Enchant the Dawn (14 page)

The shower was really just a curtain around a bit of tiled wall and a drain built into the corner. They hadn’t done much to make the apartment seem welcoming depending upon the neighborhood to sell the place. She used to long for a bathtub but at least the shower usually had decent water pressure and down here in the basement she usually had hot water. Although at this hour it was hit or miss. Steam came out soon enough though and she sighed blissfully as warmth hit her chilled skin.

That sound of contentment seemed to shake him out of his stupor and she could hear him making loud slurping noises as he took off his shoes and peeled off those gloves. She let the water cascade over her, running her hands through her hair and combing out the tangles. She restrained herself from the urge to peek around the curtain and tried to be satisfied with simply imagining the glory that must be that man’s naked ass. It was damned difficult to continue the process of washing when her mind kept wandering the eight feet from where she stood to where there was a very naked, very virile man standing next to her radiator.

“Getting warmer?” she called over the sound of running water.

There was some rumble she thought must be assent.

“Come closer honey. I won’t peek, though I’m sure you look just ducky in silk!” Frankly she rather hoped he was in nothing at all. But he was probably cold enough to have taken the robe or the quilt on her bed and bundled himself in it. She supposed she should be angered at the thought of Grams’ quilt being given such treatment but really, Grams’ would have probably been thrilled at the thought of such a specimen of manhood wrapped up in her handiwork. She was a wicked old broad. Sophia still missed her like crazy.

A rough voice cut threw her random musings, “Is that close enough?”

God, she never thought she’d get so eager for nookie just from the sound of a man’s voice. His accent simply drove her mad. She wanted that tongue in her mouth, in her cleft, or yelling curses in foreign languages as she sucked on his cock.

“So,” she flinched at the obvious quaver in her voice, “does that line about being companions and destiny and all that jazz usually get you into a girl’s bloomers?”

The curtain got pulled back slightly and the look in his eyes was sharp enough to sting. She got a tantalizing view of bare chest before the slash of blue curtain covered the rest. His eyes ran down her soapy body and without saying a word, he just pulled the curtain back into place. Well,
almost
back into place.

She knew she had him now. She caressed the bar of soap with a washcloth, letting the scent of vanilla fill the air. Then she ran that washcloth over her shoulders, her heavy breasts, past her rounded tummy. Turning slightly, she bent just the right way to show off the curve of her ass and the shape of her legs. It was the legs that seemed to do the trick, bringing him close enough that he wasn’t trying to hide his peeping anymore but just openly stared at her. His hair was still a mess and his skin couldn’t make up its mind to be pink from excitement or blue from the lingering cold. She ran the washcloth up her legs as slowly as she could, from her toes with their red lacquered nails to her ankles, over the nice calves she’d earned from dancing the night away. By the time she reached the back of her knees, she could feel the raw energy pouring out of him toward her. He edged closer and closer, his shoulder just nudging the curtain back to get him a better view. He wanted her and all she had to do was reel him in.

She dropped the washcloth and ran one hand up her thigh, straightening her back and placing the other hand demurely across her chest barely covering both nipples. Looking straight at him she watched him watch her as she stroked a finger through wet curls and between her swollen lips, barely brushing her clit. She was so aroused even that slightest touch made her shiver. His eyes snapped up to hers and she bit her lip while giving him a grin. Green fire couldn’t have burned any hotter than those eyes.

He slammed into her, pushing her against the slippery tile wall as he kissed her hard. The cold of his skin was a shock to her system but soon between steaming hot water and searing kisses they had both forgotten the meaning of cold. The water surrounded them, bonded them. She felt the same kind of shock she’d felt hitting the surface of the Reservoir but this time instead of hurt and anger, desire was being poured into her, magnified until she was almost insane with the need to find fulfillment. Her breasts were pressed against his hard chest as he moved from plundering her mouth to sinking his teeth into her neck. She was sure he left a mark and that he had every intention of doing just that. He was marking her, claiming her. And she wasn’t entirely sure she didn’t want to be claimed.

She retaliated by driving her fingers into the knotted mass of his hair, tearing through it and shedding the wet leaves. His head was wrenched back just enough to allow her to suck his earlobe into her mouth, causing his hips to thrust against hers and the hard length of him to ram into her stomach. She parted her legs naturally, wrapping her ankle around his knee and arching her hips in a tight circle sure to give the message that any intrusion was more than welcome. Instead, his hips drew back as his lips burned a trail from her collarbone to her breastbone and then across to the tip of her left breast. Her fingers were still clenched in his scalp as he took her nipple between tongue and teeth sending a tail of sparks straight to her womb. Wet locks of his hair spiraled across her breast like licks of black flame and she burned.

One of his hands plucked her nipple hard and the other gripped her hip with enough force to bruise. She whimpered and arched her back, slamming her head against the wall and practically losing her footing on the slippery floor. But she knew deep down that there was no way in hell he was going to let her fall. Releasing her nipple with a sharp tug of his teeth and a feral grin he knelt before her, water pummeling him as he pulled her knee over his shoulder and traced a slow soft line from the top of her cleft to hover just over her entrance. She wanted his hands and his mouth on her and she grumbled her impatience while battling a sudden case of nerves.

It was true she’d had her share of sex, the drunken, bawdy kind that wrapped up a night of dancing and general gin joint debauchery but she’d not had much experience with a man’s mouth on her. Jimmy had been too eager and too nervous about doing the basic deed to even think of such a kinky thing. The couple of fellas who’d licked at her thought they were so accomplished they never really thought to check if what they were doing resulted in anything but bringing on a yawn. Daron West was not the kind of man not to pay attention to her reactions.

He looked up at her, an eyebrow raised in unspoken question. Water ran down his nose and face to caress her folds. His lips where close enough to be tickled by her curls and she felt more than heard his words, “May I?”

Hell, he was asking permission
. He had slammed her into the wall hard enough to make her shoulder blades ache when he wanted to kiss her but he’d ask politely to suck on her clit. She had no idea why this turned her on even more. “Get on with it!” Her voice was so eager she almost squeaked.

She felt him smile. His tongue came out to barely touch her aching nub and then skittered off to explore her wet folds. She arched her hips to get him back where she wanted him but instead he suddenly pressed one slick finger inside. She closed her eyes and pushed her fingers into his hair again as she curled against him, bending her knee and resting her weight on his shoulder as she gave herself over to him.

Trust made all the difference. For whatever cosmic reasoning she didn’t yet understand, Sophia Hunter trusted Daron West. She let go of the shield she’d held against the outside world for so many years and in this moment, she wasn’t disappointed. A second finger followed the first, long skilled fingers that caressed her insides with deft knowledge. His tongue drew closer and closer circles toward her clit as those fingers thrust harder and harder within her. She was tight—she hadn’t been with a man in a couple of years to tell the truth—and the slight pain of being opened again was utterly pleasurable.

Then he bumped her clit hard with his nose and pressed his tongue deep within, lapping up her flavor before it was diluted by the water swirling around them. Her breath came hard and fast and his grip on her hip was like steel, otherwise it was certain she’d have slipped and split her head wide open. She was too caught up in the actions of his tongue and fingers to bother with anything as insignificant as self-preservation.

She could swear she could feel him smiling, see behind her eyelids the raw sexual energy of him burn with living reds and oranges as he feasted on her. Opening her eyes, she looked down to where he knelt worshipping her. He met her hard stare with eyes full of satisfaction. Yes, he knew how good he was but it was more than just that. He was giving her pleasure and that made him happy, happier than seeing to his own pleasure. She knew it as clearly as she knew her own name. And she was awed by it.

He sucked hard on her clit and pressed those two fingers tight against something within her and she flew. Her eyes were forced wide open and her legs shivered uncontrollably as the spasms racked her. Her ears rang as he stroked her lightly, bringing her down before he surged up to kiss her, giving her a taste of her own flavor in a sensual kiss that nearly had her in tears.

His cock rocked against her folds, slipping against skin already wet from the water but made completely slippery from the addition of her own juices. The slide of that beautiful cock against her nub was driving her crazy. She tightened her legs around him, increasing the pressure and making him moan, giving him a taste of what it would be like to be inside her. She was more than ready to feel all of him, to see his face when he came. He was so close, she began to ache for him again as he continued the mutual torture. But something was wrong—something so subtle it took a moment to percolate through her pleasure-drugged brain. He was holding back, trying to stop, trying not to give them both what they wanted. She felt sorrow and abandonment followed by a surge of hot anger. She raised up on tiptoe, ready to try to impale herself on him when there was a loud ominous creak.

Shit.

The pipes moaned their symphony of protest and the water chugged to a stop. And then the shower head let forth a torrent of icy cold water. With a mutual screech, they scrambled out of the shower, falling over each other and on to the faded carpets strewn about on the floor, landing in a wet heap of tangled limbs.

Their eyes met, green to brown. And then they laughed, his a deep roar and hers an almost hysterical belly laugh. He enfolded her in his arms, in an embrace that was warm, not hot. It melted her heart, not just stirring her blood. It was a hug of fondness, of enjoyment, of affection. She dared not think love.

Sobered slightly, she pulled herself away and crawled toward a stack of towels on the dresser, throwing one to him and raising one to her own face. As she dried her hair and face, she tried to suppress the sudden onslaught of unwelcome tears. She had been through so many highs and lows this night she felt that her grip on sanity was tenuous at best. Then she felt the gentle touch of cloth against her back. She looked back at him and his face held a gentle smile as he ran the towel over her shoulders and back, over her ass and down her legs. Staring at him she had no idea of how to deal with being worshipped. He dried her feet, doing a thorough job as he held each foot in his large hands and dried between each toe. She couldn’t stop the tears falling as he came back up, drying her knees, her thighs, the curve of her stomach, her breasts and arms, all without a thought of his own comfort.

She couldn’t move but simply watched as he walked to the door, still soaking wet and brought back the red silk robe. He slipped it over her shoulders and tied the belt in a knot. She stayed standing, silent and he looked at her with sad eyes and ran the towel over himself quickly, unable to hide the evidence that even after a douse in freezing water, he still wanted her.

He gathered her up in his arms again, picking her up and placing her on her grandmother’s quilt. She had enough presence of mind to pull him down to her, enough so that he rested at her side, his naked body held back slightly from her own barely clothed one. She reached for him, needing to understand. He kissed her, sweet and hard but not deeply and simply held her loosely.

“It’s not the time yet,
ashavi
. Soon. When we are ready.” His tone held both sadness and hope.

She nodded, her head buried against his shoulder as she continued to cry, tears of awe and release and the dregs of mourning. She didn’t remember falling asleep but she knew in the morning it was the best sleep she’d had in a very long time. The energies of the population of New York hadn’t intruded on the tiny scrap of peace she needed to find. But the first thing she thought of that morning was not how well rested she felt. It was that she missed him. He’d gone sometime in the night and she wanted more than anything she’d ever wanted to see him again. It still scared the hell out of her.

Chapter Nine