Something in the Water... (10 page)

Licking lips that had gone dry, he watched her gasp as he strummed her, using his whole hand until it was drenched with her passion. She was still stroking him, too, and her hand slackened on his penis as she emitted a hungry groan.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “That’s right.” She was straining now, trying to come…

He wanted to hear her voice again—that sound of wild, dark lust meant to be spent in forbidden places, so he asked, “Do you want me inside you, Ariel?” Then he withdrew his fingers, intentionally taunting her, loving the need he’d left in her dazed eyes.

Knowing she was right on the edge, he took a condom from the counter, ripped open the foil and then he glanced around, blowing out a shaky breath when she said, “The water!”

It had almost overflowed. “Damn,” he muttered.

Just as she stepped past him to the bath, he realized he’d almost forgotten the mirrored wall. Now he took in her back—the slender shoulders, nip of waist, rounded backside and endless legs. From the front, he could see her reach behind herself, pull the band from her hair and toss it aside. Her breasts swayed in tandem with her hips as she took the step into the water, ducked and was submerged into a tub big enough that she could go all the way under. When she came up, her hair was slicked back against her head. He followed her, reaching for her as soon as he hit the water. As he seated himself on a hot-bed step, he hauled her near. Her legs stretched around him, and as his stiffened length glided beneath her, he released a strangled male sound. Then his hungry mouth slammed down on hers again.

The water had gotten hotter than he’d intended. But it was no match for him. They’d been teasing each other all night, and now she was his. Panting, he said, “God, you are a witch.” Then, thinking of the water’s heat, he asked, “Too hot for you?”

She looked as if she wouldn’t care if she’d just landed in the fiery reaches of hell. “I was already boiling.”

Reaching, she pushed a control and started the Jacuzzi jets. Hot currents surrounded him in tandem with arms that wreathed his neck, and suds frothed. He urged her onto his lap, feeling desperate.

As she eased slowly over him, thought eluded him. Far off, music played, but only the hitch of her breath mattered. How could any man take such softness? Air. Suds. Feathers. And yet she was burning. She was water and fire, gripping him with her lower body, down…and down….

“What the hell’s happening,” he gasped, fingers tight
ening on her backside as she hit bottom. She was holding back, the way a man might, and the strain was killing them. She withdrew slowly, and he wondered if she’d been trained in some special torture chamber. “Witch,” he murmured thickly against her neck.

A splayed hand drove hard into his hair, her soap-slick breasts flattened against his chest. Fire spun through him, and suddenly, everything was too hot. Finding her mouth again, he savaged it, his lips covering hers, devouring…until she was kissing him back. Lost, he thought. Raw. Desperate.

“Now,” he said softly. Grasping her, he pulled her down, hard. “Ride me,” he rasped. He thought of her with the horses…her hair streaming behind her, her thighs flexing against flanks. “Ride,” he whispered again, slamming his eyes shut. “Fast, Ariel.”

She clung, her quivering lips locking to his, then her hips bucked and he gasped. The release came quick, in a sudden twisting like a clenched fist. “Bliss,” he whispered simply.

A
RIEL PRESSED A FINGER
to Rex’s lips, lightly tracing the contours with a fingernail. “Lie back.”

When he reclined on his bed, as she’d asked, she smiled, angling her body next to his before propping an elbow on a pillow, so she could better study the man who’d satisfied her beyond her wildest expectations. Sighing, she glanced over her shoulder, toward where floor-length curtains were drawn away from the picture window, exposing the night sky.

Directly beneath his room was the tearoom proper, which was built on an outcropping, and so they seemed to be in a planetarium right now, thrust into the glittering world of moon and stars. This view was what she loved most about the adjoined rooms. Despite the closed windows in his, and the fact they were above the tree line, she could still hear night sounds—hoot owls and crickets, and an August breeze that stirred leaves of the underbrush. Just enough light shone into the room that she could make out shapes of furniture inside, a long dresser, an armoire and the duffel he’d decided not to unpack. Eyeing it for a moment, she tried to ignore a tug of wistful regret…an unbidden fantasy that something would happen and he’d stay, at least for one more day.

Her gaze returned to his face, and now she listened to sounds that were nearer, the rustling of sheets as their feet glided over each other, the rise and fall of his breath. He was watching her, his eyes just midnight slits in the dark. Darkness inside darkness, she thought now, returning the gaze. Strangely, she did feel like that—as if something mysterious were unfolding between them. It was like a hand in a glove, or the first layers of an onion being peeled back before she made dinner, or veils blowing in a breeze. Always more to be revealed. Flavors to be discovered. Lifting a hand, he brushed a drying lock of her hair, pushing it from her temple.

For a long moment, she continued to survey him. His hair was drying, too, and she raked splayed fingers into it, then brought her face closer, studying the overly long, light blond strands that were, for all their thickness, as flaxen as a spider’s web, one spun, she decided, for the express purpose of enmeshing her.

There was an incongruity in his looks that had captivated her from the first, she realized, leaning away. His boyish hair was cut in flat-edged hanks, as if both he and the barber had been in a hurry, and he had shockingly blue eyes, as well as an easy smile. Altogether, the kind of good looks she didn’t associate with medical doctors or scientists.

When she cracked a smile, she saw an answering crinkle in his eyes. “Hmm?” he hummed as his hand slowly moved down her back, finally settling on her backside, then rubbing lazy circles.

Heat from the touch suffused her limbs. “You look like a surfer dude.”

His soft chuckle hit the air. “You think?”

“Yeah. Aren’t guys like you supposed to wear pocket protectors and lab coats?”

“Not when I’m naked,” he said.

A breast was pressed to his chest, and when he spoke, she could feel rumbling vibrations that made a nipple tug, tightening. Binds seemed to circle her chest then, stealing her breath, and she swallowed hard. After what had just happened in the bathtub, she’d have thought herself finished for the night, but now, she wanted more. There was no denying it.

Tomorrow, he’d be gone. So, all she had was tonight. Tomorrow, she’d share the continental breakfast with him in the tearoom, then maybe make love a final time before she kissed him goodbye. Then she’d be able to sleep.

“A surfer dude?” he murmured, looking amused.

She nodded. “Blond,” she explained.

“Muscular,” she continued after a moment, now sensing the lift of his hips as he stretched.

“And your hair’s kind of long,” she added, the distraction of conversation offering her mind a secondary focus, since a flood of sensation was rushing through her. Definitely lawless, she thought. Primitive.

Lifting one of her legs, she scissored it over his, noting how smooth her skin felt when teased by the coarser, rougher hairs of his thighs. As she brought her knee upward, almost to his groin, the hand on her backside roamed again, running freely, cupping under a cheek, a finger exploring the crevice near her thigh.

“Hmm.” His voice was thick with sex, almost lost in the whisper of their joined breath. “You were saying you thought cute blondes lack brains?”

“Until earlier today when I met you.”

“Good answer.”

He was playing with her in earnest now, just as she was playing with him, distracting herself with gliding her hands over the solid muscles of his chest. She shifted, raising her knee higher, sliding it over both his legs.

A hand swiftly caught her leg and hooked beneath the bend in it, urging it higher still, over his groin. He groaned as the hard knob of her knee, then the softer, smoother flesh of her inner thigh covered the most intimate part of him, and her pulse jagged when she felt his lightning-quick reaction—the flexing of his erection, its burning as blood raced through his limbs, filling and engorging where she’d crushed him.

“Dumb blondes,” she murmured, the halfhearted attempt at silly conversation now seeming like exactly that—silliness.

“That’s the stereotype. Isn’t it?”

“You’re one of a kind,” she whispered.

“You don’t even know me.”

“Maybe that’s when it’s easiest to know a person,” she managed to say, her chest so tight that she wasn’t sure she could catch her breath.

“Now, there’s a paradox.”

And it was. But she’d never have let herself go like this, not with a man she’d been dating. “Maybe it’s easier to lose yourself with a stranger.”

Probably. Because his thoughts were elsewhere. She could see that in the sleepy-looking pull of his heavy-lidded gaze, the parting of his lips. A spear of tongue appeared, licking at the luscious mouth she was hungry to feel on hers, and he seemed to sink farther back,
burying his head more deeply into the ample pillows. He finally murmured, “It’s kind of a double standard, isn’t it?”

“Like all dumb blondes being women,” she agreed.

As if coming to his senses, he blinked and rattled off names of smart blondes, ending with Helen Hunt.

“Hillary Clinton,” she countered.

“Salon streaked,” he argued back.

“Ah. So, you know your hairdos.” Judging by his, she wouldn’t have thought beauty techniques to be his strong point.

“The ex-fiancée,” he explained, his long finger further exploring her now, moving downward until he’d found the slick heat of her opening. When he uttered a deep, rumbling sound, she knew he’d registered the flow of her juices, how hot she’d gotten. This was payback, she realized, because he was circling where she was so open for him…then fondling her clitoris, the tip of his finger barely flickering before vanishing once more.

“My ex talked a lot about clothes and hairdos,” he said on a soft pant.

“Why don’t you and I talk about something else?”

“This?” he suggested, rolling the pad of a finger over the bud of her clitoris once more. She cried out now, arching. Even as she ground her hips against him, she realized the movement had taken her away from, not closer to his touch, so she corrected, now seeking the hand that came from behind by lifting her backside and wordlessly guiding him.

Not that he gave her full satisfaction, even now.

“Some conversation,” she muttered as frustration claimed her. Every new wave of heat brought no relief.
Finally, her eyes slammed shut, and she uttered a senseless protest as he plunged his finger, coating it, using the heat of her own body to tantalize her.

Somehow, that didn’t seem fair at all. It was as if her own body were working against her. With every blissful stroke, he was only engendering new itches. Opening her eyes, she reached for his lips, pushed a thumb inside. His mouth closed tightly then, and he drew hard, sending a jolt of pure molten pleasure through her.

Suddenly, it was too much to take. With any other stranger, she might have felt embarrassed, or at least uncomfortably exposed, but with him, she felt only surges of burning passion clamoring to be squelched. She was climbing….

Their eyes met.

He was loving every minute of it, too.

Damn him, she thought, her mind hazing. She was dripping for him now, and his hardening length was still begging for attention, trapped by the softness of her thigh. “C’mon,” she whispered huskily, knowing that, right now, he really could read her mind. He knew she wanted more. Need was twisting inside her, more demanding as the magic of his fingers quickened.

But he wasn’t going to quit teasing. “Dumb blonde,” he whispered devilishly, as she withdrew her thumb.

She lifted a lock of his hair. “Natural?”

“Who cares? The main thing is that blondes have more fun.”

“I’m blond, too,” she reminded him, suddenly giving up on what they were doing and simply rolling on top, straddling him.

She gasped as he grabbed her wrists just as quickly,
swiftly wrenching his powerful upper body, bringing her beneath him, sandwiching her between him and the mattress. Her head sank into the pillow, landing exactly where his had been. His entire weight covered her, so warm and delicious, and as he stretched her arms wide, everything inside her started trembling. Her legs were trapped. Parted. His lay on top, and because he held her arms so wide apart, she felt dangerously open to him.

His palms flattened on hers; the sheet felt as cold as ice on the backs of her hands, by comparison. Curling his fingers, he twined them with hers and squeezed. Then his mouth descended, greedy and wet, deeper and more molten as his chest settled more heavily on hers, crushing her breasts against the hard wall of his chest. Her arms strained to circle his neck, but they were held captive beneath hands that gripped her like steel. All her breath was in the kiss, and she was at his mercy because everything inside her needed him.

Not that he’d ever soothe the sensations he’d built. Maybe he’d only kiss her, his tongue driving into the farthest recesses of her mouth like this, until she hung like a star in the sky, begging to burn and fall….

Yes, a falling star, she thought. She was bursting, shooting in a ball of fire through the night. She tried to lift her hands—desperate for them to be in his hair now, or roving over his back, or raking across his buttocks, or dragging along the backs of his thighs or fisting around his erection….

Anywhere but here, imprisoned beneath him. But there was no movement, just his searing, relentless
tongue probing hers. And when he finally broke the kiss, she released a high whine against his mouth, a strange sound that seemed to come from outside herself.

His answer was a shaky breath as he brought his cheek to hers. Everything seemed so quiet. Only their quickened breaths sounded in the dark silence.

This was so intimate. Too intimate. Not just about sex, after all, she thought as her pulse raced. Maybe nothing could be about sex, alone…just sex, pure and simple. She realized that now. She’d been crazy to think she could share this deeply, really believe it didn’t matter, and then walk away.

But she would, of course. In the morning. Right now, all she knew was that she’d never experienced so much excitement, nor emotion. She didn’t understand it, either. They’d done nothing people associated with wild sex, after all. There had been no toys. No exotic poses she’d seen in magazines and movies, nor aphrodisiacs, unless there really was a bug in the water.

This was just good old down-home lovemaking, really. At least, so far. And in truth, he’d only been inside her once. And yet, she felt they’d shared so much more. They were…

Lovers now. His breath was fluttering on her neck, and she wanted that rough stubble elsewhere, dragging burns over every inch of her pale, sensitive skin. Instead, his hands loosened in hers, trailed to her wrists, then fisted around them. She knew he could feel her pulse pounding against his palms, but he didn’t let go, only tightened his grip possessively.

“Let me up,” she whispered shakily.

He murmured in her ear, “Never.” And then damp
sensation swirled through her, since his tongue followed where his voice had been—nibbling her earlobe, then plunging inside. God, she ached. Truly, he was burning against her belly and she needed him lower…inside….

“For a condom,” she whispered.

His hands loosened their hold. “I’ll get one.”

“I’ll go.”

Right before he rolled away, his mouth found hers again. She let him kiss her, too. For a good long while.

Let
him
kiss
her.

She didn’t kiss back, but only submitted. And then his heat and weight were gone. Completely dazed, she rose, feeling like an amnesiac awakening from a dream. What on earth was the man doing to her?

…The condom. She remembered that was the whole point of her getting up. As she went over to the dresser, she felt his eyes following her through the darkness. A lump lodged in her throat. The way he’d crushed her against the mattress had really made her feel totally…

At his mercy?

And it had been so sexy. Simple, but even more arousing than bathing together. She’d been with men, had orgasms with them. But she’d never felt this kind of power. And she wanted…

To possess him, too. Maybe even to torture him. Just a little. To make him plead for what he wanted. Yes, she wanted to see Rex Houston come apart at the seams, until he was shattering and writhing, totally dependent on her for a release he was sure would never come. Maybe she’d keep him where he’d kept her most of the night—suspended in space, reaching and reaching, but never…

As she lifted a foil packet, she was seized by the idea
that she wanted to tie him up. Finding scarves only took a minute. She used to wear them all the time. And when she returned to bed from her room, she was greeted by a husky chuckle. “What do you think you’re…”

She didn’t give him a chance to finish. Already, she’d caught a wrist and bound it to a bedpost. Circling the mattress, she lifted his other hand, kissed it, then quickly twirled silk around it. Somehow, she was surprised he let her do it. Especially when she didn’t stop at his hands, but secured his ankles as well. Her knots were tight, too. From living beside the spring all her life, she’d learned about boats, and when a woman knew about boats, she also knew about boating knots.