Spiral of Bliss 01 Arouse (20 page)

“Really?”

“Porn.”

“No way.”

“No.” He slides his hand around the back of my neck and pulls me to him. “You. Really. Naked and moaning and creaming all over my prick.”

A shiver rocks me. The hard edge to his voice floods me with arousal.

His mouth crashes against mine, and lust surges like an ocean swell. I can feel the adrenaline from the football game still racing through him, the heat of his skin beneath the water.

He lifts his head. “You taste good.”

“I had… I had some chocolate.”

“Nice.”

Yeah. It was nice.

I suddenly want it rough.

Dean’s cock pushes hard against my belly, fully erect now, but when I slip my hand down to grasp him, his fingers curl around my wrist.

He twists my arm behind my back. His breath is hot against my lips. “Don’t move.”

I don’t. Except that my chest is heaving as I watch him pull back to cup my breasts, flicking the tips through the wet cotton, running his long fingers beneath them.

He turns me around so my back is to his chest, locking one arm securely around my waist. He slides his other hand over my hip and peels the shirt up to expose my white panties.

“Are you hot under here?” His fingers tangle in the elastic waistband before he pushes them halfway down my thighs.

“God, yes.”

I shudder, wanting to both part my legs and press them together to soothe the growing ache. Dean pushes the panties off me, then slips his fingers between my thighs and starts working me in exactly the way he knows I like, his forefinger trailing up one side and circling my clit before stroking down the other side.

In no time, I’m writhing against his hand, and moans echo off the shower stall. I’m hoping the hot water holds out because the whole thing feels so good—the steaming, pounding water, Dean’s exploring touch, his other arm tight around my waist. The T-shirt clings to me like a second skin, and I’m aroused by the sight of my full breasts draped in the wet cloth, my nipples hard as cherries.

Three more hard strokes from Dean, and I come with the force of an exploding star, quaking and tightening my legs around his hand. His chest heaves against my back, and then we’re tumbling out of the shower, dripping wet and not stopping for towels on the way to the bedroom.

My breasts crush against his chest as we fall onto the bed, our mouths seeking, tongues tangling. Water spills from our skin, evaporating in the carnal heat. He lifts away, his eyes hot as he stares at the shirt still plastered to my body. He pushes it up farther to expose my breasts, splaying his big hands over them, squeezing them together.

I spread my legs, my knees hugging his hips. My desire sparks all over again when his erection presses against my inner thigh. I can feel the urgency uncoiling through him. Above me, he’s all heated, damp skin and smoky eyes and I know he wants it, wants me…

I twist around, bucking him away, and get on my hands and knees. I push my ass toward him. “Do it like this.”

My voice is low and strained. This position has always been explosive for both of us, though I’ve never quite gotten used to the way it makes me feel exposed and vulnerable. But right now, I want it, want the reminder of Dean’s possession and my own compliance.

Renewed arousal clenches my belly. He grabs a condom from the nightstand and rolls it on. He settles his hands on my waist, pulling me into position, and then his cock nudges at my opening. Sweat trickles between my breasts. I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Hard,” I whisper.

He tightens his hands on my hips before he slides into me with one powerful thrust. I gasp, jerking forward, wincing at the sensation of utter fullness. Dean pulls me against him and thrusts again. My nerves are on fire. I fumble for a pillow and bury my face in it, emptying my mind of all thought as he starts to pump.

“Push back.” His voice roughens with the command. “Fuck yourself on me.”

I shudder and drive my hips backward, matching his rhythm. My world distills to pure sensation—my husband’s hands gripping my body, his cock sliding in and out of me, his breath hot against my back. Tendrils of wet hair cling to my face.

My ass slaps against his flat stomach, the smack of flesh on flesh echoing in my head. The wet cotton shirt abrades my nipples and sends heat sparking over my skin. Dean’s thrusts are forceful, his groans rumbling above me.

Air scorches my lungs. He slams into me all the way, jarring me to the core, pleasure mixing with an edge of pain. My pulse pounds. I’m quaking with urgency, and he knows it because he slips a hand beneath me and splays his fingers over my aching clit.

“Tell me what you want, Liv.”

“Oh…” I twist my hips, trying to rub myself against his hand, feeling that explosion of bliss so close. “I want to come again… please, let me…”

He takes his hand away, sliding it up to my breasts beneath the T-shirt. I cry out with frustration and reach between my legs. Dean grabs my wrist and pins my hand to the bed, plunging so far inside me that my whole body shakes with the impact.

“Don’t touch yourself,” he says hoarsely. “You’ll come just from taking me deep.”

Heat floods me. My thighs tremble. I shove back in desperation, craving release. My mind fills with images of me on my hands and knees, Dean all fiery and tense behind me, his muscles corded with exertion, his chest damp with sweat. His thick, veined cock sinking into my body.

“Work for it,” he orders. “You look so fucking hot… show me you want it… harder… ah, that’s it…”

I brace my hand on the headboard and writhe shamelessly against him, pumping myself onto his shaft and urging us both toward ecstasy. My breasts sway beneath me, cries of pleasure tearing from my throat. Pressure coils around my nerves.

“Dean!” The pillow muffles my scream as I convulse around him, my inner flesh tightening. He shoves hard once more before withdrawing. A second later, he rubs his cock into the crevice of my ass. His groan shakes the air as he comes long and hard over my lower back.

Gasping, I sink onto my stomach. Dean pulls away and rolls onto the bed beside me.

We lie there wet, panting, and sweaty. Shudders continue to tremble in my blood, those tiny aftershocks of lingering pleasure.

I shift, turning onto my side. Dean is watching me, wariness dissolving the satiation in his eyes.

Jesus. Does he suspect something? Why should he? And what is there to suspect anyway? I haven’t done anything wrong.

Have I?

No, dammit, I haven’t. He’s the one who lied about his previous marriage. I haven’t lied about anything.

I sit up to pull off the T-shirt, which is no longer wet and sexy but cold and clammy. I grab my bathrobe and wrap it around me. I don’t look at him as I make an intricate knot in the belt of the robe.

“You okay?” He’s still watching me.

I don’t know how to answer that question.

“Second time I’ve caught you thinking about me in the shower,” I remark, forcing lightness into my tone. “I should walk in on you more often, if your fantasies lead to this.”

Though I’d intended it as a teasing comment, darkness flashes across Dean’s face. The first time I’d walked in on him, my fears had provoked ugly accusations and doubt.

He pushes off the bed. Tension ripples in the air between us.

“I need to finish packing.” He pulls on his boxers and goes into the living room.

I take a few breaths to calm my still-racing heart. I’m tired and confused and in no mood to go after him and dredge up all our problems. I need to figure things out myself first, which I hope I can do while Dean is at the conference.

My throat constricts. I suddenly can’t wait for him to leave.

After Dean heads to the airport, I spend the morning alone in the apartment. The strain of recent weeks is gone in his absence, and I let myself enjoy the peace and quiet.

I have a cup of coffee, read a magazine, do some laundry, clean out my closet, watch a gardening show. In the afternoon I spend a few hours at the Historical Museum, and since I’m off work at the bookstore this weekend, Kelsey calls to invite me to a Mexican restaurant for dinner.

“Is it still the baby thing?” Kelsey sits back and sips her gigantic margarita. When I don’t respond, she glances at me. “Or is something else wrong?”

“No.” I duck my head and take a long sip of my own, less-gigantic margarita. The
baby thing
has been overwhelmed by the
former wife thing
.

“We’ll work it out,” I say vaguely. “It just takes time.”

I won’t tell Kelsey what Dean told me—it’s his story to tell, after all—but she’s savvy enough to read between the lines. She piles a chip with guacamole and crunches into it.

“Whatever the deal is, Liv, the man loves you to his bones,” she says. “Even I can see that, and I’m about as romantic as a tree branch.”

“Liv?”

Kelsey and I both look up to see Tyler Wilkes approaching our table.

“Tyler.” I smile. It’s the first time I’ve seen him without his chef’s jacket on. He’s wearing tan trousers and a well-fitted, button-down shirt the same shade of blue as his eyes. He looks good.

He stops beside our table and there’s a moment of awkwardness as we try to figure out how to greet each other. Finally he puts an arm around my shoulders and we exchange a brief hug. I catch a whiff of his aftershave before I pull away and introduce Kelsey.

“Tyler is my cooking instructor,” I say, then launch into a list of Tyler’s many accomplishments, which I’m surprised I even remember.

“Impressive.” Kelsey purses her lips around her straw for another dose of margarita. She glances from Tyler to me.

“I expect Liv is going to be the most improved student by the end of the year,” Tyler says. “She’s a hard worker and she has great potential. And she makes a mean soufflé.”

I flush and roll my eyes, even though the compliment secretly pleases me.

“So, what are you doing here?” I wave my hand at the restaurant, which is a nice place but certainly no fine-dining establishment.

“Just met a friend for dinner,” Tyler says. “The chile relleno here is the best for miles.”

I glance behind him, wondering if the “friend” is female. And then wondering why I care.

“Don’t you live in Forest Grove?” I ask.

“No, I’ve got a place over in Rainwood. About the same distance from here to Forest Grove.”

“Can you stay?” I gesture to the chair beside me. “We’re just getting ready to order.”

“No, I gotta get back to Julienne. I like to be there on weekends. Remember you’ve still got a standing invitation. Next time I won’t even put you to work.” He nods at Kelsey. “Nice meeting you.”

“Yeah. You too.”

“Bye, Liv. Good to see you.”

“You too, Tyler.”

I watch him go. I don’t really care that Kelsey is looking at me like she’s trying very, very hard not to interrogate me.

I
haven’t
done anything wrong. And Tyler’s compliments and admiration make me feel good. Frankly it’s nice to feel that way these days.

Our food arrives, and I ask Kelsey about her work as we eat. Ranting about her fellow professors is enough to keep her off the subject of Tyler, and by the time she drops me off at home she seems to have forgotten about him.

I don’t forget about him, though.

I lie in the big, empty bed and think about him and all his accomplishments and the easygoing way he has with people. I think about his vast knowledge of food, how he can debone a chicken within minutes, how he knows the exact temperature to cook a scallop, and how he can identify every cut of beef. He even knows how to make a perfect risotto.

I roll over and stare at the other side of the bed. Tyler is like Dean in some ways. Both of them possess an encyclopedic knowledge of their fields. Both are accomplished, dedicated, wholly passionate about their work. Both excel at what they do.

I press my hand against Dean’s cold pillow, then fumble for the phone on the nightstand. “Dean?”

“Hey, beauty. Did you get my voicemail?”

“Yes. I…” I curl my fingers into the pillow. “Just wanted to talk to you.”

“How was your day?”

“Fine. I had dinner with Kelsey. She says hi. She wants you to bring her back some peach preserves.”

“Do you want anything?”

“I want you to come home.”

“Four days only. I love you. I’ll call you tomorrow night.”

“I love you too.”

He’s already hung up, so I don’t know if he heard me. I drop the phone back onto the cradle and close my eyes.

If Dean had been sleeping beside me, I don’t know if I would have dreamed about Tyler Wilkes. I’ll never know. But I dream about him now—a dream that’s slow and easy and sweaty.

I dream about his body, compact and firm with a light mat of blond hair scattered over his chest. I dream about the way his mouth would feel against the bare skin of my shoulder, my throat, my breasts. I dream about his weight on top of me, how we’d fit together, how it would feel to wrap my legs around his hips. I imagine his skin smells like fresh herbs and citrus, that his hair feels thick and smooth like straw.

When I wake, I’m damp with perspiration, and my blood throbs a restless beat. I shift around, resisting the urge to press my fingers between my thighs, to rub the ache away.