Rival Forces (14 page)

But this was her party.

She sank down on him very,
very
slowly. An inch at a time. After each inch she paused, closed her eyes, and breathed slowly, as if encompassing him was a pleasure to be savored, recorded with her senses. The walls of her sex fluttered, expanded, caressed. He'd never felt more potent, or important, or appreciated.

When she had slid that final inch onto him his rougher sigh echoed hers. She was near to bursting with him. He filled every space within her so tightly that just breathing made little contractions erupt around him. And then she began to move.

She rose up, her hands pressed to his chest, and again circled her hips before dropping down so that he sank deep within the wet silk of her core.

He tried to be patient. But first one hand and then the other moved to find the shape of her waist. To hold her, rock her, help direct the exquisite torture of her lovemaking. Yet she set the pace. This wasn't for amateurs. Twenty-one wouldn't have made it last. Thirty-six gave him just enough control to dangle on the edge of sexual oblivion, for her pleasure.

He began to sweat. His chest became slick with the exertion of holding back. Her hands moved and firmed on the curve of his biceps, fingers digging in on hard muscle as she began to ride him harder, quicker, with an urgency he had no trouble matching.

Little gusts of pleasure pulsed through her parted lips as she moved, riding rough sweet desire.

She suddenly changed rhythms, went into a frenzied pumping action. His hands clenched her hips so that he could match her thrust for thrust. He heard her hiss in pain, remembered the bruises, and let her go.

She looked down at him, frowning. “Don't stop.”

That was all the invitation he needed.

Climax. Such a pitiful word for the explosion of body, mind, and emotions that erupted between them. She was breathing harshly, a woman on the verge, and he was gasping at the freight train rumbling straight through his cock.

There was nothing staged or controlled about Yardley's orgasm. She rode him like an expert rodeo bull rider, hanging on for dear life yet still driving him on until she'd wrung every drop from him.

He came so violently it bordered on pain and then drove right through it.

She collapsed across him, sweaty hair veiling his face, clinging to his lips, her heart pounding against his ribs. Bodies glued together. Her mouth open and pressed into the side of his neck.

Kye swallowed, trying to slow his heart but too damn impressed by what had just happened to care if she'd given him a heart attack.

They hadn't even kissed.

He hadn't gotten to undress her.

Hadn't really gotten to touch or hold or taste her.

Now he knew those puny things didn't count.

This was ecstasy. He'd only visited in the neighborhood before.

Yardley Summers was the Sweet Spot.

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Yardley woke up smiling. She couldn't remember why until she turned her head. Inches away, Kye lay facing her. His eyes were closed, long dark lashes lying like fringe against his upper cheeks. She almost reached out and ran a finger down the blunt wedge of his nose but hesitated, in case she woke him.

It was hard to take him all in when his eyes were open. His friendly but oh-so-direct gaze took in more than she wanted him to see. But now she could look her fill.

Her gaze shifted to his mouth. His wide, full lips might have made a lesser man seem vulnerable. But there was nothing vulnerable about this mouth. It conquered and possessed and demanded surrender in its kiss. The hard square jaw was like the man. Bold, imposing, uncompromising, 100 percent masculine. And yet he could be goofy. That
aloha
smile of his was 90 percent kid at play. She felt an unaccustomed fondness for his face. It was a funny feeling that made her stomach flutter. It had nothing to do with the parts that made up a pretty spectacular specimen of human male.

He had been more than she remembered. The young man all eager and sweaty was not the consummate adult in full possession of his powers. Which he'd demonstrated by giving control to her. What was he like when he was in charge? It made her hot just thinking about it.

She lifted a finger toward his nose, a smile blossoming on her mouth. Maybe she should test her curiosity.

She heard it across the house. The soft
ping
of a text message being delivered to her phone. The sound went through her like an electric current. She bolted from his bed, shock and disbelief powering her.

He opened an eye. “Where are you going?”

She looked back, frowning at the intrusion into her amazement. “Bathroom.”

She took the stairs two at a time. She was wrong. Probably wrong. It must be Kye's phone.

But the phone plugged into her bathroom socket was glowing. She could see it from the doorway of her bedroom.

She approached it as if it were a bomb. She picked it up as if it might burn her. There was a message. The first on this phone in more than three months. From an unknown number.

She opened the text message. It was a link to YouTube.

Holding her breath, she touched the link and suddenly the voice of Nat King Cole filled her ears. It was an old recording of a song she'd never heard before. But the lyrics were clear. “Do Nothing Till You Hear from Me.”

David.

She jabbed a return text into the phone, her hands shaking so badly that even autocorrect couldn't make sense of it.

“Damn.” She cleared it and started again, making herself type slowly, her thumbs taking turns. It was simple.
David? Are you okay?

She hit the
SEND
button and waited, staring so hard at the screen it began to blur.

It was David. It had to be him.
Do nothing until you hear from me?
What did it mean? Was he going to contact her again? Could he not just call her? Or text her? Was he in trouble? Oh God, she'd given up—

“That's a pretty sight.”

Yardley jumped so hard she fumbled the phone and it fell into the sink. In the mirror she could see Kye standing in the bathroom doorway. He was naked. But the grin on his face said he was more interested in her state of undress. She could feel the winter air against her bare butt, only partially covered by her top. But she couldn't get caught up in the anticipation on his face. Not now.

She half turned to him. “I heard my phone. Business.”

“On Sunday morning?”

“Dogs are like children. They don't take things like weekends and holidays into consideration when having a crisis. Can I have a sec?”

“Sure.” He rubbed his chest lazily. “I can use some coffee. I'll put the pot on.”

“Aren't you cold?” She couldn't help it. She was suddenly freezing while he was standing there like it was at least eighty-five degrees in the shade.

His grin answered before he did. “I was, a bit, until I saw you.”

She didn't have to ask what he meant. The source of the heat between them had him rising to the occasion. Except there weren't going to be any more occasions for them.

She couldn't find the words to object as he came toward her. He looked so happy, like a kid who'd discovered the brand-new bike he'd gotten for Christmas was still there the next morning when he opened his eyes.

Except she wasn't a bike to be ridden. She'd done the riding. And it was glorious. He was glorious.

He stopped just inches from her, the soft smile on his face almost too much to endure. “Did I say thank you?”

She gave her head a tiny shake then made a sound she didn't know she could make as his hands settled on her waist. His palms were scalding through her—no, he'd slipped her sweater up so quickly and smoothly she hadn't realized until they were skin-to-skin.

“I really do thank you. Best night of my life.” His voice had gone rough. His eyes looked lazy. But as he drew her in by the waist there was nothing remotely calm about the heat swirling between them.

His cock, half ready to go, was nudging her groove. She felt the letdown of wetness in answer as he playfully poked and prodded, enjoying the dance before the dance.

She opened her mouth to protest. But his mouth sealed the words inside. He was kissing her with the focused intensity she'd felt in surprise the morning before. But that time there'd been at least an edge of anger in his kiss. This time, it was all sexual allure and persuasion and hope. Oh God, what he was promising her.

Her knees unlocked but he was there, hands sliding down and behind, grabbing her ass and lifting her up onto the counter beside the sink. Her knees fell open naturally and he moved in like a man on a mission. Hard hairy thighs brushed the inside of hers as the kiss went on and on, one melting into another soul-burning kiss.

They hadn't really kissed last night. Even in the midst of the shattering climax when they'd been skin on skin, him buried to the balls inside her, their lips hadn't met. Now she knew she could come from the feel and taste of his mouth alone.

Shattering.

He groaned against her mouth, whispering, “Shit.” He lifted his head. “No condom.”

“Doesn't—” She grabbed fistfuls of his hair and pulled his mouth back down to hers. This wasn't going to happen again between them. Not ever. She wanted, this once, to feel Kye inside her. And then she stopped thinking.

She scooped forward and lifted a leg to wrap it behind his thighs.

He expelled a breath of laughter into her mouth. And then he was moving his hips in slow circles, his cock bumping against her lower lips until he was wet with her essence. Her body opened and tightened in anticipation. His hands slid forward to tighten on her hips, his thumbs digging into her inner thighs to part her and make his way easier. The head of his cock touched her sweet spot and she gasped.

He sucked in her lower lip, nibbling on it without pain until she was gasping again and again. His tongue delved in behind to lick pleasure from her. Tongue and cock each nudging her toward a climax. Then he paused, took a breath, tightened his grip, and with a frank sexual roll of his hips shoved into her sleek heat.

She was trembling now, and sweating. Yet he paused and held her, the fit snug and smooth and tight. She could feel him inside her, pulsing and filling her to capacity, his body arched over hers. For this moment there was only the two of them.

The world stopped.

His hips rotated slowly, as if he were moving to a primitive beat only he could hear. That rhythm pulsed with the urgency of life, the downbeat coming as a thrust that speared straight into the heart of her. She didn't try to hold back, be an adult. An experienced woman. A sophisticated being. She let go, opened her mouth, dropped her hands to his buttocks, and gripped him hard. Her head fell forward against his shoulder and she simply held on as if her life depended on it.

He had it, the rhythm, the beat, the heat, the push–pull of lust in perfect sync with her need.

He came hard, lifting her off the counter to ride the gush of desire jetting out of him.

“Damn, Yard. You feel…” He took a breath. “So damn good. So good.”

He looked so happy. So very happy.

That's when she lost her grip, sliding down more than his sweat-slick body into the depths of shame. She's just had sex—oh, please. It was more than that. She'd just offered every bit of her physical self to a man she couldn't have.

She slipped sideways from his splendid body and looked away with more regret than she would have expected. “I really could use that coffee.” And an ice bath. Why had she thought she was cold?

“Yes, ma'am.” He offered her an intimate smile, so tender and happy it made her feel like the greatest cheat of all time. Then he ran his hand lightly down her spine, making her arch in spite of herself. He cupped a butt and gave it a gentle squeeze. The whole time his caramel eyes, soft with the aftermath of satisfaction, held hers.

In the mirror she watched him walk away. Treacherous eyes taking in every inch of his shoulders, back, and butt. It was a glorious ass, firm and full with shallow dimples on either side. She'd betrayed David for that butt.

“Oh Lord.” She felt a flicker of unnamed panic flare inside her. She could still feel her desire for Kye pounding in all her pulse points.

If there was a heaven, she was going directly to hell for those last minutes. She couldn't lie that it wasn't her idea.

The first time it had been all about her. She owed him a session where he had his way. But Kye in charge didn't feel in any way like giving up anything. It felt like a bonus ride on the craziest sex machine ever. But he was more than fine manly parts. He wasn't in his own head getting off for his own pleasure. He was there with her, every second, making it personal, important, and precious.

“You okay?” He'd whispered those words several times in the throes of their wild ride. Against her mouth, against her ear, against her breasts. He'd wanted to share. And take care of her. He'd wanted her to be satisfied. It was personal.

She smiled, despite her fraught emotions. The immature young solider she'd met a dozen years ago had matured into one helluva man. This was someone she didn't know. Or rather, was meeting for the first time. She could admit it now, when it couldn't mean a thing, that she liked him.

There was a strong streak of the protector in Kye. Not the macho I-got-this show-off style she saw on display among K-9 handlers from time to time. Competition was a natural result of putting aggressive, streetwise cops or battle-ready soldiers together in a learning situation. To work with a dog, the K-9 officer needed to be something of an independent who preferred to work on his own with little or no supervision. Occasionally that competition spilled over into their personal lives, with men more interested in scoring against other men than in making happy the women they might be with. Not Kye. For all his laid-back surfer style, he was a man, strong, tender, and caring. He'd turned out to be one of the good guys. If only.