The Sweetest Taboo (15 page)

She held on to his shoulders because it was all she could do, and tossed her head back, feeling like the wanton she knew she had to look. She spread her legs wider, her skirt bunching around her thighs as she ground against him, wanting him there where she was so incredibly wet and ready and open.

He blew a long breath onto her skin between her breasts where his face was buried. And then he moved a hand between his own legs and stroked his erection before reaching deeper and pressing hard to halt what he could of the surging sensation.

He shuddered, and his hand found its way up between
her
legs, to the very spot where she was naked and waiting. His second breath heated her skin and a string of raw curses followed. In the next moment she found herself filled by the thick length of two fingers.

She arched toward his lower body but all he did was widen the V of his spread legs, forcing her thighs farther open there where she sat on his lap. His thumb circled her clit; his tongue circled her nipple.

She braced her hands on his shoulders and rode his thrusting fingers hard, wanting more, wanting to wait, wanting him now even while wanting to draw out the anticipation until both of them were ready to burst.

And just when she was ready to come, he pulled his hand away, moved his mouth away and sat back, his chest heaving beneath raw and ragged breaths.

“Why did you stop?” she panted.

“I’m not ready for you to come.”

To hell with what he was ready for. She was ready enough to take matters into her own hands, to get herself off to the fantasy she’d grown practiced to using, and groaned when he stopped the downward reach of her fingers.

“Not yet,” he bit off.

“You’re making me crazy.”

“I want you wetter.”

Wetter?
Moisture seeped from her sex to run into the crevice of her thigh. She smelled her own musk and saw his nostrils flare. She doubted it was possible to be any wetter. She wasn’t sure she’d ever been this wet.

“I swear, Sebastian. You’re out of your mind. You don’t think this is wet enough?”

“Trust me,” he said moving his hands to her waist and boosting her to sit onto the edge of the table. She pushed herself upward with the heels of her palms. Then he slid his hands up her calves to her knees beneath her skirt. “Lean back.”

She hesitated, but did as he asked, knowing she was putting herself in an incredibly vulnerable position, yet unable to stop the thrilling, edgy flutter of nerves.

Sebastian pulled his hands from under her skirt and settled his palms on her thighs, inching the soft black fabric upward until her skirt rode high. The thought that she was so close to being spread across the table, a feast for his consumption, ripe fruit for his hedonistic indulgence…

She tossed back her head, stopped short of releasing the bubbling laughter, uncertain whether what she was feeling was nervousness, wickedness or total disbelief that she was actually so incredibly bold.

He shimmied her skirt up farther until his thumbs found the skin of her inner thighs. He rubbed there, small circles, inching closer to the crease where leg met hip. If nothing else, he’d certainly mastered a very effective method of torture. She was panting, in pain, and ready to scream.

He leaned forward, kissed her thigh, blew a stream of breath against her skin, ran his tongue along the patch he’d just heated. He repeated the action on the opposite side, only this time he moved closer to her sex. He shifted forward, returned to the leg where he’d started, repeated the process and proved her earlier assumption totally wrong.

She was wetter, more ready, more aroused than she’d been minutes before when he’d made love to her with his fingers. She could not believe the intensity of her own incredible response. The way flames licked through her body’s center. The way her skin sizzled from the inside out.

This time, when he moved closer, he pushed her skirt up over her hips to her belly, completely exposing her nakedness, and leaned in to blow a stream of hot breath from her clitoris down between her legs, blowing directly into the mouth of her sex and then blowing lower still.

The waiting, the Tantric sense of anticipation and denial would’ve been fun if she didn’t ache quite so badly, didn’t yearn quite so wildly to find her completion. She didn’t think she’d ever been so desperate to come. And Sebastian’s obsession with arousing her further, the concentrated sensation of his hands and his mouth…five minutes more and she’d be out of her mind.

And then he returned to his tale. “I spent six years living off the State. We had a locker room set up where we showered. A dorm’s worth of teenage boys all at one time, looking over our shoulders, watching our backs, hoping to make it through those quick fifteen minutes without the need for stitches and our virginity intact.”

Erin pulled in a sharp breath. His shocking words hit her at the same time he gently pressed the knuckle of his thumb into the crevice between her legs and dragged it down. She wanted to think about what he was saying, tried to think about what he was saying, but couldn’t get beyond what he was doing and doing so incredibly, amazingly well.

“I showered like that four times a week for six or seven years. I did okay. I made it out. And I swore whenever I finally got on my feet and could afford a place of my own, I would never again worry about hot water or how long I spent taking a bath.”

All the while he’d been talking, he’d been watching the play of his fingers in and around her sex. Erin could easily have gotten off twice now. But she’d gritted her teeth and listened to his story. Still braced back on her elbows, she’d tucked her chin to her chest and kept her gaze trained on Sebastian’s face.

Never once had he hesitated in the telling of his story and never once had he looked up to see if she was listening or if she’d dissolved into a mass of writhing sexuality which so aptly described the sensations in her belly and below. Twisting, twining, kinky knots and ropes of enflamed nerves.

When at last he sat back, she knew he was ready. Or so she thought until he picked up the champagne bottle and used it to stroke along both her inner thighs. He moved the bottle higher, rubbing the mouth over the lips of her sex and between, circling her clit, slipping the cool glass along her folds, down one side, up the other, teasing her unmercifully before finally lifting the bottle to drink.

Yet, even as he swallowed, even as Erin waited breathlessly for him to return the bottle to the table, pull a condom from his pocket and set himself free, he drizzled champagne there above her strip of trimmed hair and leaned forward, drinking both the wine and her moisture from between the folds of her sex.

Erin couldn’t take it any longer. She cried out, her body rigid beneath the shattering sensations of orgasm, the rush of pleasure sending her arching upward toward his mouth. Her flesh tingled and burned and throbbed, and still she came because this wasn’t enough. She needed to have him inside her.

She pushed up from her elbows, pushed Sebastian away and against the back of the booth. She reached for the waistband of his pants. He reached into his pocket. She longed to stroke him, to watch his eyes glaze, to draw forth that first bead of moisture telling her he was ready to come.

But she doubted they’d ever be able to take their time coming together because of this combustible fire between them. He tore into the condom packet and rolled the sheath the length of his erection. Erin didn’t even ask. She slid off the table and into his lap, her hand between their bodies to guide him to her center.

He filled her, and it was like finding a part of herself that had been missing. The fit was snug and perfect. She gripped him with muscles still sore from last night. With her hands braced on his shoulders, his hands on her waist, she rode him hard. Her breasts swayed and he pressed his forehead against her chest, panting hot ragged breaths there in the valley between.

Her thigh muscles burned from exertion. Her pulse raced, the blood in her veins fairly sang. She was raw from the friction of his late evening beard, raw from the flat of his tongue, raw from the thick scraping slide of his cock and she didn’t even care. This was what she’d wanted. This aching, bursting, joyous connection of bodies in need.

Sebastian spread his legs wider, slumped down onto his spine and drove himself upward, his head pressed back into the padded booth, the tendons in his neck drawn taut. She wanted to ease his torture, his agony, but the strain on his gorgeous face only incited her further.

She came again, his thrusts wild and urgent, spurring her over the edge. Guttural groans of release ripped from his throat as he joined her. She collapsed against his chest, tremors shuddering through her. She missed the feel of his bare skin against hers. But urgency hadn’t given him time to undress beyond exposing his sharply cut abs when he’d shoved his pants down his hips.

His heart thudded with hers in a matching beat. Her heated breath condensed on his neck where she’d rested her head and she inhaled the scent of his skin the way she inhaled the aroma of coffee in the morning. A necessity to her very existence. She doubted she could ever get enough of breathing him in.

Or a more fulfilling sense of her world being right as she rested against him, his arms around her back holding her close, his body buried in hers still pulsing in response to her last lingering quakes.

This was the high she’d been physically craving, this sated sense of exhaustion on the heels of mind-blowing sex. She didn’t think she’d ever known such satisfaction of body.

It was the satisfaction of soul that she wasn’t sure she could bear.

CALI CROSSED HER LEGS AND scooted closer to the coffee table. She sat on the floor in front of Will’s futon, digging into the huge banana split they shared. Will sat similarly on the other side. Their knees bumped beneath the low table.

They both wore white T-shirts, gray sweatpants and thick athletic socks, compliments of Will’s wardrobe. The ice cream was a middle of the night feast celebrating his new job at Paddington’s and the last two hours they’d spent in bed.

Cali wasn’t sure she’d ever spent a more perfect Friday night in her life.

He’d been such a great sport and so much fun to work with while they’d helped Erin close up for the night. When he’d suggested they eat a late dinner and had even volunteered to cook, she’d jumped at the chance. This girl wasn’t no fool. By the time they reached his apartment, of course, neither one of them was in the mood for food.

She figured the ice cream would sate the hunger in her empty tummy until they got around to something more substantial after sleeping off the sugar and the sex. Ah, yes. And what sex it was. Her body sang with satisfaction, thanking her for the dual indulgence. So what if she got up off the floor having gained five pounds?

Will didn’t seem to care that she was curvy rather than willowy and gaunt. Seemed, in fact, to totally enjoy the fact that she didn’t gouge him with fashionably protruding hipbones. A good thing, too, because she really liked the way his body felt cradled on top of hers. And she loved that he wanted to be there…though maybe
love
wasn’t the best word to use.

Sighing, she turned her spoon over onto her tongue and licked it clean of caramel and chocolate sauce then used the bowled end as a pointer. “You know I’m going to have to totally cram tomorrow to catch up before Monday’s class.”

“You mean you’re going to totally have to cram
today.
” Will scooped up a huge bite of mostly whipped cream and maraschino cherry bits.

Cali groaned. “It is today, isn’t it? Saturday already. How come when I’m with you I totally lose track of time?”

Will pulled his spoon from his mouth, slowly shoveled it into the mountain of Blue Bell Homemade vanilla ice cream, Hershey’s chocolate syrup and about a dozen other toppings from M&M’s to chopped pecans.

He left the spoon standing upright, braced his elbows on the table and leaned forward into Cali’s space. His eyes twinkled like snifters of brandy in firelight. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

She considered for only half a minute or so whether she’d consumed enough energy-laden carbs to have another go in the bedroom, or if the sugar would knock her out before she could get his clothes off, not to mention her own.

Then she decided she’d been far too easy every time they’d been naked and this time, if there was going to be a this time here in the middle of their ice cream feast, she was going to make Will work a little bit harder.

Even with the extra five pounds added onto her original extra fifteen, she was worth the effort. She really wasn’t as easy as the last two days made her out to be. And she didn’t want him to think she’d desperately been waiting around for him to take an interest and notice her. Or to find out he’d taken pity on her after seeing her heart on her sleeve—an accusation Erin leveled way too often.

Cali pulled up the boot straps of her self-esteem, aware that she’d picked a strange time to get prickly over her sexuality and desire for Will. Especially coming on the tail end of her reminiscing. “No, I don’t need to hear your man-sex answer. I can answer perfectly well for myself.”

Chuckling under his breath, Will shook his head and retrieved his spoon and a mouthful of banana. “This I gotta hear.”

Deep breath, Cali. Take a deep breath.
This was not the time to get all teary-eyed and emotional which, for an inexplicably hormonal reason, she felt ready to do. That meant she needed to turn the conversation in a new direction. And she knew exactly where to go. “The time we’re together passes quickly because all you want to do is argue down every one of my ideas for Jason’s role in the screenplay.”

Will’s easy smile vanished, replaced by stoicism and that stubborn male need to always be right. “That’s bull, Cali. I’m not arguing down anything. I know as well as you do that without Jason we don’t have a screenplay. It’s his story.”

At least they agreed on that one unarguable point. Now to get Will to understand how and where the rest of his story logic didn’t hold water. “Exactly. Which is why our obsession with the external action is diluting the focus.”