Carolina Girl (23 page)

“That’s too obvious,” she scoffed, opening
the virtual book. “Whoever created this thing had a devious mind.”

Clay wasn’t certain if that was a good thing or bad,
but the herbal scent of red-gold tresses spilling down her back kept him from
caring. Now that the game had captured Aurora’s imagination, she bounced
on the cushion like a gleeful child, braid swinging. He didn’t care what
the hell was happening on the screen. He simply wanted to bask in her eager energy,
sink his fingers into soft, womanly flesh, and see where the moment took them.

Her tears earlier had pierced him in so many places that any
word she spoke now slipped through his perforated hide to rub and irritate, or
soothe and calm. She’d have him riddled to the bone if she kept this up.
Her laughter softened him in dangerous ways.

It didn’t soften the part of him that had been hard
all evening. And he didn’t mind that either. With some other woman, he
might have become impatient, but this one kept blowing things up in his face,
entertaining him on so many levels that he could wait until she was ready.
Anticipate it, even.

She was a natural-born troublemaker in establishment
disguise. He just wasn’t certain she realized that. He wanted to be
around for the fireworks when she did. He suspected he wanted more than that,
but he would take it one step at a time.

“Oh, you dirty rat!” she shouted when his turtle
won the Book of Wisdom by producing a golden key from beneath the
princess’s belt.

Aurora aimed an elbow backward at his midsection in
retaliation, but Clay took the opening and dragged her back against him,
sighing in satisfaction as his arms finally closed around her.

“To the wise go the rewards.” He nibbled her ear
until she turned her head. He had his arms full of woman, and he couldn’t
resist. He found her mouth with his, and electricity crackled.

He shut his eyes and drank in the flood of
sensation—strawberry lips, rosemary-scented hair, searing hot kisses that
he felt all the way to his groin—agony and ecstasy all rolled into one.

He fell back against the wide cushions, pulling Aurora down
on top of him. She let him do it, feeding him with eager kisses instead of
protesting as he’d half expected.

With her crushable breasts and belly cushioned against him,
Clay rolled over, sandwiching her between the back of the sofa and himself. She
had a way of tangling her tongue with his that blew steam out his ears. His
libido demanded that he take charge and conquer, win the duel of tongues and
claim the prize.

He wasn’t about to frighten her into backing off as he
had earlier. He desperately wanted Aurora in so many ways that he thought he
might explode if he held in all these rampaging, conflicting tensions. He knew
once he focused on a goal, his intensity could overcome good sense.

He searched his overheated—devious—brain for
some means of holding himself in check while encouraging her, but an armful of
woman kissing him with mind-melting ardor discouraged rational thinking. Her
long fingers were wandering through his hair, and the pressure of soft breasts
and hips crushed against him in all the right places sent any semblance of
thought southward. The way he felt right now, this was anything but a casual
encounter—a revelation that he wasn’t prepared to explore.

With one last vestige of inspiration, Clay caught
Aurora’s hand, pressed a kiss to her palm, and placed it on his biceps.
“Remember those old Atari games that had joysticks instead of
controllers? Pretend I’m your joystick. Take me where you want to
go.”

If he put her in control, then maybe he wouldn’t scare
her away.

Rory’s eyes flew open, staring disbelievingly into
Clay’s unwavering gray gaze.
Joystick
?

She didn’t know anything about joysticks, and she
scrambled for interpretation. A hard male body pressed her into the sofa
cushions, a heavy thigh trapped hers, and she ached for so many things at once,
she couldn’t begin to name them. She could think of only one joystick on
him, and she wasn’t about to go there. Surely he wasn’t so crude as
to suggest...?

Clay slid his hand through her hair, loosening the braid so
it fell over her shoulders. “How about this? Do you like your hair
undone?” He leaned over and nibbled her ear. “Does the turtle win
the fair princess if he tastes her here?”

She chuckled in relief at his foolishness. Games were fun
and nothing to fear. “The turtle is likely to land on his shell if
he’s not careful.”

“Then the turtle will die. The fair princess
wouldn’t let the turtle die. He can show her many wise things. He’s
a very useful turtle,” he said in a seductive rumble, kissing the tender
place behind her ear.

He was very useful in more ways than this, but at the moment
she could concentrate only on smoky kisses and simmering fires. She’d
never been called a fair princess before. His whisper tantalized, but his hands
were the prize she wanted.

Following his lead, Rory slid her fingers over Clay’s
cheek and guided his mouth back to hers. He accepted the offer so forcefully,
she thought she might melt down to a pair of red shoes like the Wicked Witch of
the West.

Aggravatingly, he didn’t use his magical hands to
touch her anywhere else. He clung to the sofa back behind her and leaned over
to tease her with kisses and no more. She wanted his arms around her. She
wanted his hardness pressed against her belly. Her breasts longed for
attention—and she knew where that would lead and didn’t care.

“Might I suggest...” He caught her hand and slid
it under his open shirt so her fingers caressed the smooth skin over bulging
muscles.

“The turtle has a broad shell,” she murmured,
liking the way his muscles rippled beneath her fingers so well that she
explored his back and started on his front. He groaned as she addressed her
attention to his puckered male nipples and stroked the light hairs over his
pecs.

“The turtle may expire of pleasure before he pleases
the princess.” His breath was hot and seductive as he nibbled her ear.
“He is at your command. Lead him, your highness.”

She’d seldom played games as a child. She’d
always understood that if she wanted to escape the tedium of poverty, she had
to study and work hard and be the best at everything she did.

She’d thought of sex as another lesson to be studied
and learned—and discarded when she’d found no advantage in it.
Clay’s teasing opened up enticing new views of this abandoned area of
interest. She liked the idea of playing games with him. She liked the game he
was playing.

She captured his wide, capable hand—his
“joystick” if she lifted her mind from the gutter and interpreted
correctly—and spread his fingers across her cheek, enjoying the rasp of
calloused skin. “Touch me,” she commanded in her best princess
voice. Just saying the words shot a thrill through her. She’d never been
so decadent in her life.

“Your servant will take much pleasure in doing
so.”

Clay’s voice was low and beguiling, but there
wasn’t a damned thing subservient in his rapt attention. He traced his
fingers across her cheek and gazed into her eyes as if she were the most
fascinating treasure on earth, and he meant to claim her. He ran his hand to
her nape and nibbled kisses along her jaw, testing for those places that made
her moan. He brushed his lips across her skin tenderly, but with a hunger that
drove her wild.

The intensity of his focus was too much to bear. She turned
his head so she could meet his mouth with hers. It was easier this way,
feeling, touching, not watching what was happening between them.

He kissed her slowly, savoring her mouth and tongue, letting
the need build between them. His hand trailed down her spine, cupping her
buttocks through the denim, stroking her hips—touching everywhere but
where she wanted him most.

Servant, her foot and eye. He was the one in control here,
and he was driving her crazy.

She kneaded his bare chest and nipples to show him what she
wanted, but maddeningly he retraced the trail he’d already created. His
kiss became more urgent, but still his hand remained on charted territories.

Every other man she’d kissed had gone straight for her
breasts, but not this aggravating creature.

“Treat me as yours to do with as you wish,” he
murmured against her mouth, granting her a freedom of terrifying
proportions—forcing her to admit she wanted this as much as he did.

She’d never taken command in sex before. It had never
seemed the feminine thing to do, or she’d feared driving her partner away
with her aggressiveness. But Clay was letting her know that not only were they
equals in this, but she could call a halt at any time. The decision was hers.

“I’ll make turtle soup of you shortly,”
she growled back, but she couldn’t resist his game any longer. Taking
command of his free hand, she placed it over her breast.

His reaction was instantaneous and dizzyingly gratifying.

Through denim and lace, Clay cupped and squeezed and
explored as if she were the most wonderful prize he’d ever won, when she
was the one about to succumb to pleasure. She saw pure delight in his eyes as
he studied her reaction to each touch and stroke. When he finally unfastened
the buttons of her dress and slid his hand inside, Rory couldn’t watch
anymore. She closed her eyes and just let herself feel.

Feeling led to brainlessness, she knew, but Clay had
shattered all resistance. She couldn’t condemn him as selfish or greedy
or interested only in her body, no matter how hard she might try. He
concentrated on her pleasure and needs before giving in to his.

He had her completely under him and both hands inside her
dress before she knew how she’d landed there. Hands that could take apart
clocks and motorcycles wasted no time on bra hooks. He filled his palms with
her bare breasts and brought her to the brink with just his touch. When he bent
and applied his tongue to the places he’d aroused, Rory lost control,
surrendered, submitted, and wept with joy until even his mouth on her breast
wasn’t enough.

She reached for his belt buckle, and he had his khakis
unfastened before her fumbling fingers could work it out. His moan of pleasure
as she took advantage of this new freedom released a frozen latch inside her,
and she boldly went where she never had before.

She’d always been the compliant receptor of whatever
her partners wanted, never reaching out for her own pleasure. Clay offered her
the freedom to take as much control as she desired. Or as little.

She lifted her hips so he could drag her dress upward and
touch her through her panties. She shoved at his trousers until he rose from
the couch and dropped them. He grappled for his wallet in his pants pocket to
produce a plastic package and tore it open, but she was too fascinated by the
tent of his jersey boxers to pay attention.

Only when he remained silent and standing did she raise her
gaze to his face. He was staring down at her as if she were a feast for the
gods.

When he spoke, he confirmed what she saw in his eyes.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? I feel pagan enough to kneel
down at your altar and worship you.”

Her usual embarrassment at her overabundance didn’t
materialize. Clay’s appreciation released her from all inhibition.
“You make a good Jupiter to my Juno,” she murmured, unable to hide
from his shameless display of masculinity.

He towered over her, his gaze heating to smoking at her
words. Playtime was over. She lay prone before a sex god of no mean proportions
and obvious intent.

She no longer cared if this was for one night or forever.
She needed now.

Rory opened her arms to welcome him, and Clay immediately
knelt on the couch, covering her with his golden body. He lowered his weight
until his erection pressed and rubbed where she ached for him. She
couldn’t stop him if she wanted to. She was too swept up in his kisses,
in the magic of his hands on her bare breasts, in the murmurs of pleasure and
nonsense he dispensed as he tugged her dress over her head and returned her to
the peaks his abrupt departure had reduced.

“Tell me when,” he demanded, his breath
whispering against her cheek. They lay nearly naked together, the friction of
their skin heating their blood. “Say the magic words.”

Clay had turned sex into a game and taught her how to play.
She didn’t know if she was winning or losing, but he was offering her the
next turn. She wasn’t about to refuse it.

If she thought of what they were doing as a game, she could
do this. She reached for the waistband of his boxers. “Do I win a
treasure for setting the dragon free?”

“Magic wand,” he corrected, maneuvering his
underwear off with a single quick tug. “Insert with caution.”

Laughing, breathless at the prize revealed, she corrected,
“Magic club.”

Ignoring her approving appraisal, Clay stripped off her
panties while his mouth and tongue did things to hers that made words
meaningless. Surrendering, she whispered “Alakazam” against his
lips.

He took instant advantage, covering her with his weight,
capturing her mouth with his tongue before taking possession of her body with
his sex.

With a cry, Aurora accepted the thrust of magic, fell under
the Purple Knight’s spell, and let the potion of life bubble and lift her
high in shivering sparkles of joy.

Purple mushrooms exploded across the monitor to the tune of
“Love Me Do.”

Lying on his side, Clay awoke in such a cloud of
contentment, he wondered if the mushrooms flashing before his eyes were
hallucinogenic.

Then the scent of strawberries reached him, and he realized
the soft cushion of breasts that had warmed him all night had disappeared.
Missing them, missing Aurora’s warm body next to his, he shifted position
so he could see the end of the couch.