Read Somebody Wonderful Online
Authors: Kate Rothwell
Somebody Wonderful (11 page)
Naturally, that only made them laugh harder.
Mick started to regain his composure, when Timmy, still roaring, eyes filled with tears, wheezed, “Fooking Don Juan McCann.”
Five full minutes later, when he could breathe again, Mick gasped, “Timmy, you are thoroughly daft. Did you know?”
Exhilaration poured through him as he spoke. He hadn’t succeeded in driving her off. It was not just that he was dead certain he would bed the most desirable female he’d ever encountered, though God knew that was no small matter to him just now. She was like nothing or no one he’d ever stumbled across. He suddenly knew he would miss the crazy woman when she moved along to her next adventure, her next man. Despite all the considerable discomfort she caused him.
They walked the rest of the way back to his building in silence, again not touching. He wasn’t sure he could bear her touch. And he wasn’t sure if he could bear to be near her without it/span>
They started climbing the stairs slowly. At a landing they paused and Mick looked over at Timona and attempted a leer. “Still time to turn back, you know. Before you start playing with this native.”
He grew serious and bent down to her, almost touching her forehead with his. He breathed, “If you come in my flat, I’ll be in that bed with you, Timmy. I expect the Tuckers could make a space for you if you’d rather not stay with me.”
Chapter 10
Timona was gripped with dizzying excitement. Even if Mick thought it would be passion without a soul, she knew him better. He was incapable of operating without love of some kind.
But a small twinge of fear made her stop and look up at him. “If I come with you, will I be able to change my mind? And say no?”
He stroked her cheek with a forefinger. “I’d never force a woman, Timmy. And I won’t be angry if you change your mind.”
“Well, then.” With one hand on her heart and the other pointing in the air, she declaimed in her best overwrought manner, “I do not turn from adventure, I embrace it.”
Mick snickered. “An’ I’ll even give you a cuppa tea after.”
They raced up the stairs, hand gripped tightly in hand, laughing breathlessly and tripping over the rubbish strewn in the hall.
Botty was waiting and slipped past them to crawl under the bureau. They managed to get the door closed before launching at each other, but only just. The room was dark and Mick didn’t have the time to waste lighting the kerosene lantern or a candle. Between their impatient scrabbling and tearing at one another’s clothing, they ripped a collar, the placket of a new dress, the side seam of a chemise.
They stood near the door kissing. The feel and taste of her went straight to Mick’s head, his heart, and his crotch. Her breasts and other curves were even more blissfully delicious than he remembered. If he didn’t have her soon, he’d be driven to screaming madness.
Still standing by the door, Mick slipped his hand between her legs. She moaned. He felt that she was already damp and slick. Now. He pushed her against the wall and hitched up the last piece of clothing between them as he rubbed and thrust against her. He shoved his thigh between her legs and started to reach around her to cup her bottom to hoist her up, when he remembered her injured head and shoulder.
Saints, he was a rutting beast.
He pulled his mouth from hers and, panting, leaned his forehead against the door. “No, no. I’m no animal.”
Timona gave a breathless laugh; the soft shush of her breath touched his throat. “Oh, my. I think I might be.”
“Nay, what I’m feeling is all woman.” He gently ran the tips of his fingers over her sides, the edge of her breasts, and up to her face. In the dark, the texture of cloth, the brush of hair and skin, seemed even more intoxicating. He leaned in to savor her lips again.
“Mick,” she whispered. The sound and feel of her voice uttering his name against his mouth drove him back to brainless desire.
The bed, he thought hazily, and made his way across the floor, clutching her hand and pulling her after him.
“Timmy. I can stop. But soon . . . I don’t know. Is it what you want?”
She was silent for a moment. He didn’t know what he’d do if she said no. Perhaps howl loud enough to wake the dead.
“Yes,” she said at last. If he weren’t so completely on fire, he might have stopped to ask why she hesitated.
He’d grown more accustomed to the dark but it required some fumbling and feeling about under the bed.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Medical kit.” He got back on the bed and groaned as he slid a hand down the insides of her smooth thighs.
“Why?”
He kissed her jaw. “
Coiscin.
”
Coiscin.
”
“Koshkeen?”
He kissed her throat. “No babies. Condom.”
“Ahhh.” Her word turned into a long sigh as his mouth found her breast and his fingers probed between her legs.
He moved up to kiss her mouth again.
Timona gave a cry when he at last pushed into her. He could not tell if it was a pleased or frightened sound. She seemed so entirely tight around him. So he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay still, buried in the heat of her. He slid his hands under her bottom. What a perfect body.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and he took it as an invitation to move.
“Oh,” she breathed into his ear as he tried to move slow and careful. He wanted it to last at long as possible, for he would not feel the like of her again. But he’d been craving her too long. Too many long hours.
She arched her back and tentatively squirmed when he stopped for a moment in a last desperate attempt to hold back.
“Ah, no, Timmy, God, don’t,” he groaned into her fragrant hair, and he nearly blacked out with the pleasure.
When he could think again, he felt ashamed. Not his most inspired lovemaking. Maire, his first woman from home, would have been disgusted. A well-off widow, Maire occasionally introduced some local boys to lovemaking. She would have scolded him, one of her “pupils,” as a brute.
“Vigor is all very well, but a woman appreciates technique,” she had said.
Thoughts of any other woman vanished when Timmy stirred in his arms. He rolled away from her and fumbled around for the candle.
“Mick,” she said, and he could feel her skin as she moved close and brushed against him. “I don’t think you have kissed me enough. I do like your kisses.” Her soft hands lightly stroked up his belly and across his shoulders.
In the dark, Mick found her mouth and he kissed her. His tongue traced her lips. The tender kiss deepened and bloomed into something demanding and rich. He ripped aside the last scrap of linen that was once a lacy petticoat he’d caught glimpses of, and there was nothing but sweet bare skin between them. He forgot about light.
Timona ached with simple pain in her head, her shoulder, between her legs. Another, more complex ache haunted her body that she knew was unfulfilled lust. Odd that she should know it, when she had never experienced it. To such aateee, at any rate.
The sensation of Mick as he had touched her and pushed against her at the door had been astonishing. She had never in her life felt such heated sensual eagerness. Good that he pressed against her and held her up, for the backs of her knees had felt too rubbery to stay straight.
But then on the bed, before she even could catch her breath at the contact—all of the skin, the solid bulk, and the immediate warmth and weight of his body—he’d plunged inside her. The shock of the size of him—what did he have down there, a telegraph pole?—gave way to pain. Almost at once the pain gave way to the awareness that if he kept thrusting in that manner, he would go right through her to the other side. Which actually she identified as pleasure about the moment he stopped for a few seconds. And when he started again, he finished far too quickly.
She gave up worrying when she remembered that she was now allowed to indulge in something she’d longed to do. She could touch his skin. Everywhere. And she could have kisses at any time and those were without a doubt the best thing her mouth had ever experienced. Whether they were delicate teasing nibbles or sloppily passionate, Mick’s kisses were sweeter than any food.
As they kissed in the dark, Mick’s hand smoothed over her and she reveled in the feel of his calloused fingers as they skimmed her breasts. His delicate touch caressed her nipples, relieved and incited an ache in her breasts and her belly. When she moaned, his touch grew more urgent and his fingers dipped down between her legs. She pressed her legs together automatically, but he caressed the inside of her thighs gently until she opened them again.
“Lie still for a minute,” he whispered in her ear.
Oh good. Or was it bad. He would climb on top of her again. She wasn’t sure which of the two aches inside her would win over her body. But she could not help trembling with excitement.
He didn’t move on top of her. Instead he kissed her and licked and touched her body. Everywhere. His skin and hair rubbed her. He used his hands, and the damp warmth and pressure of his tongue, breath, and even his teeth on her breasts and then down her belly to the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs and then, oh my, between her legs until she writhed, agitated beyond thought.
His touch grew less delicate. And his mouth when he moved back to hers plunged in, tasting of her own salt and demanding more from her.
“Oh, yes, please,” she managed to say and when she thought she was going to have to take matters into her own hands and climb on top of him, he was there, ready for her to wrap her arms and legs around his body and pull him in. The unpleasant pain was long forgotten. And now he fit into her just a little too perfectly large, instead of uncomfortable. She moved around him and pushed and forgot that anything existed beyond their two bodies. He whispered soft, guttural words in her ear.
And then at the very second she nearly screamed aloud with frustrated need, the rush of relief crashed through her.
“Oh! That’s it,” she gasped.
Mick cried out as he drove into her.
Timona lay stunned and limp beneath him until he began lift himself away from her. She did not want the touch of air on her skin. She would much rather have the feel of warm Mick everywhere.
“Timmy, hush, I am not going anywhere,” he whispered in her ear as she scrabbled to pull him close again. “I just don’t want to crush you to death.”
“The most perfect way to go,” she murmured. “Oh, Mick Thank you.”
“It is I who should thank you.”
She twined her legs around his, yawned, and pushed her face against his shoulder to cover her open mouth. He gave a low laugh. “How polite we are with our thanks and graceful manners.”
“Hmmm,” she agreed. For a long while, she let her hands explore him, lightly stroking him to memorize the shape of his shoulders, back, and bottom. All long smooth flats and hard curves, she thought drowsily. His hair was softer than she expected.
At last he pulled out and away from her and lit the candle. He lay down on his back and turned his head to smile over at her. He stretched, pushing his hands high over his head.
The chance to look at his naked body woke her up. Looking was not nearly enough, and her hands and mouth explored the silk skin of his body. Odd that such soft skin covered the hardness of his belly and the tender inside of his powerful arms.
She put her tongue against his chest, lapped the nipple and enjoyed his hiss of pleasure. He tasted slightly salty. His skin still smelled faintly of smoke but she detected a subtle musky flavor on his skin she knew must be pure Mick. The soft hair on his chest was damp with sweat. The hair swirled down, over his belly to the thick hair around his member.
She sat back on her heels to examine him again. She wondered if he was ticklish. When she moved to find out, he quickly seized her hands and easily held her wrists with one hand and with the other discovered that she, too, was very ticklish—though he quickly rolled away from her. “No, not time yet to pull out them shoulder stitches of yours.”
From under the bureau, Botty occasionally growled at their horseplay.
“Don’t fret, Botty,” Mick would say and the dog would sigh.
Timona had not known making love could be . . . so pleasurable. Occasionally a romp, too. The whole experience had sounded like so much work when Griffin had described it, a solemn, serious business. But then, of course, he had been talking to his sister.
She wriggled away from Mick and climbed onto the sweat- and sex-slicked skin of his hips to straddle him. He fought off her attempts to attack him again by gently grabbing the sides of her head, avoiding her cut, and pulling her down to him for a kiss. A few minutes later, still crouching above him, she observed that this might be another position in which to make love.
“Perhaps ’tisn’t a good idea,” he murmured doubtfully. “Don’t want you to get sore there too.”
“Excuse me, but I believe it could be a very good idea,” she whispered.
A little later, he whispered back, “Slow and careful, then.”
She was already sore, but oh, it was worth it. The delicious ache won out again. His large hands clutched her hips as she squirmed tentatively on him. They both soon forgot about the slow and careful.
Mick had never been so entirely and happily exhausted in his life.
Timona lay next to him, one arm crooked behind her head. In a sleepy voice she remarked, “I think this is wonderful. Why do you suppose women are told they shouldn’t enjoy it?”
The woman obviously was not mortified by her wanton ways—but Mick realized he didn’t want either of them to be ashamed. Especially not Timmy with her enthusiasm for life and . . . other matters.
“I do not know why females are told such a thing. But I am surely glad you do not believe it.” He spoke firmly but was annoyed to feel himself blush.
She must have been watching him for she said, “I do like the way you blush. It turns your face and neck a rather reddish gold.”
He snorted. “And I suppose you never blush, shameless one?”
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