The Bedroom Business

“You don’t have to lie to me. I know I’m not—”

Her voice was shaking. Well, why wouldn’t it? She was terrified. Where was she supposed to put her hands? What was she supposed to do and say?

Her breath caught. Jake had nuzzled her hair aside. His mouth was hot against her neck.

“It’s true, though,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful, and sweet, and perfect.”

“Jake.” Emily shut her eyes. “I don’t—I don’t know what you want me to do.”

He took her hands, looped them behind his neck. “Just do whatever you want to do, sweetheart.”

“Yes, but I—I—”

He kissed her gently, the brush of his lips against hers like a feather against her skin. Emily caught her breath.

“Jake? I don’t think...”

“Good.” He put his hand under her chin, tipped her face up to his. “Don’t think, Em. That’s it. Don’t think. Just feel.”

His eyes were deep and dark; she knew she could tumble into them, get lost in them forever. “Jake? Maybe we were right the first time. That coming here was a mis—”

He kissed her again. His lips pressed hers more firmly this time but his mouth was soft. Soft, and cool, and wonderful.

Her heart began to race. And there was a strange tingling sensation low in her belly.

“Jake. Jake, listen. I said that maybe coming here was—” He silenced her by fitting his mouth carefully over hers, stroking the tip of his tongue against the seam of her lips.

“Emily,” he said gruffly, “just turn off that brain of yours and kiss me back.”

She did. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissed him, and knew, at long last, that being here, with Jake, being in his arms, was what she’d waited for, all her life.

Jake groaned as she opened her mouth to him. He cupped her face in his hands, accepted her invitation, delved into the heat and sweetness of her mouth. Emily moaned, lifted her­self to him, against him, pressed her soft, soft body against the hardness of his.

“Emily,” he said, and he lifted her into his arms, carried her into the living room, to the fireplace, before he lowered her to her feet.

She’d knotted the apron; he’d always been good at knots, he thought incongruously, hell, he’d almost been a Boy Scout when he was a kid. He’d have sewn a hundred merit badges on his shirt if his mother ever had enough money for the cost of the uniform. But his hands were shaking now; it took forever to undo the knot and get the apron off.

Ah, he was right. She was beautiful. The rose-colored dress matched the color in her face. Her eyes were dark pools, wide with expectation and wonder. Her breasts were high, the nipples hard and visible beneath the soft wool.

“Em,” he whispered.

He watched her face as he lifted his hand, brushed his thumb over the distended bit of wool. She cried out; her head fell back and Jake caught her, gathered her close, eased the dress off one creamy shoulder and pressed his mouth to her flesh, to the pulse racing in the hollow of her throat. She smelled of roses and sweet cream; she tasted of honey and heaven, and he told himself to go slow, go slow...

How could he?

The blood was pounding in his veins. And Emily... Emily was whispering his name as he cupped her breast, teased it to life.

“Please,” she said, “Jake, please...”

He could feel the room spinning around him. She was crooning to him, begging him, arching against him. She tugged his shirt out of his jeans, ran her hands up his back.

Go slow, he told himself fiercely, dammit, go slow...

“Jake?” she said, and touched him. Touched his erection as it strained against his jeans, and he was lost. Lost, to everything but needing her, wanting her, having her.

“Take me,” she said. “Please, Jake. Come inside me, now.”

Jake growled. He pulled her down to the carpet before the fire, thrust his hands under her skirt, felt the whisper of silk on her thighs, the slickness of silk between them.

She was wet and hot. Wet and hot, for him.

The world, and all his reason, disappeared.

“Now,” he said, and he ripped away the wet silk, opened his fly, freed himself and thrust deep, thrust hard...

And felt the barrier, the one he’d never, in his entire life, encountered. Stunned, he held still. Tried to think. To pull back. Emily wouldn’t let him. She dug her hands into his shoulders, dragged him down to her, lifted herself to him.

“Em,” he said, “Em, wait...”

Too late. She thrust her hips forward and impaled herself on his hard flesh.

A moment of shimmering pain, and then Jake was inside her, deep inside her, and she knew, she knew why she’d let this happen, why she’d wanted it to happen.