A full body shiver rippled over her.
He pulled on the elastic waistband of her bikini briefs, tugging them down to her ankles. After she stepped out of them, along with her shoes, he urged, “Spread your legs a little bit, honey.”
She hesitated, then did as he asked.
Now he skimmed his fingertips over her high arches, grazing the soft skin of her inner ankle, then her inner calves, her knees, and the tops of her thighs. But then he stopped and traced a fingertip over the crease of her buttocks, the small of her back, and her spine all the way to her nape.
“Aaaaaahhhh!” she moaned, and her legs started to buckle.
Quickly he stood and held her back against him, one arm around her waist, the other free to do… other things. Looking down over her shoulder, he stared at her begging-to-be-sucked breasts and the thatch of red curls below. “You remind me of one of those Vargas pinup paintings that used to be in old Playboy magazines.”
“You’re crazy. Those paintings depicted women with almost too-perfect bodies.”
“Precisely,” he said and kissed the curve of her neck. She still had her hands raised to her head. “Like these,” he murmured, cupping her breasts from underneath, using the rough pads of his thumbs to strum the nipples into even greater hardness.
“Oh. My. God!” She dropped her hands and rested her head back on his shoulder, pressing her breasts into his hands. He could feel the nipples against his palms. “Don’t you dare stop,” she gasped out.
While he played with her breasts, he made love to her ear, whispering erotic promises of everything he wanted to do to her, making the whorls and center of her ear moist before stabbing it rhythmically with the point of his tongue.
He could tell that she was approaching her first climax by the way her body went rigid. She tried to shove his hands off her breasts and move out of his embrace. “Stop… wait… I need to… I can’t concentrate, dammit… too many things at once.”
Instead of stopping, he drew her earlobe into his mouth and plucked at her nipples, over and over.
She began to keen. “Oh… oh… oh.” He placed the fingertips of one hand at the pulse in her neck and the other hand over her flat stomach. The hard ridge under his fly was nestled against the crease of her buttocks. Despite the fabric, when he thrust once, then again, he felt heaven, and she must have felt it, too, because her lower body jerked.
“Let it come, sweetheart,” he whispered.
And she did, head thrown back, breasts thrust forward, with a long shudder that went on and on and on.
When she started to collapse, he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. Placing her carefully on the bed, he noted her glazed eyes and parted lips.
She stared back at him, at first unfocused, but then her gaze went downward to his still-unshucked jeans. He hadn’t even kissed her yet, and he was as turned on as he’d ever been.
When she arched her brows at the prominent bulge at his crotch, he shrugged and grinned.
“Well, sweetheart, that was nice for an appetizer.”
Chapter Twelve
Oops, she did it again…
Grace lay splayed out on the bed staring up at Angel. She should have been embarrassed by her nudity, but her body was still humming in post-orgasm mode, where modesty was the last thing on her mind.
“That’s for sure it was only an appetizer,” she said. “I haven’t had sex in two years, and if I’m going to ruin a good friendship, I want the real deal for my main meal.”
“Meaning?”
“Puh-leeze! You know exactly what I mean.” She glanced pointedly at the stack of foil packets on the bedside table. “And, by the way, a bit of an optimist, aren’t you?” She pretended to be mentally counting the number of condoms. There were ten.
He smiled.
“Stop smirking.”
“That’s not a smirk. I’m just happy. I finally have you where I want you after all these years.” He kept surveying her body like she was the present under his personal Christmas tree.
“Finally? That is such a crock. This I-want-you-Grace-baby business is a new idea of yours. Probably midlife crisis or a testosterone-overflow situation.”
“I’m not that old, and my testosterone levels are fine, thank you very much.”
“Take off your pants.”
“I like a woman who knows her mind.”
“Take them off real slow,” she said, repeating his earlier order to her. Propping herself up on her elbows, she prepared to watch.
The top snap was already undone. He unzipped his fly, just an inch or two, then walked over to a wall switch that turned on dim lights. Then he fiddled with the dials on the bedroom speaker for the houseboat music system. Barry White began to wail out a hokey love song.
“Angel,” she said in a sudden panic.
“Don’t worry, Grace. It’s not my CD. It was here when I moved in. No hidden messages. I’ll change it.” His back was still to her, and she couldn’t help but notice how stiff it had gone, the muscles bunching with tension.
She had hurt him, Grace realized, and was embarrassed by her overreaction. “That’s all right. I like Barry White.” But her demur came too late.
Another song by another artist came on. More mournful love lyrics. They both burst out with laughter; this was even worse than the first one.
But then her attention was diverted as she noticed that Angel’s jeans had slipped down almost to his butt. He’d been telling the truth back at the church hall. He wore no underwear.
He changed the CD anyway to Coldplay, then turned. No longer smiling, he walked toward the side of the bed. Holding her gaze, his eyes a smoldering dark chocolate, almost black velvet, his wide lips parted, he told her, “Watch.”
Slowly, he unzipped his jeans the rest of the way, then shimmied them down over lean hips, a flat, ropey-muscled belly, a blue vein-popping erection, and long, long legs, ’til they pooled on the carpeted floor. Without glancing down, he kicked them aside, then stood, legs slightly apart, waiting. For what? Her approval?
“Well, well, well, aren’t you the big boy? I don’t see any piercings, though. What happened to the bolt you had in that Playgirl picture?”
“It was hell going through metal detectors at airports.”
She rolled over on her side, to the edge of the mattress, and reached out with one hand to touch him.
He flinched, but then he let her cup his balls, which were lightly furred and heavy. When she traced a fingertip down his penis from base to head with its drip of pre-come, he took her hand in his and showed her the grasp and motion he liked. He allowed that for only a moment before he groaned and moved onto the bed, lifting her to the middle and coming up over her. Taking care to position himself, he nestled his erection between her thighs, and his belly pressed her down.
“There are so many things I want to do to you,” he murmured against her lips. “But first…”
He kissed her.
And kissed her.
And kissed her some more ’til she was a moaning, melted mass of yearning.
He licked her lips. He nipped her bottom lip, then sucked it into his mouth. He shaped her lips with his ’til he got the perfect fit, then alternately pressed and drew on her. The kisses started gentle and seeking, then turned wet and voracious. His tongue entered her mouth, deep, and coaxed hers into his. He opened his mouth wide over hers, as if so hungry he could eat her whole.
Meanwhile, her arms were wrapped around his shoulders. Sometimes her hands caressed his back, sometimes tunneled into his short hair, holding his head in place. At one point, fighting the waves of passion riding over her, she tried for a bit of sanity. “Just because I’m behaving like this doesn’t mean I’m going to marry you.”
“Who asked?” Angel replied, biting her on the shoulder.
“Ouch! Well, just so you know. It’s merely sex, and—”
“Shut up, Grace.”
Sliding downward, he gave his full attention to her breasts. “Yo
u’re really sensitive here, aren’t you, honey? There aren’t many women who can climax just from having their breasts fondled.”
“That and the ear sex,” she gasped out, because he was already massaging them with big sweeping circles of his rough palms. While he flicked both nipples with his middle fingers, he asked thickly. “Do you taste as good as you look?” Before she could answer, he was sucking deeply on her, drawing the full areola into his mouth, then pulling out slowly on a suctioning clasp ’til just her nipple was between his teeth and he was vibrating it with the tip of his tongue. Over and over. So intense was the pleasure she would have fainted if she weren’t already lying down. When she thought she could bear no more and was begging him to stop, he moved to the other breast, but not before eying with satisfaction the wet, rosy distension he had created.
He was right about her nipples being sensitive, though, because every tug of rhythmic suckling created an answering tug between her legs.
“Tell me what you like, Gracie,” he husked out. His eyes were slumberous with desire and his mouth swollen from his kisses and deep sucking.
“Everything… everything you’re doing.”
“This?” He pinched her nipples lightly.
“Oh, yes!”
“This?” He slid farther down her body, kissing a line from her breast bone to her navel, where he proceeded to repeatedly stab his tongue inside.
She moaned in answer and spread her legs wider, wanting him there, inside her. Taking hold of his arms, she tried to pull him up. “No more… no more foreplay. I want you.”
“Not yet, baby.”
“Please. Oh, God! I can’t stand any more.”
“Sweetheart, you are not taking control of my game.”
She arched her hips up off the bed as he put his mouth to her pubic hairs, rubbing his face back and forth ’til her slick folds opened and welcomed the most intimate, delicious torment of all. “Melted honey,” he murmured. “My own personal honey pot.”
She wanted to tell him that he was no Winnie the Pooh, and she was no bee comb, but all she could say was, “Aaaaahhhh!” The blood drained from her head, her eyes probably rolled back in their sockets, and she bucked up against his open mouth.
Putting his hands under her buttocks, he lifted her and used his shoulders to further spread her thighs. She was totally exposed to his sensual exploration then. And explore he did. He used his tongue like an erotic torture instrument. Licking and further opening her folds. Poking inside her. Stroking and stroking and stroking. Everywhere but where she really wanted him.
“You are so pretty here, Grace, did you know that?”
She made a gurgling noise in response.
“All pink folds with this rose here in the middle. Why do you suppose it’s swelling up like that?” he teased. “It almost seems to be pulsing. Can you feel it?”
She nodded, hardly able to see him through the erotic haze covering her eyes.
“Do you want me to touch you there?” He blew on her to show just where he meant.
And her clitoris did in fact pulse and swell some more.
He kissed it, just a mere brush of his moist lips, and she stiffened at her approaching climax. This was not the way she wanted to come again. Not alone.
“No, no, no! I want… stop… dammit… inside. Nooooo!”
He watched her reaction even as he sucked on the distended bud, slowly, and she was lost. She screamed as the most intense pleasure pounded at her there and throughout her body in wave after wave after wave.
She must have lost consciousness for a moment, because when Angel said thickly, “Open your eyes, Grace,” his face was above hers. He had her knees up to her chest and spread wide. Only then, when he had her full attention, did he enter her with one long, hard thrust.
And her traitorous body began a new round of convulsions, her long-unused inner muscles clenching and unclenching his shaft. He filled her, and all of his penis wasn’t even inside her.
“Take all of me,” he urged in a hoarse whisper
How? she wondered, but then she half sat up, put her hands on his shoulders, and bucked up against him, once, twice, three times ’til she could swear her womb moved and made room for him to slide in even farther.
They were both stunned for a moment.
Sensing that he was pinching her, he waited, soothing her with soft crooning sounds and gentle kisses. Once she relaxed and her inner muscles shifted to accommodate his size, he began long, agonizingly slow strokes in and out of her tight channel.
“You feel like a hot velvet glove with fingers grasping and ungrasping me. How do I feel to you, Gracie?”
“Warm marble. With a pulse,” she replied with a choked laugh.
After that, one unending orgasm roared through her, especially when he moved to short, hard, pounding thrusts that hit her clitoris with his pubic bone each time.
He reared back, the cords in his neck sticking out with tension, and let out a guttural masculine groan. She was shaking all over, unable to stop yet another violent full-body orgasm. Then all was quiet except for their heavy breathing, the music in the background, and her wildly racing heartbeat, which could surely be heard in the silence.
She had never experienced anything like it before. She would have liked to attribute it to the culmination of a celibate lifestyle, but deep down she knew it wasn’t true.
When Angel raised his head and looked down at her, brushing some damp curls off her face, his expression was not hard for her to read. He didn’t need to say the words. He loved her, and what the two of them had just experienced was Angel expressing that love.
The question was: Did Grace love him in return? Was everything she had done a subconscious manifestation of that love?
If she did, this was an even more tragic situation than it had been a year ago when Angel had professed his love. Because there was still no future for them. And now two of them would be hurt. They were digging a hole with no easy exit.
Thankfully, no answers—or digging—were required at this time. Angel rolled over onto his back, taking her with him to lie on her side. He tucked her face into the crook of his neck and placed her arm across his chest.
“That was amazing, Grace,” he said, running a light caress up and down her back.
“Well, it certainly rocked my world,” she replied, going for a lighter note. “Probably happens to you all the time, but not to me.”
“Maybe it was your dormant sex drive kicking in.”
“Maybe.”
“Or something more?”
“Maybe.”
“Did I hurt you?”
“A little. At first. But it was worth it.”
“Good.” He kissed the top of her head.
“How long before we can do it again?” she asked, even as a wide yawn escaped her lips.
He smacked her on the butt.
She nipped his shoulder.
And, amazing sex kitten that she was, she snuggled closer… and fell asleep.
It was going to be a love fest… uh, feast…
Grimly, Angel stood leaning on the rail of the houseboat’s deck as he sipped at a Dixie longneck. It was midnight. Grace had been asleep for an hour. And there were only six or seven hours left of this interlude to go before Grace, sure as sunshine, went back into her stinking friend mode.
After that, Angel was going to let her go. Wasn’t that what all the psychobabble-ists said you had to do if you really loved someone? The only difference was, in letting Grace go, Angel had no delusions that she would boomerang back to him.
He had to stick around until after the housewarming, and he had lots of loose ends to tie up before then, but after that… well, he wasn’t sure. But whatever he decided, it wouldn’t be taking place in redneck heaven Louisiana.
For now, though, he thought on a long sigh, he had a whole lot of lovin’ to pack in a few short hours. Memories that would have to last him a lifetime.
The sex had been great, and he planned on more, bu
t he knew deep down that the intensity of the pleasure had been due to love guiding his every touch. He couldn’t imagine how spectacular it could be if that love were reciprocated.
But that was pathetic, futile, dumbass mental whining on his part. He refused to take the sheen off the golden lovemaking to come.
So, he went back into the houseboat. Put cheese and crackers on a tray, along with two peeled peaches, one cut in slivers and the other in circles minus the pit; small rindless wedges of watermelon, cut in strips; some peeled navel orange sections; and pitted maraschino cherries. Then he poured two plastic stemmed glasses of wine and headed for the bedroom, where he arranged everything on the bedside table.
Grace was still sleeping soundly, flat on her back in the center of the mattress, arms thrown over her head, legs parted. Sated, and very sexy. He recalled reading a magazine article one time by a sexologist—that is what they call those goofy psychologists, isn’t it?—that said you could predict the type of sexual partner a person would be by the way they slept. Front, back, fetal, side, whatever. He was pretty sure Grace’s sleep posture would be deemed hot, hot, hot. He liked to think she was his very own amazing Grace.
He sat down on the edge of the mattress and for a long time studied Grace, trying to figure out just what he loved about her. Oh, she was attractive enough, despite her age and body issues. And he and Grace certainly had the sexual-compatibility thing down pat. Over the years, though, as they’d traveled and played poker together, and later joined the treasure-hunting crew, together, he’d come to respect her caring personality and sense of humor. There wasn’t another woman who could put him in his place with a mere look. Let’s face it, he decided, it’s not any one thing. And I’m a fool to even try to understand.
Time to get down to business. Fun business. Not funny business. Although it could be funny, as well as fun, he supposed. Yep, he was going to prepare a feast for Grace she wouldn’t soon forget, to titillate taste buds she’d never realized she had.