want to touch you, El,” he murmured against her ear. “I want to make you feel good. You’re so beautiful.” He waited, nuzzling her.
She moved against his caressing fingers and made a mewling sound. He’d give her every opportunity to wrench his hand away and tell him to stop. She hadn’t done it, hadn’t said it. She was all his.
Her head fell back against his shoulder, her face turned to his. He finally did what he’d been dying to do since the moment he saw her in the kitchen. His lips brushed over the trembling softness of her mouth, savoring the full, sensual shape, the silky texture, the sweet flavor. He drank her in, caressed her mouth with his lips and tongue while his fingers slid lower, teasing their way inside the moist, hot recesses of her body. Petting and caressing the moist folds.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth at the same moment that he slid one long finger deep inside her. The invasion made her cry out, the small muscles inside her clenching around him. He made coaxing sounds, soothing her with kisses, and caressed the quivering bud of her clit with his thumb. She was so responsive, so open to him. He let his senses widen into a deep, intangible awareness of her pleasure, made up of fierce attention and empathy and passion.
He massaged her tight, moist sheath while his thumb tenderly circled her clit. So delicate and small. Hugging his finger with every tiny muscle inside herself. Being inside her was going to feel amazing.
He set up a gentle rhythm, careful not to scare her, and gave her just enough space to move with him; a slow, intuitive dance between his delving hand and the hidden secrets of her body. He let his other hand creep up the way the first had crept down, brushing over the dip of her navel, exploring the shelf of her rib cage and the swell of those breasts. She’d still been budding when she was sixteen, and now she’d bloomed into lush perfection. His fingertips brushed over her soft skin, her warm curves, her small, taut nipples with awe. He held her tight as she squirmed against his hand, and muffled the sobbing sounds she made against his mouth, deepening the kiss for the sake of her modesty.
He would make her come right here, and then carry her upstairs and lay her out on whatever bed was closest. Peel off her clothes and show her how much he’d learned about giving pleasure since that crazy night seventeen years ago. He pressed his erection against her bottom as his fingers wrought pleasure on her writhing body.
She panicked and fought it, but it was too late to retreat. He needed it now as much as she did. He insisted, pushed her straight into it and held on tight as the spasms of her pleasure tore through her. He thrust his finger deep inside her so that he could feel the rhythmic pulses gripping him. He rocked her in his arms until the ripples subsided, kissing her throat, her cheek and murmuring approving words; how beautiful she was, how sweet, how hot.
He slowly withdrew his slick fingers, and shoved her cut-offs down so that her bottom was half bare. He caressed her perfect ass cheeks and traced the shadowy cleft, seeking the same well of heat from behind that he had just caressed from the front. If it weren’t for those shorts, he could bend her over right now. Just open up his jeans and ease his cock into that tight, supple pussy. Work himself in and out with slow, lazy thrusts while he reached around and caressed her clit.
He licked the slick fluid off his fingers. Her lube was so warm, so sweet tasting. “I want to devour you, El,” he said. “Lick you up like melting ice cream. All night long. Let’s go upstairs.”
A shiver racked her body. Her slim shoulders shook, as if she were laughing, or…oh, Christ, no. He pushed her hair aside. “El? Jesus, what is it? Did I hurt you? What did I do?”
She shook her head and turned her crumpled face away from him. She pried his hand off her hip and then held it tightly in both of hers for a moment, as if she didn’t know what to do with it. She brought it to her lips and kissed his knuckle. “Let me go, please.”
His exultant triumph deflated. He had always hated to see El cry.
He moved back and gave her space. She clambered off the bike and buttoned up her cut-offs. She knelt and gathered up the envelopes scattered on the ground. She kept wiping her face and sniffling.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he said helplessly. “I just wanted to make you feel good. I’m sorry.”
“I’m the one that’s sorry. I can’t do this. I made a promise, and I can’t blow it off for…for a quick roll in the hay with an old flame.” Her voice was a shaking rush. “I can’t believe I let it go so far.”
Her words infuriated him. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. “A roll in the hay with me wouldn’t be quick,” he said. “It would be the longest, hardest roll in the hay you ever had.”
“Don’t. This is not the kind of person I am. I’m sorry. I…I led you on. I shouldn’t have come downstairs, I shouldn’t have gone out onto the porch. I shouldn’t have gone for that motorcycle ride—”
“You shouldn’t have checked me into your hotel.”
Her silence was assent. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again.
He let go of her arm. “Don’t be. I was a dickhead to push you.” He yanked the helmet off the handlebars, put it on, and revved the engine.
“Where are you going?”
“What do you care? Your bed’s full, babe.”
She flinched at his knife-sharp tone. “Simon—”
“You’ve moved on,” he said. “I get the message. I don’t blame you. Don’t sweat it, El. Chalk it up to the full moon.”
He turned the bike, accelerated up the driveway and hit the highway. He felt like shit for jerking El around like that. Making her miserable and confused. Making her cry. What a self-serving asshole.
He hadn’t even had “the talk,” the one he gave to all the women he wanted to have sex with. He knew how she would react. She would tell him to take his no-commitment rule and shove it right up his ass. She would phrase it in a classier way, but that would be the gist of it.
It’s starting already, an unsurprised voice in the back of his head commented. He’d gotten into a fight and made El cry, and he’d only been here for six hours. Trouble had dogged him all his life. His mother had always jokingly said that he was a bad penny, before her house burned to the ground with her in it. That had been his first clue.
Gus had never let him forget it, either. Put him in a room with something breakable, it would break whether or not he came near it. Put him near a clock, it would inexplicably stop. Things exploded, cars crashed, fires started when he was around, even when he kept his head down. When a nearby volcano had blown up and covered three states with a choking cloud of ash, he’d been convinced it was his fault.
And when Gus’s drunken rages had intensified, he hadn’t been surprised. Desperate and miserable yes, but not surprised.
After he left LaRue, he’d figured that the more chaotic and anonymous the place, the less likely people would notice the shadow that followed him. So he gravitated towards cities. Then he joined the Marines, and that was even better. They sent him to places that were in such bad trouble, his own shadow was barely noticeable. He landed in the perfect profession, pursuing wars, coups and natural disasters so aggressively, they never had a chance to pursue him back. Disaster was a crop that never failed, if you had the stomach to harvest it.
He’d never stuck around any place long
