Red-Hot Nights: Daring in the Dark

“My pleasure is—” she stroked the condom over him, her hand warm, with just the right amount of pressure, and he closed his eyes in a moment of ahhhh “—your pleasure.”

So far she’d only just touched him. She tightened her hand and stroked again. His eyes flew open.

“Unless you want the shortest foreplay in the history of man, you don’t need to do that again,” he said, his hoarseness reflecting the strain of not coming.

“I’m ready if you’re ready. I’ve had weeks of dreaming about you. That’s been plenty of foreplay.”

Simon knew a moment of performance anxiety. What if the real him didn’t measure up to the dream lover he’d been for her? And the curious, mystical, magical woman that she was, she obviously saw it in his face.

“Don’t even go there.” She leaned over him and scattered kisses over his chest, laving his male nipples, down his belly. She lapped at his rigid length and took him into her warm, eager mouth. Simon called on every ounce of his self-control not to blast off as she fondled him with her mouth. She released him and he managed to breathe again. Her hair brushed against his belly, the strands teasing against his skin. “Actually tasting you, touching you, smelling you, is so much better than it ever was in my dreams,” she said, her tone as hot as the passion glittering in her eyes.

She fell to her back, spread her legs, and said with a sweet smile, “Now are you going to fuck me or do I have to beg first?”

It sent him totally over the edge when she said that. If he was any hotter, he’d melt.

He positioned himself between her legs and nudged at her with his sheathed tip. “No begging necessary.”

Simon slid into her slowly, totally captured by the expression on her face, heat and pleasure suffusing her features. She felt so good, so right, and as he slid into her inch by inch, she gripped him, as if welcoming him home.

She wrapped her legs around him and hooked her feet behind his thighs. She lunged up to meet him. A few quick thrusts and they’d both be there. He drew a deep, shuddering breath and deliberately slowed them down. They weren’t going for a distance record—they were both wound too tight, they didn’t have a prayer of making it far—but he pulled back slowly until he was almost out of her and then treated them both to a slow reentry. Tawny gasped aloud and pushed into him, sending him plunging.

“You are deliciously wicked, Simon Thackeray.”

Her honeyed Southern drawl wrapping around his name at the same time her honeyed channel wrapped around his cock nearly undid him. It was as if she’d woven some magic around them, bound them together in a union that went beyond the physical. As if she’d opened up a part of herself and invited him into the warmth and light that was more than skin-deep with her.

She was so open, so giving, and he wanted to give in return. He offered as much of himself as he could. He rode her harder and faster. Her head whipped back and forth on the bed, her hands fisted in the comforter and she urged him on until they were both caught up in the throes of a screaming orgasm—literally.

His Tawny was no wilting flower. She was bold and beautiful, and if he’d ever had a moment’s hesitation that he might be standing in for Elliott, she dispelled that particular notion as she panted his name over and over as she shuddered beneath him.

Had she screamed Elliott’s name the same way? Had she thrashed beneath him and arched into him as if she’d die without his touch? He absolutely didn’t need to go there, yet he absolutely couldn’t help himself.

She lay so still beneath him, her eyes closed, that if she hadn’t been breathing heavily he might’ve thought her asleep. A slow smile bloomed on her generous mouth and she opened her eyes.

“That was … incredible … so much better than I ever dreamed it.”

A strange sensation filled him. It took a moment for Simon to recognize it was contentment—utter bloody contentment. He answered her smile with one of his own. He didn’t think he could not smile at this point, it was a totally involuntary reaction.

“Absolutely.” And then because he wanted to share what he felt but had no clue how to say it, he kissed her, slowly, tenderly, an aftermath of passion.

He traced the curve of her side, his fingers molding against the softness of her skin. He had been painfully honest earlier—now that he was touching her he wasn’t sure he could stop. Intellectually he knew skin was skin, an amalgamation of tissue and nerves and cells, but she felt like no other woman beneath his fingertips. He was so absolutely in love with her, loved her so completely, his whole being ached with it.

He lifted his head and looked at her. He dared so much more in the dark. Hiding in the shadows cast by the candlelight, he drank her in. Her hair spread in disarray across the bed, her eyes dark and mysterious, her lips swollen from his kisses, her body relaxed from his lovemaking. Without thought, he ran his fingers along the delicate line of her jaw, breathed in her fragrance. She captured his hand in hers, brought his fingers to her lips and feathered the lightest caress across them.

“Simon …” She hesitated.

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable—” she glanced away “—but I … I’m not sure how to say this.”

His heart, not fully recovered from their sexual calisthenics, began to pound again. “Just say it.”

He was too raw and open to quell the surge of hope that she might profess newfound feelings for him.

“I …we…oh, this is so awkward….”

He could barely breathe. Had she discovered, in the aftermath of making love—and that’s what it’d been for him—deeper feelings for him?

“What, luv?” Endearments had never been a part of his vocabulary. They’d never been given as a child and he’d never cultivated them as an adult, but this one rolled off his tongue.

“I’m sweaty and sticky and I’m afraid I, well, stink. I need a shower.”

Righto. He laughed at himself, at how off the mark he’d been. His brain must’ve still been centered in his willy. God knows, he knew he wasn’t the most lovable guy on the planet. Not even his parents had ever loved him. That wasn’t exactly the heartfelt declaration he’d built himself up for but she was right—they were both slick with sweat and although he might be a fool, he wasn’t fool enough to turn down an opportunity tonight. “Need a back washer?”

7

“COME ON IN. THE WATER’S fine,” Tawny said. She leaned back, welcoming the kiss of cool, smooth porcelain against her back.

“Give me a second.” He strode out of the bathroom.

They might be here through force of circumstance, but it was very romantic with candles bathing the room in soft light and contrasting shadows. She’d placed votives in saucers on the floor around the tub. Nothing quite like being inventive.

The candlelight lent a dreamlike air. But it was more than that. The entire night was surreal. Simon Thackeray was about to climb into a bath with her after they’d just had fantastic sex that had been both tender and explosive. She’d discovered a consideration behind Simon’s reserve she’d never anticipated, a quality that had never been part of her dreams yet had engaged her beyond the mere physical.

Simon returned, his camera slung around his neck. He should’ve looked sort of silly wearing only a camera, but there was nothing remotely silly about Simon naked. Impressive. Sexy. Drool-inducing. Heat flushed her body, regardless of the tepid water surrounding her. Nice—that was such an insipid word—muscular legs, nice package up front, totally nice ass. Wow.

Click.

She laughed. “Did you just take a picture of me ogling you from the bath?”

“Absolutely. Very sexy.”

And there was a bonus to carrying on a conversation with a naked man. When he told you he found something sexy, well, you got visual proof to back up his statement. Simon wasn’t lying—it looked as if he found her very sexy indeed.

“I’m not actually naked in the picture, am I?”

He grinned. “No. At this angle and with the water at that level, you can’t actually see details—which is something of a shame since you possess very nice details.”

“Careful, sir. You’ll make me swoon,” she teased in an exaggerated Southern drawl. Beneath Simon’s sober exterior beat the heart of a flirt, and it was all the more potent because he didn’t flirt indiscriminately the way some men did. She’d never seen this flirtatious side of him, even when she and Elliott had double-dated with him. Elliott. She didn’t remotely want to dedicate a brain cell to Elliott at this moment.

“What do you think will happen when I get in the tub with you, Tawny?”

He was a devil to tease her in that low, suggestive tone.

“Keep talking that way and it’ll be your own fault if the water’s heated up by the time you get here,” she said.

Simon laughed and kept firing off pictures. Tawny had lost her self-consciousness in front of the camera. She simply ignored it and flirted with Simon.

“You’re blowing your chance at cool and refreshing.”