Whisper Falls (21 page)
“Wh-what now?” she asked, weakened with excitement.
“Brace yourself on the ladder,” he instructed her. She stood on the bottom step now, bringing the top of the ladder even with the tops of her thighs, making it easy to grasp with both hands. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed the step put her at eye level with her new lover, too.
“Bend over just a little,” he said, and when she did . . . oh! His erection was right there, behind her, sliding in deep and tight. Her face and hands practically pulsed from the intensity and all she could do was lean back her head and let out a well-pleased moan.
He moved in her that way for a blissfully long time, whispering into her shoulder how hot and sexy she was, and though she’d never realized she wanted or needed to hear things like that, right now, she realized it. She’d wanted and needed it for
years
—and now Lucky was giving her what she hadn’t even known she was missing.
Finally, he helped her wordlessly down from the ladder—just to turn her around and lift her up onto his kitchen table, where he relieved her completely of her shorts, parted her legs, and stepped in between. Within seconds, he was in her again—thrusting hot and hard, and as she leaned back, bracing herself on the table so that she could lift to meet him, he reached down to rub his thumb over the little nub just above where their bodies were joined. The sensation forced a sob from her throat almost immediately and she knew another quick orgasm would come.
She then heard herself murmuring mindlessly. “Oh . . . oh yes . . . God . . .
God
.” And then—oh Lord! Just like every other time she’d come with Lucky, it rushed over her in pulsing waves that vibrated through her whole body. And when he didn’t draw his thumb away, but instead kept stroking her there—dear God, the orgasm went on and on, longer than any she could ever remember!
She was forced to shut her eyes, clenching her teeth as she cried out through the overwhelming pleasure—and it came to her as if through a fog when Lucky said, “Christ, babe, I can’t stop.” After which he planted his hands at her hips and plunged into her hard, hard, hard, and his climax rushed powerfully through them both even as her own was just beginning to wane.
As it ended, as Lucky bent over her, laying her back on the table to rest his head on her breast, she peered up at the ceiling, utterly fulfilled. Not just sexually, but in
every
way. Amazingly enough, sex had somehow smoothed out the rough edges between them, taking away her nervousness, dissolving his avoidance and gruffness. And as he finally rose back up, she couldn’t help teasing him. “Is this how you pay
everyone
who comes to do work for you? Plumbers? Electricians?”
Unfazed, he merely arched one eyebrow in her direction. “Only the ones with sexy tattoos, babe.”
. . . he could see that the boy had inherited his own eyes . . .
Charlotte Brontë,
Jane Eyre
B
y the time Tessa arrived at Under the Covers the next day, she was physically exhausted—she’d ended up staying at Lucky’s place last night, and of course, there had been more orgasms. So she was tired—but utterly exhilarated, too. She even stopped at the bakery to pick up snacks for the bookstore today.
“I come bearing muffins,” she announced as she stepped through the door, the bell overhead heralding her arrival. Amy and Rachel were already drinking coffee in the easy chairs.
“Yum,” Amy said, plucking a blueberry one from the box Tessa opened and held down to her. “What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion,” she said merrily. “Just felt like some muffins.”
Rachel, however, being a little more astute—or was that suspicious?—flashed a look that said she knew something was up. “Amy told me you were working today, so I wanted to see how things are with Lucky.” She helped herself to a banana nut muffin as she spoke.
Tessa took a seat in an overstuffed chair, the muffin box balanced in her lap, but before she could form a reply, Amy leaned forward, eyes widened in horror. “Rachel told me about the other night! You and Lucky Romo? And I can’t believe you two went to that biker bar. Are you crazy?”
Tessa just sighed, calmly said, “No, I am
not
crazy, thank you very much,” and then turned to Rachel. “Are things okay between you and Mike?” Even as busy as she’d been with Lucky and orgasms, she’d remained worried about the fight she’d caused.
Pinching off a bite of her muffin, Rachel nodded. “I couldn’t believe it, but he really did let it go.”
“Well, thank God. Hopefully he realized it was my fault. So—is he mad at
me
?”
Rachel popped the bit of banana muffin into her mouth. “No. He questions your judgment a little, but . . .”
“Frankly, I question
his
judgment, too,” Tessa snipped, still put out by the way Mike had reacted to seeing his brother.
“I know,” Rachel said, her voice thick with concern. “I told him Lucky seemed like an okay guy, but for him, it’s about more than that. It’s about trying to get over the past. And I’m just not sure he’s willing to.” She concluded with a sigh.
And they all stayed quiet and somber for a moment, until Rachel spoke up again. “You haven’t answered me, though. How are things with Lucky?”
“Well, I’m still working on his house—I have a few more days to go in the kitchen, and I need to get a few photos blown up and framed. But he seems pleased with how it’s turning out, and so am I.”
Rachel just offered up a dry look, now ignoring the muffin in her hand. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Okay,” Tessa relented, not really wanting to hold back any longer anyway. “I lied—the muffins are for an occasion. They’re for I-Have-a-Sex-Life-Again Day. And it’s
well
worth celebrating, girls.”
Amy let out a short gasp as Rachel’s eyebrows shot up. “Saturday night? After you got home?”
Tessa nodded. “All night, in fact. And it went on the next day. And then again last night.” It was hard to believe that what Tessa had thought might be a one-night event had become
more
than one, and what she’d been sure in the beginning would be a fling at best was beginning to feel . . . very comfortable, very quickly. She let a small smile escape her. “By my count, we’ve had sex around seven times since Saturday night.”
“Wow,” Rachel said.
And Amy murmured, “I still can’t get over this—you and Lucky Romo.” Then she asked, “So how was it?”
They both just looked at Amy—until Rachel replied, “Amy. They’ve done it seven times in less than forty-eight hours. I’m guessing it was pretty good.”
And now, thinking back, Tessa actually had to fan herself. “It was more than pretty good. In fact, I’m . . . speechless.”
“Hmm,” Rachel responded. “Speechless. Sex has left me a lot of ways, but never speechless.”
“Well, no,” Amy said. “You like to spill every detail, so how could it?”
Rachel just shrugged, probably seeing the truth in Amy’s words, then said to Tessa, “I’m happy for you. And you deserve some fun, that’s for sure.”
“Don’t I know it,” Tessa agreed, recalling the sexless years just past that made this feel so monumental.
“But, uh, seven times,” Rachel said. “Does that mean . . . ?” She tilted her head. “Is this turning into a thing?”
“A thing?” Tessa asked.
“Like . . . more than you expected? Like a relationship thing?”
Tessa bit her lip, pondering it. And she stuck with the same answer she’d given herself yesterday. “I’m not thinking too hard about it—I’m just enjoying it. And whenever it ends, it ends—and that’s cool.”
Although even as she spoke the last words, her stomach pinched a little. But she decided to ignore that. She felt too good to let even one iota of doubt bring her down. Her Crohn’s disease had taught her that—to appreciate the good times and not fret over the future or the past. As much as she could help it anyway. Finally plucking a muffin of her own from the bakery box—a particularly fluffy-looking lemon one—she closed the lid and set the container aside, then crossed one leg over the other and began to peel down the muffin paper.
When Amy let out yet another soft gasp, Tessa simply gave her a what’s-the-problem look—but when Rachel’s jaw dropped as well, as they both stared at Tessa’s shoes, she paid more attention.
“What the hell is that?” Amy asked—noteworthy because Tessa wasn’t sure she’d ever heard Amy cuss before.
Since they still gaped at Tessa’s feet, she glanced down. And then understood what the fuss was about. “Oh. That . . . would be my tattoo.” Her usual long, flowy skirts had kept it hidden up to now, but crossing her legs had lifted today’s skirt just high enough to reveal it.
“Is it fake? Temporary?” Amy asked, still appearing completely stunned.
“Nope, it’s there to stay.” Funny, but she was feeling so happy about sex and Lucky that she no longer cared what anyone thought of the ink on her ankle.
Rachel met her gaze, looking suspicious again. “A night or two with Lucky and he has you getting tattoos already?”
And Tessa just rolled her eyes. “I got it before that. A couple of weeks ago, in fact. I just didn’t tell you guys because I knew you’d react like this. I, for one, like it,” she finished with a brisk, confident nod.
She watched Rachel studying it, turning her head first one way, then another. “Well,” she finally admitted, “as tattoos go, it
is
nice. Even pretty. You just have to hope your ankles always stay thin.”
“Best of all,” Tessa informed her friends with a smile, “Lucky thinks it’s hot.”
A
few days later, Tessa stood in Lucky’s living room by herself, looking around her. Her work on his house was finished, and she personally loved what she’d done with the place. She’d just put up the finishing touches—hanging the photos she’d mounted in simple black frames, and putting up a few warm red details in the kitchen: a couple of towels, a decorative potholder hanging above the stove, a set of salt-and-pepper shakers.
So now it was time for the big unveiling. She’d just brought Lucky around from the garage and had him waiting outside the front door. “All right,” she said. “You can come in.”
He entered and glanced around, appearing to be taking in the new accents he hadn’t seen, which she thought of like fashion accessories—the details pulled the rooms completely together. And as he walked into the kitchen, then back in the living room, he began nodding. “It looks good, hot stuff,” he said with a small “tough-guy smile” that pleased her. After all, a big, burly biker could only show so much enthusiasm over home décor.
And then came the moment she’d been waiting for—when he noticed the surprise above the mantel. In addition to framing pictures of some of the bikes he’d painted, she’d taken her own photo of Lucky’s beloved Harley Davidson Deuce—the gleaming black parts streaked with stylized red flames—then enlarged it more than the rest of the pictures. She’d selected a charcoal gray matting to make the blown-up print stand out further, and now, hanging over Lucky’s small fireplace, it became the centerpiece of the living space. Lucky’s eyes went wide when he saw it, then a happy—much bigger—grin unfurled on his tough biker’s face, warming her heart.
He turned to her, arching one eyebrow, looking amused at her stealth. “When did you take that?”
“Sunday afternoon, when you went out for groceries.”
Lucky rode his bike most places, but groceries meant he had to take his other vehicle, a red Jeep Wrangler. And not only had he just washed the bike that day, he’d left it in the driveway, allowing her to photograph it with a backdrop of spring green foliage.
“It’s really great, babe. Really.” He punctuated the sentiment by closing her hand in his and leaning down to give her a kiss. As always with Lucky’s kisses, it nearly curled her toes.
“I’m glad you like it. It seemed like the perfect final touch.”
He tilted his head, dark hair falling around his face, eyes seductive as ever. “You in the mood for another ride on the Deuce, hot stuff?”
She’d only ridden with Lucky once before, and now it would be much easier—she wouldn’t have to feel awkward about holding onto him. And it even sounded fun, especially since it was another beautiful spring day in Ohio—a mix of sun and clouds and blue sky. “Sure,” she said, and within minutes she was holding tight to her lover as they zipped up Whisper Falls Road.
She ended up enjoying the excursion even more than the last one, and by the time Lucky steered the bike back down his driveway, Tessa felt exhilarated—by the ride, and by the man in front of her.
When they’d both gotten off the motorcycle and removed their helmets, Lucky took the one he’d given her to wear and said, “This doesn’t suit you.” It was black, plain—and yeah, maybe it looked more like something a guy would wear, but she didn’t figure it mattered. Still, he added with a wink, “I’ll have to see if I can’t come up with something more your style.” Then he set the helmet aside on the bike’s leather seat and said, “Come here,” pulling her into a close embrace for another of the kisses she loved. He leaned back against the motorcycle, and
she
leaned warmly against
him
.
As his mouth moved over hers, as she sank snugly into his strong arms, she couldn’t help thinking back to Rachel’s and Amy’s questions about her and Lucky. Where was this going? Was it turning into a thing? And she still wanted not to care—she wanted to appreciate this time with Lucky simply as . . . her way of grabbing life, and sex, and the unexpected excitement she found on the back of his motorcycle as the wind whipped past. But . . . where
was
this going?
Was
it turning into a thing?
Stop. Don’t do that. Don’t make this into something you care too much about
,
something that could then end badly.
As long as she continued to see it as only a fling, after all, it
couldn’t
end badly. And besides, if she let herself see it as more . . . well, it would be far more complicated than with any other guy.
Because there was still so much she didn’t know about him. So many questions about his past.
Had
he been in an outlaw gang? And if so . . . what sorts of things had he done? She suppressed a shiver—then shoved the thought away. Because it was unpleasant and Lucky was still kissing her, and she wanted to enjoy every spine-tingling bit of pleasure he delivered. She’d decided somewhere along the way that she didn’t
need
to know the answers to those questions as long as what they shared was simply a mutual attraction, some good times, some hot sex. But if this ever progressed beyond that . . . well,
then
she’d need to know.
When a car turned into Lucky’s driveway, they both looked up. An old Camaro rolled to a stop right next to Lucky’s bike.
“Aw, hell,” Lucky muttered under his breath, and Tessa said, “Who is it?”
He shook his head. “Nobody important. Just a customer—that same dip wad that showed up at Gravediggers last week.” Lucky hadn’t released her from his embrace right away, but he slowly let her go as a slightly older man with reddish hair and a scraggly gray beard exited the passenger side of the car, slamming the door. “With any luck,” her lover said, speaking low, “this’ll be the last time I gotta deal with him.”
“Hey, Lucky,” the man greeted him as the car began to back away. “Can’t wait to see my bike!” He sounded overly cheerful—almost to the point of coming off as childish—and was clearly oblivious to the fact that Lucky didn’t like him.
“Come on in the garage, Red, and take a look,” Lucky said, not bothering to introduce Tessa—and she didn’t mind. Maybe she shouldn’t judge this Red guy the same way she’d initially judged Lucky, but despite his upbeat demeanor, he looked like someone to stay away from.
As Tessa ducked quietly away toward the front door, deciding to wait for Lucky inside, she heard Red say, “That the same chick I saw you with at Duke’s bar? Damn, reckon they don’t call you Lucky for nothin’—that’s a nice piece o’—”
“Red
,” Lucky snapped, cutting him off. “Don’t go there or I’ll have to kick your ass. Got it?”
And Tessa smiled. Lucky Romo was protecting her honor.
Once inside, she found herself walking down the hall toward Johnny’s room. Now that she’d completed the other areas, she could put some finishing touches on the NASCAR-themed room as well. She fluffed the pillows and moved the desk into place against one wall. She was deciding on the best spot for a couple of storage bins when Lucky came in.
She looked up, giving him a smile. “Is the guy who thinks I’m a nice piece of ass gone?”
He offered a small hangdog grin in reply. “Sorry about that, babe. But he and his bike are
both
gone, and hopefully, I’ll never see him again.”
She tilted her head, suddenly curious. “So—what did he do that makes you hate him so much? I mean,
I’m
not crazy about him, but . . .”