Longest Night (15 page)

“Afraid you'll have to do that one on your own. I told him you could stay here, but you're not a prisoner. If you want to go—”

Startled by the change in her tone, Ian interrupted, “Cecily. I'm not going anywhere without you. If you'd rather stay, we'll stay. Going somewhere warmer would let us take off our clothes without worrying about freezing to death, that's all.”

She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders as though telling herself to relax. “Is that your way of saying sex with me is boring?” she asked, turning enough for Ian to see her profile. Though the words were delivered deadpan, he caught a hint of amusement—or at least a lack of anger—in her half-glimpsed expression.

He forced his sleepy, dull mind to work faster. “Freezing to death before we even get to the sex is definitely boring.”

Cecily laughed and broke away from the fireplace, crossing to the bathroom. “Then sort out the blankets, lazy bastard,” she said, her voice light and full of the humor she'd been hiding. “And go break into your stash. We have a lot of condoms to get through before spring.”

The bathroom door shut firmly, and Ian laughed, satisfaction warming him more than the blankets. He knew better than to suggest they go anywhere crowded—and Ibiza was nothing if not crowded—but Cecily hadn't taken offense at his slip. Instead, she'd pushed past any sense of embarrassment and discomfort to make a far more clever joke of her own.

Cecily was resilient. That was how she'd survived for this long, even if she hadn't healed from the trauma of her experience. And that deep, solid foundation of inner strength was all Ian needed to help her recover.

October 28

Standing in the bathroom, Cecily splashed water over her face and tried to push away the surreal feeling that had crept over her. Her nightmares were nothing new. Fragments of imagery clung to her day and night, and she never went twenty-four hours without waking in a cold sweat at least once. When Ian had stubbornly insisted on sharing the bed for sleep, she had expected this. Feared it. And now that it had happened…

Nothing.

Ian had safely pulled Cecily out of the nightmare. She didn't miss the fact that he had awakened her from the other side of the room, intentionally visible and recognizable in the light of his cell phone. And then he'd treated the whole incident as nothing remarkable. No awkward questions, no demands that she share her fears, no crushing insistence on cuddling or any physical contact at all, in fact. He hadn't even commented on her reaction to his travel invitation, though he had to know it wasn't
normal
for a grown woman to avoid other people the way Cecily did.

This
could
work
, whispered the little voice in the back of her mind, the voice that had been silent for seven years.

Hope felt alien to her, but in a good way. She didn't try to hide from it. Instead, she allowed herself to acknowledge that Ian might be just as strange as Cecily was, in his own way. And he might be just what she…if not needed, then at least
wanted
.

She went back into the bedroom and found Ian under both blankets, pillows stacked under his head. His bared arms were visible, hands tucked behind his neck, his posture lazy and casual. His pajamas were draped over the side of the bed. Deliberately, he'd placed a zigzag fan of condoms on the corner of the mattress, where Cecily wouldn't miss them.

“Not bored already, are you?” she asked as she pulled off her heavy sweatshirt.

Ian's eyes dropped to watch Cecily's fingers, and his lips curled up in a sly, satisfied smile. The subdued firelight brought out gold highlights in his hair, now that it had dried from the melting snow. He wasn't wearing his glasses, and his blue-gray eyes seemed darker. “Not anymore.”

Cecily's heart started to pound at the look of obvious desire on Ian's face. She had to turn away. She hadn't been self-conscious about getting undressed in front of someone for years. High school locker rooms, university, the Marines… Any hint of body-shyness had been long since cured, except for the scars she'd gotten seven years ago.

She tossed the sweatshirt aside. Cold air slithered over her bare arms, and she told herself she was keeping the T-shirt on for warmth, not to hide. Sometimes, she could almost believe her own bullshit, though tonight wasn't one of those times.

“I take it you have some ideas, then?” she asked to hide her own embarrassment.

“A list of them,” Ian confirmed.

Cecily grinned as another layer of tension melted away. He rid herself of her jeans as quickly as she could, stripped off her socks, and got under the blankets. She pushed them up so she could roll on top of Ian. “Where did you want to start?”

Moving slowly, he slid his hands out from under his neck and reached up to touch Cecily's face. He combed his fingers back through her hair, tugging lightly. “You shouldn't think about cutting this short,” he said thoughtfully.

“Not exactly an answer,” she said, trying to sound unaffected, but the gently rough touch stole her breath. The beginnings of panic slithered down her spine, but she pushed up onto all fours, and the freedom of movement helped keep her anxiety at bay. Trying to seem like the movement had been nothing more than a casual stretch, she lay back down, chest against Ian's, and waited for their shared body warmth to steal through her T-shirt.

Ian pulled Cecily up for a kiss, slow and undemanding. His hands never moved down to her hips or back or T-shirt but stayed tangled in her hair, and she let the kiss relax her into the possessive touch. She moved one hand to trace the line of his jaw with soft kisses.

“You're right, you know.”

“Of course I am,” she answered with a curious smile, continuing a lazy path up toward Ian's ear.

He laughed and said, “About the shaving. It's an interesting difference.”

Cecily could feel his smirk against her cheek. “I'm always right,” she teased and then nipped at Ian's earlobe. In response, his fingers twisted, and heat spiked down from her scalp, making her skin tingle. She shifted to get her legs over his, regretting the thin fabric of her underwear separating their bodies.

Deciding it was the perfect time to do something about that, she shifted her weight to free her left hand and clawed at the waistband. Ian made no effort to help. Instead, he took advantage of the distraction to bite more sharply at Cecily's throat, and the tingling in her body turned to fire. She fought to get the waistband over her hips, shoved the underwear down as far as she could, and kicked them off the rest of the way.

When she straddled Ian once more and rolled her hips, pleasure shot through her body like a lightning strike. He let out a soft gasp of his own. His hands relaxed, releasing Cecily's hair, and he shifted himself down on the pillows. “Move up,” he said, reaching down to curl his hands over her thighs.

Momentarily confused, Cecily rose up on all fours, spreading her legs when Ian inched down even farther. Then he moved down, still lying on his back, and she forgot how to breathe as she realized what Ian was planning.

“Ian, you—
Oh, fuck
,” she gasped, feeling his tongue sweep over her clit. One hand slid over the back of Cecily's left thigh, holding her in place.

“Stay still,” Ian said, his voice gravelly and quiet. His hand moved farther up, fingers curving around Cecily's ass as he licked again.

She bit her lip to keep from cursing. The blanket's weight draped over her back was almost too much, but it was soft and familiar. She took deep breaths of cold air from the room mixed with the slight warmth trapped beneath the blankets. Her fingers dug into the sheets, and she pushed the pillow away. Breathing a bit more easily, she braced herself on her left hand and reached down with her right, searching for Ian in the darkness under the blanket.

“Cecily,” he warned sharply. “Stay still.”

She hesitated, very much aware of her body, positioned exactly how Ian had placed her, though she wasn't held down or trapped in any way. It was different and tense, but not quite enough to push her over the edge into fear. She took a deep breath and forced herself to think about complying and waited to see if the fucked-up darkness in her mind would wreck everything.

Finally, she decided she could do this. She
wanted
to do this, or at least to try.

Slowly, she pulled her hand back and dug her fingers into the sheet, balancing her weight on all fours again.

Ian didn't say anything, which was fine with Cecily. This wasn't something she was prepared to think about, much less to discuss—not that she could have tried, once he went back to his meticulous attentions. This time, as he pressed his tongue to her clit, rubbing in gentle circles, he teased a finger at her entrance.

She let out a soft moan and buried her face against her forearms. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had done anything like this, and by the time Ian slid a finger inside her, Cecily gave up even trying to think.

***

With every touch, Ian could track Cecily's thoughts. She was torn between allowing him to explore her body and wanting to leave, and her thighs were so tense that she was trembling. Her abdomen was tight from trying to control her breathing. Between the mattress and his best efforts to break down her self-control, she was struggling to stay balanced on all fours. Her shoulder probably still hurt, especially after the cold and stress of driving the quad over rough terrain. But short of standing up in the middle of the room, this was the best way to keep Cecily warm, give Ian access to her body, and leave her free to escape if she felt the need.

That restriction was perhaps more difficult for him than it was for her. He wanted nothing more than to throw her down on her back and pin her to the mattress, leaving her body open for him to take whatever he wanted, but not yet. Perhaps not ever, though he would work diligently to help Cecily overcome her fears. The thought of watching her struggle to endure not pain but pleasure, of Ian pushing the boundaries of her desire before granting her any relief, was intoxicating.

He started now, using one hand to keep her hips steady while he tasted her. He worked a second finger into her body, conscious that she was still tense and tight, and Ian made every effort to help her relax. He teased at her clit with gentle licks and then pressed his tongue hard against her body, reading Cecily's breath and movements to decipher what she liked and what she wanted and what was too much.

It was almost unfair, really. Sex was less about specific technique and more about reading one's partner, and above all else, Ian indulged solely because he lived to uncover every hidden desire. Physical gratification was a poor second to exposing someone's secrets.

When Cecily was gasping for breath, hips twitching with her need for more, Ian backed off. He smiled when she cursed aloud.

“Don't move,” he reminded her and fought his way out from under the blankets. Cecily seemed barely able to lift her head and give Ian a wide-eyed stare, too lost in her own pleasure to even form words.

All but purring with satisfaction, Ian rolled over onto his back and made a point of arranging the pillows comfortably under his head. He picked up one of the condoms and said, “Come here.”

Cecily unfolded from her collapsed crouch and moved to lie against Ian. She kissed without hesitation, though he could still taste her body on his own lips, and another thrill passed through him at her honest, raw sensuality. Without breaking the kiss, she allowed him to guide her over his hips.

He rolled his hips up, permitting himself a single, lavish brush of his shaft against her slick heat. She groaned into the kiss, and it took all of Ian's self-control to break the electric contact.

“Lift up,” he told her, looking up into her eyes. They were wide and dark, and he couldn't resist teasingly brushing his fingers over her clit again, making her moan.

“Ian,” she complained, nearly begging.

He lifted his head and kissed her, the touch equally gentle and fleeting. “Tell me what you want.”

Cecily's hesitation lasted a moment too long. “More,” she said, evasively dropping her gaze. She tried to prevent further questions with a kiss.

Ian lifted his free hand to Cecily's hair, pulling sharply enough to break the kiss. She gasped, lips parted, and her eyes fell closed.

The tentative conclusions building in Ian's mind all coalesced into clarity. He was learning what she liked. He kept hold of Cecily's hair and pushed two fingers into her body, fast enough to hint at roughness and intensity and control, without actually hurting her.

Cecily cursed and bucked her hips down, body pressing hard against Ian's hand. Her eyes opened, meeting his gaze, and she pulled against the hand in her hair so she could kiss him, hard and demanding.

Every cell in Ian's body was screaming for him to forget self-control. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in Cecily and stay there until they both forgot how to think, but she wasn't ready for that. Instead, he twisted the fingers in her hair until the kiss broke enough for him to insist, “I said, tell me what you want.”

Cecily took a single breath. “You,” she finally said breathlessly. “Inside me.”

Staring up at her, Ian hid a smile as he realized Cecily, for all her swearing, was actually shy. Here was a boundary he could push easily.

He drew his fingers out enough to make her hiss with pleasure, and then pushed slowly back into her, curling his fingers to brush against the spot that made her gasp. Then, deliberately, he stilled his hand and said, “I
am
inside you.”

“Ian.” It was almost a plea.

In response, he pulled his hand back, pressing a thumb against her clit as he moved. “Be specific, Cecily,” he whispered remorselessly as he pushed the tips of his fingers back into her heat once more.

The sound she made in response was closer to a whimper than a moan. “Fuck,” she whispered.

“Not specific enough,” Ian teased, flexing his wrist to move his fingers deeper, just up to the second knuckle. Cecily's body was tight and hot but she was ready, and that knowledge tested his ability to hold himself back.

“Bastard. Fuck me,” she snapped, fingers digging into the sheets on either side of the pillows.

Satisfied for now, Ian let go of Cecily's hair and pushed his fingers a bit deeper. “Get the condom. Put it on me.”

“
Lazy
bastard,” she muttered and twisted to the side, lifting her hips.

Ian caught her body with his free hand, taking the risk of holding her gently in place, and distracted her with another twist of the fingers still buried inside her. “
Without
moving away,” he ordered. “I'm not finished.” To punctuate his words, he pressed gently against her clit once more.

Quietly groaning, Cecily fumbled the condom she'd picked up. It took her two tries to pick it back up off the bed. She braced up on her left hand and used her teeth to rip open the packet. Ian allowed himself a small smile as he deliberately interrupted her attempts to extract the condom. He twisted his fingers, sliding them in and out of her body, as she fumbled to get the condom properly lined up and rolled over his cock. By the time it was in place, Cecily was nearly trembling.

She let his hands guide her hips into place, and he gritted his teeth against the tight, hot pleasure of her body. “Slowly, Cecily,” he said tensely. “I want to feel you.”

Trembling, she exhaled in brusque frustration and leaned back down, hands braced on Ian's shoulders for balance. She eased down onto his length, thighs shaking with the effort to go slowly, until she was seated on his hips, leaving them both panting and breathless. His hand found her clit, and he rubbed teasingly, aware that this time she hadn't come.