“I don't know. Because you're working for me?”
Morelli reached in and took the phone. “Later,” he said to Kuntz. Then he disconnected and tossed the phone in the sink.
“This isn't a good idea,” I said. But I was thinking, Why not? My legs were shaved. I didn't hardly have any clothes on so that awkward step was eliminated. And after everything I'd been through, I deserved an orgasm. I mean, it was the least I could do for myself.
Morelli moved in and nuzzled my bare shoulder. “I know,” he said. “This is a terrible idea.” His mouth brushed just below my earlobe. We locked eyes for a heartbeat, and Morelli kissed me. His mouth was gentle, and the kiss lingered. When I was in high school my best friend, Mary Lou, told me she heard Morelli had fast hands. Actually, just the opposite was true. Morelli knew how to go slow. Morelli knew how to drive a woman crazy.
He kissed me again, our tongues touched, and the kiss deepened. His hands were at my waist and then at my back pressing me into him, and either he had one hell of an erection or else his night stick was rammed into my stomach. I was pretty sure it was an erection, and I thought if I could just get that nice big, stiff, magical thing deep inside me all my worries would fade away.
“I've got some,” Morelli said.
“Some what?”
“Some condoms. I've got a carton. Serious investment. Top of the line.”
The way I was feeling I figured that carton wouldn't take us to Sunday.
And then his mouth was on me again, kissing my neck, my collarbone, the swell of my breast at the top of the towel. And then the towel was gone and Morelli took his mouth to my nipple and fire flashed through me. His hands were everywhere, exploring, caressing . . . teasing. His mouth dropped lower, trailing a string of kisses to my navel, my belly, my . . . OMMIGOD!
Mary Lou had also told me she'd heard Morelli had a tongue like a lizard, and now I knew firsthand the accuracy of that rumor. God bless the wild kingdom, I thought with a new appreciation for reptiles. I had my fingers tangled in his hair, and my bare ass pressed against the sink, and I was thinking, Oh, yum! I was on the brink. I could feel it coming . . . the delicious pressure, the heat and mind-?emptying need for release.
And then he moved his mouth half an inch to t
he left.
“Go back!” I gasped. “Go back. GO BACK!”
Morelli kissed my inner thigh. “Not yet.”
I was feeling frantic. I was so close! “What do you mean, not yet!”
“Too soon,” Morelli said.
“Are you kidding me? It's not too soon! It's been years!”
Morelli stood, scooped me up, carried me into his bedroom and dropped me onto his bed. He stripped off his T-?shirt and shorts, all the while watching me with dilated eyes, all black pupil beneath the black fringe of his lashes. His hands were steady, but his breathing was ragged. And then his briefs were gone and he was naked. And I wasn't sure anymore if this was going to work. It had been a long time, and he looked awfully big. Bigger than I'd remembered. Bigger than he'd felt through his clothes. He took a condom out of the box, and I scooted up to the headboard. “On second thought . . .” I said.
Morelli grabbed me by the ankles, pulled me down flat on my back and pushed my legs apart. “No second thoughts,” he said, kissing me. And then he put his finger on me in precisely that spot. He moved the finger a little, and now I was thinking he was looking just right. Not really too big at all. Now I was thinking I had to find a way to get the damn thing inside me. It wasn't bad to look at, but it wasn't really doing all that much for me bobbing around on its own.
I grabbed hold and tried to direct it, but Morelli moved out of reach. “Not yet,” he said.
What was with this not yet all the time! “I think I'm ready.”
“Not nearly,” Morelli said, dropping lower, doing some more of the terrific tongue torture.
Well okay, if this was what he really wanted to do it was fine by me because I actually liked this a lot. In fact, I was almost there. Another thirty seconds and I was going to fly off into the great beyond, shrieking like a banshee.
And then he moved a half inch to the left . . . again.
“Bastard,” I said . . . in a loving sort of way. I reached out and stroked him, heard his breath catch at my touch. I drew my fingertip across the little slit at the top, and Morelli went very still. I had his attention. I dipped my head down and gave him a lick.
“Christ,” Morelli gasped, “don't do that. I'm not Superman!”
Had me fooled. I went on a much more extensive tasting expedition, and suddenly Morelli was galvanized into action. In an instant, I was on my back and Morelli was poised over me.
“Not yet,” I said. “It's not time.”
He snapped the condom on.