Whirlwind (3 page)
Almost.
Naked, he was an imposing figure. Intense eyes, dark skin, muscled physique, and a quiet air of command that oozed from every gesture.
Without breaking eye contact, he stepped to the table and leaned over to flick his tongue over her breast.
The warm touch on her tight nipple sent a shock through her, and her back arched off the table.
His mouth closed over her breast, and he drew her tender flesh into his mouth, laving with broad strokes of his tongue. At the same time, his hand inched along her abdomen and snuck under the elastic of her panties.
Her breath quickened from the dual onslaught to her body, and she reveled under his intimate attentions. With one hand, Senna tried to wiggle her panties over her hips but kept getting distracted by the excitement his sucking mouth created on first one breast then the other. Her pussy throbbed with need, and the fingers playing with her cropped curls were not reaching their target.
She ran a hand over his chest, teasing his nipples with caresses.
He stiffened and eased upward, away from her touch. “Not yet.”
“Why the hell not?” She reached out and cradled his balls, running her hand up his cock. “This is proof you’re ready.” She tightened her fingers in sequence, easing from the base toward the head.
A groan escaped him, and his knee dug into the table. “I was thinking of your pleasure.”
“Nice thought, now fuck me.” She raised her hips enough to scoot off her panties and tossed them over her shoulder.
His gaze held hers for a long moment, then it lowered to take in her naked body. A smile lifted the corner of his mouth, and a finger ran along the inked marking above the line of her dark pubic hair. “A whirlwind? Here?” A black eyebrow winged upward.
A grin stretching her lips, she shrugged. “I thought the symbolism was appropriate.”
His palm covered the circular tat, a finger combing through her moist curls. “But will I get lost inside?”
Her heart leapt. For so long, she’d wanted to connect with a man who wasn’t put off by her boldness. “Only one way to find out.” Her hand pressed on his as she lifted her hips. “Take me.”
“This table won’t hold us both.” He planted kisses along her shoulder, his lips skimming her skin toward her breasts. “Turn over.”
He was right. The table wasn’t meant for rollicking action. She flipped over and pressed her hipbones to the table’s edge, bracing her legs wide and resting her forearms on the padded surface.
“Looks like you’re ready for the doctor to give you a shot.”
The distinctive rip then crinkle of a foil packet sounded.
She started to glance over her shoulder when an iron arm clasped her stomach and pulled her backward. Against a warm groin.
“Lower yourself onto me.”
The stiff head of his cock pressed against her wet folds, seeking entrance. This was what she’d been waiting for since the first moment she’d bumped into him at the exhibition entrance. Senna grabbed for the edge of the table and lowered herself with short bounces. Her thrusts were met with his slow strokes, and soon they were moving together, alternating between slow and fast, shallow and deep.
When his hand cupped a breast and tweaked her nipple, she couldn’t hold back her sounds. “Damn. You fill me, Chev.”
She caressed every inch of his skin she could reach—his hard thighs, firm ass, and taut waist—and tried to modulate her ragged breathing. Under her fingers, his body was dotted with beads of perspiration. Their joined bodies created a maelstrom of sensation. Her skin was on fire, and her pussy burned. She was close. All she needed was a bit of—
“I’ve got to touch you.” Chev’s hand skimmed around her waist and dove into the curls dripping with cream. One fingertip circled her clit then pressed hard. A second one slid along her slick folds and then he worked them on both sides of her throbbing knot.
The pressure sent her over the edge, her clit spasming with pulses one on top of the other. She stiffened then cried out, falling heavy against his arm and sucking in deep gasps of air.
Chev pumped, long and deep, then he grabbed her hips and ground his cock in circles before letting out his own satisfied groan and slumping against her back. With slow strokes, his hands rubbed along her upper thighs.
Deep inside, Senna savored the pulses as his hot cum jetted into the condom, his rigid head tickling the walls of her channel. His cock filled her like none other had.
Moments of sated bliss stretched into minutes. She reveled in his skin hot against her back and the rasp of his breathing gradually returning to a normal pace. The sounds of the arena—laughter, talking, the clunks of equipment being packed—slowly filtered into her hearing. Scents of popcorn and hot dogs entered her nose. The reality of their quasi-public location registered, and she tried to straighten. How loud had she been? “Hey, Chev, we’re a bit exposed here.”
For a split second, his hands froze then rested on her hips. “Right.” With a last caress, he stepped back.
In an instant, cool air brushed on her naked skin, and she straightened her wobbly legs. Usually at these ‘just after sex’ awkward moments, she threw on her clothes and dashed home. This time was different—she wanted to know more about this guy. She stepped to the side and leaned a hand against the table’s edge.
From the plastic storage bin beneath the table, she grabbed a couple of small towels, tossing one to Chev. The other she used for a quick cleanup before starting the search for her clothes. Why was the act of tossing off your clothes before sex passionate, but the hunt for them afterward so undignified?
“How can you move after what we shared?” Chev’s lids were lowered halfway over his eyes, his hands braced on the table.
Senna zipped her jeans and slid her blouse over her arms, her breathing still a bit uneven. “Because I don’t want anyone walking in and seeing us naked. I don’t believe my permit covers—” her hand flipped between pointing at his chest and then hers “—this.”
“Ahh. Good point.” His grin turned lazy, and he eased into the nearby chair and stretched out his legs. “You’ve got more energy. Gather my clothes and toss them here.”
“You’re already telling me what to do?” Normally, she enjoyed watching the act of a man dressing, loving the immediate intimacy created.
“Either that or I remain on display.” He crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. “An event that obviously bothers you more than me.”
She clasped enough buttons to keep her blouse closed and leaned over to scoop up his jeans. A familiar symbol in the design on his belt buckle caught her eye, and she lifted it to reflect the light. A small whirlwind sat on the horizon of a desert scene with a flat-topped mesa in the background. Her fingernail outlined the etched spiral. “I know this artist.”
“You do?” His words were spoken low. “How?”
Senna barely registered his guarded tone. “I mean I know this work. It’s beautiful. A friend had a buckle and then special ordered a watchband with similar elements.” She flipped it over and spotted the initials one on top of the other—C.T. “This is by Cheveyo Taima.”
Chev.
She gasped and whirled to face him, eyes wide. The pieces fell into place. Tattoo by ‘clansman’ Taima. Only revealing his name as ‘Chev. ‘ “You! You’re Cheveyo?”
With an easy move, he stood and was at her side in two strides. He stepped into his boxer briefs, took the jeans from her hand, and pulled them on. “Have been all my life.”
“But why?” Heat crept into her cheeks, and she was not normally a blusher. He really had her flustered.
A couple of long strides took him back across the space. He lifted his T-shirt from the extra chair and pulled it over his head, extracting his braid. “I didn’t want my identity to matter.”
Her heart raced. “I don’t know if it would have.”
“Glad to hear it.” He shrugged and grinned. “Besides, I had another reason.”
Senna didn’t know if she should be mad or embarrassed. “What reason?”
“Not before you agree to have dinner with me.” He stepped close and rested his forearms on her shoulders, his hands linked behind her head. “Tonight in my hotel room where I can love you right.”
Possessiveness laced his words. A proposition that sounded delicious. Spoken words of acceptance stuck in her throat and she could only nod.
“I was following you.”
“I knew it.”
“On behalf of my brother, Mochni Taima, president of the Council of Native Arts.”
“CNA?” Her heart skipped a beat. Oh, Spirit of Life, what had she done? Had her impulsiveness just jeopardized her grant?
His fingers played with the loose hair behind her ears. “Senna, I have the honor of informing you that you’ve won the Rising Star artist-in-residence grant. Your summer will be spent as a guest on the Hopi Reservation.”
Her breath caught in her throat and the backs of her eyes burned. Three months spent near this exciting man. She shifted her weight, bumping his hip, and winked. “I don’t know if that performance improved my chances, but I know I’ve already won.”
If Earth Mother smiled upon her, Senna’s prize stood right within reach.
About the Author
On a dare from a close friend, Layla Chase challenged herself to explore the steamier side of romance and discovered all sorts of characters whose stories needed sharing. She writes contemporary and historical stories from her mountain home in California that she shares with long-time husband and two dogs.
Visit Layla at
www.laylachase.com
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Also Available
Naughty in Norway
by
Layla Chase
A job promotion temporarily relocates Texan Dissa Booth to Oslo, Norway where she treats herself to a weekend mountain trip. The athletic moves of her blond, blue-eyed Viking of a ski instructor, Rolf Torger, set her lustful thoughts racing. Dissa cuts loose and lets him know she’s interested in any moves he might make besides on the slopes. Will one night of sexy naughtiness be enough? Or does a chance exist for more?
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