Another thing I couldn’t do if I couldn’t read her papers. She’d created the most amazing candles that gave off scents no one in the world could duplicate. She’d lived on the proceeds from the ones she sold to a gift shop in town. Every time I went past the place, the owner begged me to tell her how Grandmother had done it, but I didn’t know.
“These are the last of them.” I peered into the flames, mesmerized.
I felt him come up behind me. “Thank you.”
That he understood what the candles meant, and what it meant to use them, made my stomach flutter. When he kissed the back of my neck, my stomach dropped toward my toes.
His hands slid around my waist, his palms resting on my belly as if he knew the turmoil going on beneath my skin. I leaned back, absorbing his heat, enjoying the pressure of him against my spine. Arching, I rubbed myself along his hardness, and the hands that had been gentle were gentle no longer.
He gripped my hips, pulling me more tightly against him, then running his palms up my ribs, cupping my breasts through the heavy material of the ugly sheriff’s uniform. I had to get it off; I had to feel all of him against all of me.
Buttons opened under my busy fingers. His were occupied releasing my pants.
“Wait,” he whispered as I began to shrug out of the shirt, his breath tickling the moistness left on my neck by his mouth and making me shiver. “Let me touch you like this.”
Before I could ask or even wonder what he meant, he spun us around so that we were facing the mirror above my dresser. The candles gave off just enough light so I could see everything. My uniform blouse gaped open, my lacy white bra peeking from beneath. My pants unbuttoned, unzipped, the silken V of my panties revealed, as well as the swirling, curling darkness that lay beneath.
His hand stark against my belly, his skin lighter than mine, our hair the same shade of ebony. Him wearing a suit, all buttoned up and stiff. Me in my uniform, unbuttoned and loose. We looked like an ad in Hustler.
His fingers slid beneath the tan waistband; then lower still, they crept beneath the white silk, one finger unerringly finding the center and stroking.
I arched, my shirt parting as my breasts thrust upward, seeming to strain at the soft white cups of my bra. He nuzzled my ear; his teeth worried the lobe, as his finger continued to stroke. I was so interested in that finger, I didn’t notice his hand releasing the catch on my bra until the pressure eased and his palm swept over the tingling peaks.
My eyes remained open, watching him, watching me, watching us. I couldn’t see what he was doing beneath the cover of the bra still hanging over my shoulders, shrouding my breasts; I couldn’t see what his finger was doing beneath the white silk of my panties, which only made what I felt more exquisite.
His thumb rolled my nipple, then joined with the forefinger to pluck me in a rhythm equaled by the strokes between my legs. His tongue swirled into my ear with a similar beat as my blood pulsed in time with the throbbing of his penis pressed to the curve of my spine.
One more hard thrust of his finger and I cried out, riding the wave, riding his hand as he drew out the orgasm. Lights flashed in front of my open eyes so brightly I was forced to close them, even though I wanted nothing more than to watch the two halves of myself—the woman and the warrior—cry out as one.
When it was over, he turned me around and kissed me. He was still hard against my stomach. I wanted to touch him as he’d touched me. My fingers worked at his belt, his buttons, the zipper. He began to protest and I bit his lip, just a nip, one I could soothe with my tongue.
As he’d done, I slid my palm down his stomach, enjoying the flutter of the muscles beneath his skin; then my fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs, immediately encountering the smooth, hard length of him.
I took him in my hand, rubbed my thumb over his tip, then worked him until his tongue was darting in and out of my mouth and his hips were pumping in time to the flick of my wrist. When he was so close I didn’t dare go any further, I shrugged out of my shirt, my bra, then stepped out of my boots, my slacks, my socks. Holding his gaze, I dipped my thumbs into my underpants and lost them, too.
H
is eyes flowed over me like water over rocks; smooth and cool they caressed. When he reached for his tie, his fingers shook, and I took pity on him.
“Let me.” I undid the knot, tossed the length of silk aside. Made short work of his buttons, revealing his beautiful smooth chest inch by glorious inch.
Shoving the jacket and the shirt from his shoulders, I couldn’t help but pause to taste him; then I became distracted by the slope of his collarbone, the flat, dark disc of his nipple, and the spike of his ribs and hips.
“Grace, you’re killing me.”
Lifting my head, I smiled. “Not yet.”
I stripped him of the rest, admiring the way his penis sprang out of his underwear ready for anything. Then I inched him backward until his legs met the bed, and gave him a little shove.
He fell, bouncing once and laughing. The sound was so light, so uncommon coming from him, that I paused just to listen. But when I didn’t join in, he began to sit up, so I straddled him.
I didn’t think I could be ready again so soon, but I couldn’t wait; I didn’t want to, and from the way he cursed when I pressed my damp curls against him, he didn’t want to, either.
Lifting myself, I took him in, my breath coming faster as he filled me, stretched me, took me. His palms cupped my hips, pulling me down as he pressed up, and I began to move.
“Wait,” he managed, voice hoarse, the desperation at its edge a contrast to the word. He tightened his fingers, stilling me.
“Are you crazy?” I fought against his hold, needing to move as much as I needed to breathe.