Good with His Hands(8)

       
           



       

But when he slid his fingers beneath the cotton of her bra, pinching  lightly, it was almost too much. She nearly lost her balance.

"W-wait." Clutching his arm for support, she raised a foot and  unstrapped first one high-heeled sandal, then the other. Pivoting, she  kicked them under the coffee table by the couch so they weren't lying in  the path to the bedroom. This evening was going to end in mind-blowing  orgasms, not someone tripping over discarded shoes.

Before she could turn back around to face him, his hands settled on her  denim-clad hips. He kissed his way from one shoulder blade to the  other. He traced her spine to the top of her skirt, then pointedly  tugged the waistband.

She reached for the button above the zipper but paused. "I feel  underdressed, comparatively speaking." Twisting to look back at him, she  grinned. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

He whipped off his shirt and balled it up, tossing it in the general  vicinity of the coffee table. As he quickly stripped off socks and shoes  and fumbled with his belt, she watched over her shoulder. She greedily  drank in the sight of his chiseled chest and abs, cursing herself for  not turning on more lights. The man was living art. His shoulders were  broad and strong, his chest dusted in dark hair that added to his virile  air. His torso tapered to an impressively ridged six-pack that she  would have assumed was airbrushed if she'd seen it in a photo.

When he stepped out of the jeans, her eyes widened in renewed  appreciation at the erection outlined in snug boxer briefs. He was male  perfection. And, for tonight, he was hers.

"Your skirt," he said, his voice thick with expectation.

She gave a quick shimmy, letting the unzipped skirt slide down her  legs. He hauled her closer, so that they were pressed together. She  swiveled her hips, grinding against him, hearing the way he sucked in  his breath, loving that his reaction to her was every bit as strong as  hers to him. He reached between them to unhook her bra. Her muscles were  so taut with anticipation she struggled to shrug free of the material.  He skimmed his fingers over her midriff, upward. But before he reached  her breasts, he changed direction. She let him get away with a second  teasing pass before grabbing his hands and cupping them over her. His  low chuckle, more vibration than sound, rumbled through her.

He plucked at one nipple, making her gasp. "Is that more what you had in mind?" he murmured against her ear.

Yes. She arched into his touch, words escaping her when he repeated the  movement, this time tweaking both at once while he kissed her shoulder.  She rocked back against him, the movement more instinct than conscious  volition. He slid a hand past her hipbone, his fingers curling beneath  the thin fabric of her panties to graze her skin.

She was both frantic for him to reach the throbbing juncture between  her legs and a touch apprehensive that, once he did, she'd ignite like a  roman candle. She had a fanciful image of herself, sated in boneless  aftermath, her apartment a smoldering ruin around her. When he began  lowering her panties, she had a moment of clarity.

"Condoms," she blurted. That was nonnegotiable, something they needed to agree on before either of them was fully naked.

"Of course." His acceptance was immediate, although his voice was  gruff. "Jeans pocket. In a minute. First..." His fingers parted the dewy  folds at her core, expertly targeting where she was most sensitive. She  whimpered, moving against him with primal urgency, reaching out blindly  for a way to steady herself.

He steered her toward the couch and splayed his hand on the small of  her back, gently urging her forward. She bent over the arm of the sofa,  the leather cool against her bare skin. He eased a finger inside her,  and she bit her lip.

"Condoms," she repeated. Now.

"Right." His voice echoed with the same hunger surging through her.

She heard the rustle of his jeans, the thud of a wallet hitting the  floor, the discreet rip of foil. His talented fingers returned, working  their magic and heightening the frenzied need inside her until she  almost screamed into the sofa cushion. Then he gripped her hips in a  hold that bordered on bruising and thrust into her.

He withdrew partially, then pushed back even deeper. It felt so damn  good. As their rhythm increased, she raised her hips to meet him, their  bodies coming together with enough force to send her up on her toes.  Already, a wicked, shimmering pressure was building, spreading through  her body as she tightened around him. He reached around her, his fingers  stroking just above where they were joined, and she cried out. The  pressure broke, exploding in ripples of pleasure that radiated through  every cell of her body.

Somewhere in the glittery starburst of bliss, as Gray pistoned his hips  again and found his own release, she had a single coherent thought.  Pretending that nothing had happened when she saw him again on Monday  would be a problem. Having experienced this shattering, all-consuming  ecstasy, how would she ever have a simply platonic exchange with him  again?                       
       
           



       





      5

SEAN CONSIDERED HIMSELF pretty fit, but right now-sprawled across  Dani's couch with her tucked against him-he wasn't sure he would ever  catch his breath again. Should his heart still be pounding against his  rib cage? At least the spots in his vision were clearing, which made it  easier to appreciate the view of the naked brunette in his arms.  Technically, they were both too tall for the sofa, but even given the  awkwardness of his legs hanging over the side, he was surprisingly  comfortable.

Dani's head rested on his chest. She sighed happily. "That was..."

"Very athletic of us. I wonder if the Olympic committee has ever considered adding couch sex as an event."

"You'd definitely be on the medal podium."

"Both of us," he corrected. "Pairs event. Singles isn't nearly as much fun."

"Or as sweaty." She propped herself up on one arm. "I'm feeling pretty sticky. Care to join me in the shower?"

There was the slightest note of shyness in her invitation, which he  found endearing. It was difficult to imagine such a forthright, sensual  woman feeling bashful. But forthright didn't mean invulnerable. He  recalled the flash of emotion in her gaze when she'd confessed that her  ex-fiancé had eloped with someone else.

"I would love to join you, assuming I can still move." He wiggled his toes experimentally.

She unfolded herself from their tangle of limbs, raising her arms over  her head and stretching her spine. Then she stood, grinning over her  shoulder. "I'll try to save you some hot water, but I can't make any  promises. It doesn't last long."

Watching her stroll across the room, her nude body outlined by the  illumination coming through the window, helped him rediscover his  energy.

She'd left her bedroom dark as she passed through, but light spilled  from the bathroom. It was pretty basic-navy towels that matched small  area rugs and a clear shower curtain imprinted with dark blue swirls.  With the exception of the curling iron and cosmetics on the counter, he  wouldn't have guessed the room belonged to a woman. His ex had fancy  soaps no one was allowed to use, lace-edged washcloths and scented  candles on a shelf above her tub. She'd also favored lots of  sweet-smelling potpourri; visiting her apartment was like being trapped  inside a raspberry. Dani didn't need pastel throw pillows or ruffled  curtains to highlight her femininity-it was stamped on every curve of  her body, from her lush lips to the graceful arch of her foot.

Standing beneath the spray of water, she smiled at him through the translucent curtain. "Here to wash my back?"

"Something like that." He stepped over the side of the tub, joining her.

Squeezing into the narrow bathtub was like cuddling on the couch all  over again-crowded, yet not uncomfortable. He liked being here with her.  Too bad you won't be with her much longer. The thought was a dark  whisper in his mind, an unpleasant reminder that their time was limited.  When he told her the truth tomorrow...

"Here." He reached for the shampoo bottle she held. "Let me." He  squeezed some of the citrusy shampoo into his palm and worked it into a  lather.

With the water temporarily taming her curls, her hair hung even longer  than it had dry. He took his time, massaging her scalp, working the  shampoo through each strand, enjoying her soft mmm of contentment. She  was gratifyingly vocal, making it easy for a guy to tell when he was  doing something right.

After he'd finished with both the shampoo and conditioner, she turned  in his arms, snuggling against him as she dotted kisses along his  collarbone. "That felt good. I can't remember the last time I was this  relaxed."