Remembered (Erotic Romance) (Bound By Time) (2 page)

Wait! What?
Was Mac intimating
that
I
was distracting, or was I just hoping he was intimating that I
was distracting?

I didn't want to
jump to conclusions. We were literally worlds apart. We got mixed up talking
about simple things like biscuits (cookies in America) and the boot of a car (the
trunk of a car in the USA).

"Actually,
Penny Money. You've distracted me since the moment we discovered each other."

Discovered each
other?
Before I could formulate an answer to his earnest and somewhat puzzling statement,
he was already speaking again, his brogue making my belly and below tighten in anticipation.

Maybe my friend,
Annie was right. Maybe there really was such a thing as needing to get laid.
Apparently when you didn't, little comments suddenly became grand statements
that made you horny for no reason.

"I-I don't
know what to say," I said.

He chuckled again. I
wish I could tell you that it snapped me out of my lusty mood, but all it did
was fan the flames. The way things were going, I was going to have to finish
myself off after we quit talking.

"Then it's
probably time to let ye get back to yer projects," Mac said, amusement in
his voice. "I'll check back in with ye later in the week." He paused.
"By the way, I sent ye a postcard a few days ago.  It's from a photo I
took years ago. I think ye'll find it intriguing."

A postcard? How
odd. Mac started off the phone conversation by offering me a plane ticket to
see him, and ended it with a postcard. Was this some sort of odd consolation
prize? I wondered.

It seemed odd to
offer me a trip, then tell me he was sending me a postcard. But maybe the
postcard tied in somehow with the trip he offered me.

"The time I've
spent with ye has been the happiest of my life," Mac said.

As he ended the
call, my heart skipped a beat.

Mac's words could
have made me sad if I took them to mean an ending of sorts, but I heard a
promise. Like he hoped I would reconsider and take him up on his offer of a
plane ticket so we could make even happier memories in person.

I set the phone
down with shaking hands and sat in the English antique chaise I'd found at a yard
sale smack dab in the middle of Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

I reran Mac's words
through my mind. It was by far the shortest phone call we'd ever had. Most of
them ran about a half hour or longer. But to me, this call was the most
intense. Something hung between us that transcended mere words.

"Get a
grip!" I told myself.

But my heart still
thumped in my chest and the needy ache in the pit of my stomach had now spread
to the V between my legs.  

I'm not really the
masturbating kind of woman. The only time I resort to that is when I feel like
a good bedding will cure what ails me.

A good bedding?
Cure what ails me? Jeez! Now I was using Mac's steamy erotica terminology.

Mac believes sex should
be the logical result of a real connection between two people -- not the other
way around. At least that's the impression I get.

No. We haven't
discussed sex on the phone.  It's what I took away from reading tome after tome
of his collection of personal memoirs and erotica.

Mac does have a
point, though. Who doesn't want a bond so deep and real that you can share everything,
from your deepest thoughts to sex, with nothing being off limits?

I closed my eyes
and eased my head back against the upholstery of my chaise.

I thought about Mac
and his words of a few moments ago, then the photos he'd sent me. Each of them
was taken when Mac was between 25 and 35, except for a fairly recent one taken
at one of his book signings. Nothing in between. So it shouldn't be surprising
that when I picture Mac, I usually see him in my mind's eye at about 30 years
old -- my age.  I'll be 30 this year, anyway.

Mac had a picture
of me taken a few months ago. I was at a writers' retreat, staring off into the
sunset. I was wearing a tank top and shorts because the retreat was held in the
desert. At least my legs look long and toned. I sent it to Mac because it was
the hottest picture of me I owned.

Speaking of hot, the
more I thought about Mac, the warmer I got. Eyes still closed, I began
unbuttoning my top. It was short sleeved, with pearl buttons. I undid them slowly,
one button at a time.

As I undid the
buttons with my eyes closed, I swear it wasn't my hand that was unbuttoning the
buttons. It was Mac. And he looked exactly as he did in the photo taken in the
Welsh countryside.

I felt his knuckles
graze the heated skin of my chest as he moved lower and lower until my shirt
lay open. I swallowed hard as I pictured him examining every inch of exposed
skin with his hungry gaze.

My heartbeat sped
up as his hands moved to cup my bra-covered breasts. Even though he was a
writer, I knew his hands were big and strong from physical work on the family
farm. Once he'd even called himself a gentleman farmer -- followed by a
self-deprecating chuckle.

"Mmmmm,"
Mac said. Or was it me?

Before I knew what
was happening, I felt him tug my bra aside and bring his face to my breast. His
breath felt warm and tingling on my already tingling, heated skin. Then his
lips grazed my skin above my bra, warm and slightly moist.  Then I felt his
tongue.

"Mac!"

My hips arched toward
him as he unhooked my bra and ran his tongue around my areola, then flicked it back
and forth across my erect nipple. I wanted to scream out loud and yet I wanted
more.

I ran my fingers
through his hair and brought his head closer to my breast. He did as I
wordlessly bid him to do, lightly biting my nipples, then sucking hard,
followed by light flicks across the entire surface of my breast.

Then, just when I
thought I could take no more, he slipped off my bra along with my shirt. With
my eyes still closed, he eased me to my back along the flat part of the chaise.

My heart was really
pounding now.  I felt the chaise shift and suddenly felt Mac's lips on mine,
warm and demanding, teasing and possessive.

"Mac. Oh,
Mac," I breathed out of the corner of my mouth, unable to articulate the
intense feelings that were coursing through my body.

"I've waited so
long for this moment," Mac whispered near my ear in that glorious accent
of his.

"I want you,
Mac." I truly didn't care how different we were. Right now, at this moment
in time, we were perfect for each other.

I realized now that
the harmless flirtation we'd had so far on the phone and in text messages had
only been a rehearsal for this very moment.

"I want ye
more than I've ever wanted anything, Penny," he said as he continued to
kiss me. I felt his hand behind my neck and the back of my head, cradling it as
he brought his face to mine.  

He smelled like
grassy and fresh lake water. Manly. Not like a boy drowning in trendy cologne.

Mac's hands were
not like the hands of a writer, either. They were strong and capable. Yet they
were gentle, too.

He rubbed the tip
of my nipple with his thumb, making me arch toward him in the most wanton
manner imaginable.

"Mac," I
moaned, arching my body toward his even more, if that were possible.

"Darling,"
he said. "We have time," he said, before tickling my bottom lip with
his tongue, then slipping the tip of it into my mouth.

Usually I'm not a
fan of really intimate French kissing. Maybe I've never done it with anyone who
had finesse. I see it as an art. You're either good at it, or you're not
because you didn't take the time to learn the ins and outs, so to speak.

Mac's tongue was
warm and tasted a bit like scotch tossed in with the richness of a recently smoked
cigar or pipe. As his tongue danced with the tip of mine, I clenched his thick
hair in my fingers, reveling in the springy cleanness of it.

"Ye don't know
what ye're doin' to me," Mac groaned as I tilted his head back so I could
access his mouth more completely.

"Don't
stop," I pleaded as his tongue probed more intimately and his hand cupped
my breast even more possessively.

His chest beneath
the thin layer of his shirt felt like a panel of steel as he shifted and
pressed himself against my side. Moving his hand away from my breast, he eased
his mouth from mine.

"Look at me,
love."

I opened my eyes to
his reverent, intense gaze.  

"Ye're beyond
beautiful," Mac said. "May I?"

Who could say no to
a gorgeous man who obviously adored you? I didn't know what he wanted and I
really didn't care. If Mac wanted it, I wanted it, too.

"Please,"
I said, hoping it wouldn't sound like begging. "Make love to me, Mac."
There.  I said it.  I wanted him so much I felt like screaming out loud.  

He kissed me
lingeringly. "I'll love you like there's no tomorrow."

The words brought
tears to my eyes.  Mac brought his mouth to my throat, then began kissing his
way to my breasts.

Mac took as much of
my breast in his mouth as he could and suckled it. I grabbed his shoulders and felt
the V between my legs throb. I wanted him inside me. Now

"Hyfryd,"
he
said tenderly.

 I knew very few
Welsh words, but I knew
hyfryd
meant lovely. Then I thought about Mac's
words: 
I'll love you like there's no tomorrow.

I opened my mouth
to ask him what he meant, but at the same moment he took my erect nipple in his
mouth and began tugging it with his teeth, bringing little bolts of pleasure
shooting through my entire body.

"That feels
so
good," I said, cupping his face with my hands, tangling my fingers in his
hair.  I felt alive. It was as if we'd done this very act a thousand times
before.

Mac moved to my
other breast and suckled it while he brought one hand to my bum, making me
wriggle suggestively.

I threw my head
back and drew in a shuddering gasp. I was on the verge of screaming out in ecstasy
and he hadn't even touched the most private part of me yet.

Mac abruptly
stopped his onslaught, probably sensing I was teetering on the verge of no
return. He leaned over and clicked on the nearby lamp. In every other sexual
encounter I'd ever had -- I could count them on one hand -- I'd always felt self-conscious
if a light was on.

Today was different
somehow. I opened my eyes. Under Mac's intense gaze and expert touch, I felt
bolder than I've ever felt. I leaned up so that I was sitting, with my legs
beneath me and began unbuttoning his shirt. Unlike Mac, my fingers were
trembling and clumsy, but only because I'd never wanted anything or anyone so
much.

"Rwy'n dy garu
di, Penny,"
he
said, his eyes bright.

I leaned in and hungrily
kissed his firm, malleable lips as I continued unbuttoning his shirt.

He closed his eyes
as my fingers grazed the skin of his flat muscled stomach. Once it was
completely unbuttoned, I slid his shirt off his shoulders, revealing a mat of soft
dark hair on his chest.

Mac sucked in his
breath as I explored his chest with my palms, then the planes of his torso with
trembling fingertips.

My glance roved
lower and I saw the huge bulge of his erection straining against his slacks. 
Already wet beyond reason, I felt a gush of wetness -- my body's way of
readying for the inevitable coming together of our two bodies.

I reached down with
one hand as I kissed him and took him in hand. His breath caught in his throat.
Then I began rubbing the length of him, imagining how his cock would feel
sliding along my pussy lips and finally inside me. A moan escaped my lips. It
was all I could do not to rip the offending pair of slacks right off him.

Patience, I told
myself.

"Annwyl."

As we kissed, he brought
me off the chaise and stood me on my feet against him.

While he met my
gaze -- we were nearly the same height standing. I placed my hands on his pecs
and let them drift toward his waistband. He was surprisingly muscled.

I inhaled the
delicious scent of him as I lowered myself to one knee in front of him and
gently slid the fingers of my left hand into his waistband. I used my other
hand to loosen his belt.

"Penny,"
he said. "I want this time to be about you."

I looked up at him.
"I want this to be about us."

He squeezed his
eyes shut for a moment. I watched his Adam's apple bob as if he were struggling
to keep his emotions in check.  

"I want to
show you how much you mean to me," I told him.

My heart
constricted and I could scarcely breathe. Was I -- had I -- fallen a little in
love with Mac along with way?