Stranded (10 page)

If I don’t want him to. Hmm. Do I?
I’m not sure, but it would be nice to slip into something soft and roomy. “Okay. Sure.”

He practically leaps off the bed, and a moment later he’s holding out a robe and a t-shirt.

“Thanks.” I take them to my room, and after taking off my jeans and blouse, I put on my panties, then slide the t-shirt over my head, and finally put on the robe, rolling up the sleeves so that my hands are visible. Tightly tying the sash around my waist, I walk back into his bedroom and prop myself back up against the pillows. I do feel more relaxed, and rest my head against the pillows as I continue to watch the movie. I notice that he’s moved the bowl of popcorn to the dresser.

After another fifteen minutes, Drake turns his head in my direction. “How’s your ankle? Your limp seems to be gone.”

“Yeah, I think it’s a lot better.”

“Can I take a look? You know, to make sure the swelling’s gone and it’s no longer tender.”

Do I want him touching me? Well, it’s only my ankle. “Um. I guess.” I pull the robe up just enough to expose my ankle as he moves to the foot of the bed, and when his fingers brush against my skin, an explosion of sensations course up my leg and straight to my core. It’s as if I’ve been anticipating his touch all day, and now, the slightest contact is doing crazy things to my insides. 

His fingers probe the skin around my ankle, and he looks at me. “Does this hurt at all?”

I shake my head, not opening my mouth for fear a moan will escape.

“How about this?” he says as he gently moves my foot from side to side.

I shake my head again, and manage to utter, “It feels fine.”

He smiles. “That’s great. I guess you just strained it a bit.” His hand is still on my ankle, and his smile fades as his hand slowly begins gliding toward my calf.

My eyes are locked on his, and I hold very still, afraid that if I move, he’ll stop. And I realize I don’t want him to stop.

His hand disappears under the hem of the robe and after a moment it reaches my right knee, then touches my thigh. I feel my breath hitch, and when his other hand begins skimming my left leg, I feel a surge of wetness between my legs, and find my fingers gripping the comforter.

Drake watches me, but besides his hands sliding upward, he doesn’t move at all. When both of his hands have reached my thighs, he withdraws them, his eyes on mine, then he moves so that he is sitting next to me.

My skin tingles where his hands have been, and I want him to go back to what he was doing, but he doesn’t. Instead, he gazes at me, and I stare right back.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” he says.

I don’t respond, having trouble admitting to him that I
want
him to touch me. Why can’t I say it out loud? Is it because in the back of my mind I remember that I don’t want to get involved with anyone? I’m not a one-night stand kind of girl, so it goes against my grain to have sex with a man who doesn’t mean something to me, and to whom I don’t mean anything more than a roll in the hay.

My body is urging me on, but my head isn’t agreeing so readily, and I’m in a quandary.

He puts his hand on my thigh, but on top of the robe rather than directly on my skin. Even through the fabric his touch has a profound effect on me, giving my body’s desires an edge over what my head is telling me.

“Ashley?” he says.

“Yeah?” My voice comes out as barely more than a whisper.

“What do you want?”

I feel subtle pressure from his fingers, which increases the ache that’s building between my thighs. Blinking several times, I murmur, “I don’t know.”

“Maybe this will help you decide.” His hand moves from my thigh to the back of my neck, then he leans towards me and presses his lips against mine. His lips are demanding and after only a moment I respond, kissing him back eagerly. Our tongues do a kind of dance and I feel pressure growing in my core.

As wonderful sensations pulse through me, I give in to my body’s demands, and wind my arms around his neck. His free hand slides behind my waist, and he pulls me against him. I feel the strength of his need as his erection presses against my stomach. His hand moves from my neck to my back, and he eases me down until I’m lying on my back. Then with his mouth still devouring mine, he unties the sash on my robe and opens it so that all that separates us is the fabric of his t-shirt that I’m wearing, as well as the delicate lace of my panties.

Chapter Twenty Two

I pull my head back, breathless, and break the contact between our mouths, then I put a hand against his chest in a subtle signal to stop. It’s like touching a rock wall, and I remember the look of his chiseled body in the jacuzzi, and feel myself wavering.

He looks at me, his eyes questioning.

There’s no doubt what he wants my answer to be, but inside I’m still battling with myself. If I give myself over to him, will I regret it? In the past, I’ve only been with men who I’ve fallen for, and in the end, they moved on, leaving me with a broken heart. If I let Drake have his way, will he ever want to see me again? And if he doesn’t, will I pine after him? 

Does he have a girlfriend in Reno? Am I just a diversion for him? I have to know that much at least. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“What?” My question clearly catches him off-guard.

“Do you?”

He frowns. “I get it. You have a boyfriend.”

Tempted to grab on to the phantom boyfriend excuse, I hesitate, but then decide to take the middle ground. “We’re not that serious.” 

Drake smiles. “Oh?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

His smile grows. “We’re not that serious either.”

Oh
. So he has someone he’s seeing. That’s not what I wanted to hear. I’m still lying on my back, and Drake is gazing down at me.

He takes his robe off, then with a muttered, “Is it just me or is it hot in here?” he pulls his pajama shirt over his head and tosses it on the floor next to his robe. “That’s better,” he says, his eyes going back to my face.

My gaze roams over his chest and biceps, and my insides stir with longing. He is stretched out next to me, his head propped up on his elbow, and my eyes drift to his bulging bicep. Without thinking, I reach out, and with one finger I trace the muscle.

“If you get to touch me, then it’s only fair that I get to touch you.” His voice is low and sexy.

Unexpected heat pulses through me, and I yank my hand away from his arm as if I’ve been burned.

A lazy smile forms on his mouth. “Uh uh. Too late. It’s my turn now.”

Excitement and terror battle for prominence. Terror, because I’m afraid to lose control. Especially now that I know he might have a girlfriend. But oh, the promise of his words sends a shiver of wanting right to the heart of me. Even though deep down I want him to touch me, I feel a need to hide my eagerness. “You already touched me,” I say. “When you checked my ankle.”

“That was for medical reasons.” He chuckles. “This is for something else entirely.”

My body hums with anticipation.
Where will he touch me?
 

With his eyes still locked on mine, he pushes the robe off of me, then he reaches out and grasps the edge of my t-shirt. With exquisite slowness, he lifts the shirt, exposing my panties, then my bare stomach, but he stops just below my breasts and releases the t-shirt. His warm fingers trace the soft skin on my stomach, and when his fingers get close to the top of my panties, I feel myself swelling with need. But his fingers never leave the surface of my stomach, roaming to my sides, raising goosebumps.

His eyes are heavy-lidded as he watches me, and I find I can’t look away from the frank desire in his eyes.

“Your turn,” he says, lifting his fingers from my body.

I don’t want him to stop, but I’m really enjoying our game, and my eyes skim over his body, wondering what I should touch. There are so many delicious choices. After a moment, I decide to see what that chest and those washboard abs feel like. Turning onto my side, I look at his body so I can enjoy the visual feast as I place one hand on his chest. Using small circular motions, I explore the muscular surface, then move downward, touching and stroking his stomach.

A moan escapes his throat, and I’m tempted to brush my hand against his hard length as it strains against his pajama bottoms. I glance at Drake’s face and see that his eyes are closed. I love the power I’m feeling at that moment, knowing the pleasure I’m bringing to this man who is so much bigger and stronger than me. Yet he’s holding very still as I explore just this small part of his body.

It almost feels like cheating, but I decide to touch his biceps again. I remove my hand from his stomach, then with the hand I’m not using to prop myself up, I reach out and use my whole hand to feel the firm muscle on his upper arm. My gaze goes to his face, and he opens his eyes. His pupils are dilated, and the look on his face makes my need greater.

Before I’ve finished getting my fill, he puts his hand over mine and says, “My turn.”

“I’m not done,” I murmur, just to see what he’ll do.

“You’ll get another turn,” he says as he gently pushes me onto my back.

I try to control the sensations surging through me at the look on his face, but the ache between my legs is growing stronger and I wonder how much longer I can take it.

My t-shirt has slipped downward, covering my stomach, and Drake pushes it back up, but this time he lifts it above my breasts, exposing my nipples, which are erect from both the cool air and my growing desire. Using one hand, he cups one breast, gently massaging it, then he leans toward me and takes my breast into his mouth, sucking on my nipple. 

A jolt of heat takes me by surprise and I moan. My panties are soaked and I wonder when he’ll touch me down there. The anticipation thrills me and I want to grab his hand and put it down there myself.

Slowly, like he wants to prolong the agony, he releases my breast, then possesses the other one. It’s like my body is being set on fire, and I allow another moan to escape. Desperately wanting him to explore the cleft between my thighs, I mentally urge him to move on. 

He must only hear half of my message, because he releases the second breast and gazes at me with a smile. “Your turn.”

Chapter Twenty Three

I don’t want a turn anymore. I want him to take all the turns. But I also want to pretend that I’m not completely lost to him, so I roll onto my side and gaze at his body.
What will he do if I touch him
there? But I decide to play the same game he’s playing, and I sit up, then kneel next to his legs, and my t-shirt slides down, covering my breasts.

I push up his pajamas so that the skin of his legs is exposed, then I feel the muscles of his calves, and continue moving upward until the pajamas won’t go any higher.

“Maybe you should take them off,” he suggests with a grin.

I feel unexpectedly shy, but decide to be bold. I grab the waistband of his pajamas and have to pull it outward so it won’t catch on his hard length, but when I begin pulling the pajamas downward, I gasp in surprise to see that he is naked underneath.

He chuckles softly, and I feel my face redden.

“It’s okay, Ashley,” he murmurs.

Even though I try to ignore how big he is, the thought of him inside me nearly brings me to climax. I slide his pajamas off of his hips and throw them on the floor, then stroke his thighs. As much as I don’t want to beg for him to take me, my need for release is growing, and I hope that if I tease him enough, he’ll take the initiative. But as I touch him everywhere—purposely ignoring his impressive erection—he gazes at me impassively.

On impulse, I pull my t-shirt over my head, so I’m only wearing my panties, and gaze down at him. His eyes leave my face and drift over my breasts, and I hope this will be enough to encourage him to take the next step. 

His gaze goes back to my face and he smiles lazily. “Are you done?”

I nod.

“Lay down,” he commands.

Without speaking, I do as he says, then I nearly hold my breath as I wait to see what he’s going to do next. To my delight, he reaches for my panties. His fingers brush against me.

“You’re wet,” he says, his face serious.

I don’t say anything, just watch him.

His fingers slip inside my waistband, then slide inside me. “So ready,” he murmurs, his voice husky.

There’s no hiding what I want and I move against his fingers.

His gaze goes to my face. “So eager.”

“Yes,” I whisper.

His fingers move against my swollen clit and I feel the pressure building. He watches me and I can tell he’s enjoying my pleasure. I’m moving faster against his fingers, panting and ready to climax, when he withdraws his fingers. I expect him to take off my panties, but he just stares down at me.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks.

I couldn’t stop now even if I wanted to. But I don’t want to. “Yes.”

His smile grows. “Good.” He leans down and presses his mouth to mine. My arms go around his neck and emotions race through me. This man is driving me insane with desire. He’s so damn hot, and I want him so bad, but he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry. It’s the sweetest torture.

His tongue pushes into my mouth and I eagerly taste him. This only increases my need, and without consciously deciding to do so, I grab his shaft, urging him to enter me.

He pulls away and looks down at me. “So greedy, Ashley.”

“Please, Drake.” I
need
him inside me. Now.

His lips slowly turn up into a smile. “Shhh. Not yet.”

I’m having none of that and I grab for him again.

He captures both of my wrists with one of his hands, then pins them above my head. With one eyebrow raised, he says, “I think I’m going to have to restrain you.”

His words send a wave of desire cascading over me, and I almost lose it. 

With my wrists held firmly in his grasp, he uses his free hand to pull the sash out of my robe, then he ties one end around my wrists and the other end to the wooden slats of his headboard, stretching my arms over my head.