One Tough Cookie (12 page)

"Not a one," she braved.

He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. Sinuous strands of heat curled up her arms.
Oh, yes. Definitely the right man.
She closed her eyes.

When she opened them, Taylor was standing near the bed. He leaned over and with one hand switched on the bedside lamp, his other holding hers tightly. When the dim light sheeted across the bed, it cast them both in a pale shadow.

"Now. About this dress." There was light in his eyes, hot and quizzical. "I've been wondering about something since you stepped out of the bathroom before dinner, and now I'm going to find out."

He took her face in his hands and kissed her softly. His hands followed the curve of her throat, downward to her shoulders, insinuating warm fingers between the stretchy fabric of her dress and her hot, tingling skin. He began peeling the dress from her shoulders. It surprised her that his pleasure in undressing her was also her own. She lifted her face to his, and in an effort to control her breathing, studied his expression.

His eyes were focused on the task at hand. With easy, tantalizing grace, he pulled the dress down past the fullness of her breasts. She heard his breathing quicken, saw the slow fire build in his eyes. "I'm impressed."

Fighting her nervousness, she managed a slight smile, a bit of sass. "I kind of thought you would be."

Taylor laughed softly and pulled her bared torso flush to his body. It was like embracing flame. Suddenly his thin cotton shirt felt like canvas against her nipples. She wanted to tear it off and toss it over his head. Make him as naked as she was.

Easing his hands to her elbows, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her to stand between his legs.

Willow first felt the rush of his breath on her breasts, a forest-fire wind, then a light kiss on each nipple. She swallowed hard and placed her hands on his shoulders. So straight. So muscular. Like warmed oak.

Expectant—of what she didn't know—and weirdly impatient, she clung to him as his hands journeyed up her midriff to rest under her breasts. Her thoughts blurred like rain-soaked ink, and all she wanted was to feel, to follow the eddying heat.

He blew lightly on her rigid nipples before touching them with the pads of his thumbs. When she gasped, he filled his hands with her.
Yes!
She strained into them, and he buried his face between her breasts. Wild heat poured downward, pooling and smoldering in her core. Trembling, her limbs rubbery, she was uncertain how long she'd stay upright.

Taylor fought with the raging gods of testosterone for restraint. With her breasts filling his hands, and every inch of her straining toward him, his brain was closing shop.

Easy. Take it easy.

He brought his head back and looked at her. She was breathing deep and hard, but she wasn't making a sound—holding back. He moved his thumb to the bottom of her nipple and lifted it. His tongue slicked over it as his hand shaped her breast to suckle. He tugged lightly at the hardened tip, then took it,
took her
, deep into his mouth.

Willow let out a gasp and something like a purr—a stifled moan.

"It's okay. Let it go. I want to know what you like." He licked a waiting nipple. At eye level, they were impossible to resist. "Do you like that?"

She nodded and her short nails dug into his shoulders as if to seek support.

"Did I tell you how much I like this dress?" He slid his fingers under the fabric and in one easy motion pulled it down and off her body. When he saw what was under it, he caught his breath. Damn near lost it. His lungs worked like a bellows. The tiny swath of ruby-red satin barely covered her patch of tawny curls. "Jesus…" And he'd thought down-under couldn't get any harder.

"Is something wrong?"

"No. Couldn't be more right." He forced his response from a constricted throat and pulled her down to the bed. Her blond hair fanned out over the worn quilt, and Taylor raised himself on an elbow to look at her. "You're beautiful, Willy." Beautiful didn't begin to say it, but for now it was all his fevered brain could come up with.

"Thank you," she said primly. "You're beautiful, too."

Okay, so they were both verbally challenged…

His mouth closed over hers, and he took her with his tongue. When Willow's body, its energy barely contained, responded instantly, what control he had evaporated. Her hands stroked, her tongue danced, letting him know she wanted it all. And everything he gave she gave back. His erection pressed against her made him crazy.

She buried her face into the heat of his throat, then tugged at the neckline of his shirt. "I think this should—"

She hadn't finished the question before he had the shirt off.

"Better?"

"Much better." Her voice was a rough whisper when she reached for his pants. "These, too. I want to... feel you." She undid the buttons, but when she pulled at his zipper, he stayed her hand—his heart was already jumping out of his chest, freeing his cock at this stage would put him in meltdown.

"Not yet, I need the barrier. Just a little longer." His voice was thick when he rolled back to her. Stretched fully beneath him now, there was nothing but flimsy fabric and his fragmented control between them. He extended her arms over her head, held them there and explored her with his mouth, tasting, kissing, licking. Mouth. Throat. Shoulders. All of her he could reach. Then his mouth was on her breasts, tasting then suckling her erect sensitive nipples.

Veering downward, he kissed the underside of her breast, swept over her midsection. Finally nuzzling her at the soft red-satin apex between her thighs. Placing a hand inside each thigh, he exerted a light pressure. "You have to open for me, baby, but first the satin's got to go. You good with that?"

Her hands came down to rest on his head and her voice was shaky. "I'm good. Nervous, but good."

"It'll be okay. Lie back. Let me love you. I don't want to hurt you." He moved up and over her again to take her head in his hands. "I want it to be good for you. So good you'll never forget it—or me."

He saw her swallow, then nod again.

The trust in her eyes nearly undid him.

He locked his thumbs into the flimsy threads of satin resting on each side of her hips. Letting out a silent breath, he pulled them down her legs and dropped the wisp of material to the floor. Bare to him, she took his breath away. He outlined her seductive, muscular body with his hands from shoulders to knees. His own need surged, threatened to engulf him.

He wanted to take her, sink hard and deep with all the fumbling, awkward rush of an adolescent. Grasping for restraint and the return of at least some finesse, he stretched out beside her and rested his heated palm on the smooth plane of her stomach. When his hand headed downward once more, seeking the warmth of her inner thigh, she parted her legs and murmured his name.

Taylor ran his fingers through her soft maze of pubic hair, caressed her gently. He wanted his touch to turn her to butter, wanted her wet and as desperate for him as he was for her.

When Willow pressed herself to his hand, he groaned.

"Oh, my God, that feels…so-o good. I can't—" Her hands grasped wildly at the sheets. She bucked and twisted toward his hand.

It was game on…

While he could still think, in a deft maneuver, he disposed of his slacks, first removing a foil packet.

When he started to sheath himself, she stopped him. "Not yet. Let me... touch you first."

"I don't think—" But he was too late. Her hand closed around him. He froze, utterly still in her firm hand and his breath ripped out of his lungs.
Fuck!
His rock-hard cock throbbed to aching. One more second of her touching him, and he'd be doing a slam-dunk. She started to stroke him.

"Whoa… Not a good idea." He gripped her hand. "Not yet." He'd be back for more of what she was giving him. But later. Much later.

With a soft, uneven sigh, Willy acquiesced, moving a hand upward to play with his flat male nipples. She lifted smoky blue eyes to his. "Then touch me again. I like it when you touch me."

He gave her a crooked smile, using words to cool his raging heat. "Where exactly would you like me to touch you? I seem to have lost my place."

Without a word, Willy took his hand and placed it in the warmth of her inner thigh. And in the dim bedroom light, she returned his smile, her voice throaty, her uptilted eyes sultry and teasing. "Can you find your way from there?"

Taylor's fingers tightened over the firm flesh of her thigh before inching upward to comb through her curls.

"Was it somewhere near here?" he asked, the steam of his breath heating the curve of her throat.

"Hm-m." Willy closed her eyes, sinking into the husky rumble of Taylor's voice. Purring words, questions, promises in her ear, his hand cupped her sex. Held her. Rubbed her.

Then…he slipped a finger through her center, a delicate splitting of waiting flesh. She thrust up her hips. Or they thrust on their own, she was sure. Her eyes opened to meet his. While he played with her he watched her. "You okay?"

Another slick finger through her seam.

Chaos
. Her head rolled, and she heard herself murmuring his name. She bit her lower lip and threw her head back wildly, hard against the pillow. Still his slow hand stroked, over,
then into
, her softness—a deep hot intrusion destroying all thought.

"Open for me. More."

She obeyed, letting her knees fall apart.

And he played with her. In her.

Heat gathered, slicked her body, clustered inside. Uncontainable heat. All of it a rush of burning, greedy wanting. Taking her outside herself. Her nails tore across his shoulders, then down to grab fistfuls of quilt at her sides. She heard herself say his name but didn't know why. "I—" she started, but couldn't finish. She wanted…something but didn't know what.

"I know." He kissed her hair, her ear.

What did he know?
She thrashed and tried to deep breathe. He couldn't know how her body screamed for his.
I need… I need…

What did she need? She only knew the need was raw. Unbearable. Terrifying. Wonderful. She raked her fingers across and down his chest. "Enough," she said, her voice rasping, dark, and demanding, unrecognizable to her ears. "Enough… Now. I want now." She wasn't making sense, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the promise of Taylor's hard heat pressed into her thigh. "Now," she repeated.

Taylor lifted away from her, slipped on a condom, and came back to settle himself between her legs, the length of him finally with her, heat to heat. She stifled the moan rising in her throat and thrashed beneath him, crazed with need.

"Easy," he murmured. To her? To himself? She didn't know and was past caring.

With a deep shudder, he entered her. Achingly slow. Then retreated and entered again, deeper now. She felt the slickness of sweat across his shoulders, his hard muscles bunching under her hands. Every sinew in his body tense with the effort not to hurt her.

When he met her barrier, she tensed; every friend, every whisper, every book she'd ever read setting her up for the pain to come. Taylor took her head between his hands. "Look at me, Willow. I want you to look at me." With that he drew in a deep breath—and filled her. His eyes never leaving hers.

The ripple of pain was met and negated instantly by her burning body, her frenzied need for the man in her arms. Inside her, he stilled himself, locking his body with hers, letting her accustom herself to his size, to the fit of him.

"Are you okay?"

Willow's answer was physical. Wrapping her strong legs around him, she rocked up to him. Hot, moist, and fevered, she took all of him deeper—and shattered, her breath a ragged singing sigh against his throat.

Taylor's own release was immediate, and more powerful than anything he'd ever experienced.

When the steam cleared from his head, he rolled off her and pulled her to his side. While he tried to catch his breath, he kissed and smoothed her hair, letting her rest in his arms. He heard and felt her heartbeat backtracking, searching out its natural pulse. She nuzzled her head into his shoulder.

"You're awfully quiet," he said. "What happened to the sassy-mouthed woman I've come to know and love?"

Silence.

Cupping her chin, he lifted her face to his, his thumb tracing her jawline. With the lamp behind her, her face was shadowed. Damn it! She was crying.

"I did hurt you, didn't I?"
Damn it to hell!
For the first time in his life, Taylor felt helpless. He pulled her closer. "Please, don't cry, I—"

She pulled from his arms and sat up, her back as rigid as old oak. "I'm not crying. Crying goes on and on and on. That was one lousy little tear. And, no, you didn't hurt me. You were very, uh, nice."

"Thanks. I think."
Nice!
What was that expression? Damned with faint praise. She takes him to another galaxy at warp speed and to her it's nice! He ran his hand down the length of her back. "So why the 'lousy little tear'? If it wasn't pain, and obviously wasn't ecstasy, what was it?"

Willow pressed her eyelids together. She hadn't lied. She wasn't exactly crying, but she didn't have an answer for him. She wasn't about to tell him she was afraid, because her carefully planned no-strings-world had just been hurricaned to rubble. She had the sick feeling this mind-blowing sex, this eruption of emotion, was some kind of omen, or worse yet a definite precursor—to what her mother felt for her father. That thing called love… Her stomach tossed and twisted, and she swallowed hard. Not that she was in love with Taylor—but still.

Whatever was going on here, it bore some serious thought. But not now, not in bed with the cause of all her problems running his fingers down her back. She shivered.

"Come back here," he demanded softly.

Willow sighed and let him pull her back to the nook of his shoulder. She nuzzled him when his big warm hand drifted down her neck and over her shoulder. She rested her arm on his chest and snuggled closer, feeling his damp skin begin to cool under her touch.