Talking in Your Sleep...

He tipped an imaginary hat and walked away, thankful for an easy escape, and mentally kicking himself for stopping in the first place. Falling back into a run, he headed toward where he’d left Warren’s car parked. He’d just been offered a deal most red-blooded, single men would have seriously considered. Instead of jumping at the opportunity, he was running in the other direction. Insomnia was neutering him.

Twenty minutes later he was driving through Balboa Park, taking a shortcut he’d found over to his neighborhood. Pulling into the driveway, he saw his neighbor, Ms. Talk-Dirty-To-Me, unloading something from her car. He was going to talk to her and deal with at least one of the things keeping him awake at night.

Taking the opportunity, he stopped by the curb near her driveway, got out and jogged up to where she was lifting bags out of the trunk. He checked her out—she had that natural look he liked on a woman, no makeup, pretty reddish-brown hair. A blue business suit disguised curves he could tell were hiding under its severe cut.

Her hair was clipped back tightly in a bun, though a few silky strands teased her neck, curling naughtily. His breath caught a little. What the hell? Was he having naughty-librarian fantasies about his neighbor? He cleared his throat, keeping his voice normal and friendly.

“Hi. Need a hand?”

He winced, hoping the simple question didn’t sound like a pickup line.

Her gaze shot to him and then bolted away—she was working overtime not to make eye contact. Clearly she recognized him, but she was pretending not to. Why was she acting so weird?

“No, thanks.”

“I’m your new neighbor—for a month, anyway.”

“Yes, I know.”

Wow, she was rude. Annoyed, considering it was her nighttime activities that were keeping him awake, he persisted, not willing to be pushed away so easily.

“Here, let me get that one—it looks heavy.”

He reached to get the last paper sack, and she tried to beat him to the punch—the result being a large tear in the bag they both grabbed for, through which several canned items fell to the pavement, one narrowly missing his bare foot.

She was clearly agitated now. “I told you I didn’t need you to do that—now look at what you did. These are all dented!”

He was going to apologize, hoping she found the accident more charming than angering, like something out of a romantic comedy. No such luck. She appeared truly distressed. Was she obsessive-compulsive in some way and couldn’t tolerate dented cans?

“Does it taste different if the can is dented?” he joked, bending to help her pick them up, then stalled when her hand shot upward in a “stop” signal, halting him.

“These were to be donated to people at the local food bank. I don’t want the families receiving them thinking someone would only donate damaged goods.”

Her tone was scathing and Rafe stepped back. He had truly been trying to help. However, she had told him to back off, and he hadn’t.

“I’m sorry. I’ll tell you what, I’ll take these and replace them with new ones. Do you need them tonight?”

She was quiet for a moment, not meeting his eyes as she stood. “No, that’s fine. Thank you. I can get some new ones in the morning.”

“You and your boyfriend do a lot of charity work?” he asked, looking at her hand and not seeing a ring. “I can buy some groceries to contribute to the cause. To make up for being such a klutz.” He tried the charming smile that he’d used at the beach. It didn’t work on this woman. She glared.

“My boyfriend?”

She seemed confused, and that made him question his certainty.

“I assumed you were…involved.” He decided to plunge forth with the conversation, taking the opportunity to address the issue he’d come to talk to her about. “I heard you two talking…you know, last night.”

He put some slight emphasis on the words, trying to make obvious what he was really saying, but not wanting to embarrass her if he could help it. Though he’d like to see how she’d blush, what the effect would be on that pale skin. She shook her head, hitching her armful of bags up a little higher.

“I wasn’t talking to anyone last night.”

“Around two in the morning? It’s why I hoped to catch you, actually. It was kind of loud, and I had a hard time sleeping. My bedroom window is right across from yours, so I, um, heard every word. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, it was kind of unavoidable.”

If she’d looked confused before, now she was staring at him as if he were certifiable.

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re going on about, but I wasn’t talking to anyone, especially at that time of the night. I was dead asleep. The noise you heard must have been coming from somewhere else. Probably out on the street.”

Now he was confused. Maybe she was embarrassed. That made sense, he figured—and hoped she was embarrassed enough to shut the window tonight.

“Hmm. Well, okay then. Are you sure I can’t help you with those…?” He left the end of his sentence open, so she might fill in the blank with her name, the way most polite people would. Instead she frowned and turned up the walk.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

Well, that had better solve his problem. Rafe went back to his house and hoped for the best.

THEY WERE WRAPPED in white satin, and everything was scented of rose petals and sex. Joy laughed—she was having the time of her life. He took a length of the smooth material and twisted it tight. Her heartbeat quivered in anticipation—what was he going to do?

“Hold out your arms,” he commanded in a husky tone as smooth and hot as the undulating pleasure that was coursing through her bloodstream.

“Are you going to tie me up?”

“Yes. I want you helpless. Mine. To do whatever I want.”

She quivered from head to toe, holding her hands up to him in supplication, but her thoughts were wicked.

“Do whatever you want to me—I want everything from you. Anything.”

He laved her skin with his tongue as he wound the satin rope around her wrists in a soft figure eight, and then proceeded to bind her to her elbows. Gently, he pressed her back down, pushing her arms upward and attaching the ends of the material to the headboard.

“Anything?”

“Anything.” She was daring, adventurous—she wanted to be the lover he’d never forget.

He rose up on his knees, glistening and perfect, his erection jutting out toward her belly as he swung one leg over, straddling her waist.

“You’re so beautiful,” he crooned, looking at her with eyes burning so fiercely she couldn’t glance away. “You may be tied up, but I’m your slave. I’ll do whatever gives you pleasure.”

She writhed, arching upward, needing the contact he was promising, wanting the torture.

“I want to taste you. I want you in my mouth. You’re so hard…. I love wrapping my lips around you when you’re like this.” The short, uneven pants of desire chopped her words into uneven phrases, but she didn’t care.

“I think we can make that happen…. Your breasts are so full, so soft….”

He reached down, cupping her breasts. Leaning in, he sucked both nipples at once until she was nearly screaming with need as he licked her, wetting her skin all over, making her slick.

Straightening, he kept her breasts tight between his hands, torturing her nipples with his thumbs as he slid his cock in the pocket between, groaning, squeezing himself tighter as he thrust forward, toward her mouth.

She loved it, watching him start to lose control as he pumped faster. She dipped her chin to dart her tongue out, sliding it over the tip of him every time he moved forward, reveling in his guttural moan. He came fast and hard, and she drank in his excitement, helping him milk the last drop of ecstasy from his orgasm. She was so turned on she couldn’t think straight.