It Had to be You Page 19

  She slays me. Everything about her: her scent, her smile, her default reaction to my wound being the ‘kiss it better’ thing I told Will about not that long ago. Not to mention the fact the woman is the next best thing to nude.

  Hell, every damn bit of it simply slays me. No ifs, ands or buts about it.

  “C’mere.” Snapping upright into a seated position, I reach to haul Lena up until I have her where I want her, straddling my lap. Crossing my ankles Indian fashion beneath her lush butt, I bury my face in the side of her throat. Then I press a kiss just beneath her jaw where it curves below her ear, a spot that used to get her every time.

  If I wasn’t trying so bloody hard to play it cool, I’d thrust up a fist in victory when my kiss earns me the once familiar moan in the back of her throat that I still sometimes hear in my dreams.

  Lena, who as far as I’ve been able to tell has never been one to worry about the way others view her, shivers and wraps her arms around my neck. And suddenly I’m surrounded by her scent and heat as her breasts flatten against my chest and her smooth legs cross behind my butt. Leaving my hard on pressed flush against her sweet spot.

  Reaching around her, I grip her ass to hold her in place as I rock my dick along the sweet damp furrow beneath her knickers. My teeth clench at the overwhelming sensations the action sets in motion. The sight of her eyes fluttering closed and of her slightly crooked incisor, which appears when her white teeth worry her lower lip, ratchets the heat from hot to incendiary.

  It’s not enough. Over the years, I’ve dreamed a whole host of things I wanted to do to this woman. Sweet things. Filthy things. But dry-humping her? That wasn’t high on my list. Tightening my hold on her butt, I rise to my knees and shuffle us around to face the headboard. Carefully, I lay her down.

  Lena blinks up at me, humming a non-word that is nonetheless an inquiry.

  “I want to touch you, kiss you, lick you.” My voice is a hoarse rasp, but it’s not as if I have a damn bit of control over the thing. “And I want to be face-to-face to do them.”

  Pink sweeps up her pale skin, but she gives me a game little smile. “Okay.”

  Her arms are still entwined around my neck and I reach behind me to loosen her grip. Loosely encircling her wrists with my fingers, I press her bent arms against the bedspread next to her head. “I’d like you to stay just like this. Can you do that?”

  She gives me a wry smile, the context of which seems to be: don’t hold your breath. “I guess we’ll see.”

  I laugh and kiss my way down her throat, over her collarbones, then lower still to where her breasts jut away from her chest. With Lena lying on her back, those proud beauties have shifted away from her breast bone, yet somehow flattened only slightly. I glance up to discover her watching my every move with shining eyes. “You’ve got the prettiest tits.”

  She makes a face. “Gotta say, I don’t love that word.”

  “Then let me apologize and try again. You have the prettiest breasts it has ever been my pleasure to cast eyes upon.” I kiss my way up the slope of her left breast.

  “Booker, you don’t have to say sweet things to me.”

  “Oh, that’s where you are dead wrong, doll.” I give her pretty pink nipple a quick lick then pull back to blow across it. Goosebumps flash down her arms and her nipples twist into tight little spikes. I glance back up into her eyes. “I really do need to say them, Lena. I can’t think of anyone who deserves sweet nothings more than you.” And keeping my gaze steady on hers, I pull her nipple into my mouth, curl my tongue around its underside and suck.

  Lena’s head kicks back into the pillow as a desperate little sound purls up out of her throat. Her hands fist next to her head, but for the moment, at least, she leaves them where I requested. Capturing her other nipple between my thumb and forefinger, I tug it in rhythm with the pull of my mouth on its mate.

  Her thighs squeeze together, then shift apart, and I quickly abandon the breast I’m teasing with my fingers. There is another spot I’ve been dying to touch and I can’t wait another second.

  Trailing my knuckles downward, I lazily brush them along the smooth, hot landscape of Lena’s skin until I reach the dramatic concave where the band of her French knickers provides a line of demarcation between the inward curve of her narrow waist and the sumptuous flare of her hips. Turning my hand over, I dip my fingers beneath the only scrap of fabric I left her wearing.

  Lena grows still and seems to hold her breath the closer my forefinger inches toward its goal. I want nothing more than to slide her knickers down, so I can see everything there is to see of the sweet puss I’m about to stroke. But she may be nowhere near ready for this touch, let alone having to witness me watching myself diddle her. Last thing I want to do is scare her off.

  Still. In for a penny, in for a pound, as the Brits like to say.

  I slide my hand deeper into her knickers, my forefinger unerringly slipping into the soft furrow between plump lips. And—thank you, God—it’s not only soft, it’s wet.

  I can feel Lena starting to tense, no doubt over that very thing. With a silent thank you to the French, whom I found to be so much more open and accepting of sex than we Puritanical Americans, I locate Lena’s clitoris, a gift to the women possessing it and the men fortunate enough to have learned about it. Gently, I feather the slippery little bundle of nerves with my fingertip.

  “Oh,” Lena breathes, relaxing the thighs she just clenched against my marauding finger. “Oh, my goodness, gracious—ohhh!”

  I move down the bed and tug her pretty knickers down over those sweet hips and ass and chuck the scrap of lingerie to the end of the bed. Then I shoulder my way between her thighs, which have been sprawling farther apart with every stroke of my finger. For a second I pause to simply admire the sight before me.

  Her skin is smooth and pale and oh-so soft. Her legs are firm and shapely. And between her thighs is the prettiest little triangle of fine pale blond hair. Lowering my head, I inhale the heady, exotic scent of her. Then I thumb those plump lips apart to reveal the slick pink flesh and lower my head.

  Only to find Lena’s hands suddenly fisted in my hair as she half sits up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa there, cowboy!”

  I look up the length of her body, enjoying the dips and curves of her along the way. She’s pushed herself up onto her elbows and is staring back at me doubtfully. “You’re not going to kiss me there, are you? I mean, do people actually do that?”

  “Some do. I sure as hell plan to.”

  “Oh, but—”

  “You’re a modern woman, aren’t you?”

  “Yesss?”

  I hide my grin at her less than certain response. Say gently, “And modern women try things before making unilateral decisions based strictly on their lack of knowledge, am I right?”

  Lena has never been a pushover. I always loved that about her. “Beats me,” she says coolly and shrugs, meeting my gaze squarely. “I’m not positive I know what uni-what-eral means.”

  “In this case, one-sided. As in, based on a single side of an equation. But I know you, Lena—you like learning new things. Hell, you told me that yourself. Which makes me think you’re too modern to let that unilateral bushwa win the day.” I’m slinging bull right and left here, but, God, I want to taste her. And I honestly do believe she’ll love it, if I can just get her to give me the green light. Not above fighting dirty, I stealthily brush my thumb across her clit.

  She sucks in a breath and her grip on my hair loosens. “I... suppose.”

  Okay, not ideal. But I can work with it. Lowering my head, I lap the flat of my tongue over her clitoris. Lena moans and I do it again. I tease her for a while, bringing her close, then backing away to kiss her stomach, tickle her belly button with the tip of my tongue, or lick the creases where her legs join her torso. When she cools down enough to relax a little once more, I return to her clitoris. And when she suddenly reaches out to hold my head in place, I slip a finger inside her and alternate again between her clit a
nd everywhere except that sweet little hot button. She clamps down on my finger and once it appears she’s grown accustomed to it, I slip in a second. Slowly I rock both in and out. Her breath catches, again and again and I give a plump lip a little nip of my teeth.

  “Booker!” Her voice is breathy and I lean to grab one of the new latex rubbers out of the nightstand, which, thank you, Jesus, is right next to me. I ease my fingers free and quickly sit up to kick off my boxers and roll on the protection.

  “Wait,” she protests and blinks up at me. “You’re stopping? Just like that? You can’t stop now!”

  “We’re not stopping,” I assure her. “Just switching things up.”

  “Why would we wanna do that?” She digs her nails into my shoulders as I roll atop her body. “I liked what you were doing.”

  I line up my erection with her opening and slowly work the head in. “But you didn’t expect to, right? So, give this a fair shake, too. I’m pretty sure you’ll like it, as well.”

  “I’m pretty sure I won’t,” Lena mutters, but she doesn’t tense up as I begin to ease my way into her.

  I’ll take my good signs where I can get ‘em.

  I push further into her with small, gentle thrusts and withdrawals, pushing in an inch or two, pulling back half as much. Pushing in a little farther yet, retreating slightly. I get exactly zero response at first and fear I am just not doing it for Lena. I, on the other hand, am barely hanging on by a thread. But, I’m not reaching her, dammit.

  Then, as I finally sink in as far as a man can go, I realize I’ve been ignoring everything else in my quest to fully penetrate Lena without hurting her. Bending my head, I kiss her. I make love to her mouth like I’ve got all the time in the world. And you know what? I do. Even if I screw this up and lose control before I can coax a climax from Lena, I’m pretty damn sure I’ve got more than one time in me. And if not, I’ll take care of her by any other means necessary.

  But out of the blue, Lena moans, a low, carnal sound deep in her throat that’s music to my ears. And for the first time, she moves her hips and tilts her pelvis up to meet my thrusts. I rip my mouth from hers and look down at her swollen lips and flushed cheeks. At her heavy-lidded eyes, gleaming in the firelight.

  “Ah, God, Lena. You feel so good. It feels so damn good to be inside of you.” I kiss the warm skin below her ear.

  Lena moans again and thrusts her hips up.

  Hooking the backs of her knees with the inside of my elbows, I haul her very fine ass mostly off the bed when I plant my hands on the mattress near her shoulders. The move pushes her wide-splayed knees back toward her breasts.

  I pull out almost entirely, only to promptly drive back in harder than before. I can tell by Lena’s sudden heavy breathing, by the frantic way she starts imploring her Maker, I’m doing something right. I keep it up, repeating the slow withdrawal and hard, fast surge back in. I feel her hot, wet sheath gripping my cock and Lena’s fingernails anchored in my back. My sac starts to draw up and I try to focus on something—anything—that might tamp down, or at least slow, this out of control fire raging inside of me.

  Freezing rain.

  Snow balls.

  The glaciers on Mt. Rainier.

  Lena grips my hair and tugs until I’m looking into her eyes. “Booker, please,” she whispers. “Help me. I’m so...I don’t know what to—” She abruptly tries to push me away. “I can’t take any more!”

  “Shhh, I’ve gotcha. This is the good part.” Shaking her hands off, I bend my head to give her breast some attention. I got the impression Lena’s nipples were crazy sensitive. Unfortunately, in this position I can’t quite reach them. And since the position is clearly working for her, I’m not about to alter it.

  “Baby, cup your hand under your ti—your breast.” I stick my tongue out to demonstrate how close, yet at the same time, far away it is from making contact with her tits. No. Breasts. “Help me do this.”

  She does as I ask, sliding her hands beneath her breasts and offering them up. I suck a pink nipple between my lips, giving it the slightly rough treatment she seemed to like before.

  Immediately Lena’s breath hitches, her back arches and her arms wrap tightly around my back. I have no doubt her nails are pressing little crescents into my hide as I strive to push her over the cliff with each pull of my lips and tongue, with each thrust of my hips.

  Then, suddenly, I do.

  “Booker,” she cries as the muscular sheath wrapped around my dick starts clamping down on it like a Chinese finger trap, gripping and only slightly releasing, gripping and slightly releasing, over and over and over again.

  Until, I, too, toss back my head to groan Lena’s name as I come in hot pulsations. It feels as if it goes on forever, but eventually both our bodies settle down, at damn near at the same time.

  And abruptly wrung out and worn to the bone, I collapse like a felled tree on top of her.

  33

  susan andersen

  Wearing our best pajamas and sipping gin martinis

  LENA

  What was that? Oh, my gosh, oh, my God—what in heaven’s name was that? Never in my wildest imagination did I dream sex could feel like this. So astonishing, so downright miraculous, I’m just now realizing Booker’s sudden weight is crushing the breath right out of me. “Can’t...breathe,” I wheeze.

  He swears under his breath and pushes up on his palms, his biceps jumping into hard relief. Air rushes into my lungs even as I miss his weight pinning me down. I watch a very un-Bookerlike wash of color rise up his throat and onto his face.

  “Sorry,” he says. “That was just so damn incredible, it kicked the slats right out from under me.”

  “You, too?” That was comforting. But even as we speak, all the amazing feelings are fading, except for an occasional faint pulse deep between my legs.

  Leaving me without the first idea of how to act around him.

  What, what, what on earth was that thing he did with his tongue? I have worked in bars since reaching my majority at eighteen. So, while I may have only experienced sex one time before this morning—and that a world removed from what I just felt—I thought I’d at least heard most of what there was to know. People in bars talk. Heaven knows most of the women I’ve worked with over the years had a lot to say.

  Nobody ever mentioned that tongue thing. I would have remembered that.

  I clear my throat. “I have never in my life felt anything like this.” Heck, I had no idea such sensations even existed. Then a sudden thought makes me freeze. “Oh, God, Booker. I could get pregnant from this!”

  What the hell had I been thinking? I, more than most people, know what it’s like to be the result of an unwanted pregnancy. I assume that’s why my mother left me at the Blood of Christ, anyway. I always thought she had given being an unwed mom a try, found it just too difficult, and dumped me on the B of C’s steps.

  I swore I would never put another child through the same situation.

  “No,” Booker says firmly. “You can’t and you won’t. I used a rubber. I’m wearing it still. I can pull out, if you’d like to inspect it.”

  Even as my face flames, my new fear-fueled tension flows away. Whew. Yes. Okay. I do remember him rolling something down

  down

  down

  the length of his sex. I blow out a huge sigh of relief.

  I can feel myself blushing all over at the mere thought of inspecting the thing—although maybe I’m the tiniest bit tempted. “That’s okay. I wasn’t paying the strictest attention, I guess.”

  I wonder if Booker can read my mind, for the grin he gives me is truly wicked. Darned if his (clearly) dirty mind doesn’t stir those crazy feelings once again. Suddenly overwhelmed, I shove at his shoulders, desperate to be somewhere—anywhere—else. “I should go.”

  Booker doesn’t budge. “Go where, exactly? It’s Sunday, Lena, everything is closed. Unless...” His dark brows scrunch briefly over his nose. “Do you need to talk to Clara or Dot about this?�
�

  “God, no!” To my surprise, Booker’s brows furrow deeper yet. Baffled, I peer up at him. I would have thought that would be the last thing he’d want—the rest of his employees knowing he and I were doing naked things together behind closed doors. “I don’t imagine you want me to do that. Do you?”

  “Hey, shout it from the rooftops, if you want to. Because, making love with you, Lena? Best thing that ever happened to me, far as I’m concerned.”

  His words steep me in a warm glow. Yet, I still feel an urgent need to push him away, to distance myself. Getting attached has never ended particularly well for me. And although a huge part of me wants nothing more than to stay wrapped up in Booker’s arms, my smarter self is screaming to stick with making real girlfriends this year and give the messy man/woman stuff a wide berth.

  Before I can do or say anything further, however, Booker lowers his head to press a soft kiss into the curve of my neck where it turns into my shoulder. I feel him pulse inside me, growing a bit larger again. “You don’t have to decide anything right this minute, Lena,” he says in a husky voice that sends heat shooting down my spine. “Not today, and not tomorrow either, if you’re still trying to come to terms with what you want from this relationship.” He lifts his head. Pins me in a riveting blue-eyed gaze, which leaves me suddenly breathless.

  “Why don’t we just take things nice and slow,” he continues softly. “You hear what I’m saying? Let’s just enjoy each other for a while before we start slapping labels on whatever this thing between us is.” One large, bare shoulder hunches nearly to his ear before quickly dropping back into its original position. “Let’s see where it takes us.”

  Relief floods me. Seeing where it takes us is something I think I can do.

  By Thursday, I’m not feeling nearly as dispassionate about this “seeing” business as I was last Sunday. I have a strong desire to keep this connection—whatever it is—strictly between me and Booker. At the same time, I so, so need to talk to someone who knows more about men and sex than I do. Which, frankly? Probably includes most of the population of Seattle.