Take Me Home (18 page)

“You know what I want to do, Claire?” he asked, lifting his head.

“Tell me.”

“I want to take you here, standing up, like we were in the stall. It’s been in my mind ever since this afternoon. But I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her knees nearly buckled with pure lust at the idea of being open and locked against his hips while he slid inside her. She was so wet and ready she knew nothing he did would cause her pain.

“Oh God, yes!” She unsnapped and unzipped her jeans, dragging them and her panties down to her ankles in one movement. As she untangled her feet and kicked the pile of clothing away, she heard the rip of foil and looked up to find Tim fitting a condom over his erection.

Then her hands were on his shoulders, and his hands were wrapped around her thighs, lifting her and spreading her legs wide. She bent her knees around his waist and reached one hand down to position him against her.

“Now!” she said.

He thrust up at the same time she slid downward, seating himself deep inside her. They both cried out, an incoherent sound of surprise and satisfaction.

She locked her ankles around him, feeling the teeth of his jeans’ zipper dragging exquisitely at the tender flesh of her inner thighs. His hands had shifted to cup her buttocks, and she felt the brush of his fingertips against her anus, an additional sensation she found shockingly erotic.

He flexed his hips, and she ground against him, making him groan her name. She crushed her breasts against him, reveling
in the feel of her naked skin against soft flannel and hard male muscle.

“That’s it, you’re in trouble now, lady.”

He backed her up against the wall and began to stroke in and out, forcing her legs wider open. The friction of the denim and the zipper and his cock wound the coil of her arousal tighter and hotter and deeper until she felt the first spasm of release and convulsed so hard she nearly screamed. He moved faster and sent her spiraling into full orgasm. As her muscles clenched again, he drove into her fully and shouted with his own climax.

As the afterglow rippled through her, Claire dropped her forehead onto Tim’s shoulder. She could feel his heart hammering against her breasts, especially when he drew in a deep gulp of breath.

“Mmm,” she said, tilting her hips to add an extra fillip of pleasure.

A laugh rolled through him. “You aren’t getting any more from me right now. I’m done—for the time being.”

“I don’t want to move,” she murmured. She savored the sensation of being sandwiched between his body and the wall so no part of her was left untouched. As he began to slide out of her, she whimpered a sigh of regret.

Her mew turned to a startled “Oh!” when he replaced his cock with his hand, playing in the moist, hot place between her legs.

“I can’t,” she said, but her hips bucked as he kept stroking. “No, no more. Oh dear God!”

Another orgasm ripped through her as he pushed his fingers inside her. She dug her fingers into the bunched muscles of his arms, holding on for dear life as the spasm yanked her body into an arc of explosive sensation.

“I was pretty sure you could,” Tim’s voice rumbled beside her ear.

She sagged against him, feeling like a rag doll. “Please don’t try for a third.”

“I could take that as a challenge.”

“Only if you want to kill me,” she said into his neck.

She felt the brush of his lips against her ear and the shift of his weight. With her legs still wrapped around his waist, he carried her over to the sofa and gently deposited her on the cushions. As he sat down beside her, she burrowed into his side, curling her legs and arms up against him. She felt his movements as he stripped off his condom.

He tugged at the wad of T-shirt and bra rucked up under her armpits. “This looks uncomfortable. Lift your arms up.”

“Right, you’re only thinking of me,” Claire said, but she raised her hands over her head so he could take the last of her clothes off.

She was about to go to work on the buttons of his shirt when he drew his fingertip over her breast with such exquisite gentleness that she gasped.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

Every inch of her skin was sensitized, so the touch of his hand made her nerve endings spark. As he pulled her onto his lap, she jerked when the tender spot between her legs came into contact with his denim-covered thighs.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, starting to shift her again.

“No, just stop moving. Please.” She tucked herself against his chest as he ceased trying to reposition her and simply encircled her with his arms. He let out a long sigh as he settled one hand on her hip and one on her shoulder, creating little oases of extra warmth.

For several minutes, she was content to just sit and inhale the scent of him as her body settled into a state of satisfied contentment. Unfortunately, as her physical senses quieted, her brain
started buzzing again. She lifted her head. “You deliberately missed that shot.”

Tim’s head was tipped to rest on the back of the sofa and his eyes were closed. “What shot?” he asked without moving.

“You had Paul’s goalie out of position, and you set up for the goal with a brush pass. Then you shot into the opposite corner on purpose.”

“Why would I try to lose the game?”

“That’s what I want to find out.” Now that her afterglow had faded, it hit her that she was stark naked and her companion was fully dressed. She felt self-conscious and reached across Tim to grab a crocheted afghan, pulling it around her bare shoulders.

“Hey,” he said, rousing from his torpor, “that blanket is not a good addition.”

“Well, then you take all of your clothes off,” Claire said, grinning. “It’s only fair.”

“Okay.” He started unbuttoning his shirt, and her eyes went wide as she enjoyed the view.

Then she realized he was trying to distract her from her question. She put her hands over his to stop him. “This is only a temporary delay,” she promised. “Why did you blow the shot?”

“I’m not the town’s most famous foosball player,” Tim said, not meeting her eyes. “I’m pretty sure I did everything I could to win the game.”

“That’s what I suspected. You didn’t want to take Paul’s title away from him.” She let go of his hands to cup her palms around his face.
How many men could resist the temptation of beating the alpha male?
“You’re an amazing man.” Then she went at his shirt buttons herself.

“I don’t remember saying that, but as long as I get credit, I won’t argue.” He dropped his hands on either side of her and watched as she worked her way down his shirt. She yanked the
tails out of his waistband and pulled the fabric aside to bare the impressive expanse of his chest.

“Wow!” She let her fingers drift over his bared skin, tracing the curve of a pectoral muscle and tickling across the light fur of glinting auburn hair. She flattened her palm on the washboard of his abdomen and felt his muscles contract under her touch.

“Claire?” His voice was ragged. “If you keep that up, you may be having that third orgasm sooner than you want.”

She dragged her gaze up from the magnificence of his chest. His pupils were huge and dark, while the tendons of his neck were strained with the effort of controlling his response to her exploration.

Just like that, she was ready for the third orgasm; she could feel the heat and moisture bloom inside her. She started to straddle him, but considered the size of the couch in contrast to the size of the man underneath her. “Why don’t we go upstairs, where there’s a king-sized bed?”

“Once I get into your bed, I intend to stay until morning.”

“I have to get up early,” she warned.

“How early?”

His thumbs were circling her nipples, so it was hard to think. Closing her eyes didn’t help; it just made the focus on her breasts more intense. She grabbed his wrists to stop him, her fingers barely going halfway around the girders of sinew and bone. “Um, I have to get the girls up and dressed and be at church by nine thirty to get my choir robes on. So seven-ish.”

Before she knew what was happening, he had hitched her over his shoulder and pushed off the cushions. The afghan got left behind in the transition, so her bare breasts were flattened against his flannel-covered back, and her naked bottom was in the firm grip of one of his large hands. His other hand was snugged across the backs of her knees, to hold her in place.

“Are you always so Neanderthal?” she asked, giving him a playful thump on his back.

He grunted in caveman fashion before heading for the stairs. “Call me Grog.”

Being carried upstairs while inverted was surprisingly interesting. With any other man, she would have been nervous about being dropped or causing him injury. Slung over Tim’s shoulder, she relaxed and enjoyed the whimsy of it. His playful side was just one more revelation.

“Turn left,” she said as he paused at the top of the stairs.

Her view changed from pine planks to rose-colored carpeting. Tim gave her buttock a pat and bent to drop her carefully onto the bed.

He straightened to strip his shirt off and unfasten his jeans.

“I have an important question to ask you,” she said, remembering her conversation with Holly. “Keep undressing,” she prompted when his hands froze at his waistband. “Would you dance in a bowling alley?”

He kicked his boots off and stepped out of his jeans before pushing her knees apart and kneeling between them. “Depends on how good the music is.”

She had no more questions.

“C
LAIRE
, I
HAVE
coffee.”

“Wha...?” She heard the voice and she smelled the coffee, but she couldn’t figure out what either one was doing in her dream.

The bed seemed to drop out from under her on one side, and she rolled into something warm and solid. The voice rumbled closer to her ear. “It’s seven ten. You have to sing in the choir.”

Tim. Foosball. Sex. Amazing sex. It all flooded back into her brain. She lifted her head and madly shoved her hair out of her eyes.

He was sitting beside her on the bed, with his shirt unbuttoned and a mug of coffee in each hand. “This is one of the best dreams I’ve ever had,” she said, trying to pull the sheet over her breasts as she scooted into a sitting position. Tim’s weight on top of the covers made it impossible, so she grabbed a pillow instead.

“Don’t cover up on my account,” he said with a smile that made her feel shy and hot at the same time. He held up one mug and then the other. “With milk and sugar or black?”

“Milk and sugar, please.” She took the mug and swallowed the nectar it contained. “It’s actually sweet enough. You are my fantasy man.”

“Hold onto your coffee,” he said, making the bed rock as he settled in with his back against the headboard and his long legs
stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He had pulled his jeans on, but his feet were bare.

“You have beautiful arches,” she said as she took another sip of her coffee.

The mattress shook as he laughed and flexed his left foot to exaggerate the arch. “If it makes you want me, I’m good with that.”

She was feeling oddly constrained. In the bright, clear light of morning, some of the things she’d done and let him do to her last night made her blush. It was hard to chat casually when images from their lovemaking kept flashing across her mind’s eye. The truth was she’d known him for so little time that she didn’t have a lot to discuss with him. Willow? Holly’s abusive husband? The foosball game? The Castillo painting? Nothing seemed quite right for the moment.

“You’re mighty quiet. Having second thoughts?”

“Oh God, no! Just a bit of morning-after awkwardness.”

“I’ll get out of your way, then,” he said, swinging his legs off the bed. “Just let me grab my boots.”

She grabbed his arm. “No, Tim, I’m not trying to get rid of you. I’m trying to, well”—she shrugged—“think of something to talk about. We don’t know all that much about each other.”

Or we know things we can’t talk about, like your wife’s suicide
.

He kept his feet on the floor, but he turned toward her with a glint of wicked humor in his eyes. “There are a few things I know, like the way you like to be—”

“Shhh,” she said with a laugh as she put her hand over his mouth. “I have to be in church in less than three hours, so I need to be in the proper frame of mind.”

His tongue traced a slow, sensual circle in her palm, and she snatched it away. “You’re not helping.”

“All right. You know, I like this place. It’s solid and comfortable, even though it’s pink,” he said, gesturing at the room around
them. “Have you thought about buying it? You could use it as a weekend getaway.”

“No, I stay with Holly when I visit here, which isn’t that often, to be honest.”

“Sanctuary isn’t a bad place. Why are you so set against it?”

“I feel more at home in New York. Don’t you miss it yourself?”

There. She’d approached the eight-hundred-pound gorilla of his wife’s death
.

“I like it here.” He stared down into his coffee. “It’s easy.”

“Really? I feel the opposite way,” she said, sliding her legs out from under the covers and hugging the pillow in front of her. “Sanctuary has its own issues.”