My Sunshine (32 page)

His hand stilled on a button. His gaze jerked to hers. “You've never done what?”

Laura sat erect and waved her hand. “
This.
”

She heard him release a breath, the sound similar to air escaping from a partially deflated balloon. “You've never made love, you mean?” His tone was incredulous. When she nodded, he flopped down on the beanbag beside her. Legs bent, arms resting limply on his upraised knees, he gave her an unbelieving study. “Not even once?”

Laura's cheeks went fiery hot. “I, um, guess you might say I never got around to it. I was busy—first with school, then with my work.” That sounded so lame, even to her ears. “There was just never time.”

He arched a dark brow. “I see,” he said.

Only he didn't see at all, because she was lying through her teeth. Laura took a deep breath for courage and blurted, “That's not true. I wasn't busy. I mean . . . well, I was busy. But that wasn't the reason.” The fiery heat of embarrassment spread to cover her face and seep over her scalp. “I was waiting for that one special man. You, Isaiah. I know that now. Only you never came along. And then I got hurt, and no one asked me on dates, and I just—”

He touched a fingertip to her mouth. “Stop,” he ordered softly. His gaze locked with hers. “Are you trying to tell me that you were saving yourself for your husband?”

She nodded and twisted her face away to say, “I know it sounds old-fash-ioned. But it never felt right with any-one else.” She broke off and shrugged. “In my defense, I have to say it's not all that weird. Last year's Miss Amer-ica is waiting, too. No one thinks she's crazy.”

Isaiah sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Sweetheart, I don't think it's old-fashioned. In fact, I think it's wonderful.” He waited a beat. “I just wish I could say that I'd waited, too.”

Laura considered that possibility for an instant. On the one hand it might have been nice if it were the very first time for both of them, but on the other hand there were the mechanics to consider. “I'm sort of glad one of us knows what to do.”

He gave a startled laugh. And then, as naturally as though he did it all the time, he looped his arms around her and lifted her onto his lap. “No worries.
Just in case I forget any of the steps, I keep a how-to manual in my nightstand.”

Laura had a feeling he knew all the steps by heart, and the thought made her hurt inside. When they made love, would he think of women he'd been with before and find her lacking? It wasn't as if she were practiced in pleasing a man. The sum total of her experience had come from books, movies, and what little her sister had told her.

She searched his twinkling blue eyes. “Have you been with lots of women?” she couldn't resist asking.

“Not a good question.” His mouth twitched at the corners. “My past is just that—past.” He dipped his head to nibble seductively at her mouth. “The minute I saw you, I instantly forgot every other woman I've ever known. I can't remember their names, can't remember what they looked like. You're everything to me, Laura, my past, my present, and, I pray to God, my future. Will you marry me?”

Deep in her heart of hearts, Laura knew he was only saying what she needed to hear. But it meant a great deal to her that he bothered. It meant even more that he was asking her to marry him. Maybe she didn't eclipse every other woman in his mem-ory, but he'd somehow come to value her above all others. That was good enough for her.

She felt as if she might burst with happiness. “Oh, yes, I
will
marry you, Isaiah. I will. I
will.
”

He kissed her then, hesitantly at first, then more deeply, his lips like warm, moist silk on hers. Laura's head spun. She grabbed frantically for
breath. Her arms quivered as she hugged his strong neck. “I don't know what to do,” she whispered between kisses.

He trailed his lips down the side of her neck, setting her skin afire. “You don't need to do any-thing,” he assured her. “Nothing, sweetheart. Just be with me.”

Laura expected it to entail a little more than that and was taut with nerves. To her surprise he turned sideways to the fire and moved her off his lap to sit between his spread thighs. Hands overlapping on her belly, he hunched his shoulders around her, rested his chin atop her head, and merely gazed into the flames.
Just be with me.
She'd thought the request to be an oversimplification, a deceptive prelude to naked flesh and demands on her body that she might feel self-conscious about granting. But now he was reminding her that he never oversimplified. Isaiah was as straightforward as he was wonderful.

The hard press of his arms held her firmly against his chest. The heat of him soothed her worries away and soon drained the starch from her spine. She relaxed against his sturdy strength, her gaze fixed on the dancing firelight. She was acutely aware of him in those moments, attuned to every breath he took, every thump of his heart against her shoulder blades, every slight shift of his fingertips at her waist.

The mood that fell over them was inconceivably tender, a joining of bodies and hearts, but not in the way she had expected.
Isaiah.
It was so like him to sense her feelings and somehow ease her tension.
Another man might have rushed her to the bedroom and availed himself of her body, giving little or no thought to making it easier for her.

Minutes slipped by. Laura had no idea how many, only that enough time elapsed for her initial panic about making love to evaporate. When Isaiah shifted to put his back to the room and turned her sideways on his lap again, she knew he intended to kiss her. And this time she was ready.

Just be with me.
The words drifted softly through her mind as he bent his dark head toward hers. His lips grazed hers as softly as a butterfly wing. Her breath came in shallow bursts. Anticipation brought her hands to his shoulders. And finally he deepened the kiss, taking her mouth like a man who'd just found nourishment after months of starvation.

Firelight and Isaiah Coulter. In Laura's mind they became synonymous, both of them generating heat, both of them brilliant, even when she closed her eyes. He went to his bedroom and returned with a sheepskin rug that he spread out over the floor in front of the hearth. Then he made love to her just as he did all else, totally focused on the details and thoroughly attending to each before he moved on. He began with the palm of her hand, tracing each line and crevice with his lips and the tip of his tongue. Laura had never considered her palm to be an erogenous zone, but with Isaiah kissing it so lightly, sensation shot clear up her arm, pulled a U-turn, and streamed like jags of lightning to the core of her.

When she was trembling with the aftershocks, he
seized the hem of her sweater and plucked it off over her head as easily as he might have peeled a banana. For just an instant Laura felt embarrassed. She'd gone out in public in a two-piece swimsuit, but somehow a bra seemed less modest. But Isaiah had her hand again, and now he was trailing kisses over the inside of her wrist. It was hard to remember that she had breasts when he was doing such marvelous things to another part of her body. Soon he reached the sensitive flesh at the bend of her arm. Then he was at her shoulder—her collarbone—and next her throat. And somehow, in between kisses and nips, he unfastened her bra. It seemed to melt away from her body like the chocolate coating on a candy bar in mid-August heat.

“Oh, God, you are so beautiful,” he whispered.

Laura moaned and jerked when he flicked his tongue over her nipple. The next instant he tipped her over onto the soft rug, and before she could blink she was anchored there by six-feet-plus of muscular male. He drew her nipple into his mouth. Sensation exploded through her, so intense she couldn't breathe, only she didn't want him to stop. Just when she thought she could bear it no longer, he switched to her other breast and took her under again.

At the back of Laura's mind she knew she was supposed to do something. The women in the movies didn't just lie there, moaning and quivering. Only—
oh, God
—it was so wonderful. She couldn't think clearly. She made hard fists in his hair so he couldn't get away.
Oh, yes.

Spiraling in a feverish delirium, Laura felt a tug
that moved her body on the soft surface of the rug. Then she felt the graze of denim moving down her legs. With two hard jerks Isaiah divested her of the jeans bunched around her ankles, as well as her underwear, sneakers, and socks.
Naked.
She'd never been naked with a man. Only somehow she didn't feel bare, possibly because Isaiah was everywhere—his mouth, his big, hard hands, the steely press of his body.

His hand curled over the mound at the apex of her thighs. He slipped his middle finger between the folds. Laura's spine arched. Her hips came up. She gave a startled gasp.

“Easy,” he whispered. “I just want . . . It's okay, sweetheart. Trust me.”

It occurred to Laura, in between mind-boggling bursts of sensation, that he'd never finished the sentence. But it didn't matter. Sometimes actions spoke more clearly than words. With graduating pressure, he stroked her until she felt like a volcano about to erupt.

“Isaiah,” she cried.

“Shh. It's okay. Just let it happen,” he whispered.

As if she had a choice? With one fingertip he'd taken control of her body. She couldn't withdraw. Her hips lifted up to him as if of their own accord. Her back arched. She felt like a bowstring drawn taut to release its arrow. Only nothing happened. She made tight fists over the sheepskin beneath her. Her body quivered, right on the edge, but she couldn't seem to make it over that last little crest.

Isaiah swore softly. The next instant his mouth was at her breast again, and he put more force into
the strokes below. The combination of sensations rocked Laura's world. And finally she sailed over the top and felt like a piece of glass, shattering into a million brilliant pieces to float in sparkling abandon through black space. Distantly she was aware that she gasped for breath. She was also vaguely aware of Isaiah moving beside her. But her senses were so scattered that she couldn't focus on him clearly enough to see what he was doing.

“You okay?” he whispered.

Laura pried her eyes open. He was a bronzed blur above her. She blinked to clear her vision. Blue eyes, dark, chiseled features. She managed a lopsided smile and a slurred, “Fine, I'm fine.”

“Ah, honey. This is the bad part. I almost wish you'd let somebody else take care of it. I can't bear to hurt you.”

Laura pried her eyes open again. She felt a nudge at her opening.
Hold it.
Definitely a big nudge. Not a finger. Before she could slap a hand on the middle of his chest and say,
Let's think about this for a minute. I don't think you'll fit,
he pushed his way in.

Laura felt as if she'd been cleaved in two by a baseball bat. Pain.
Oh, God.
This surely wasn't right. Small opening, large interloper. Where had she gotten the idea that penises were no bigger around than tampons?

“You okay?”

Laura was still quivering from the hurt and holding her breath. How could she say,
I'm dying,
when her teeth wouldn't unclench?

“Laura?”

The pain abated somewhat. She was finally able to drag in a breath. She stared up at him. He supported himself on straightened arms that bulged with tightened muscle. He held perfectly still. He looked so beautiful with the firelight limning his body in amber. Laura remembered floating deliriously through space and wished she were back there.

“It
hurts,
” she managed to push out.

“Only for a minute.”

How did he know? Laura felt betrayed. He'd known it was going to hurt before he did it. And how long was a minute? She was still hurting, just not quite as much now. It had gone from unbearable to almost tolerable, at any rate.

“I don't like it.” Her prerogative. This was
not
fun. “I want to stop.”

His body was quivering. The muscles in his shoulders and arms knotted. And suddenly his dark face contorted. “Oh, shit,” he said.

And the next instant he moved inside of her—only a little, and the pain this time was minimal. Even better, when he bumped bottom, Laura got an inkling of the delightful possibilities. Her insides lit up as brightly as the Christmas tree. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, wanting him to bump bottom again. Only he was poised above her like a statue, his body knotted and vibrating.

So she lifted her hips to do the bumping herself.

“Oh,
Christ!
” he ground out.

Laura moaned in delight and nudged upward with her hips again. “Oh, Isaiah. Yes.”

He gave an agonized groan and collapsed on top
of her. Laura blinked and wiggled her chin out from under his shoulder in order to breathe. That was it?

“I'm sorry,” he muttered near her ear.

He was sorry? It had just started to be fun.

“Are we done?” she asked.

“Oh,
Christ,
” he said again.

I
saiah turned his face up to the stream of hot water, whimsically wondering if anyone had ever drowned himself in the shower. It seemed a fitting end for a complete shit.
God.
Had he blown it, or what? Now he knew why his father had warned him never to mess with virgins. They were fragile and complicated, and no matter how you tried, you couldn't avoid hurting them.

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. He'd felt her flesh tear. He loved her so damned much, and he'd felt her flesh tear. Every time he thought about it, he felt like he might puke. Ever since his teenage years he'd heard guys brag about popping some girl's cherry, as if it were the greatest sex there was. Maybe he was abnormal, but hurting anyone, most especially the woman he loved, was not a pleasurable experience for him.

He stood for a while under the spray, letting the hot water loosen his knotted muscles and hopefully clear his head. When he finally slapped off the faucet, he felt marginally better. Every woman on earth went through it once. He'd pretty much managed not to move while he was inside her. In a
couple of days, any injury that he might have inflicted would be healed. Maybe then they could try it again, hopefully with more success. Next time, no matter what it took, he would make it good for her.

A few minutes later, when Isaiah entered the living room, he found Laura sitting on a beanbag feeding puppies as if nothing had ever happened. She sent him an apologetic smile.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to ruin it.”

Isaiah finished buttoning his fresh shirt, a solid blue one to suit his mood. As he sat beside her, he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” She shifted the puppy in her arms and went back to feeding it. “It only hurt awful for a minute. Then it got better. I'm bleeding a little. Nothing bad.”

Isaiah winced. He knew some bleeding was completely normal. He also realized that at some point in a woman's life, her hymen had to be torn. He'd just never wanted to be the guy to do the honors.

“Maybe we can take another stab at it in a couple of days.”

The instant Isaiah spoke, he wanted to bite off his tongue. Another stab? If she didn't run screaming from the room, it'd be a miracle.

Instead she smiled, shrugged, and said, “I was hoping sooner than that.”

Not on her life. “You need some time to heal.”

“I really don't think I'm injured.”

“You're bleeding, aren't you?”

In Isaiah's mind, that settled that.

 

The following day Laura was left to ramble around in the huge log house while Isaiah was away at work. A dozen different times she stood over the beanbags, remembering their time together, and the picture didn't become prettier in her mind with repetition. She'd been a big sissy, asking Isaiah to stop. Thousands of babies were born each year, and unless a woman went to a sperm bank, she didn't become pregnant without engaging in sex.

Losing their virginity hadn't made those other women swear off, and neither would she. Isaiah wanted to wait for a few days?
Ha.
They would see about that.

 

Isaiah canceled all nonemergency appointments late that afternoon and rescheduled them for Monday so he could leave the clinic right at five o'clock. It was Tucker's turn to work Saturday again. Unless an emergency call came in after hours, Isaiah could look forward to an entire weekend off.

When he got home thirty minutes later, it was already full dark, and Laura was nowhere to be seen. The Christmas-tree lights were on, and a fire crackled in the hearth to welcome him. Smiling, he hung up his jacket and followed his nose to the kitchen. The slow cooker sat on the counter, the lid lifting with steam occasionally to emit a wonderful smell. He peeked inside and saw huge, man-sized meatballs simmering in a red sauce.
Spaghetti?
Oh, man, he absolutely loved the stuff.

Unable to resist, he got a spoon from the drawer and ladled out a piping-hot meatball. Cupping a
hand under the spoon so no sauce would drip, he started puffing on the meat to cool it. When he judged it to be at an edible temperature, he blissfully sank in his teeth.

“Hi, there, big guy,” a sultry voice purred from somewhere behind him.

Mouth full of meatball, he whirled around. Laura stood at the entrance to the kitchen, one slender arm angled up the end of the wall that divided the formal dining room from the cooking area. She wore—God, help him, he had never seen anything like it—a peach-colored drape of transparent stuff with long fringe at the bottom that jerked his gaze to her bare, shapely thighs. Underneath, her breasts were covered by a tidbit of peach-colored cloth, scarcely wider than dental floss. At the apex of her legs, a T of lacy black stuff served as panties. She was the most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen in his life. Her eyes issued a sultry invitation, and she stood with her body displayed to make a man's eyes pop from his head.

Caught completely by surprise, Isaiah grabbed for breath. Bad mistake. Particles of meatball went down his windpipe. He choked—and then he couldn't breathe. At first he didn't think it was a big deal. But after coughing and then gagging, he found that he still couldn't breathe. He ran to the sink and gagged some more.

“Oh, my
God!
” Laura cried.

The next thing he knew she was whopping him on the back. For several awful seconds, each of which seemed aeons long, Isaiah thought he might die. He'd never choked before.
Panic.
He couldn't
breathe, couldn't talk—and toward the last, he couldn't even gag. He just stood there, his body convulsing with spasms, his head pounding with an awful airless feeling, and black spots dancing before his eyes.

Laura locked her arms around his midsection, her small fist planted just over his diaphragm. “Bend your knees!” she cried. “You're too tall.”

Say what?

“Your knees, Isaiah! Bend your knees!”

Through the fog of panic, her words finally penetrated his reeling brain. He bent his legs, affording her more leverage, and with a strength he couldn't believe she possessed, she clenched her arms around him, shoving her fist upward with such force he wondered that it didn't connect with his backbone. Air propelled upward from his lungs, and one small piece of meatball shot from his mouth.

Air whistled down his windpipe. Isaiah collapsed over the sink, grabbing for breath.
Sweet Christ.
Laura hovered at his elbow.

“Are you okay? Isaiah, answer me, please. Are you all right?”

All he could manage was a nod. After dragging in several more breaths, he finally pushed out a weak, gravelly, “Okay, I'm okay.”

“Thank God. I thought you were going to die.”

Trembling from the experience, Isaiah straightened away from the sink. “Me, too.” He gave the piece of meat a last look, deciding then and there that he'd never eat a meatball again. “Man. That's never happened to me before.”

She patted his arm. He grabbed a towel and dampened it to wipe his face. When his vision cleared, Laura had vanished. He tossed the towel on the counter. Remembering that peach film of nothing that she'd been wearing, he smiled slightly and went to find her.

She was in the bedroom, jerking a sweatshirt on over her head. He got a quick glimpse of beautiful bare breasts before blue fleece became the only landscape. She'd already lost the black G-string and replaced it with modest white panties.

He could have wept.

She wrinkled her nose and reached for a pair of jeans draped over the foot of her bed. “I'm sorry. Bad idea. I didn't mean to make you choke.”

Isaiah wanted the peach fringe back. “I choked because you took me by surprise. I didn't expect. . .” There were no words. “You looked so beautiful.”

“And I took your breath away. Right?” She laughed and shoved a dainty foot into the jeans. “The lady at the shop said it would make you wild for me. She was old. I should have found someone younger who'd know more what guys like.”

Isaiah waited until she got her other foot stuck into the jeans. Then he lunged across the room and caught her around the waist in a flying tackle, his target the bed. She shrieked and tried to catch her balance, but with her ankles shackled and his weight working against her, she went over like a ninepin. Isaiah followed her down to the mattress, catching his weight with his arms so he wouldn't crush her.

She blinked bewilderedly and peered up at him through tousled wisps of blond hair. “Are you sure you're okay?”

He'd never felt better. And she didn't need fringe to be hot. “Clarification. Were you or were you not trying to seduce me?”

She wrinkled her nose again. “I ruined it for us last night. I wanted to make up for it.”

She already had. God, how he loved her. He bent to nibble at her delectable mouth. “Next time, two things. Don't appear in an outfit like that when my mouth's full. And you might also consider calling out some sort of warning. ‘Isaiah, brace yourself' would work. Anything to let me know you're about to blow my socks off.”

“You liked it?”

“You were a vision. If I go outside and come back in, will you put it back on for me?”

“The mood is sort of ruined.”

His mood was perfect. “Please?”

 

Laura in see-through peach stuff, standing by the Christmas tree . . . In all his life Isaiah had never seen anything so beautiful, had never even dreamed such beauty could exist. The Christmas lights bathed her in a cheerful glow that accentuated the delightful curves of her body. All she lacked was a ribbon to be every man's Christmas fantasy.

“I love you,” was all he could think to say.

“I love you, too.” She dimpled a cheek at him. “Stop staring at me. You're making me feel funny.”

He didn't want that. Isaiah felt as if he walked a
mile to reach her. His hand trembled slightly when he touched her hair. “Ah, Laura, you're lovely. I'm almost afraid to touch you.”

She giggled. “That's not the idea. This is sup-posed to make you crazy for me.”

Mission accomplished.
Isaiah drew her into his arms. This time, he vowed, he would make it perfect for her.

 

Afterward Laura felt like a puddle of melted wax. She lay sprawled on the beanbags, one arm flung outward, the other locked around Isaiah's neck. He lay with his face buried between her breasts. She had no idea where her sexy outfit had gone. Overall, she decided that it had been a complete waste of money. He'd left it on her for only about three seconds.

But, oh, it had been lovely. She lifted her hand to his hair. The strands sifted through her fingers like cool threads of silk. His heart was still pounding. She could feel each violent thrum vibrating into her belly button.

“I'm really,
really
glad you didn't choke to death.”

He gave a weak laugh and nibbled at the curve of her breast. “Me, too. Ah, Laura, you're fabulous. I love you so much.”

She tucked in her chin. In the firelight it was oddly arousing to see his dark face pressed against her white skin. She trailed her hand down his back.

“It didn't hurt this time. Not at all.”

“Hmm,” was his only response.

That wasn't exactly what she'd been hoping for.
She stared thoughtfully at the open-beamed ceiling. “Isaiah?”

“Hmm?”

She danced her fingertips over his bare hip. “If I put my outfit back on, can we do it again?”

He groaned. “Dear God, I've created a monster.”

Laura lifted her head, trying to see his face more clearly. “You don't want me?”

He laughed and pushed up on his elbow. “Convince me.”

Laura wasn't exactly sure how to do that. But she was willing to give it her best. In the end, she discovered that Isaiah didn't require a lot of encouragement. Hardly any, in fact.

 

In between puppy feedings that night, they didn't sleep. They were like two children who'd been turned loose in a candy shop, insatiable in their greed for each other. When dawn broke and the first faint light of day shone through the crack of the bedroom drapes, Isaiah was so exhausted that he could barely move. Laura lay over the top of him like a cover that was too short, her dainty toes poking him at the ankles, her silky hair teasing his chin.

Even drained of energy as he was, Isaiah wanted her again. She felt so damned wonderful, all soft and naked and warm, pressed full-length against him. But he was finished. He could move his toes, but only just barely.

Sighing, he groped for a blanket to cover them. Laura stirred and squirmed to get off of him, then curled her body into the lee of his for warmth. He
splayed a hand on her belly, drew her even closer, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

 

When next Isaiah opened his eyes, Laura was gone, and the sheet beside him was cold. He tossed back the blankets, pushed to his feet, and grabbed his jeans. As he hopped to drag them on, he made his way to the door.