Flat surface. He needed one. Now. Sooner.
His mind raced with options, the Astroturf floor too rough, the bed too far away. Time for creativity.
Turning, he backed her toward the weight bench, and thank goodness she seemed too absorbed in cupping his ass to question his intent since—oh yeah, her soft hand slipped around front—no way did he want to move his mouth from his current sweet target long enough to explain himself.
Bending forward, he eased her down along the bench, then knelt between her knees.
Her hands glided along and off his shoulders as she relaxed against the padded bench. "So much better than any trapeze."
"Hell, woman, you turn me inside out anywhere, anytime, and you know it."
Skimming her panties down slender legs and off, he flung aside the purple lace. He hooked her knees around his arms, spread her thighs slightly, her upper body totally there and on display just for him. For his hands. For his mouth.
He pressed his lips to her ankle, over to the still-pink scar from her stitches as if he could take all her pain into himself. He nuzzled the crook of her knee, worked his way up, and man, but did she ever sigh and make all those sweet sounds to guide him. Affirmations somehow became clearer, more arousing now that he realized how close he'd come to losing her.
His smile caressed her inner thigh just before he continued his path up until her scent filled his senses—roses and pure her.
"Yes," she sighed.
Again, he heard, agreed, settled between her legs and parted her to drink, deeper, fuller, his tongue circling the tight bundle of nerves. Her next sigh hitched on a sweet whimper-moan that encouraged. Urged. Guiding him to what she wanted, needed now, right now from his hands and mouth.
From him.
And then he heard the sweetest sound of all in her completion. But different, edgier somehow. Torn from her throat in a way he totally understood because this woman tore the breath from him sometimes.
J.T. pressed a lingering kiss that drew another tremble of aftershocks from her.
He may not be able to control forever with Rena, but he could make sure he heard that echoing completion again tonight. And again after that until she was damn near hyperventilating, if he had his way.
But first, he allowed himself a second to look at her—couldn't have looked away anyhow as more of that "first time" sensation rolled over him anew. Instead, he took in the image of her long dark hair spiraling to the floor. Her arms overhead, fingers still clenched tight around the steel grips, her perfect br**sts rising and falling so fast, her body flushed from the release he'd brought her.
Her eyes fluttered open. A hesitant smile flickered. "You're making me a little self-conscious here."
He shook his head slowly, kept right on staring his fill.
"No need for that, babe. I'm just…" He paused, swallowing, words scarce for him on a normal day, and right now with so much of the past, present—damn it all—emotion clogging his throat and brain, words came tough. "There are times I can't believe I'm the lucky bastard who gets to sleep with you."
He extended a not-so-steady hand, traced the fragile line of her hipbone up, along the curve of her breast. She gazed back at him, her eyes unwavering, unblinking, glistening with tears when he'd vowed never to make this woman cry again.
She arched up and he forgot how the hell to think. One of the things he appreciated most about losing himself in Rena. She scooched toward him, wrapped her legs around his waist and guided him home. Oh yeah.
Gripping her hips, he steadied her, nudged into the tight fist of moist heat. Waited for her to accommodate, waited for her sigh. Then moved. Again, in time with her, their bodies in sync if not always their minds.
He kept his pace slow, controlled, careful. Her heels dug into the small of his back, urging him deeper, and he let her take the lead, let her body dictate, easy enough since they wanted the same thing.
Eventually, as always, he couldn't tell who controlled anymore. Neither probably, because the driving need had hold of both of them. Something that had controlled them for years.
Eyes closed, his face settled against the damp curve of her neck, his skin equally as slick, growing wetter as she rocked against him. More of that frantic edge slugged through him, the sense that he had to hold on to this moment because he might never have another chance with this woman.
An unacceptable thought.
"Don't stop." Her nails jabbed into his back with urgency. "Not yet."
"Don't worry, babe," he growled into rose-scented hair. "I have no intention of stopping or going anywhere."
Damn straight on that.
She pulsed around him, harder, massaging him in her release that threatened to send him over with her. Still, he held back, took her cries into his mouth, absorbed her trembling, drew out her fulfillment until his body roared for relief. Her cries building, fading, she sagged against him.