Sheer Luck (4 page)

I was so screwed.

Lifting my hand, I traced a finger along her
collarbone over the edge of her shirt. “Look at it this way. You
can experiment in being open with no risks. Relationships aren’t my
bag. I don’t date. One week. I’ll get what I want and give you what
you need, so when you get involved with your next boyfriend, you’ll
be less concerned about taking initiative. We’ll count tonight, or
last night, as day one.”

Grabbing my hand, she stilled my movement.
“Are you sure about this?”

No. But I wanted her, and one night would
never be enough. “Positive.” I kissed her fingers and set her hand
down on my lap. “I have rules, though.”

A sexy as hell slow grin curved her mouth.
“Is this the part where you tell me your tastes are very singular
and you slide a contract in front of me? Unlock your red room?”

My breath caught and my cock jerked. The
woman had read
Wuthering Heights
and
Fifty Shades
.
What an interesting conundrum she was. Swear to God, if she started
quoting
Lord of the Rings
, I’d come right in my jeans. “I
told you I’m not into BDSM. The occasional hand restraints are
fine, but that’s where my interest ends.”

“Okay.” Grin remaining, she blinked. “What
are these rules?”

“First, honesty at all times. If you don’t
like something, if I get too rough or not rough enough, or if you
want to try something, you tell me. No matter what.”

Mirroring my pose, she set her elbow on the
back of the couch and rested her head in her hand. “Agree.”

“Second, condoms are non-negotiable. I don’t
fuck without them.”

She nodded. “Agree.”

“Third, and lastly, no falling for each
other. I’m dead serious on the no relationship thing.”

Her eyebrows lifted in amusement. “Agree.
That’s all?”

I wondered just what she thought my rules
were going to be, but she agreed quickly, so I nodded.

“I have two rules to add to the...verbal
contract.”

I fought a grin. Damn. She was something.
“Shoot.”

She held up a finger. “You don’t date, so
having a lover suddenly underfoot will be an adjustment for you. I
want you to tell me if it’s too much. I can sleep on the couch or
at my place if that happens. We can still hook up, minus the
roomies.” Up came another finger. “And when this week is over, no
awkwardness. Aiden is my friend and your brother. It’s likely we’ll
run into each other again.”

She just might be the perfect woman. “Agree
and agree.” My gaze roamed over her slender, curvy body. “We done
talking?”

“Yes.” Her smile was a cross between
endearing and naughty.

“Good. Come closer.”

Scooting over, her hip met mine.
“Better?”

As an answer, I cupped the back of her neck
and brought her mouth to mine. Impact. There’s always that moment
of anticipation when kissing a woman for the first time. Part heart
tripping, part tightening in the gut. How a woman kissed said a lot
about her. More than sex, kissing was an intimate act. It told a
story.

My lips brushed hers, testing, cajoling. A
sigh fluttered from her and I dipped my tongue in to taste her.
Dark ale and a trace of mint. Jaw wide, she stroked my tongue with
hers, no retreating, no tease. She went right after me. Long,
languid caresses that were neither pushy nor aggressive. Lily’s
kiss was a mirror to what I knew about her personality thus far.
She was careful, but willing. Sensual and sweet. She liked
exploring versus rushing.

What I’d planned to be a slow seduction—we
had time, after all—quickly morphed into a devouring. Warm, wet,
her lips sealed around mine, closing the gap and upping the game. I
threaded my fingers in her hair and the scent of her light perfume
swirled around me. Like her, the fragrance was warm and inviting. A
mix of musk and something fruity, like an aged sweet lambrusco
wine.

I eased back to whisper against her lips.
“What do you want?”

Her hooded gaze locked onto mine. It
reminded me of blue ice melting in a tumbler. “You.”

I groaned. I ached. “How do you want me?
Tell me.” This was about her, but I couldn’t wait much longer.
Months of curiosity and insane interest were coming to a head. We
could do more discovery later, learn one another better after the
first taking was out of the way. “Better yet, show me.”

A slight hesitation, then her leg slid over
mine and she straddled me. My hands immediately went to her hips
and I thrust against her through our clothes. They needed to go. A
strangled cry parted her red lips and she cupped my jaw, closing in
for another kiss.

Before we both lost our fucking minds
entirely, keeping her mouth fused to mine, I lifted my hips and
withdrew my wallet from my back pocket. Fumbling by touch alone, I
located the condom, tossed it next to us on the cushion, and threw
my wallet on the floor.

Her fingers raked down my chest, nails
dipping into the indentations of muscle, before she stopped at the
hem of my shirt.

“Do it,” I encouraged.

She shoved the material up and over my head,
then skimmed her heated gaze over me, stopping at my tattoo sleeve.
Tracing the letters with her fingers, she licked her lips. “I’m
assuming this is Gaelic. What does it say?”

No one had ever asked me that before. Most
women saw the foreign language and handwritten scrawl, nothing
more. I don’t know why, but uneasiness ratcheted in my chest. The
tat was something I’d done for myself, not for anyone else, but
would she think me a sap?

Clearing my throat, I recited the poem from
memory.
“When you are old and grey and full of sleep, and
nodding by the fire, take down this book, and slowly read, and
dream of the soft look your eyes had once, and of their shadows
deep. How many loved your moments of glad grace, and loved your
beauty with love false or true, but one man loved the pilgrim soul
in you, and loved the sorrows of your changing face, and bending
down beside the glowing bars...”

She recited the last part with me.
“Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled and paced upon the
mountains overhead, and hid his face amid a crowd of stars.”
Swallowing, her gaze met mine. “You tattooed a Yeats poem on your
arm?”

I couldn’t read her right now, and it was
pissing me off. I don’t think I’d ever felt more vulnerable in my
life than I did in this moment, and I had no fucking clue why.
Added to that, the fact she knew the sonnet enough to quote with me
had to be one of the sexiest things I’d ever encountered. “He was a
great Irish poet, what can I say?”

She nodded slowly, gaze distant.
“Oui, il
était un brillant poète. Et vous me surprenez, mon secret.”

About the only word in there I understood
was
oui
, meaning yes. Christ. She needed to speak French
while I was driving into her. It just became a new fantasy. “What
does that translate to?”

“Yes, he was a brilliant poet. And you
surprise me, my secret.”

I sucked in a lungful of air, my cock so
hard it was bound to bust my zipper. I don’t know what had come
over me, calling her my secret, but to have her use it in return
was...fuck. I didn’t know what.

“Do you speak fluent Gaelic?”

I shook my head. “Enough phrases to get by.
You seem pretty good with French.”

She nodded. “It was my elective in high
school, and I kept learning from there.”

Brains were hot. Grabbing her by the hips, I
lifted her off my lap and set her on the floor. I had both of us
stripped bare, condom in place, and her straddling my thighs before
she even knew what hit her.

The sight of her stalled my lungs. Pale,
creamy skin. Rosy pink nipples budded to hard points on the most
amazing breasts, too full for a handful. Flat stomach, narrow
waist, and hips that flared in a perfect hourglass. A small
triangle of dark hair covered her mound, but she was bare below
it.

“You’re beautiful, Lily.” Leaning forward, I
feathered my lips across her neck, her throat. “Tell me something
else in French. I don’t care what.” My hand closed around one
breast, kneading, while the other held her hip, fingers digging
into her soft flesh.

Breathing ragged, she gripped my shoulders.
“
Qui se sentent si bon.
That feels so good.” A delicious
little humming noise escaped her throat. “Don’t stop.”

I almost laughed. “Not a chance.” Sliding my
hand from her hip to her inner thigh, I grazed my knuckles over her
center and she shivered. Hell, I goddamn loved her responsiveness.
“Keep going,
a mo rún
. Tell me what you want. In
French.”

With a mewl of frustration, she jerked her
hips. “
Touchez moi
. Touch me.”

“With pleasure.” Mouth clamped on the tendon
in her neck, I spread her folds and groaned. “So fucking wet.” My
cock twitched. My balls pulled taut. I inserted a finger into her
heat and she clenched around it, drawing another moan from me. I
added a second. She was tight, but she could take me. I wouldn’t
have to be gentle when I thrust. Which was going to be soon or I
thought I might expire. I pressed my palm to her clit, circling,
while I curled my fingers inside her.

She tipped her head back, a strangled cry
filling the room. “
Oui. Maintenant. Je te veux maintenant.
Yes. Now. I want you now—“

No translation needed. I gripped her hips,
and she rose on her knees to assist. Aligning myself to her
entrance, I guided her onto my shaft. She sank slowly, and though a
bead of perspiration trailed down my temple and it nearly killed
me, I let her set the pace. Tight, wet heat enveloped me. I threw
my head back on the couch, watching her take me, while my hands
clenched her thighs.

When I was fully rooted inside her, I hissed
through my teeth. So...fucking...good.

She held my jaw in both hands, eyes wide.
Surprise and revelation shone in all that blue, as if she was
feeling the cataclysm, too. Dropping her forehead to mine, she
rocked her hips.

A roar ripped from deep in my throat and I
lunged forward, sucking her breast into my mouth to tame the sound.
I pressed my palms to her back, adoring the smooth skin and
delicate muscle shifting underneath. She wrapped her arms around my
head, holding me to her. Swirling my tongue around the rosy pink
areola, I rubbed her other nipple between my thumb and forefinger
and thrust. She rolled her hips and I came undone.

Christ. I’d never been this desperate. I
couldn’t hold a lucid thought, pin down a thread of sanity. I was
barely keeping my release in check.

Slumping onto the cushion, I eased out of
her as much as the position allowed and, with my hands holding her
hips and her fingers clenched around my forearms, I thrust into her
as I brought her down. Our bodies slapped in the silent room. Our
haggard breaths joined the fray. Her breasts bounced as she rode me
and I didn’t know where to look first. She was a goddamn vision.
Flushed skin. Red, swollen lips parted in pleasure. Hooded blue
eyes lost in the moment.

My gaze dropped to where we were joined, my
cock slick from her as it pumped. “So...beautiful...
a mo
rún.”
The base of my spine tingled, the sensation dancing up my
back. My balls grew heavy, tight, and I knew I was too close. I
brought my thumb over her clit, pressing, circling. “Come, Lily,” I
ordered, my voice hoarse.

She bit her lower lip, eyes closed in
pleasure. “Almost there,” she whispered, breathless.

I shifted my hips the slightest bit and
grabbed her ass, spreading the cheeks. Increasing my thrusts, I
urged her down to my chest so my pelvis could hit her in the right
spot. She slid her arms between my back and the cushion, grinding
down as I drove up, completely in sync as if we’d done this a
million times.

The roll of her hips became more frantic and
her inner walls fisted me in a vise. She tensed above me, pressing
her face into my neck. Her cry of release was muffled by my skin,
but mine tore through the room as I pumped, stilled, and pumped
twice more. Bowing against her, I shook as I emptied into the
condom.

She went limp on top of me, face still
buried, breath hot and ragged. I could do little more than thread
my fingers in her hair and struggle for air. Sweet Christ.

After a moment or fifty, she lifted her head
to sleepily smile down at me.

Grinning back, I tucked her hair behind her
ear and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

A
fter crashing
hard, we slept in late on Sunday. At least, I had. I awoke to cool
sheets on her side of my bed and was shocked at the trip of worry
in my chest. I found her fully dressed in the outfit from the day
before, standing in front of my living room windows.

She turned. “Regrets?”

Strangely, my only regret had been not
waking up beside her. I’d shaken my head as answer, she’d mumbled
something about needing to get some of her clothes, and off to her
apartment we went.