Sparked (15 page)

He moaned in response, then took her face in both of his hands and kissed her more deeply than he had ever kissed her before. Cora felt every nerve in her body light up. He pulled her closer and she felt like she could melt against the heat of him.

She hated her dress, hated her brassiere, hated the fabric that kept his body from hers. She wanted to feel his skin on her skin. She couldn’t help herself. She tugged his shirt out of his pants. He obliged her desire, pulling the polo over his head to expose a chest that looked like a statue she’d seen in an encyclopedia once. She ran her fingers across it greedily, feeling his muscles firm under her fingers. He was perfect, so perfect. 

She leaned in and kissed his chest, let her lips drag across the smooth, firm flesh of him, licked and teased the dip of each muscle until she could see the shape of him grow hard in his trousers. 

He smelled so good. Like sunshine and lemons and the rush of water over falls. He moaned with each press of her lips and she couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride that she had made him feel this way. God, she loved that.

Clayton lifted her mouth to his and cupped her breast, kneading it gently, thumbing her nipple through the fabric until it was hard. She pressed herself into his palm, kissing him back harder and moaning with every brush of his fingers against her.

God, this dress. This awful dress. Again, she longed to be rid of it. Just the thought of their bodies pressed together, unhindered, made every muscle of her core tighten. 

Then it was like he could sense her desire, and he wanted it too. He kissed her cheek, her neck. He let his lips explore further, then unbuttoned the highest button of her dress and kissed her there—right at the hollow of her throat. Cora thought she might explode from the warmth it sent through her.

He kept going. There were a trail of buttons that led from her neck to her waist, and he was slowly releasing them all.

Another button, another kiss. 

Another button, another kiss. 

The next kiss landed at the start of her cleavage—right between her breasts—and she was embarrassed at the noise she made in response. It was too loud, too telling, too needy. But it didn’t stop him, only made his lips firmer on her flesh. He kissed the swell of her breasts, letting his tongue dip under the fabric of her slip, of her brassiere. He kept unbuttoning the dress, but his lips lingered on her chest.

Once he had opened the dress to the waist, he gently tugged it off her shoulders. A breeze shifted over her skin and she felt the rise of goosebumps. But then his hands were there—warm and firm and gliding over her back—and the goosebumps were gone. He slipped the straps of both her bra and her slip off her shoulder together and kissed her where they had been. Cora had never felt a man’s touch so intimately. Were all men’s lips so reverent, so soft? She couldn’t believe it to be true. 

He slipped the straps off her other shoulder, and let his lips drag across her collar bone. It was all Cora could do not to rip her undergarments off entirely. She wanted his tongue on her everywhere—on her stomach, on her breasts. She wanted her nipples in his mouth.

He seemed to respond to her desire without words. His hand went to her left breast, sliding under the fabric of her bra to lift it to his mouth. Cora stretched her head back and tangled her fingers into his hair as he kissed her there. He sucked and licked and teased her firm nipples until it was all Cora could do to just keep breathing,

He moved on to her right breast, shifting it out of her bra and bringing it to his mouth. His hand stayed on the other, kneading it and pinching her nipple lightly between his fingers as his tongue explored her on the other side. Then he reached around to her back, unhooking her bra and freeing her completely. The straps slipped down to her elbows and she shrugged out of them, exposing herself fully to him.

She had thought being half naked in front of a man would be embarrassing. But it wasn’t. It was liberating. She felt free, alive, daring … and strong. He desired her. This man in front of her—this incredible man—desired her. And she desired him too.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Clayton

Clayton wanted to devour her. Every part of her. She was delectable. Her breasts felt so good in his hands, his mouth. They were large and full—soft as ripe plums and smelled just as sweet.

His erection throbbed against his trousers, begging to be freed. But he wanted to take things slowly. He wanted to enjoy every moment with her.

Cora pressed her breast deeper into his mouth, and Clayton moaned against her flesh. His mind raced to what other parts of her felt like, tasted like. He wanted to feel her against him. He wanted all of her.

She seemed to react to his silent plea, because in the next moment she was straddling him—her skirt fanned out across his lap, her breasts bare and open to the moonlight, her thighs squeezing his hips, the soft flesh between her legs pressed against his erection with only the fabric of his trousers and her panties separating him from the deepest parts of her. 

Christ. He had to keep himself together or he was going to lose it before she even touched him.

Then she did touch him. Her hand traveled down his chest and settled between his thighs, rubbing him through his trousers as she undulated her body against him. Hell. She didn’t know what she was doing to him. He was going to explode. He felt his cock strain toward her touch, get even harder as her hand pressed against him. He didn’t know he could even get that hard. He wanted her so badly he was teetering on the edge of madness.

But a gentleman didn’t give in to his urges. He grabbed her hand before he lost control and laid her down across the seats. It took everything in him not to grind against her to a point of exquisite release, but somehow he restrained himself. He held her hands above her head, pinned them there with one of his so she wouldn’t set him off.

He needed a moment, a breath. But God, she was sexy like this too. Her breasts heaved beneath him. She was breathless and panting and he could see she wanted this just as much as he did.

His free hand crept under her skirt. Damn, her legs were beautiful—long and lean and soft as the winter snow at dawn. He took his time, sliding a hand up her calf, behind her knee, up to her inner thigh. When he reached the lush spot between her legs he nearly lost it again. She was so wet, so ready for him. 

He moved her panties aside with his thumb and reached a finger inside her slick folds. She cried out in pleasure, arching her back and sending those luscious breasts against his face. He buried himself in them, licking and sucking her nipples between his teeth as he plunged deeper—one finger inside of her, his thumb swirling at her clit. She writhed against him, riding his hand, moaning with every swell of her hips. He wanted to satisfy her, to feel her shatter around him.

Somehow, she wiggled a hand free and was undoing his belt buckle. The thought crossed his mind that he should stop her—that they shouldn’t be doing this—but he was past the point of self-control. Her hand delved into his pants and caressed the length of him, drawing him out until he, too, was fully exposed. He saw her eyes drift down and felt her tighten around his finger in response. It was all he could do not to press himself into her, to spread her soft lips with his hard cock.

Instead, he let her touch him—touch him like he was touching her. The sight of it drove him almost as wild as the soft sensations of her fingers. Her hands were confident as they stroked him. She moved her fingers up and down his length with a steady, even pressure.

He matched her rhythm, and soon they were moving like one. His hand and her hips and her hand and his hips—an instrument played perfectly in time. He let his lips explore her skin as his hands caressed her. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. The taste of her skin, salty with sweat, heightened his desire. And his desire heightened hers.

He felt her climbing as he did, the two of them ascending. He admonished himself to wait, to wait for her, but it was so difficult. Those hands, those soft, firm hands around him. She felt so good.

Her greedy mouth found his and they kissed deeply, passionately. Their desire for each other was all-encompassing. Their pace got faster, faster, faster until—with a long shudder—she climaxed beneath him, crying out in pleasure. He continued his caress until her surge had slowed, until she became quiet. God, it felt good to please her this way. He stared down at her blissful face and reveled in the sight of her that happy, that relaxed, that totally at peace.

But her satisfaction didn’t stop her touching him. If anything, her grip became more urgent, more insistent. She let her mouth explore him as she stroked—brushing those soft lips against his chest, his abs—moving him up to a seated position so that she could lick his neck and nibble his earlobes. Her tongue dipped into his mouth as she used her free hand to hold his face close to hers. He had never felt closer to a woman than in that moment. He let go of all the control he’d had to maintain—all the worry over their situation, their powers, his pent-up desire—and climaxed with an unabashed groan, cupping his hand over hers in the final moment to avoid marring her dress with his excitement.

As his breathing calmed, he retrieved a fresh beach towel from the back seat to clean them. Then he pulled her close, placing light kisses on her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks. He felt totally overcome. This woman—this beautiful, intoxicating woman—was in his arms, letting him hold her. There was no happier place in the world.

But there was a darkness lurking underneath that happiness. The knowledge that it couldn’t last. The guilt of how he’d let himself lead her even further toward something that neither of them could have, but that he found he wanted twice as much as he had before. Four times. Ten.

Because he wanted her. God, he wanted her. And it wasn’t just her body—though his cock pulsed and his head fogged just brushing the back of his fingers across her bare breast again. He wanted to explore all her secrets, pluck them out of her like the popcorn out of her hair on the beach. He wanted to share his secrets with her, too, read her face as he exposed his own truths.

As they drove back down the mountain, he stretched his arm around her. She leaned into his shoulder and turned her chin up to the stars, closing her eyes and letting the wind smooth over her face, letting her hair fan behind her. At first, she was so still that Clayton wondered if she were sleeping, but then she reached up and squeezed his hand, holding it tightly as she seemed to savor the taste of the breeze on her lips.

She stayed like that until Clayton parked at a tree-lined cove at the end of her street, and it was all he could do to keep his eyes on the road and not on the soft, pink flush of her cheeks.

He made the decision before he’d let himself consider it. It wasn’t something that happened in his mind, because if it had, the very idea would have shut down his mouth before he could speak the words. The decision came from somewhere deeper. A place that longed for the peace on her face, longed to give it to her, longed to share it with her.

“Can I see you again?”

She sat up slowly. He thought he could read in her expression all the doubt they both shared.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“I didn’t say that. I do want to see you again. I do. It’s just ….”

“I know what’s against us. We both do. And I’m not saying we can overcome it, because I don’t know. Neither of us are in a position to make any promises. But the idea that you’d get out of this car and I wouldn’t see you again? I can’t fathom it.”

There was a crease in her brow as she listened to him, not hurt by his words, but open, listening, perhaps even more open than a moment ago.

“Let me see you again, Cora. Please.”

She looked down at her hands, twisted her fingers.

“Tonight was wonderful, Clayton. It was special. But I … I want you to think about this.”

“I have.”

“No, you haven’t. Not really. My family, they’re not like yours. They’re dangerous.”

She was worried about him. Not herself.
Him
.

“Cora—”

“It’s a risk. I don’t know how they’ll react. They might try to take advantage or they might get angry and do something worse. And I know your family couldn’t possibly approve either.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t need promises. I don’t expect anything. I just … I need you to think about it.” She slid her hand over his. “If you still feel the same afterward, then find me.”

She leaned in and kissed him, kissed him like she was both saying goodbye and begging him not to say goodbye all at once. Then she was out of the car and walking away.

He watched the darkness swallow her, heard the gentle pad of her footsteps disappear, and listened as her last words rang in his ears.

Find me.

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind. He knew that he would.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Clayton

At work the following morning, Clayton couldn’t stop thinking about Cora. Everything he saw seemed to be a reminder. The blue ink flowing from his pen brought him back to her eyes. The glare of the sconces against the dark cherry walls brought him back to the moon glowing down on her from the night sky. The thick velvet curtains on the windows reminded him of her red lips. It was like being in a new world. 

He had thought about things last night, plenty, just like she’d asked. He still felt the same toward her, and he doubted those feelings would change. If they could keep their meetings secret, maybe it would give them enough time to find out if what was between them was worth a battle with their families. For now, he wanted to spend as much time with Cora as they could manage. The moment he finished work, he was going to find her and tell her so.