“At the studio when you asked me if I minded. The way you looked when you turned around in that doorway and saw me running to you in the rain—”
“Don’t, Everett,” she moaned. “Don’t say those things.”
“Why not? It’s true. You said you weren’t afraid of my honesty. That’s all I’m doing—telling the truth. The moment when I saw that sketch you made of me on that napkin,” he continued relentlessly, “and you somehow managed to capture something I was just beginning to realize.”
She lifted herself off him and ground her pussy back in his lap, her eyelids clenched tightly as if it could make her stop hearing him—or make her hear him more clearly. His hold on her tightened and he lifted.
“That I was falling in love with you,” he said as he drove her back on his cock.
The stroke—or perhaps his volatile words—ignited something in her. Hot, spiking pleasure cascaded like a beating waterfall in her flesh. She gripped his shoulders. They began to move as one, both of them submersed in the same pure pool of electric delight. She heard their skin slapping together and the headboard thudding against the wall as if through a dense, heavy fog. Sharp pain shot through her buttock and she cried out. Her eyelids popped open and Everett spanked her again, squeezing both her ass cheeks and jerking her back down on his cock. The burn of pain was the subtle spice to her boiling pleasure.
He spanked her again and again as they mated frantically, as if he truly was bent on creating a fire in her flesh. It worked. Her fingernails sunk into his shoulders and she began to climax. His cock lurched inside her. He roared.
Joy continued to bob desperately in his lap, increasingly wild to stretch those fleeting, exquisite moments.
Seventeen
In the dead of night Everett awoke to the sensation of cool, air-conditioned air on his skin and a warm, wet mouth on his thigh. He shivered at the sensation of sweet, skimming kisses.
“Joy?” he whispered, slightly disoriented in the darkness.
“Everett,” she whispered against a damp spot on his thigh. Her voice sounded thick with drowsiness. Goose bumps broke over his body. He felt the edge of her front teeth scrape gently over his skin.
“Come here,” he mumbled, clumsily reaching for her.
She came—warm, decadent silk sliding next to his chilled skin. His arms went around her. She brought the comforter with her and settled it around them. She laid her cheek and palm on his chest. One moment, he had been cold and naked; the next he was cocooned in Joy’s fragrant warmth.
“Joy?” he whispered after a moment, confused by her utter stillness. Had she wanted to make love again? He wasn’t quite sure he was up for the deed after such an active day and night, but he’d be more than happy to bring her pleasure. He palmed the back of her head, the sensation causing a surge of tenderness, wonder and passion to go through him, a heretofore unknown, powerful combination of emotion. He ran his fingers through her silky hair.
“Joy,” he repeated, this time with no expectation of a reply. She must have been enacting her dreams. Her even, soft breath on his chest told him she was fast asleep.
* * *
Golden sunlight leaked into his awareness when he pried open his eyelids the next morning. Not yet prepared for the intrusive brilliance, he clamped his eyes shut again. He flopped his hand onto his abdomen, frowning as he absentmindedly scratched himself. Something was missing in the crook of his arm.
He opened his eyes and glanced around the bed without moving his head off the pillow. He was alone. It didn’t surprise him; Joy had awakened earlier than he had yesterday. He’d always thought he was a morning person, but Joy seemed to rise with the dawn. He rubbed his eyes and thought about the previous night.
“Joy?” he called, his vivid memories making it suddenly imperative he see her right that moment . . . touch her. How was she feeling? Better or worse?
No answer came. The guesthouse seemed silent. Maybe she’d already gone for her morning jog? Surely it wasn’t a good idea for her to be exercising when she was ill.
Of course that didn’t prevent you from letting her make love to you last night, did it, Mr. Nice Guy?
He tossed the sheet off him and sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. He noticed the folded piece of paper while he was scraping back his hair with his fingers. It had been set against the bedside table lamp and had his name written across the front.
He picked it up and opened it slowly. Surely the sharp sense of dread he was experiencing was uncalled for. It was probably just a note telling him that she’d run down to the Legion Diner for some coffee or something.
He read the note rapidly.
It wasn’t just a note telling him she’d run into town for coffee.
He stood abruptly and for the first time noticed Joy’s suitcase was gone.
Five minutes later, he entered the big house’s kitchen, Joy’s note clutched in his hand. Katie sat at the oak table near a window, sunlight spilling around her as she bottle-fed a hungry-looking Daisy.
“Did you see Joy leave?”
Ka