Desperado Page 21

  He frowned. Hell, he couldn’t remember his own name, let alone something he might have asked her to do before. “When?”

  “Tonight. Earlier tonight.” She raised her hands slowly.

  And he remembered. Hot damn!

  She placed both palms under her breasts and lifted them a little, creating a more voluptuous cleavage. Then she moved her hands upward, past her breasts, and . . . oh, my God! . . . she licked first one forefinger, then the other. And touched her own nipples.

  She closed her eyes and moaned.

  He closed his eyes and moaned.

  In three quick strides, he was in front of her, pulling her into his arms. She almost collapsed, grabbing for his shoulders.

  His mouth covered hers ravenously, forcing her lips open with his thrusting tongue.

  She returned the kiss with equal hunger, drawing him deeper.

  He wanted to be gentle, but he forgot how. She deserved a masterful lover. He was out of control.

  His brain said, Time for a speed bump. His brain-dead body said, Shut up. We’re off to Indianapolis.

  His hands swept over her back, from shoulder to buttocks. Pressing. Kneading. Exploring.

  Her fingers gripped his shoulders, convulsively.

  Slow down.

  He plunged his tongue into her mouth again, then withdrew.

  Slow down.

  Her foolish tongue followed his into his mouth.

  Slow down.

  He stroked in, and she followed back.

  Slow down.

  Her mouth, his tongue. His mouth, her tongue. The deep, incredible kiss never ended. It became one fluid motion of sliding intimacy. A joining.

  Slow down, or this will be over before it begins.

  Finally, his brain got through to his other organ. Either that, or his arteries were clogged with testosterone.

  He leaned away slightly. Cupping her face with both hands, he braced his forehead against hers, panting for breath.

  Helen’s hands still clutched and unclutched his shoulders, spasmodically, until she calmed down. Only her heaving chest and a small whimper betrayed her continuing turmoil. If he was in a testosterone tailspin, she was surely in hormone heaven.

  When he was able to speak above a croak, Rafe brushed his lips against hers. “Lady, you know how to make a man lose control.”

  “Me?” she asked skeptically. “I’m the one out of control.”

  “You are?” He grinned. “Good.”

  “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

  “I don’t either, baby.” He inhaled deeply. “But we will.” He took both her hands in his, kissing each of the fingertips, then held her arms out from her sides. He stepped back to get a better view, then groaned. “I knew three times wouldn’t be enough.”

  “Enough for what?” she squeaked as he undid her last three buttons and whisked the gown off her hips to billow at her feet.

  “To satisfy this wild need I have for you.” He skimmed the knuckles of one hand over her red curls for emphasis.

  She sighed.

  The soft silk, and her sigh, beckoned him to do more, but he exercised restraint. It wasn’t easy. “Lie down,” he choked out and stumbled over to his pile of wet clothing. Eventually, despite his clumsiness, he found his wallet and took out the three foil-wrapped packets.

  When he returned to the blanket, Rafe tossed the three condoms to the side and feasted for a moment on the sight of Helen waiting for him. She lay on her back, her arms thrown over her head in abandon, her nude body—her gloriously nude, beautiful body—waiting for him. To make love.

  I’m going to make love with Helen. After all these years and all the dreams, I’m going to make love with Helen.

  Helen felt as if she was standing outside her own body. This writhing creature couldn’t be her. This was a woman with no modesty, no inhibitions. Her skin glowed with arousal. Her bruised lips parted. Her breasts ached with a sweet yearning to be laved. Hot liquid pooled at her center, inviting. No, this must be a fantasy.

  But Rafe wasn’t an illusion. No, the man standing above her, gazing at her like the answer to his dreams, was flesh and bone and pure turned-on male. She saw his desire for her. Not just in his erection, but in the fire of his blue eyes, his heaving chest, and his fists, which kept clenching and unclenching.

  I have the power to do this to him. She was delighted. She didn’t understand any of the sexual force that wrapped itself about them, but, for once in her life, she didn’t care about explanations.

  Reaching up her arms, she drew him down to her. She reveled in the delicious agony of his crisp chest hairs abrading her sensitized breasts, the nip of his teeth again the curve of her shoulder, the intrusion of his thigh between her legs. She wanted to isolate each sensation, to savor each nuance, but everything was happening too quickly. One caress blended into another. Pleasures like none she’d ever experienced before slingshotted all over her body, wherever he touched.

  It was too much, and not nearly enough.

  “I want you so much,” he whispered as he brushed her hair off her face and took one earlobe between his teeth, tugging.

  “Then take me,” she started to say, but his tongue was doing erotic things to the inner whorls of her ear. The wet tip traced its path, then plunged in as far as it could go. Over and over, he repeated the pattern. Ear sex, Helen thought, and would have giggled if her body weren’t responding to the carnal rhythm. Oh, my! Without thinking, she parted her legs and moved against his thigh. “I want . . .” she mewled.

  “I know, sweetheart. Soon,” Rafe promised and propped himself on one elbow, admiring her body.

  She turned her face away, suddenly ill-at-ease, having him see how much she craved his sex. He tipped her chin back, forcing her to look at him. “Don’t turn away, Helen. Show me what excites you.”

  “Everything excites me, you fool.”

  He grinned. “Really? Like this?” His fingertips traced a circular pattern around one breast, getting closer and closer to the peak. When he finally strummed it back and forth with a thumb, she bowed her back and keened with want.

  “What?”

  “It’s . . . not . . . enough,” she ground out.

  A glint of understanding flashed in his eyes and he lowered his head. He laved the nipple with his tongue till it was wet, then began to suckle in earnest. Soft at first, then harder, and faster. Her breasts swelled and throbbed with every excruciating draw of his mouth. And each pull on her nipple brought an echoing thrum between her legs.

  He lifted his head once to study the breast he’d been ministering to and she hissed, “Don’t you dare stop.”

  With a husky male sound of satisfaction, he answered, “Not on your life!” and attended to the other breast, flicking it with his tongue, grazing it with his teeth, then suckling deep.

  “Oh . . . oh . . . oh, yes!”

  Meanwhile, his hand moved lower, over her flat stomach. His fingers parted her, exploring her slickness, finding the swollen treasure. She screamed when he touched her there.

  He jerked back. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” She felt mortified at the extent of her arousal.

  “Then what?”

  “I want you too much,” she admitted.

  His smile was boyishly triumphant as he reached for one of the condoms. “Oh, Helen, you could never want me too much. And, believe me, it’s not half as much as I want you.”

  Fumbling with the packet, his nervous fingers didn’t seem to work properly. In the end, he ripped it open with his teeth and smoothed it on with one hand. Rolling over between her legs, he apologized, “I’m sorry. I can’t wait longer.”

  “Sorry?” she gasped at the first feel of his hardness against her. “Any longer and I’m going to go up in smoke.”

  He tried to laugh but it came out strangled. Placing both palms under her buttocks, he arched her and began to ease inside her tightness. To her shame, he’d barely entered when her body convulsed around him in wave after wav
e of an involuntary climax.

  She started to cry.

  “Shhh,” he said, “I love the way you come. Don’t be embarrassed.”

  “Too soon,” she choked out.

  “Do you think so?” Supporting himself on extended arms, he pressed himself deeper and deeper until he was fully imbedded.

  She stopped crying and blinked up at him. Incredible!

  He filled her, impaled her, then seemed to grow even wider as her inner folds shifted to conform to his size. He was gritting his teeth with restraint. Veins stood out on his muscled arms. He seemed to have trouble breathing.

  The first time he pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in, she thought her eyes must be bouncing in her head with the violent pleasure that rocked her.

  The second time, she was ready. She wasn’t going to be shocked this time. She braced her feet on the ground and elevated her hips to meet his stroke.

  A futile effort. Despite her resistance, skyrockets exploded in that fluttering heart of hers, setting her afire. By now, her eyes were probably circling behind her eyelids like one of those slot machines with fruit. Cherries and pineapples and oranges and . . .

  “Don’t fight it,” Rafe coaxed.

  She tried to tell him she was trying, but there was fruit salad dancing in her head.

  She lost count of Rafe’s strokes. Her head rolled from side to side in the throes of mindless passion. She thrashed and pleaded. She thought she might have touched her own pulsing breasts one time, or maybe she’d guided his hands to her. She wasn’t sure.

  Rafe was in no better condition. His eyes were closed, the dark lashes forming perfect black fans against his flushed skin. Harsh breaths escaped his parted lips. Rearing his shoulders and neck back, he strained toward fulfillment.

  And each time he thrust into her, his pubic bone pressed that engorged knot of arousal in her wet folds, bringing her higher and higher toward a keening, spiraling cataclysm of sensation.

  She spread her legs wider and arched like a bow, then surrendered to the waves of ecstasy that shook her body. Every nerve ending in her body exploded into a splintering orgasm. Spasm after spasm grasped Rafe’s hardness.

  With a masculine growl, Rafe, too, gave in to his climax. Pumping hard, he gave one last thrust, then jerked inside her with reflexive tremors.

  They both must have passed out for a few seconds because, when Helen came to, Rafe lay heavily on her. Their hearts beat a rapid counterpoint against each other, gradually slowing down to a normal rate.

  Finally, Rafe raised his head. She feared he might laugh, or make a flip remark about how good they were together. Maybe even say something about her clipboard.

  Instead, he gazed at her seriously, in wonder.

  “I think I love you,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “God help me, but I think I love you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tongue erections? C’mon! Really? . . .

  Rafe looked down at Helen, her big brown eyes gazing up at him, doelike, with shock. “Rafe, I don’t know what—”

  “Shhh,” he said, pressing his fingers to her lips. He was already regretting his hasty confession. “I just wanted you to know how special this was to me. I’m not asking you to reciprocate, so don’t get yourself bent out of shape. Hell, it was probably just a line.”

  He replaced his fingertips with his mouth and brushed his lips across hers. God, he loved kissing her.

  She bit his bottom lip.

  “Ouch!” he exclaimed. Sitting up, he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, checking for blood. There wasn’t any, but there could have been. “Why’d you do that?”

  “Was it?” She scrambled to her knees and shoved him in the chest angrily.

  He nearly fell into the fire, especially since his eyes were riveted on her swaying breasts. “Are you nuts? Was it what?”

  “A line? Was it a line?”

  He started to smile.

  “Don’t you dare smirk.” She stood, somehow managing to wrap one of the blankets protectively around her naked body in the process. It was a feminine knack he’d never been able to figure out. All women had it. Probably could be traced back to Roman toga days. Yeah, he could see it now. A goddess screwing a centurion until his forehead vine withered, then feeling the need to cover herself modestly with a sheet afterward.

  “I wasn’t smirking,” he declared with a smirk, lying back down on the remaining blanket. Resting his head on arms folded under his neck, he watched as she moved to the woodpile, sulking. He really liked watching Helen move. He wondered if her nipples were still hard.

  And those red curls of her . . . Damn, everything had happened so quickly, he hadn’t had time to really explore there. But he had lots of time now. A sudden thought occurred to him. Did I say “explore.” Oh, yeah, Marco Polo, eat your heart out. He planned to explore every latitude and longitude of her hemispheres. North Pole. South Pole. The Equator.

  “You are so disgusting,” she said, glaring at him as if she could read his mind. With a snarl, she picked up a small log and threw it onto the dying fire. Sparks flew everywhere. One almost hit him in a delicate spot—real close to his Equator. He glanced over to see if she’d noticed.

  She had, and she didn’t appear too concerned, either.

  Women! Go figure!

  “No, Helen, it wasn’t a line,” he conceded, deciding he’d teased her enough. “I’ve never said those words before . . . to any woman.” And you can be sure I won’t be so careless again.

  “You haven’t?”

  He looked up. Oh, great! The doe eyes again. “Listen, forget I ever said it. Pretend that—”

  “Forget? Forget?” she shrieked. “Women don’t forget things like that.”

  Right! “Then don’t blow it up all out of proportion. It’s not like I’m proposing marriage or anything. Picket fences and babies weren’t my style before, and they aren’t now.”

  Helen flinched. “I never said I wanted to marry you,” she said in a small voice, raising her chin haughtily.

  Damn, he couldn’t seem to say the right thing. And now he’d managed to insult her, too. But his loose tongue was on a roll. “Good. Because marriage is a nonnegotiable item.”

  The look she gave him could have peeled bark off a redwood. “Is that lawyer talk, or—”

  “Helen, let’s start over.” Rafe sat up and raked the fingers of both hands through his hair. “This is ridic—”

  “Or is it scared-to-the-bone-of-commitment man talk?”

  “Damn straight.”

  “Which one?”

  “Both.”

  “Hah! Cluck-cluck.”

  “Are you saying I’m a chicken?”

  She swept him with a telling assessment that lingered on his lower anatomy. “You do everything but cock-a-doodle-do.”

  A grin crept over his lips, but he stopped it abruptly when he saw her drop down into a cross-legged position. Oh, no! “What?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I’m going to meditate.”

  She’s going to ooohm? Now? I knew things were going too smoothly. He groaned. “Ah, Helen, c’mon back over here. No meditating now. Let’s make love again. I’m a bumbling idiot, but I’ll make it up to you.”

  “I’m too upset. I need to think—to find my center.”

  “Baby, I’ve been to your center and it’s just fine. Take my word for it.”

  Her face turned a delicious shade of pink but she refused to rise to his bait this time. Instead, she launched into a full-fledged chant. “Ooohm, ooohm, ooohm, ooohm. . . .”

  “At least you could take off that blanket,” he grumbled. “If you’re gonna give me a headache, I should be compensated with a little peek at your nipples.”

  “Ooohm, ooohm, ooohm, ooohm. . . .” Even though she was facing him across the fire, she stared straight ahead, her eyes blank.

  That really irritated him. He didn’t like the fact that she could go from red-hot sex to cool indifference in such a short time.
Especially when his body was still in a fever. Okay, two could play this game.

  “Ooohm, ooohm, ooohm, ooohm. . . .”

  He shifted himself into that hippie-dippie lotus position, which wasn’t too easy. His knees cracked and his legs didn’t want to fold like a pretzel. At last, after a few swear words and some straining thigh muscles, he succeeded and faced her over the flames.

  She was gaping at him in astonishment, her concentration broken. Good!

  “What are you doing?”

  “Meditating. Finding my center.” He looked down, then back at her. “It’s still there,” he informed her with a wink.

  She tsked prissily and resumed her ooohming. He joined in, much to her chagrin.

  “Aaahm, aaahm, aaahm, aaahm, . . .” he hummed, deliberately misspeaking her refrains, just to annoy her.

  “Ooohm, ooohm, ooohm, ooohm, . . .” she said, but he could tell he’d succeeded. She was annoyed.

  “Aaahm, aaahm, aaahm, aaahm, . . .” he continued for a really long, boring time. About a minute. “This is so-o-o soothing, Helen,” he lied. “We should do this more often.”

  “Ooohm, ooohm, ooohm, ooohm. . . .” She was staring through him, as if she was in a trance.

  He couldn’t have that. He decided to go for variety in the tempo. When she ooohmed, he interjected an aaahm. “Oooohm, aaahm, ooohm, aaahm, ooohm, aaahm . . .”

  “Would you stop that?” she snapped.

  “Why? Am I breaking your karma?”

  “No. You just sound stupid.” Then she tuned him out again, turning on her zombie face. “Ooohm, ooohm, ooohm . . .”

  He was tired of meditating. He wanted to explore. “How ’bout we do forms now? Naked forms. Yeah, I think I could manage those.”

  She didn’t even break an ooohm. In fact, she pretended she hadn’t heard him. Maybe she hadn’t. Maybe he needed a bigger shock to her senses.

  “So, Prissy, did I ever tell you I can make my tongue have an erection?”

  He heard her sharp intake of air before her jaw dropped in amazement. No more ooohms now.

  “You are pathetic.”

  “Yeah.” He grinned.

  “You lie.”