Following Jordie’s hushed proclamation, neither she nor Shaw moved or said anything. For several moments, the only sound was that of rain pattering against
the window glass.
Then he placed his hands—large, strong, beautifully shaped hands—on the arms of the easy chair and pushed himself out of it. He walked toward her in the slow, measured tread that she remembered from when they were in the garage. Except that this time as he got closer, she didn’t tremble with apprehension but tingled with anticipation.
Standing in front of her, he took up her whole field of vision. Not that she wanted to look at anything except him.
He said, “Why?”
“Why do I like you?” How best to explain it? After consideration, she said, “Because you don’t make excuses for yourself. You don’t apologize for who you are.”
He reached for her hand and pulled her up. As before, he cradled her face between his hands and tilted her head back. His eyes roved over her features, perhaps looking for a more comprehensive explanation for what she’d said, or for a protest when he nudged her feet apart so he could stand between them.
He bumped her once, then again, testing her willingness. She tilted against him invitingly, and when he paired the notch of her thighs with the erection inside his jeans, the warmth of desire spread through her middle like the finest of liqueurs.
She closed her eyes and let her neck go limp, relying solely on his hands to hold her head up. She whispered, “I don’t want to fight you anymore, Shaw. Or fight this.”
He dabbed the corner of her mouth with the tip of his tongue, then moved his mouth to her neck and gently sucked the spot just beneath her ear.
“Whatever this is,” she said on a waft breath. “What is this?”
Lowering his hands from her face, he reached behind her, up under her shirt, and unhooked her bra. “This is further notice.”
“What?”
“I said you’d be under arrest until further notice.”
“I confessed to a crime.”
“I’m about to commit one.”
He slid his hands around her rib cage and into the cups of her bra. He made a sound of satisfaction as his fingertips played lightly over her tight nipples, then he ground them gently against his wide palms before his fingers closed around her breasts, tenderly but possessively.
Want, need, and surrender unfurled in her. Her mouth sought his, and when they connected, each was as greedy as the other. Even though they never broke the kiss, he managed to wrangle her out of her shirt and slid off her bra, and then his mouth was at her breast, sweetly tugging or teasing with his tongue. She slid her fingers into his hair and, for a time, their panting moans of increasing appetite were heard above the sound of the rain.
He lowered his head, resting the crown of it between her breasts so he could see to undo his fly. His rapid, hot exhales fanned her skin as he grappled with stubborn buttons. When all were free, he raised his head and looked at her. “I may be able to make it to the bed. If we hurry.”
He took her hand and towed her into the bedroom. Not bothering to turn on the light, he flipped open the louvers of one panel of shutters to let in light from a lamppost down below. They formed stripes of light and shadow across the bed.
His boots hit the floor in two solid thuds, then he unsnapped the buttons of his shirt and pulled it off. From their time in the garage, Jordie remembered the hair-dusted pecs, corrugated rib cage, and enticing line of sleek hair that had directed her eyes to his waistband. But now the goodie trail widened into his open jeans, and the sight of his fully aroused sex stopped her breathing.
He pushed his jeans to the floor and stepped out of them. Then, noticing that she was arrested in motion, he asked raggedly, “You need help?”
“No.” Quickly, she kicked off her shoes, unfastened her pants, and pulled them off.
He lifted her by the waist and set her in the middle of the bed, then followed her as she lay down. Even as their mouths met, he pushed her panties only as far as he could reach, then came up on his knees and finished removing them.
His hands skimmed over her breasts, pressing them briefly before moving past her ribs to bracket her hips. He bent down and nuzzled the V of hair, then slid his tongue between the lips of her sex and continued down with it until, by the time he’d parted her thighs and got between them, it was making sweeping love strokes around and inside her.
She gasped his name and reached for him.
He rose above her, entirely male, physically dominant, intent, but his expression was vulnerable with longing. The broad head of his penis probed her, found her tight but yielding. He made a low sound and, in one thrust, buried himself completely. His shuddering sigh became an echo of hers as he settled on her heavily.
“All I’ve thought about,” he said, breathing the words against her neck, “being like this…inside you.”
Her response was to clench.
“Ah, dammit, Jordie, don’t. I don’t want to rush it.”