The Love Shack (13 page)

“Sure you will.”

She eyed him with pessimism, then held out her quivering hands. “You think so? Look how I’m shaking.”

“Take some more deep breaths,” he advised. “And let me get you that wine I left in the kitchen. I need a glass myself.”

She babbled at his retreating back. “If it’s for Dutch courage, don’t bother. You won’t have to deal with me and my messed-up sexuality any more tonight. I’ll go home in a minute.”

He glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m too screwed up for you to want to...well, screw. I get it. No one’s interested in doing the deed with a certified loon, even someone who engages in things like the Gage Gorge.”

He muttered a curse and walked into the kitchen.

She raised her voice. “I’m not going to hold it against you or anything. We’ll never mention any of this again.”

“Do you talk this much when you’re in bed?” he asked, his voice floating through the entry.

“I don’t remember being in bed with anyone, ever,” she called back. “It’s past the shelf date of my short-term memory and it wasn’t memorable enough to make it into my long-term banks.”

“Good,” he said, coming back in with a glass in each hand. His face was perfectly calm. As he passed the light switch, he flipped it off with his elbow, and the room went back to romantic and candlelit. “I like a fresh slate.”

“Didn’t you hear a thing I said?” she demanded, taking the wine he held out.

He sat on the other end of the couch and stretched his long legs in front of him. “I heard the forbidden phrase ‘Gage Gorge,’ and for that you will be punished.”

Her eyes rounded. “Ha-ha.” Then she looked down at her wine, aware once again of her dry throat and an odd, illicit tingling sensation below her belly. “What do you mean...punished?”

He shrugged. “Get your sweet ass into the bedroom, and I’ll show you.”

Despite herself, she felt her skin flush. He was just joking around, right? “Is this some outlandish practice you learned in your travels?”

“I’ve been to many foreign places, Skye. Turns out our American Puritan streak means most of us are not very adventurous.”

Oh, he was having fun with her now. “But not you,” she said, then sipped at her wine while peeking at him through her lashes.

“Who was the first to set sail on the raft we made one summer?”

A grin broke over Skye’s face. “I think every mom in the cove was mad at my dad for letting us watch that documentary on the voyage of the Kon-Tiki.”

“We could have used a little better quality control, that’s for sure,” Gage admitted. He lifted the hem of his shirt to expose his flat belly. “I still have the scar from when the raft broke up on the rocks.”

Skye slid closer, the dim light making it impossible to see from so far away. “Where?”

As he set down his glass on a side table, he drew the shirt farther upward. Now she was close enough to get a glimpse of the washboard ripple of his belly and the dark disc of a nipple. Still no scar. “Where?” she demanded again.

“Come a little closer,” Gage coaxed.

It was as if Satan had changed places with him, his voice was so smoky and dark. Skye’s gaze jerked up. His eyes were disguised now, their usual screaming blue two pools of deep shadow. Without touching her, he took her wineglass out of her now-nerveless hand and set it beside his own. Then he lifted his shirt over his head and tossed it away.

“Oh,” she breathed. “You don’t play fair.”

“A little something else I learned along the way.” He gestured toward the top of his rib cage. “My old wound is just about right here.”

Part of her was desperate to get closer, to succumb to his invitation, but her still-jittery nerves and residual queasiness made her pause. All the teasing, all the big talk in the world didn’t mean she could handle the entirety of what came next.

“Do you want to know your punishment, Skye?”

The
p
-word sent another rush of heat flooding through her and sparklers of tingling sensation flowered again. “Wh-what?”

“I’m not going to touch you.”

Her gaze slowly lifted to his face.

“You can touch me all you like. But if you want to feel my skin on yours—you’ll have to make that happen.”

She blinked. “How?”

He smiled Satan’s smile, lazy and sure. “Pick up my hand, put it where you’d like. Bring yourself to my mouth.”

Her trembling started again, but this was the good kind, the hot-and-cold kind that made her breasts and the place between her thighs swell. The love bites he’d left on her inner thighs began to throb. Still wrapped in the crocheted throw, Skye realized she was about to incinerate. Panting a little, she fought her way out of the blanket and pushed it to the floor.

Gage hadn’t moved a muscle. His gaze was still fixed on her. “Would you touch
me
with your hand, Skye?”

His own were resting on his thighs, lax. Hers were in fists, and she unsprung her fingers one by one, until they were both spread like sea stars in a tide pool. Then she lifted her right arm, using her palm to cup his cheek.

Closing his eyes, he made a low sound of appreciation in the back of his throat. His whiskers prickled the tender cup of her hand, and she teased herself with the sensation, subtly stroking. Her thumb brushed the smooth surface of his lower lip.

Gage dipped his head, caught the pad between his teeth.

Skye gasped and felt herself go wet. His tongue swirled over the tip, circling, circling, and then he sucked, reminding her of the way he’d played with her nipples the other afternoon as she sat on his lap.

They recalled it, too, and stood stiff against the built-in bra cups of the new dress. She squirmed a little, and they shifted against the fabric, a private self-caress.

Gage released her thumb. “Oh, there’s another rule,” he mentioned, his tone casual.

“What?” Her hand fell from his face, back to her lap.

“No touching yourself, either. I saw that little shimmy.”

She felt her face go red. “I wasn’t touching myself.”

“Hell, yes, you were.” He pointed a finger at her. “No wiggles. No secret clenching, either.”

Her inner muscles instantly tightened, and she almost moaned at the sweet pleasure of it, even as she felt another rise of heat on her face. How could mortification be such a turn-on? “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, aware how defensive she sounded. “And I don’t see how you can...can tell any of that anyhow.”

“Because I’m paying attention,” he said in his Prince-of-Darkness voice. “I’m paying attention to
you.
”

She shuddered, desire rising. Gage was drawing her toward him, his gravitational pull just like that of the moon on the ocean. She drifted closer, until she could see that he was flushed, too, the flickering candlelight showing the heightened color crossing his cheekbones.

Without thinking, she placed her mouth on the patch of warmth, her lips skating across it to find the masculine jut of his elegant nose. She followed that, too, then dropped lower to take a kiss.

He let her, opening so that her tongue could slip inside. She heard herself moan, appreciating the taste of fermented grape, berrylike and earthy at the same time. As she leaned closer, his body heat burned her upper arm.

Wanting more of it, she broke the kiss, then practically crawled over him so she could press her face to the muscled perfection of his chest. She felt him suck in a quick breath, but he held still, allowing her to rub her cheek and mouth against sleek skin and soft hair as if she were a cat.

Her lips encountered his nipple, its center point hardened. She played her tongue over it, lashing it with little flicks, and he groaned. Lifting her head, she took in his heaving chest and his now-fisted hands.

“Who’s punishing whom now?” she whispered, thrilled with the husky tease in her voice.

“Witch,” he said, but he was smiling. “Give me another kiss.”

She did, and though he continued to refrain from touching her with his hands, he still seduced her, his lips moving on hers, his exotic-spice scent rising around them. The kisses caught her like a fish in a net; she was wholly consumed by them, by him. Her hands were on his shoulders, her bottom on his lap, and when her eyes fluttered open to see his fingers wrapped in the fabric of her skirt, it was his restraint that made her the rest-of-the-way sure.

“Take me to bed,” she said, licking the line of his jaw. “Punish me there if you have to.”

“If I get you to bed, the punishment is finished. Pleasure takes over.”

“Oh, God.”

He laughed, the devil satisfied with his wickedness. Then he had her up, off the couch. She didn’t remember the walk to the bedroom. Inside, it was as she expected, lit by more candles, the wavering light as unsteady as her pulse. The bed looked huge, the covers already turned back. Her eyes were trained on it as she heard him say, “Strip.”

Her gaze jumped to his. He grinned at her, the devil gone back to the deep blue sea, perhaps, leaving Gage behind. Her Gage. “Subtle,” she said, chiding him.

He lifted his hands. “I’m afraid these might do damage to that pretty little piece of temptation.”

But he had to get involved anyway, because Skye couldn’t manage the hidden back zipper herself. After a moment of watching her struggle, he strode over and bent his head to kiss her shoulder as his deft fingers ably managed to draw down the metal tab.

He chased her newly bared skin with his mouth, all the way to the dip at the small of her back. On his knees, he gently pulled the cloth until it fell at her feet. He nuzzled at the dimples above her panty-covered bottom.

Next he insinuated his tongue just beneath the top elastic band of the undergarment and worked its soft wetness from the side of one hip to the other.

“Oh, God,”
Skye said again, fervent.

Then Gage was standing again, and it was she who was off her feet, her back against the cool sheets, his body coming down beside hers. Elbows bracketing her head, Gage devoted himself to kissing her. Skye sought for purchase in a world gone hot and sweet and topsy-turvy. One hand clutched at the sheets, another gripped the waistband of his linen trousers. Her right leg twined over him, trying to bring him closer.

He pulled back, his face gone serious, and quickly jerked off his pants and boxers. Then there was nothing between his body and her but the candlelight, licking over the hollows and curves. His sex was fully aroused, thick and aggressive, and she took a breath, prepared to push back the panic. But it didn’t arrive.

Because Gage was there, his concentrated gaze studying her face, gauging her reaction.
“I’m between you and your nightmares,”
he’d said that day while painting her living room, and she believed now that it was true.

“I’m okay,” she said, feeling a little shy about the admission. “I’m okay.”

It was Gage’s turn to be fervent. “Thank the Lord.” But still, he was careful as he lay down beside her.

She turned into his body, wanting to feel its heat and masculine intent. Though he didn’t rush to the next level. It was as if they’d started all over again, delicate kisses to her face, tender strokes of his tongue into her mouth, the lightest of brushes of his big hands over her breasts.

She arched into him, silently begging for more, and he gave it, sliding down to lick at her breasts and suck at her nipples and tickle her belly with soft caresses of his tongue. He drew the scrap of her panties down her legs and then he was between her thighs, his elbows widening them, his thumbs exploring the furrow of her sex.

“Oh,” Skye said, jerking onto her elbows in sudden alarm. “Well. Um.”

He glanced up. “Yum? My thought exactly.”

Her face burned. “Gage,” she protested.

“Skye.” He sighed a little, his breath brushing across the wetness that was seeping from her. “If you must, look at this as part of the punishment.”

“What?”

“Or the pleasure,” he said, and bent his head.

She fell back to the pillows at the first stroke of his tongue. Her body seemed to coil, one sharp, quick twist taking her all the way to the precipice. He laved the pleated layers of her, opening her flesh so that all the secrets there were uncovered as she panted to stave off the imminent explosion. His thumbs slid over liquid-glazed softness, working to reveal her most sensitive point. It throbbed, exposed to the air and to his eyes, and again Skye waited for fear or vulnerability to steal her pleasure.

But nothing could do that, not when it was Gage who was looking on her as if he’d found hidden treasure. His tongue flattened over her clitoris and she jerked upward, to him, not away from him, and then his lips closed around the pearl of flesh. Suckling.

Sending her straight into screaming pleasure.

But not oblivion. Because it could only be this sweet by not forgetting who it was that treated her with such passionate care.

* * *

G
AGE
GROANED
IN
PLEASURE
as he took Skye over. She was trembling, her body shaking through an orgasm fiery and strong. Sue him, but he felt ten feet tall, and hornier than he’d ever been in his life. He eased up on her sensitive skin, delicately lapping at her flesh before lifting away from her.

One of her hands fell to his shoulder, and he took it in his, kissing her knuckles as he moved to the pillow beside her. She was watching him with half-closed eyes. “Um...”

“Yum,” he said again, helpfully.

The outline of her lips had been smudged by his kisses, making her mouth more red. Definitely swollen. The corners turned up and she gave him a reluctant smile. “You are bad.”

“I am good,” he said, leaning in to kiss her chin, her cheek, the downy arch of her dark eyebrow. “I am very, very good. Admit it.”

“I can’t deny that, but...” Her expression was too serious.

“It’s okay to have fun, Skye. We can play here, honey.”

She appeared uncertain. So he teased her with a flurry of baby kisses, pecking them on her face and down her neck until she giggled at the tickling and pushed at his chest. He grabbed her shoulders then, flipping to his back and bringing her over him.