“However, I’ll be more disappointed if we don’t do this at all. So bottom line, I’ll take you any way that I can have you.”
Oh. Wow. His turning over of control to her helped in a way she hadn’t expected. His understanding turned the tide for her. She nodded. “Okay, let’s do this.”
Slowly, oh so slowly, he tunneled his hands up the back of her shirt. She’d been prepared for him to go straight for the gusto; she relaxed a little more. The rasp of his callused fingers against her skin caught her by surprise. She sagged against his chest in a warm wash of… “Yum.”
His chuckle rumbled against her chest. “I don’t think my best efforts at seduction have ever been summarized in the same way as a good dinner.”
“A compliment is a compliment. I like my food.” She writhed against him to increase the friction of his hand against her flesh, a sweet pleasure so long missed. “This isn’t a time to overanalyze.”
Why think ahead? Enjoy the moment and let the rest take care of itself. She surrendered to his kiss and stroke, and yes, maybe she’d given over control but she deserved this, and doggone it, her hands were having a hell of an awesome time exploring his body, as well.
And as far as yummy meals went, her mouth enjoyed feasting on his mouth, his neck, his perspiration-dotted skin. So perhaps he’d given over to the moment, as well.
“Shirt on or off?” he asked
“Off,” she said without hesitation. If she didn’t do this now, she never would.
He didn’t take his time or give her even a second to think—thank heavens. Her shirt sailed across the room to hook on a lamp in a heartbeat.
She knew what she looked like now. She’d stared at her altered chest in the mirror often enough.
And she so didn’t want to think right now.
He gazed at her for a moment that seemed to stretch forever but probably was all of five seconds. She wondered if he would make some big ceremonial deal out of touching her scars which would make her cry and she so didn’t want to cry.
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, bringing her chest flush with his and holy cow, he was still aroused. Relief beyond anything she ever could have imagined flooded her, followed by joy.
And desire. Sweet, wonderful, unrestrained pleasure.
She wriggled closer against him until she could feel the gentle abrasion of his chest hair against her skin. The sensation caught her by surprise. She’d been so caught up in thinking about the feelings she would lose, she hadn’t thought of what she would enjoy. And the way he’d positioned them, she didn’t feel so exposed. How ironic, how delightfully wonderful to find such surprising empathy from a guy with a call sign “Lurch.”
He hadn’t made this about cancer or scars, but about enjoying the moment. Perfect.
Then she stopped thinking at all.
She inhaled the scent of Rick’s spicy aftershave permeating the room. No more of her potpourri taking over the room. This was a man’s place now, regardless of how many floral sheets or froufrou comforters she brought into the place. The sheer masculinity of it sent a rush through her.
Rick dipped his head to trail nibbles along her ear with rambling whispers of how much he wanted her, needed her, his heated words as much an aphrodisiac as his touch skimming away her shorts and underwear.
All righty. Getting down to business. Yes. Her heart rate raced and her greedy hands grappled for his shorts, his h*ps lifting to accommodate, then—oh my—her hand wrapped around the heat of him. Something else so very familiar in this moment.
She remembered well the size and weight of him in her hand, in her. She remembered too his growl of appreciation in her ear, the sense that she knew instinctively what to do for him just as he knew how to bring her such sweet pleasure.
“Nola…”
A groan or a question?
“Yes?”
“Condom.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t string together more than one word at a time, either, which posed a serious problem for finding birth control anytime soon. They didn’t have to worry about conceiving, but in this day and age, condoms were always wise with all the diseases out there.>“Rick, if we’re still going to get n**ed together, I should probably prepare you. The doctors did reconstruction called a tram flap where they take tissue from my stomach to rebuild the breast. They also rebuilt the nipple and tattooed a simulated areola, but it doesn’t look the same. There are scars that run—”
He tipped her face up to his and brushed her mouth with his. “Nola.”
“Yes?”
“You’re not going to scare me off.”