Loving Lydia (Atlantic Divide) (15 page)

Her movements were hesitant and shy. If he didn’t know she had two children, he would have thought that she’d never done this before.

Desire crashed through him, but he reined it in hard and tethered it down. This moment was for her. Only her.

As he nibbled the top of her shoulder where the start of the tattoo was, she shifted under him, placed her hands on his waist, and pulled him in closer. He realized that it could never be only for her.

The air weighed heavy in his lungs as he tried to pull it in and out without panicking her, but God, every move she made turned him on, made him crave. She had no idea what she was doing. Could have no idea. There were no words to describe how he felt, how he needed, how he desired. Nor any way that he could truly show her without sending her running for the hills.

For his own sanity, he concentrated on following the pattern on her body. He gently lifted her arm and positioned it above her head as he placed his lips on the black-outlined white rose that flowed over the top of her breast.

It stood for youth and innocence; she had both. The ivy he knew was Celtic and stood for determination and spiritual growth. He had no doubt about the first and believed the second was occurring as he rubbed his lips across the entwined vines on the underside of her breast, tasting with every touch of his lips, every dip of his tongue.

“Sam,” she murmured, her voice breathless, her back arched to offer more to his mouth. More than he could possibly resist. Diverting from his path, his mouth sucked in the pebbled bud of her nipple, and he took pleasure from the sound of her surprised gasp, her slow full-body writhe.

Deserting that prize, he returned to her rib cage and pulled back to tenderly trace the little touches of green ivy. It stood for fidelity. He knew once she made her commitment that she would always be his.

He felt her skin jitter under his fingers as he moved onward and dipped his tongue sinuously into her navel. He thought it might make her laugh, but her hips thrust upward, her body undulated, and her right hand came down to grip his hair. The blood roared through his head so that he had to rest his face for a moment against her heated flesh.

Her body lay languid underneath him, her hand entangled in his hair. She seemed to have absolute trust in the fact that he had complete control.

He lay motionless for a moment as he tried to gather the courage to either continue without losing control, or stop now while he knew he still held on to it.

When he believed he could continue without simply taking, he moved on. His lips skimmed across her hips as he turned her gently onto her front, while his mouth continued to worship. His tongue outlined the perfect red rose, whose stem was interspersed with vicious black thorns. He wondered if she realized that a rose could mean secrets. At the age of sixteen, when she had designed her own tattoo, he seriously doubted that she had thought that deeply. He thought it strange the entire picture told her story.

His fingers pressed into her spine as he made his slow, languid way back up her body. He listened to her labored breathing, her little gasps, and felt her muscles vibrate under his hands. His mouth reached beyond the tattoo to the back of her neck where he nipped for his own satisfaction. Her body jerked in response, and he tenderly turned her over to smile down into her face.

Her eyelids were at half-mast, barely open over limpid, green eyes turned dark with need.

He reached over, took a condom out of the top drawer of his bedside table, and prayed to God for strength.

Prepared to call a halt at any second, he raised himself over her, slipped the condom on, covered her body with his, and all the time he watched her relaxed, green eyes closely, knowing that she was aware of his every move.

“Lydia. I love you.”

“Yes.”

“Lydia. I want to make love to you.”

“Yes.” She brought both her arms up to cradle him closer, her legs parted in invitation, and she shifted so that he had free access. It occurred to him that she may have been married and she may have children, but she didn’t have a clue. Her innocence would be charming if he was not so desperate to be inside her.

“Me. Think only of me. I won’t hurt you. I’ll never hurt you.” He skimmed his lips across hers and reveled in the taste of her.

He thought perhaps he should prepare her better, but when he slipped inside her, she was warm and wet, her body welcoming his. He waited for a moment, buried deep inside her, his forehead pressed to hers. Eyes clenched tightly closed, he waited for her fear to surface, not sure if he would be able to stop now. Not now that he was where he’d wanted to be since the moment he first saw her.

Patience, he needed patience, and so he called upon every spiritual source he knew to give him that patience and to ignore the vicious need that clawed its way through him. His jaw ached as he clenched it for what seemed like an eternity as his breath heaved in and out of his chest and she lay beneath him pinned to the bed. Every inch of his body smothered every inch of hers. It was going to kill him if he had to hold back much longer.

“Sam.”

His eyes shot open, almost surprised that she was still there.

“I need you.” Her voice was a husky invitation as she rotated her hips so that he almost slid out of her and then back in again, until he was buried in her up to the hilt.

“Please, please don’t stop me now.” He begged, his voice hoarse with desperation.

Her hands came up to cup his face and bring his lips down to hers. He couldn’t stop the slow, deep movement as he flexed inside her.

“I couldn’t. I need you.”

He swallowed her sigh and moved again in the molten liquid of her center, feeling her gentle pulses surround him. His mind was filled with her sweet, gentle rhythm, dizzy with love, desperate with need, and still he kept himself on a tight rein and waited for her pleasure. He slid his mouth down her neck as she arched back. Her eyelids drifted closed, and he was filled with the warm, languid scent of her, heard her sweet murmured sounds as her body vibrated beneath his, inviting more. His muscles loosened and the tension seeped out of them as he realized she had surrendered to him completely, stirring his heart, his soul. Tender arousal like he had never known before filled his being, helping him hold onto the reins with a slow and easy rhythm until he felt her muscles gather, hands clutch, and inner muscles pulsate around him as he closed his eyes and followed her orgasm with his own.

* * * *

He couldn’t move. He simply could not move. With his face tucked into her neck, he was perfectly well aware that his entire weight pressed her down into the bed, but there was nothing he could do about it. Because, despite his mind keeping a tight hold on his body until the very last moment, there was no command that he could give it now to move.

It wasn’t as though he’d actually managed to suffocate her. He could hear her sigh, feel her cool gentle fingers slide across his muscles, and he wondered how long it would take until he wanted her again. Realizing he already did, he managed to lift himself free of her to dispose of his condom as discretely as he could.

“I thought you were asleep.” The soft, drugged sound of her voice reassured him that she was still alive.

He lay on his side and faced her as he lazily ran a roughened finger from her chin, down her throat and over the middle of her breast bone, and enjoyed the catlike purr that vibrated from her throat. Asleep? How could she possibly believe he could have fallen asleep when his body was already revved up and eager to go again? Scared of demanding too much of her, he eased away.

She turned her head slowly and met his eyes. He saw the satisfaction. Saw the contentment. Watched the awareness start to build. Her voice surprised him.

“That’s never happened before.” He lowered himself back down. If she wanted to talk, he could listen. Most the time he wanted to know more anyway. This woman of his was full of secrets.

“What’s never happened?” His question was mild and lazy, his mind calm and empty. He had no idea what she was talking about, but he was willing to listen to her sensual post-sex voice.

She rolled onto her side to face him and allowed her leg to slide silkily between his. He couldn’t stop his immediate response, and she smiled indulgently as though that had been her intention.

“I’ve never … you know.” He stared at her in complete confusion. He wracked his brain to try and pin down their conversation. What the hell had never happened? Huffing out a breath, she rolled her eyes, impatience tingeing her voice. “Never had an orgasm.” His mind remained completely blank. She’d never had an orgasm. It was beyond his comprehension. Her eyebrows slammed down, her mouth tightened, and as the color flooded into her face, she pushed away from him as hard as she could and for her efforts landed flat on her back underneath him again, nose to nose.

“Say that again.”

“No.” Embarrassed, she tried to twist away, but he was too close, too strong, so she turned her head to one side.

He merely took her chin in his hand and turned her face so that she stared straight back at him. This time he was grinning. He dipped in and kissed her full on the mouth. Feeling arrogant and possessive and godlike, he gazed deep into the sea green depths of her turbulent eyes.

“I gave you your first orgasm?” He wanted to shout it from the rooftop.

Deadly. Her eyes turned cold and deadly. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Oh yeah. I’m so pleased you did.” Smug was the word that came to mind. He kissed the tip of her nose, wriggled against her, and watched her awareness of his growing interest. He paused, jiggling his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

She slapped his shoulder almost shouted in his face. “Of course I’m freaking sure. If I’d had one of those before, I promise you I’d have noticed.” She pushed with all of her puny might and had him roaring with laughter as he reversed positions and flipped her over on top of him, and enjoyed the feel of her hair as it cascaded over his face.

Lust rolled off him in waves, but he still took care not to frighten her. Before was tender and gentle, now would be light and humorous.

“I don’t believe you. Let me give you another one just to make sure.” He grabbed another condom out of the drawer and hurriedly slid it on before raising his hips to bury himself deep inside her and wait for her to set the pace.

Chapter 9

They’d made love twice, and he lay awake in the darkened silence of his bedroom with her wrapped in his arms. Content except for the feeling that there were far more of Lydia’s secrets yet to be discovered. Who would have known that a woman of her age, with children, had never had an orgasm before? It revealed a great deal about her past relationship. He hated that she still kept herself in some way separate.

He accepted that she had a past, but knew her fear and reluctance to commit lay buried deep in that past, which only made him want to know more. Desperate, he knew that although he had her body, he needed patience in order to gain her trust.

It was too dark now to see her features, but he heard her gentle whimpers, felt her body start to twitch.

*

Blood. The sharp, metallic tang of blood. She could feel it thin and quick as it coated her lips and teeth, slid across her tongue and down the back of her throat to mix with the slick black oiliness that curled in her belly.

Fluttering open her eyelids, she gazed down the length of her prone body. She knew there was blood smudged down the wall, blood, bright and red where her head had hit and she’d slid to the floor. Blood thick and dark seeped from between her legs, pooling warmly under her thighs. Thought was so difficult.

Her babies.

She raised her arm, reached out in slow motion, the effort almost beyond her. Blood stained her hands, bright crimson and lavish. She glanced over at Greg, opened her mouth, and screamed.

“Ssshh baby, don’t. It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’m here.” Sam soothed as her breath heaved short and shallow through her clenched teeth.

She couldn’t see him in the pitch black of the bedroom, but she felt the warmth of his arms, the gentleness of his touch. Heard his calm voice.

It was too dark, but if she asked for a light, he would see. He would see her terror, her secret. He leaned away from her and snapped on the bedside light and left no place to hide. She covered her face with her hands.

“Lydia…”

“Please.” Her voice was a desperate croak.

He smoothed his hand down her back and eased himself out of bed.

“I’ll get you a drink of water.”

She didn’t want to be alone, but she hated for him to see. She wiped the dampness off her upper lip and slid out of bed, picked up Sam’s abandoned shirt, and padded quietly to the bathroom. She splashed her face with cool water, but when she looked at herself in the mirror, she still expected to see blood.

He was waiting with a glass of water in his hand. He didn’t attempt to touch her, but she felt him watch her closely while she sipped. She sank onto the edge of the bed as her knees refused to hold her up any longer.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was weak and feeble, and she resented that as much as the nightmare.

Scowling, he leaned forward and relieved her of the water, taking a sip himself. She thought perhaps he deserved something stronger.

“You don’t need to apologize.”

Shaking her head, she peered up at him. “It was a nightmare.” He waited patiently for her to continue. She knew some explanation was necessary, but she found herself reluctant to talk. “I don’t have them very often, but I would imagine with what’s happened,” she flicked her hand to take in the bedroom and him as she looked around herself, “it’s brought things back. A little.”

Silently he waited for her to continue, but she found she couldn’t. She hadn’t dreamed like that for some time, and the terror of the dream left icicles in her veins. Still he waited, and she realized that what she needed right now was not to confess but simply to hold on to him, take from his strength and know that he would comfort her.