The Bedroom Business

He sat down on the sofa, tried to pull her into his lap, but she wouldn’t let him.

“I’d rather sit in the chair.”

“How am I going to kiss you if I’m sitting here and you’re sitting in the chair?”

“Jake. You said you’d teach me...things. And you have. You already—”

He tugged harder. She tumbled into his lap and he silenced her with a kiss. His mouth was warm; the tip of his tongue teased her lips. She swayed towards him, moaned, then pulled back.

“No,” she said, a little breathlessly, “once was enough. Honestly, Jake—”

“Honestly, Sparrow,” he whispered, as his hands spanned her waist, “once is never enough.”

“It is. It was. And then there’s our supper. The sauce, and the pasta...”

“To hell with supper,” Jake said in a husky whisper that made her breath quicken. “Kiss me, Em.”

When she didn’t, he kissed her, instead, and slipped his tongue into her mouth. The heat of it, the taste of him, made her dizzy.

“Jake.” She leaned her forehead against his. “Jake, stop. You make me feel—you make me feel—”

“What? Tell me. I want to know.” His hands cupped her face, tilted it to his. “I want to know what you like. What things you want me to do.”

Everything, she thought, oh, Jake, everything.

“This?” he said, and kissed her again. “And this?” he whispered, and cupped her breasts in his hands. “This, too,” he murmured, and ran his thumbs over her nipples. “Ah, Sparrow, Sparrow, I want you so badly...”

Emily moaned, put her arms around Jake’s neck and kissed him. She wanted him, too. Wanted his mouth, his hands, his body. Wanted his soul, and his heart...

Suddenly, she tore her mouth from his. “No,” she gasped, and scrambled to her feet, but Jake went after her, put his arms around her, drew her back against his chest.

“Yes,” he whispered, and buried his face in the soft, sweet place where her neck and shoulder joined.

She fell back against him, lifted her arm and lay her hand against his cheek. Her fingers skimmed across his lips. He caught them, sucked them into the heat of his mouth as he undid the zipper that ran down the back of her dress. He wrapped a handful of her hair around his fist, dragged it aside and kissed the nape of her neck.

Her skin was like silk. He wanted to tear the dress away, feast on her with all his senses. Instead, he eased the dress to her waist and covered her breasts with his hands, teased the crests with his thumbs, felt her tremble, shudder, felt his body turning into steel.

“Do you like that?” he whispered.

Emily’s breath caught. “Yes. Oh, yes. I—I—”

He turned her in his arms, took her mouth with his, nipped at her bottom lip until her mouth opened and he could slip his tongue inside. She trembled, pressed herself against him, and he shuddered with almost savage exaltation.

She was his. His, and no other man’s. She had never be­longed to anyone else and she never...

His mind whirled, teetered on the brink of a dangerous chasm. But Emily was holding him, kissing him, whispering his name and he couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel.

He kissed her, hard, tilted her head back as he took pos­session of her mouth. The dress tore under his hands as he slid down her body. It pooled at her feet and he saw Emily, his Emily, for the very first time.

She was every dream he’d ever had, and every hope. Her body was slender, her curves feminine, her skin flushed with desire. She was wearing lace. White lace. Bra, tiny panties, stockings that ended at her thighs. White, all of it, as soft and pure as the snow.

But her boots were black. Black as midnight, black as sin, tight, sleek and high on her legs.

Jake shuddered again, knotted his hands, swore to himself that he would make this second time perfect.

He bent to her and put his mouth against hers, holding her captive only with his kiss. Then he knelt and eased the boots from her feet, one at a time, pausing to kiss her ankle, her arch. He heard her make a whispered sound, felt the brush of her hand against his hair as he rose and he paused at the juncture of her thighs, told himself again to go slow, go slow, not to frighten her...

“Em,” he whispered, and his hands closed around the backs of her thighs as he pressed his face against the white lace panties.

Her cry of pleasure was almost his undoing. He could feel the heat, the dampness of her through the lace; the woman­-scent of her arousal was perfume to his soul. His sparrow was trembling with desire and it was all for him.

For him, he thought, and he stood straight and gathered her into his arms.