between them. She closed her fingers around his erection, sliding her hand up and down, but he pushed her away, giving her a warning look. Reaching out of the shower, he took a condom from the box.

“I’ll do it,” she said. Eager to try it, she took it from him and rolled it carefully down his firm length, making him groan.

He caught her hands. “For God’s sake, woman. I’m only human.” He turned her around and placed her hands on the tiles, resting his hands either side of hers on the wall. He moved closer, his erection hard against her butt, and nuzzled her ear. “Open your legs, sweetheart. Lean forward.”

She did so, widening her stance, heart thumping at the new position. The water trickled between them, hot on her skin. He slid his erection between her legs and brushed it against her sensitive lips, and she closed her eyes with pleasure. She moved backward and forward, arousing herself on him, and he sighed, holding her hips, stopping her.

“My way,” he said firmly. “We’re going to take this really, really slow.”

“I don’t know if I can,” she admitted.

“Come on,” he murmured, moving so the tip of him nuzzled into her. “Work with me. If we only have tonight, I want to make this last. Let’s see if we can make two minutes.”

She giggled, then sighed as he slid slowly into her. She could tell by his groan that she was wet and swollen.

Deep inside her, he ran his hands slowly up from her hips, brushing her waist and her ribcage, coming forward to cup her breasts.

“Ah,” she said. “I can see the benefits of this position.”

He leaned his left hand on the tiles and slid his right hand down between her legs. “Oh yeah.” He began to move, very slowly, taking the time to stroke her in between each gentle thrust. “Your skin’s beautiful. Soft and silky, like satin.”

“Yours is like polished wood—it’s gorgeous.” It was true; braced beside her, his arm looked like it had been carved out of oak and buffed to a sheen. Why hadn’t she realised in Sweden how gorgeous his body was? Of course, the water and the steam weren’t helping with the sensuality factor. It heightened all her senses, made everything blurry and erotic.

He continued to stroke her as he moved inside her with shallow, unhurried thrusts. He traced his fingers across her damp skin, dipping them down so he could feel himself sliding in and out of her. She was drowsy with desire, although it wasn’t sleepiness—it was like being drunk, or drugged. It was as if they’d been spirited to another world and there were only the two of them—nothing existed except this tiny shower cubicle with its steamy walls and cool tiles, and Heath, with his fantastic body and gentle hands.

Sliding deep within her, he leaned forward and kissed her ear, and she turned her head so he could kiss her lips. An emotion spiralled through her, something she didn’t want him to see, so she closed her eyes, but he was obviously cottoning on to the fact that she only did that when she wanted to hide her feelings and so he said, “Open them.”

She did so, looking up at him over her shoulder, knowing he was going to be able to see the tenderness and affection that had laced through her like whisky. He never took his gaze off her.

“Why do you always want to look at me?” she whispered.

“Because you’re beautiful.” He slid his soapy hands around her body, cupped her breasts and stroked her nipples.

She sighed, blinking slowly. “I bet you say that to all your girls.”

He laughed and nuzzled her ear. “When I do, I mean it. And I never lie.”

“Unless you’re pretending to be from the British Museum.”

He stopped for a second and considered her words before continuing. “I never lie in the bedroom. Or bathroom, for that matter.”

She smiled, sighing again at his slow, regular thrusts, pressing hot hands against the tiles. Her body felt intensely receptive, and she knew he was feeling the same from his half-lidded eyes. He leaned forward, cupped her face, and turned her head so he could kiss her again, leisurely, sensuously.

She’d never been kissed like this before. She shouldn’t be kissing Heath at all. He was like absinthe, highly addictive, and would probably give her a hell of a headache in the morning. But she couldn’t stop. Her lips were ultra-sensitive, and he only brushed them with his own, occasionally touching them with his tongue, but each time he did it, it rang through her body like a bell.

She sighed, turning her head away. “You like kissing, don’t you?”

“That’s because you taste nice.” He moved inside her with measured, short strokes. She began to feel the familiar concentration in the pit of her stomach, but he must somehow have sensed it because he stopped moving, resting his hands on her hips. “Stay with me, baby.”

Her breathing levelled out again. Her eyelids fluttered. “This is like torture. What are you doing to me?”

“Making love to you,” he murmured, stroking her back.

“Oh, so we’re ‘making love’ now?” she teased.

He slipped his hands around to her breasts. “Well, what would you call it?”

“Shagging. Screwing.” She caught her breath as he began to move again. “Fucking.”

He laughed. “I prefer my definition.”

“Why?”

“What we did earlier, in about ten seconds flat—
that
was fucking.”

“And now?”

He brushed the wet hair back from her face. “This is…something different.”

He was right, of course. This was more like worshipping, venerating each other. Was it really only the second time she’d met him?

He ran his right hand down her body and brushed her pubic hair, lightly stroking as moved inside her. He must have had a gazillion women, to be so skilled at this. She had to distract herself or she was going to come, and she knew he didn’t want her to, not yet. “Heath…?”

“Mmm?”

“How many women have you had?”

“That’s not good bedroom etiquette, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, I didn’t read the handbook.”

He laughed, rested his hands on the tiles beside her and kissed her ear.

“Come on, tell me,” she prompted, pushing her bottom back so he could push deeper inside her.

He grunted. “I don’t keep track.”

She looked over her shoulder. “You’ve lost count?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a man-slut, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Oh? So you don’t usually pick up women in Swedish bars?”

He bent and kissed her. “Actually, you were my first one-night stand. Two-night stand. Well, you know, first time I’d slept with a woman on the same night I met her.” He continued his slow thrusts.

Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding me?”

“Nope. I usually date for a while first. I’m old fashioned.” He kissed down her neck.

“So what went wrong with me?” she wondered, tipping her head to the side to give him better access.

“I was only there for the night. I saw you—I wanted you. And I always get what I want.” His voice was determined, amused.

“Oh.” That sounded like the Silver Fox talking, she thought, but although ordinarily his arrogance would have made her bristle, at that moment his possessive confidence only turned her on more.

The cubicle was starting to grow steamy and her cheeks glowed, although the warmth was due more to his comment than the steam. She closed her eyes, trying to calm her breathing as his hands moved slowly and sensually over her skin. “So tell me,” she continued in a whisper, “who’s the best woman you’ve been with? What’s her name?”

“Jeez, Catherine.” He slapped her rump.

That startled her. “Ouch! What’s wrong with that?”

“You are such a strange woman.” He nuzzled her ear. “I’ll do you a deal.”

“Okay…”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me… When was the last time you pleasured yourself, and who were you thinking of?”

She dropped her head as her face flamed, her hair falling forward and hiding her face from him. “That’s not fair.”

He stroked her back, her waist, her breasts. “It’s perfectly fair.” He took her hand from the tiles and slid it between her legs. “Come on. When did you last do this to yourself?”

“Goodness. I don’t…”

He chuckled and nibbled her ear. “Yeah, right. A sexy little hotpot like you? It’s nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart.”

She couldn’t believe he was asking her such an intimate question. “Why are you so interested in what I do when I’m by myself?”

“It turns me on, thinking of you touching yourself.”

“Does it?” That surprised her. “Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s sexy.” His hands continued to slide over her skin. “Come on tell me, who do you fantasize about?”

She couldn’t possibly tell him the truth. “Okay. Last time was two weeks ago. And it was George Clooney. Silver hair, you see. I obviously have a thing about it.”

He cupped her face and turned her head toward him. She closed her eyes and then knew he’d be aware she was lying.

Sure enough, he said, “Open your eyes.”

She did so, looking up at him.

He kissed her cheek. “It’s just you and me, Catherine. Whatever else happens outside, no lies in the bedroom.”

She gave in. “Okay. It was two days ago. And I was thinking about you, Heath.”

He sighed with satisfaction in her ear, moving slowly inside her. Each thrust now felt excruciatingly sensitive. She wasn’t skin and bone any more, just a mass of nerve endings and hormones. His breathing had deepened, and she could sense him also teetering on the edge of climaxing, drawing out the moment, trying to prolong the sweet agony.

She licked her lips. “Your turn.”

“Hmm?”

He was having trouble concentrating. He was barely moving now, and she felt like they were both standing on the edge of a deep pit, about to fall off. She made one more attempt to distract him. “Who’s the best you’ve had? What was her name?”