Just My Luck (20 page)

He reached for her, got his hands under that top. Pulled it off her and tossed it. And realized why he’d been able to see her nipples so well. Because her bra was nearly sheer, a light mesh of flesh-colored material over the thin bands holding it in place. He pushed her down across the big bed, came down over her, and was there. His hands on her. His mouth, kissing, biting, pulling her inside. Feasting on her.

Her hands were in his hair, grabbing him, and she was making those sounds again, incoherent cries that pushed him even higher. He reached a hand down, over the leather skirt, beyond to the warm flesh of her thigh. Could feel the way her legs were straining against the heavy material, trying to open for him, and felt himself losing another bit of control. Felt her jerk against him as he ran his hand up one of those smooth, slim thighs, under the leather, then settled it over the center of her. Rubbed the seam of the tiny, triangular front of the thong into her, felt what it did to her. How she was squirming against his hand, crying out as he continued. She was ready to come right now. But he wasn’t ready for her to do it yet.

He put his hands on her hips, flipped her over. Found the fastening for the bra, undid it. Lifted her upper body with one hand while he pulled it off her with the other. Then had both hands under her, cupping her breasts, as he straddled her. Rubbed her, pinched her, heard her sobbing breaths. Her head turned to the side, the eye he could see open and glazed with passion.

He moved off her then. Stood behind her where she lay on the bed. Ran his hand down her back. And then over the black leather, all the way down to the hem.

“When I saw this zip tonight,” he said, his voice sounding rough in his ears, “I knew I’d be doing this.” He reached for the little tab that had taunted him all night, partly undone already and begging him to finish the job. Pulled it slowly up, all the way to the top. The black leather parting to reveal her thighs, then parting more, falling all the way open. Showing him all of her, the thin strip of thong barely visible. Looking like a delicious fantasy come true.

He pulled her back towards him so her hips were at the edge of the bed, and his hands were parting her thighs, exploring those smooth cheeks, then delving between them, over her, rubbing the silky material into her. And she was writhing against the bed, against his fingers, crying out.

“Nate,” she said, her voice muffled against the duvet. “Nate. Turn me over. I want to see you. I want to touch you. Oh, God. Nate.”

He was aching to take her this way, to have her like this. But he needed to do more to her first. He needed to do it all. He grabbed the thong in both hands, yanked it down her legs and off her. Flipped her over again and pulled her up so her head was on the pillow. Moved down her body, put a hand on either thigh. Spread her legs for him, and thought he’d lose it right then from the sense of power it gave him. And then put his mouth to her. Tasted the excitement flooding her, filling her. Her hands were in his hair, her hips were moving against him, and she was crying out. And then she was coming so hard, for so long, he could tell it almost hurt. 

Ally was whirling. Spinning. From the time she’d climbed into his car, she’d felt it, that exhilarating sensation of standing at the edge of the very steepest black diamond slope, pushing herself off. The moment when she knew she was caught, that she had to take this ride all the way to the end. The rush of being at the screaming knife-edge of control, fighting to keep herself inside that thin line. Excitement at the edge of panic. Pleasure at the edge of pain. And she knew she was almost all the way there now, that she was losing herself in his touch, in the pleasure he was making her feel, in the thrill of being overtaken.

She realized, opening her eyes at last, shuddering with the trailing jolts of pleasure from one of the most intense orgasms she’d ever experienced, that he was still dressed. That she hadn’t even touched him. He came up over her, and she reached for his shirt, jerked it out of the waistband of his jeans, began to fumble at the buttons, her fingers trembling and clumsy.

“Nate. Now. Please,” she got out, hearing the strain in her voice. He finished the unbuttoning job for her, pulled the shirt off. Her hand was already on his belt buckle, yanking it open. And then she was unzipping him, reaching beneath the waistband of his briefs, greedy for the feeling of him filling her hand, the smoothness and the size of him. And no, the nickname wasn’t just about determination and strength. Not at all.

He swore viciously, rolled to one side, pulled everything off in one quick series of movements. Grabbed for the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out the packet as she finally, blissfully, ran her hands over him from behind. His back, then around it, stroking the defined muscles of his abdomen. But only for a moment, because he was over her again, pulling her arms up over her head.

“Reach behind you and grab hold,” he ordered, moving over her.

“I want to touch you,” she protested.

He was straddling her, and his hands were over hers, placing them over the edge of the low headboard. “Grab hold,” he told her again. “Hang on. Because you’re going to get it hard.”

And she did. She was rocketing down that slope, almost too fast, almost gone. She could hear herself, as if from a distance, making sounds she’d never heard come from her mouth before. She had her knees all the way up by her shoulders, the wind rushing in her ears, telling her that she’d gone almost too far, was all the way out on that razor edge.

And then he took hold of her legs, shoved them all the way up, and the tension in her was off the charts, every muscle in her body gripping as he held her tight, stretched her out, his hands hard on the backs of her thighs. He was driving into her, every stroke pushing her higher, further out, to the limit.

And finally, with an agonized cry, she was all the way over. Tumbling and rolling, again and again, her eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, wailing with the intensity of it. And feeling, hearing him going right along with her, straight over into the dark.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned when he could speak again. When he’d let her go and she was lying next to him, her breath even more labored than his own. “Bloody
hell.
I think you killed me.”

“Me?”
she gasped. “
I
killed
you?
I may never have the use of my legs again.”

He laughed, heard the shakiness of it. Reached out for her and pulled her against him, bent to kiss her. “And I never did let you touch me, did I? No worries, we’ll get to that. We’ll take it slowly next time, I promise. I just . . . I had to get that done first.”

“Mmm,” she agreed, stroking her hand over his chest, leaning over to kiss him there. Which felt pretty bloody good too. “Next time you can hold the headboard and let me explore. But first—” She rolled to one side of the big bed. “I need a shower.”

He saw her hesitate, look back at him. “If you’re OK with me staying, I mean.”

“You’re joking.” He pulled himself up so he could watch her. “If you think I’m letting you out of here for the next forty-eight hours, you’re dreaming. I’ve got two days off, and a fair few frustrated weeks to make up for. And all sorts of wonderful things I need to try, as well as whatever you come up with.”

“Well, sadly,” she said, getting up and moving toward the ensuite bath, giving him the chance to take a good long look at the sight of her walking away, “I don’t have two days off. I have to work tomorrow afternoon, and close too. Which means I’ll be there till nine.”

“Then we’ll have to make the hours count, won’t we,” he decided. “And I’ve just realized that I need another climbing lesson after all. Last thing tomorrow.”

Men’s Valentine’s Day

“Now I know what your mom meant,” Ally sighed the next evening, just before taking another enthusiastic bite of Thai takeaway. She wriggled back against the headboard a little more, lifted her plate from her lap so she could cross her bare legs. At least she was wearing underwear and a camisole now. Dressed for dinner.

That shocked a laugh out of Nate, sitting back himself in nothing but a pair of warmup pants, making short work of his beef and vegetables. “I’m almost scared to ask. This scene isn’t really something I’d associate with my mum.”

“When she—or was that your aunt?—was talking about how much you spoil them,” she explained.

“Oh, yeh. Buying you Thai food, that’s a major. I’d better watch myself here, setting this kind of standard.”

“OK, but giving me a ride home this morning, then waiting while I packed so you could drive me to work—that’s a lot of spoiling, admit it. And then coming to get me again tonight.”

“Because I needed my lesson, is what that was. Needed to give you a bit of a lesson too. Even things out a little.”

“Mmm,” she said happily. It had been awfully nice to see him come through the door tonight. To see him smile at her. To smile back at him, and to think,
That’s mine. He’s here for me.
To want him so much, and know that he wanted her just as badly. To spend the hour climbing with him, teasing him, laughing with him, all the while knowing that they were going to end up here.

And then what had happened when they actually
had
ended up here. They’d had to reheat their takeaway after what she’d intended as a quick shower had turned much soapier than anticipated. Had started in there, continued out here, in bed. And on the floor. The floor had been especially . . . special.

“You know what’s extra nice?” she went on. “I was feeling kinda bad a couple weeks ago that I wasn’t going to have a boyfriend for Valentine’s Day. Not that anybody’s ever done much for me on Valentine’s Day, but at least I didn’t have that feeling that I was the only leprous, unloved person on the planet, know what I mean?”

“Don’t think men get that feeling,” he said with a smile. “We’re a bit late here, but I could nip down to the shop and buy you a card. Half price, even, which would mean I could probably do the choccies too. They’ll still have them up in that bargain bin.”

She laughed. “No, thanks.” Leaned over and kissed the top of his shoulder, loving the fact that she could do it. “I was just thinking that I sort of got a Valentine after all. And that it’s nice. But maybe you want a card, since you missed it too. And, as you’ve pointed out, they’re cheap now.”

“Well, you know what they say about Valentine’s Day and men.”

“No, what?”

“It’s a woman’s holiday. We don’t really care. I read online somewhere that some bloke proposed they have one just for men, maybe the next month.
This
month, in case you want to do a bit of planning.”

“Uh-huh,” she said skeptically. “I can’t wait. What do men want for Valentine’s Day? Not candy and flowers, I take it.”

“Nah. What this bloke was saying was, beer, steak, and a . . . and oral sex. Men’s Valentine’s Day. Easy as.”

“Wow. That’s so romantic,” she breathed, eyes wide in mock admiration. “I’ll just point out here that you’re drinking a beer right now, and you had a steak last night. And that you got the other part tonight too. I’m pretty much three for three.”

“Yeh,” he grinned. “Every day’s Valentine’s Day, far as I’m concerned. You’re keeping me pretty happy so far.”

“I’ll keep you happy as long as you keep me happy. I really like what you do. I haven’t done very much before,” she added in a burst of endorphin-induced honesty. “Not that much variety, I mean. I’m really liking trying some new things, and I can’t wait to do even more.”

He stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth, then finished off his dinner in a couple bites, set the plate aside.

“What kinds of things, exactly, can’t you wait to do?” he asked. “Should I be taking notes?”

“You know,” she faltered. Looked down at her plate, toyed with a piece of broccoli. Had she really said that? “I like how it’s fun, with you. Different positions, different places. I haven’t done that before. And I just figured, maybe you had some other ideas too.”

“So what we have here,” he said, a smile beginning to form, “is your basic male fantasy. A woman without much experience who wants to be . . . instructed.”

“Well . . .” She hesitated, could feel the red creeping all the way up from her chest, betraying her. “When you say it like that, it sounds so . . . dirty.”

“Oh, it’s going to be dirty,” he promised. “How dirty, that’s up to you. You can tell me how far you want to go. Because I’m ready to go all the way.”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. She’d said this, she might as well keep going. Nobody had ever accused
her
of being timid. She took a defiant stab at that broccoli, raised it to her mouth, and chewed.

“I’m guessing there are things that work in a fantasy,” she finally went on, “but wouldn’t be that great to actually do. I’m pretty sure I’m not into pain. Giving or receiving it, either one. Or actual coercion, if I really don’t want to, you know.” She hoped it wasn’t necessary to spell that out, but who knew what he thought “all the way” meant? “Oh, and no multiple partners,” she said as it suddenly occurred to her. “Beyond that . . . not sure. I’d have to try it and see. But if you’re thinking about pulling out your riding crop and those clamps,” she added, trying to get on top of the situation again, “that’s a no.”

“So many restrictions. I guess that means choking’s out too. Bugger,” he sighed.

“Joke,” he added quickly at the look on her face. “No worries. I never understood how it’s hot to force a woman, or to hurt her. I get enough pain out on the paddock, giving
and
receiving. Don’t think I could do that anyway. That black eye was the last time I’m going to be hurting you. But introducing you to some new . . . ideas, a bit of experimentation, a little role-playing, now . . . that’s something else.”

Role-playing. Wow. She could feel the heat pooling inside, the throb that had begun again as soon as they’d started talking about this, was so strong now that she could feel each pulsing beat. Was sure he could read it on her face.

“OK,” she said, wishing her voice hadn’t dropped to a whisper. “I can do that.”