Big Guns Out of Uniform

  Delia knew at once where he was headed. "No, Nick!" she cried. "No! Don't do it!"

  But he did, pausing just long enough to toe off his sneakers and shuck his jeans. Delia was already running when Nick hit the water with a splash.

  Delia dashed to the edge of the pool and peered over the edge. Nick was floating on his back, his chambray shirt billowing about him in the water, his cotton briefs snug, and now almost flat, across the groin.

  "Well, that problem's solved," he said, wiping his plastered hair off his face. "This shit's so cold, I'll never see my dick again."

  "Oh, man, I can not believe you just did that," said Delia, falling to her knees by the water. "Is this thing heated?"

  "Barely," said Nick, rolling into a dog paddle. "That's the whole idea, sugar."

  "Sorry to hear that," said Delia, standing up and dropping her shorts. She hit the water gracelessly, splashing water over Nick. The cold shocked her body and sucked the wind from her lungs. Delia came up gasping. "Oh, shit! This is f-f-freezing!"

  Nick was already laughing. "What did you jump in for?"

  Delia pushed the sopping hair from her eyes. "It seemed only fair," she said, paddling toward him. The water wasn't deep, thank God. Nick caught her by the waist and pulled her close. Delia was already shivering.

  Nick laughed again and kissed her nose. "You're still wearing your Keds, you idiot."

  "Oh, Nick," she said, setting her forehead against the top of his shoulder. "Why did you do that?"

  Nick shook his head. "Had to do something," he said. Delia could hear the words rumbling in his chest. "Come on, let's get out of here and into the hot tub."

  Turning, he planted his hands on the edge of the pool, hefted himself smoothly up, then hauled her out like a sopping dishcloth. They were a comical pair, thought Delia, dripping on the edge of Nick's pool. Her sweatshirt and panties clung to her body. Nick still wore his socks and briefs, and his shirt was plastered to his chest. But beneath his briefs, Delia could still make out the generous shape of his penis. No hiding that, no siree.

  "Delia, darlin'," said Nick. "D'you know you're staring at my cock again?"

  Delia jerked her head up and blushed.

  "Gotcha," he said, grinning. "Last one in's a rotten egg."

  Nick dashed toward the hot tub and shoved off the cover. Delia followed, kicking off her Keds and following him in. The scalding water surged around her knees as she went down the steps. Nick floated against the wall and pulled Delia to him, her back to his chest.

  "I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, hitching his chin over her shoulder. "I'm sorry I did that. I lost my mind."

  Delia turned in his arms. After the chill of Nick's pool, the hot tub was incredibly soothing. "Oh, Nick, I feel just awful," she said, unable to look him in the eyes.

  Nick slid a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. His eyes were sober, reluctant. "Hey, I started it," he said. "I just wasn't thinking, you know? But I could have gotten you pregnant. Or something a lot worse than that, for all you know."

  But it was the pregnancy notion that had shocked him, at least in part. Delia could see the concern in his eyes. "Nick, listen to me, I won't get pregnant. It's not that time. But the other thing, God, you're right. We both lost control. But I want to trust you. It's naive, I know, coming from someone like me."

  Stubbornly Nick shook his head. "But do you trust the woman I screwed last Wednesday? Or the guy she'd been with the week before?"

  Delia stared at him, her eyes wide.

  "Gotcha," said Nick again. "There wasn't anyone last Wednesday. Or last month. Hell, maybe not even last year. After making love to you, I can't remember having any other women."

  "Liar," said Delia softly.

  Nick chuckled and pulled her close again. "Good point, darlin'," he said. "I might be a liar. See, you don't know, do you?"

  Delia smiled a little weakly. "Oh, I understand," she said softly. "A little too well, maybe. And all I can say is that this stuff is a lot easier to deal with on a radio talk show."

  "Yeah, there, you're the intellectual professor," murmured Nick, his eyes drifting over her. "Here, you're a very sensual woman, driven by your needs just like the rest of us."

  "You're right," she whispered, letting herself sag against him. She'd just taken one hell of a risk, and she of all people ought to know better. Next time, she swore, they would be careful. And she was already hoping there was a next time. "God, Nick, do you know how good you are?" she asked as the hot water swirled around them.

  Nick touched her lightly on the cheek. "Delia, baby, that wasn't good," he whispered. "That was pathetic. I screwed you in broad daylight on the hood of a broken-down '68 Triumph, and did a damned sorry job of it."

  Delia laughed. "So I should have held out for a Ferrari?"

  Laughing, Nick slid one hand around to cup her behind. "Stay with me, Delia," he said, dropping his voice an octave. "Let me show you what really fine sex is. Let me teach you what a passionate creature you are. Just give in to me tonight. And I swear, I'll do a better job."

  Delia closed her eyes and laid her head against his chest. She was afraid--afraid it really might get better. "Oh, Nick," she whispered. "You scare me a little."

  She felt him nuzzle the top of her head. "I won't hurt you, darlin'," he reassured her. "Look, why don't you go inside and start warming up my bed? And as soon as I get back, I'll handcuff you to the headboard and give you a proper loving."

  Somehow, the handcuff remark didn't even phase her. "You're leaving?"

  "Off to Kroger's," he said, giving her rump a good squeeze. "To pick up a couple of steaks, some wine, and a dozen condoms."

  Delia looked up at him. "A dozen?" she squeaked.

  Nick winked at her. "Don't fret, sugar," he said. "I can get more tomorrow."

  Chapter Five

  Tomorrow, he had said.

  So maybe this wasn't a one-night stand? Delia pondered that possibility as she watched Nick back his black pickup out of his drive and roar off in the direction of the local strip mall. Suddenly she wasn't at all sure how she felt about continuing to have sex with him. Her heart was still tripping dangerously, and Nick Woodruff just didn't look like a long-term bet.

  Well, did she look long-term? No, probably not. She was too career-driven. Too afraid of failure to slow down. Admittedly, that had been a part of what had ruined her marriage. But Nick had made it plain he wanted sex, not a relationship. What he offered her was pure, physical satisfaction. The chance to explore her more carnal side--with someone who was really, really good at it. The man had not been bragging.

  Feeling a little lost, Delia stood in the middle of Nick's bedroom, wearing nothing but one of his chambray work shirts. He'd thrown all their clothes in the dryer and tucked Delia into his bed before heading off to Kroger. But Delia had climbed out at once, too restless to lie still. Now, in her bare feet, she roamed through the empty house. Empty save for Nick's cats, Click and Clack.

  Well, at least Nick listened to plenty of public radio, she mused, bending down to scratch Click under the chin. The big gray tabbies were Tiger Lily's kittens, Nick had said proudly. After finding them in his Triumph, he'd laid claim, and Bud had been forced to concede. Click was now twirling around Delia's ankles and purring his approval, while his brother stretched out in Nick's office window, soaking up what was left of the afternoon sun. Somewhere farther down the hall, she could hear the dryer rumbling, the button on Nick's Levi's making a rhythmic stritch-clack-scritch as it tumbled.

  Nick's house was open and spacious, the dining room, living room, and kitchen defined primarily by wide arches and thick Oriental rugs. He had furnished his home simply, in earth-toned leather and tweedy fabrics. His small, neat office opened off the kitchen, its bay window fitted with a cushion which Clack was using to good effect. A fieldstone fireplace dominated the living room. The iron grate looked well used, and the hearth was surrounded by an antique fender, at least eight inches high, its brass buffed to a mir
ror-like sheen.

  All the floors were made of wide oak planks, stained brown and polished clean, but without any glossy finish. Delia wandered into the kitchen. Compared to the sterile steel and granite in her kitchen, Nick's kitchen looked spartan but functional. Nice, actually. And amazingly clean. In fact, everything about Nick seemed clean and simple. Uncomplicated. Straightforward. Like his approach to sex.

  Click had followed her into the kitchen. He rose upon his hind legs now and rubbed his head against the side of her knee. Delia looked down to see two empty bowls on a Garfield place mat, right by the refrigerator. On top of the fridge sat a bag of cat food. Automatically Delia reached for it and filled both bowls.

  How odd, she thought, watching Click began to nibble. She'd never had a cat, or any other sort of pet. Her mother had claimed to be allergic. Neville had been too fastidious. How comforting it seemed to have them there, just hanging around. Intrigued, Delia pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down to watch. When Click finished eating, he began to methodically lick his paws and wash his face. Delia found it strangely soothing to watch. And she was still watching when Nick came through the back door carrying two bulging grocery bags.

  "You're back," she said, leaping out of the chair. "I fed your cat. Is that okay?"

  "Hey, they rule," said Nick, bending to give her a swift, smacking kiss. Then, in what looked like one smooth motion, he dropped one bag on the kitchen island, shoved the other into the fridge, and scooped her up in his arms.

  "Now it's my turn," he said, and carried her into the bedroom. "And darlin', when I'm done, I promise you won't be able to speak in complete sentences."

  DELIA LAY IN the middle of Nick's bed, watching as he undressed. Outside, the sun was sinking in a brilliant magenta sky, the last rays of pink slanting through the window blinds, warming Nick's skin. "Delia," he said, letting his shirt drop onto the floor. "You sure do look good in my bed."

  Her mouth dry, Delia watched as his clever fingers made short work of his button, then grabbed the zipper tab. Swiftly he jerked it open, then shoved both jeans and briefs down his thighs. His penis sprang free, already hard and impossibly large. Delia made a little choking sound in the back of her throat.

  Nick looked up, grinning, as he kicked his brown Docksiders off with the jeans. "Don't worry, darlin'," he said. "It still fits."

  He came toward the bed, sat down on the edge, and fished through his pants pockets, withdrawing a package of condoms and a small bottle of lubricant. Whoo boy, thought Delia, getting a really good look for the first time. Nick was tanned from his buttocks all the way up, and along the nape of his neck, his hair was razored off straight and neat, in an almost military fashion. His waist was narrow above his perfect ass, and his back looked broad and strong.

  The chest was fine, too, she noticed when he turned toward her. Smoothly he rolled onto the bed, propped himself up beside her on one elbow, and began to undo the buttons on her shirt. Delia just lay there, savoring the look of him, and the feel of his heavy hand working its way down her body.

  Nick tried to keep his hand from shaking as he folded back the fabric that shielded Delia's breasts. She looked so small and fragile in his shirt, which was about three times too big for her. Carefully he cupped her left breast in his hand, weighing it carefully. "So beautiful," he murmured gruffly. "So small and perfect, Delia."

  He reached back to his night table and picked up the little bottle of lubricant he'd bought at the drugstore, flipping the cap open with his thumb. "I warmed it in my pocket," he said, drizzling just a little onto his fingertips. "I don't want anything cold touching your body tonight."

  Then, lightly, he brushed his fingers across her left nipple, watching as it pebbled invitingly, begging him to suck and to bite. Christ, what a vision. Delia was eager, hot, and ready. But he wanted to delay. To tease. He only prayed he could hold off. She'd driven him nearly insane on top of the Triumph this afternoon, and only raw fear had kept him from pumping her full of his seed, and perhaps claiming her forever. God, what a close call. For both of them.

  Shaking off the worry, Nick turned his attention to Delia's other breast, lightly rubbing the lubricant into her soft flesh. Beneath his hand, Delia moaned and closed her eyes, writhing just a little on the bed. Her hands came up, as if pleading for something, then her arms went limp, and her hands fell back into the pillows beside her head.

  Surrender, he thought. Sweet surrender.

  The sharp, exotic tang of patchouli and citrus filled his nostrils. But underlying the scent of the lubricant was the sweet smell of Delia's skin. He'd first noticed it when he'd pushed her back onto the hood of his car and shoved up her sweatshirt. It was like Dove soap, mingled with a warm, feminine fragrance that was uniquely Delia's.

  Her body was so responsive, so exciting. Nick had to force himself to go slow, to savor her. How many times would Delia consent to share his bed like this? A man couldn't take such good fortune for granted. Gently he dotted the lubricant down her breastbone, then lower still. He watched, intrigued by her responsiveness as Delia writhed again, her hands tightening into fists, her back arching as if to beg for his touch.

  "Nick?" Her voice was thready and uncertain.

  Nick leaned into her and set his lips against her ear. "Less can be more, sweetheart," he said, lightly flicking the tip of his tongue around the perfect, pink shell of her ear.

  Delia's body flexed again. "But more is what I want," she said thickly.

  Nick chuckled softly. "Just feel for a bit, darlin'," he whispered. "Don't rush. Let me touch you. Let me heighten that ache."

  Delia's eyes held his, ice-blue and full of need. "I want it all now. I want you inside me again. Please, Nick."

  Impatient. He liked that. "Not now, baby," he crooned to her. "Not yet. I want to touch and taste you first. I want to make you beg just a little. And then I want to watch you touch yourself--"

  "Umm," moaned Delia. "And I want to touch you, Nick. Teach me. Show me what you like."

  Nick lowered his mouth to her right breast, drew the tip between his teeth, and gently nipped her. "I want you on your knees sucking my cock, baby," he growled. "That's one thing I like. Will you do that for me?"

  Delia swallowed hard, the muscles of her throat working beautifully. "Anything," she whispered, her gaze going eagerly to his penis. "Anything for you, Nick. Just make love to me again."

  That hungry look in her eyes almost broke him. "Oh, I will," he rasped.

  Looking mesmerized, Delia watched his hand slide over her body. Then suddenly she shuddered a little and closed her eyes again, allowing her head to fall back.

  Nick studied her for a moment. It wasn't the first time she'd closed her eyes that way, almost as if she feared sensory overload. As if she had to shut out some of her senses, or explode. He was intrigued. Delia was amazingly responsive to his touch. On a whim, he got up and crossed the room to his closet.

  Delia sat up a little when the door slid open. Nick reached inside and grabbed a fistful of neckties, then returned to her side. "I want to blindfold you, Delia," he rasped. "Will you let me? Will you trust me?"

  Delia looked a little uncertain. "Are you going to tie me up?"

  Nick smiled and slowly shook his head. "Not unless you want me to," he answered honestly. "I just want to slow down your responses, restrain you a little, and heighten your senses."

  "That sounds...intriguing."

  Nick leaned forward and drew his tongue along the sweet curve of her jaw. "And I want you to plead for it just a little, Delia," he whispered against her throat. "Stroke the old male ego. Beg me--eventually."

  Delia nodded weakly. "O-okay..."

  Nick sat up again and drew his favorite, a dark red Ralph Lauren, from the slithering pile of silk and wool. Her eyes were round now. He flashed her a deliberately wicked grin. "Now, be a good girl for me, Delia," he said, deliberately trailing the silk over her milk-white thigh. "Be real quiet, darlin', and hold just as still as you can. That's our little game, o
kay?"

  Delia shivered. "Yes. Okay."

  Nick drew the red silk around one fist, and snapped it taut in the other hand. "Now, don't let me make you scream, Delia," he warned, reaching for her. "Make me work for it first."

  Gently he positioned the tie just below the soft arch of Delia's brows and tied it just tight enough for his purposes, then followed with a second tie, just a little lower. Then he sat back on his haunches, licked one finger, and lightly brushed her nipple with it.

  "Aaah," moaned Delia, arching a good three inches off the bed.

  Satisfied, Nick stroked her other breast, and got the same sensual response.

  "Oh, Delia, darlin', you're hot enough to melt paint," he whispered in his silkiest voice. "This is too easy, baby. Don't let old Nick make you beg for it."

  Delia nodded, her soft black curls scrubbing his pillow. "I--I won't, then," she said, following his lead. "I--I'll make you beg for it."

  Methodically, then, Nick stroked her breasts and her belly with the tip of his finger, sometimes wetting it first, sometimes trailing it lightly through the nest of curls which hid her clitoris, but never letting her guess where the next touch would occur. Soon he could feel the faint heat and dampness between her legs.

  He eased his next stroke a little deeper, and Delia couldn't hold out. Soon she was punctuating the falling dusk with her little cries of pleasure and surprise, until eventually, her whole body was shivering, her pelvis tilting up invitingly.

  "Now, Nick," she finally rasped. "I can't--I can't--wait. Do it now."

  "No, no, no," he whispered. "Be good, sugar. Be a good and patient girl."

  Delia gasped for breath. "I'll try," she said faintly. "But it's hard, Nick."

  "Oh, darlin', you don't know what hard is," he whispered. "But you keep wiggling around on that bed, and you're gonna get hard right up to the hilt."

  "So do it, Nick," she begged. "Give it to me now. I'm bad. I can't wait. Do it now."

  Then, fascinated by the raw lust in her voice, Nick picked up another tie, this one made of soft wool, and stroked just the tip of it down her belly. Restlessly she shifted on the mattress. His blue shirt was snarled underneath her now. "Nick," she groaned. "Please. Please."