Move Me (8 page)

“God. Stop,” John said at her continued
fumbling over his buttons. He undid the final few himself,
wrenching the sleeves from his well honed arms. He wore a black
T-shirt under that, which he peeled briskly over his head.

As he did, the muscles in his chest wall did
truly eye-popping things. He had a scar on his left side that
didn’t look very old, but somehow that was sexy too. Maybe her
handyman was a bad boy, getting into knife fights in backwoods
bars. While Belle tried to roll her tongue back into her mouth, his
long-fingered hands unfastened his trousers and unzipped. Somewhat
to her surprise, he wore plain gray boxers. Given how hot he was,
she’d expected something racier. On the other hand, perhaps he
needed the extra room for his erection.

“Enough?” he asked hopefully, planting his
palms to either side of her on the table.

She realized he didn’t want to undress
more.

“The rest too, please?” She considered the
lack of reliable heat in the kitchen. “Unless it’s too cold for
you.”

“No, no,” he denied. “I’ve bared you. I’m
sure getting fully naked is the least I can do.”

“
I’m
warm enough,” she assured him as
he shucked the dark green trousers down his long legs. Not wanting
to miss the show, she propped herself on her elbows. He looked
seriously cute in boxers and socks. A flush washed through her at
the shape his erection made.

“You’re drooling again,” he teased.

“Only because that ... thing is shoving out
your shorts like a baseball bat.”

He grinned and ran both thumbs inside his
boxers’ elastic waist. “If you keep it warm, I’m convinced the rest
of me will follow.”

Belle broke into a grin of her own. “I have a
spot I believe will keep it hot.”

He made a growly sound that stroked more than
her eardrums. She impressed herself by remembering the very
important thing she’d nearly forgotten.

“Um,” she said before he could drop the
boxers. “Not to be interruptive, but might you have a condom in
those work trousers?”

A funny look crossed his face, so maybe he’d
forgotten the need for this as well. He bent from the knees,
picking up his pants to dig in their back pocket. His expression as
he slowly slid his fingers in suggested he wasn’t sure what he’d
find. Did he fear he’d used up his lonely housewife stash on
another job?

“Ah,” he said before she could work up a
sense of insult. His hand emerged, magician-like, with two square
packets. Belle didn’t recognize the brand, but that hardly
mattered, considering.

“You
were
a boy scout,” she said,
deciding she was more grateful than annoyed.

“Or something,” he said dryly.

Protection taken care of, he dropped the
boxers without fanfare. He had a bit more pubic hair than she
remembered from her dream. Other than that, his tightly knit body
appeared the same: same beautiful thick penis, same veins, same
tiny drop welling from its slit. She shivered from more than
arousal as he rolled the protection on. If he started sparkling
like he had then, she really would freak out.

“Okay?” John asked, rubbing her sprawled
knees. He’d stepped to the table’s edge, and his body heat was
incredible.

“More than okay,” she promised, ignoring her
unsettling deja vu. She slid her hands up his muscled arms. “Come
rub my itch, would you?”

His eyelids hooded a sexy look. “One itch
rubbing coming up.”

She caught his shaft in her fingers before he
entered, wanting to feel him every way she could when he went in.
Something about her caress turned him serious. His gaze held hers
as his hips rocked ever so gradually forward.

He felt like paradise going into her - smooth
and thick and pulsing with excitement. He moaned exactly as he had
over her French toast, which she took as a compliment. His hips
gave an extra forward rock at the end, ensuring he filled her
completely.

“Mm,” Belle said, loving that. Her spine
wriggled on the table, her legs automatically wrapping him.

“Mm,” he said back, lips curving as he
smoothed wisps of hair from her forehead. As in her dream, she had
the odd sensation that she’d never been so intimate with a man
before.

Because this was an impression she thought
better to throw off, she cocked her pelvis toward his. If he was
like most men, the encouragement would get the main event
started.

This assumption turned out to be
incorrect.

John stilled her hip with one warm hand.
“Impatient?”

“Maybe,” she retorted, more unsettled than
she wanted to let on.

He smiled and rocked into her again without
withdrawing. “I think you’ll like this better if I take
charge.”

Her pussy derailed her intended girl power
anthem by convulsing around him.

“Fine,” she said as he snorted in amusement.
“Take charge if you want to be all he-man.”

He kissed her until her annoyance bled away:
slowly, deeply, tongue moving in and out in a sleek rhythm. Though
the kiss itself was patient, the longer it drew out, the more his
pulse and breathing sped, which caused hers to race in turn. By the
time he began contracting his thigh muscles, both of them were
moaning. He pressed into her in jolts, not really moving in and
out, just upping that deep-seated pressure and letting it
relax.

“God,” she gasped, breaking the endless kiss
to gulp for air.

John wedged his hands underneath her bottom,
dragging open lips across her brow. “You feel good,” he growled,
keeping up the rock-and-ease. “You feel better than anything.”

What she felt was insanely horny. Frustrated,
she pressed her teeth to his shoulder, letting him feel their edge.
To her delight, a shiver ran down his spine.

“I want to stand up,” he said. “I want your
weight to drive you down on my cock as far as possible.”

This wasn’t a plan she could argue with. “Do
it.”

He swung her up with a grunt that had as much
to do with pleasure as effort.

“I like your Frigidaire,” he announced.

Belle’s confusion cleared when he pushed her
butt and spine firmly against it. If this was how he meant to use
it, she could learn to like the appliance too. Needing more to hold
onto, she clutched his shoulders from behind.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured into her ear. “I
promise not to let you fall.”

The sting in her eyes came out of nowhere.
She hid them against his neck and rubbed her hands up and down his
back. A flash came to her of the twinkly wings from her dream. Even
though it was silly, she gave in to her urge to explore his
shoulder blades. The skin that wrapped them was smooth, but
apparently they
were
a hot spot for him. He writhed against
her, letting out a groan so low it seemed to vibrate her bones.

“Maybe ... you should ... stop doing that,”
he said.

“But you like it, and I like the way you’re
moving.”

He cursed and writhed some more, his hips
flexing powerfully. “You’re asking for it, Belle.”

“Yes, I really am,” she agreed.

He laughed, and she laughed back, and then
she found a place to massage on each scapula that truly drove him
crazy.

He cried out and started thumping in and out
of her, long hard strokes that hit her just how she needed it. The
shelves began to rattle inside the fridge, causing her to fear for
the bottles that sat on them. Really, though, who cared if they
smashed everything? The pounding he was giving her was totally
worth it.

She moaned as he shifted angles and brought
her clit more firmly into the game. Her heels tried to dig deeper
dents into his tight butt.

“We’re going to break something,” she warned
him breathily, her inner cleaning expert compelled to bring this
up.

He snarled and went faster. “I like the
noise. It’s exciting me.”

“You’re a ... strange man, John Feeney.”

“You’ve no idea, Belle Hobart.”

An odd punch went through her when he said
her name, as if it had some special power coming from his lips. Her
body tightened and her climax jumped a hell of a lot closer. She
didn’t know why, but something made her sweep her hands all the way
down and up his back, where wings would have lain if he’d had
them.

“Shit,” he gasped. “Belle.”

She knew he’d begun to come from the way his
hips suddenly jolted deep into her. He pulled halfway out and
jammed his thumb over her clitoris at the same time. Her climax
broke at the first hard rub. Something clunked over inside the
fridge. Totally not caring, John slammed back in and shot hard.
Instead of being dismayed, Belle made a sound some men might have
termed a scream. A second climax had rolled over her first,
building the pleasure impossibly.

She was still caterwauling when the
incredible sensations swelled into what could have been a
third.

Amazingly, given her distraction, she
realized John was in the same state, shoving in and shoving in as
if his hips were powered by an engine with no shut off. The
pistoning was delicious for both of them. He groaned himself to
hoarseness before he finally stopped.

“My God,” he breathed, his brow resting on
the freezer beside her head. “I didn’t know my body could feel that
much pleasure.”

Belle hadn’t either, not when the best climax
of her life had happened in last night’s dream. She was both glowy
and unnerved. What she’d just experienced was more than an orgasm.
To be truthful, it felt like a shot of unadulterated physical well
being. Maybe emotional well being too - which she absolutely wasn’t
looking for. That way lay danger for girls like her. She’d count on
herself for happiness, thank you.

Spooked and shaking, Belle let her legs
unclamp and slide to the floor.

“Mmph,” John said, bending his knees so he’d
stay inside her. One hand rubbed her side and hip like they were
old friends. “Give me half a minute. I’ll carry you up to bed and
stop you from shivering.”

Belle’s heart tightened at how wonderful that
sounded. Too bad she wasn’t shivering from the cold.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said
lightly. She patted his arm before extricating herself from between
his tall body and the fridge. He grimaced as his softening cock
slipped out of her warmth. “You were great, John. Exactly what I
needed. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He stared at her, then gave one slow blink.
“You guess you’ll see me tomorrow.”

“If you’re free. I’d understand if you have
another job. If you’re busy, maybe you can pencil me in for next
week.”

His heavy brows beetled together
suspiciously. Sensing him trying to figure her out, Belle worked to
smile brightly.

“I’m not in the habit of ‘penciling,’ he
said. Though he’d never removed his socks and now wore only them,
he looked dignified nonetheless.

“Tomorrow then,” she chirped like an idiot.
“For sure.”

He stared at her a moment longer. “For sure,”
he echoed grimly.

~

Dubhghall’s mood wasn’t pretty as he pulled
his clothes back on. Now that Belle was gone, he felt every draft
in the old kitchen. He was convinced his performance merited better
thanks than she’d given him.

You were great, John
, he mouthed to
himself.
I’ll see you tomorrow
.

She was supposed to invite him to stay over,
to melt with gratitude and ask what else she might do for him.
Anything you want
, she was supposed to say. Everyone knew
that’s how it worked between faeries and humans. They were the
lovers no woman could forget.

Unless ...

He shook his head at the unlikely thought.
His sexual prowess couldn’t have been hampered by using it in this
realm. He’d felt his own pleasure more than ever. He could have
sworn she did too. Damn it, the earth had moved for her!

He buttoned his flannel shirt with a muffled
curse. According to the cracked oven clock, the hour was three in
the afternoon. He had nothing to do and nowhere to go except wander
in the woods. He didn’t dare sneak back to her uncle’s shack before
dark. He didn’t want her to know he was sleeping there.

You could stroll into town
, he
thought.
Charm some other woman to take you in
. He had to
play by the rules with Belle. The rest of Kingaken’s females were
fair game.

He rubbed his sternum, resenting the way it
ached. He wanted Belle. He
liked
her. Hell, he’d magicked a
pair of condoms so she could sleep with him safely. If he hadn’t
liked her, he wouldn’t have wasted his power that way. He thought
back to her stroking his wings, which were only partly manifested
in this dimension. Her touch had been caring as well as erotic.

The memory calmed him as he listened to her
walking around upstairs, creaking the old floorboards. Unless his
instincts had completely abandoned him, she was hiding from him up
there. She liked him back. Her heart was just skittish.

He thought back to the “talk” shows his
cousins in Resurrection had made him watch, claiming they were good
research into life outside magic lands. Belle had what human
experts called intimacy issues - and no wonder, given her history.
If he was patient, she’d come around. Soon enough, he’d have
everything he needed.

And then what
? an annoying voice
inside him asked.

As Dubhghall stalked out her front door, he
decided he was not obliged to answer.

BELLE
got next to nothing accomplished
during the rest of the afternoon. She was too busy fuming and
trying to blame her weaknesses on the handyman. John Feeney was too
handsome and too damn good in bed. If he’d had a shred of decency,
he wouldn’t flaunt his unfairly alluring charms in front of females
who couldn’t defend against them.

That train of thought made her laugh. What
man ever felt guilty for being too attractive? She wasn’t even sure
she could call what he did flaunting. For all she knew, he rolled
out of bed looking like a god.