Burning Up Page 8

  He couldn’t stand it. She was the hottest thing he’d ever had in his bed—absolutely abandoned, nothing but raw instinct, unashamed to take what she wanted. He couldn’t wait a moment longer, and he withdrew his hand from her and reached for her hips in one move.

  She barely had time to register a protest before he’d positioned himself at her entrance.

  “Yes,” she encouraged in an earthy husk, grabbing his shaft with a greedy hand and holding him steady as she rubbed her slick folds against the head of his erection. He closed his eyes and gripped her hips and thrust mindlessly into her, and she let him slide inside in one silken stroke. She was so hot, so tight, so right. He clenched his teeth and hung on to sanity by a thin, thin thread.

  “Yessss,” she sighed, and he opened his eyes again to take in the sight of her as she rode him, thighs spread wide, head thrown back, breasts thrust out, mouth open as she panted her need.

  Capturing her breasts in his hands, he thrust up into her as she circled her hips. A delicate flush covered her chest, and he felt her thighs clench against him as she neared her climax. Once again he sent a hand delving where their two bodies became one, wanting to see her fall apart, wanting to push her over the edge. Her eyes opened as he found her and slicked his thumb firmly back and forth, her breasts rising as she sucked in one last, final breath before her orgasm took her. He felt the pulsing of her inner muscles around his shaft, and finally he let himself go, grasping her hips in both hands as he pumped up into her, grinding his hips into hers, the muscles of his arms and neck corded as he rode toward his own climax.

  And then he lost it, his head pressing back into the bed as he shuddered out his release into her hot, tight little body, his breath rasping harshly in his throat as he came and came and came.

  Afterward, he lay boneless and exhausted, staring blankly up at the ceiling. That had been…incredible. The hottest encounter of his life, hands down. Just thinking about it, about her, made him want to go all over again. She was panting beside him on the bed, and he turned his head to look at her. Her breasts rose and fell, rose and fell, and his cock throbbed. She’d been so tight, so hot. And the way she’d given herself up to the moment, the rush…

  She rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one arm. Her cheeks were flushed, her nipples still hard with arousal. Man, he wanted another taste of her.

  “I’m not sure what the etiquette in these situations is, but thanks,” she said. “That was amazing.”

  He was about to reply when she reached out and ran a hand across his chest, a look of intense concentration on her face.

  “You have such an amazing body. And your cock…When you slid inside me it was the most incredible feeling—” She broke off with an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry. I’m probably not supposed to say that, either, am I?”

  “Trust me, no man is going to knock back a compliment like that,” he said.

  “I was a little nervous about what it would be like with another man, to be honest. Huh.” She shook her head, amused by her own thoughts.

  An alarm bell went off in the back of his mind. Hadn’t she said she wasn’t married? So what was all this talk about another guy?

  “You didn’t just make an adulterer out of me, did you, Sophie?” he asked, keeping his tone light.

  “What? No! No way. I told you I’m not married. I just…I’m just recently single, that’s all.” The words sounded awkward, as though she wasn’t used to saying them yet.

  He frowned, a suspicion forming.

  “How recent?”

  She shrugged a shoulder, making her breasts jiggle deliciously. He was so busy admiring them that he almost missed her reply.

  “Sunday.”

  “This Sunday? The one just passed? Two days ago?”

  She nodded. “Fourteen years. But it was time to move on.” She looked embarrassed for a moment, as though she was considering not saying what was on her mind. Then she spoke again. “We’d been together since high school. He was the only other guy I’d ever…you know, been with. Apart from you, of course. So now I have two notches on my belt.”

  She laughed self-consciously, and if he hadn’t been preoccupied with freaking out, he would have admired how pretty and sexy and appealing she looked with a little post-sex color in her cheeks.

  He closed his eyes as the extent of what he’d just done hit him: he’d slept with a virtual virgin. Belatedly he remembered the way she’d bolted from the pool earlier. At the time, he’d decided that she was more trouble than she was worth, no matter how fascinated he’d become with her. Then she’d turned up unexpectedly in his doorway and his dick had taken charge of any and all decision-making.

  And the really, really great thing was, he was stuck up here with her for four weeks. He almost groaned as he imagined the kind of complications he’d invited into his life. She’d expect things—of course, she’d expect things. Something he probably should have thought about before he had taken a trip to Blissville inside her.

  He opened his eyes and glanced at her again. She’d flopped onto her back and was staring into space, a small smile curving her lips.

  Man, he was such an idiot. She was probably picking out china patterns, or—at the very least—imagining that they were now involved in some kind of meaningful relationship.

  He was opening his mouth to dispel her of any and all illusions when she sat up.

  “I’m going to have a shower. Do you mind?”

  “Go for it,” he said.

  Even in the midst of bachelor-panic he could admire her tidy little body—those great breasts, that sweet double handful of an ass.

  She paused on the threshold of the bathroom and looked back at him over her shoulder.

  “If you wanted to, you could, um, join me,” she said.

  Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, his cock sprung to life.

  Pathetic.

  But what the hell? One more round of madness, then he’d make sure they were both on the same page.

  Following her into the bathroom, he hopped into the double shower cubicle with her. She eyed his hard-on avidly. Without saying a word, she reached for the soap and began to rub it over his body, starting with his chest, moving slowly on to his belly, one hand wielding the soap, the other following afterward, working in slow, sensuous circles across his skin.

  All the while, she studied his body, her lips slightly parted, her expression intent.

  “Turn around,” she ordered, and he braced himself against the corner as she worked her way down his back, her small hands firm and thorough. When she came to his butt, she put the soap down and moved up behind him, cupping his cheeks in both hands.

  “I’ve wanted to do that from the moment I first saw you,” she said quietly. She squeezed him gently, learning the shape of him, her breasts pressed against his back the entire time.

  He closed his eyes, enjoying the slow build. Finally, she slid her soap-slicked hands around his waist and reached for his hard-on, working his shaft, sliding right up to his head, her strokes firm and knowing.

  After a few minutes she stepped away from him.

  “Turn around again.”

  Once again her gaze ate him up hungrily—his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, his cock. He couldn’t remember another woman ever taking the time to know him so well, to really look at him, to savor the act of touching so fully.

  One hand on his chest, she slowly sank to her knees, the hot water pounding down on both of them. Then she was taking him in her mouth, one hand grasping his shaft, the other sliding around his waist to grab his butt and pull him closer.

  As if he wanted to be anywhere else.

  She licked, she sucked, she teased. Her tongue laved the head of his cock, sometimes hard and firm, sometimes fast and fleeting. She built him slowly, steadily, and then she took him over the edge.

  Afterward, she rose to her feet, licking her lips.

  “You do taste as good as you look,” she said. Then she laughed. “God, I can’t believe I
just said that.”

  Which made her laugh again. He found himself grinning, too, and pulling her close for a kiss. She pressed herself against him and opened her mouth to him.

  Picking up the soap, he washed her in the same attentive, thoughtful, sensuous way that she’d washed him. Her small, square shoulders. Her full, incredibly responsive breasts. Under her arms—where there was not a sign of hair, he noted. Smiling as he remembered the lesbian gambit, he washed her belly, enjoying the softness of her, and the encouraging sounds she made as he soothed her skin in the wake of the soap. Cupping her butt in one hand, he slid the bar of soap between her legs and slicked it across her folds, back and forth, back and forth. She closed her eyes and began to pant.

  Ridiculous to be jealous of a bar of soap—especially one he was wielding—but he was. Letting it fall from his hand, he slid his fingers between her legs instead. She braced an arm against the shower wall and leaned her forehead against his chest, moaning softly as he worked her.

  She was incredible. Utterly in the moment. A slave to sensation.

  Then she was pushing against his fingers and her whole body was trembling as she approached her climax. Her free hand found his shoulder and slipped around his neck and she pressed her face into his chest, gasping out her pleasure.

  He waited until her body softened before withdrawing his hand. At about the same time, he noticed that his cock had recovered. Not a record, but close. Because she was so hot, and he was so hot for her.

  “Let’s go find some dry land,” he murmured against her neck.

  She laughed and reached out to turn the shower off. As he helped her dry off, he remembered that little talk he’d been meaning to have.

  It could wait for the morning. After all, there were so many games they had left to play in that king-size bed.

  SOPHIE WOKE feeling utterly rested, and ever so slightly stiff. Last night—and early this morning—she’d used muscles she didn’t even know she had.

  She smiled to herself as she remembered the shower. Then, afterward, the bed. Another two times. He was insatiable. She was insatiable. They’d finally fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

  She bit her lip on a ridiculous, inappropriate laugh as she remembered Becky’s claim that Lucas was reputed to be one of the best lovers in Hollywood. Try the world, she thought—the size of him, the feel of him, his clever fingers, his even cleverer tongue.

  She was wet again just thinking about it. Which was insane. Crazy. Wild.

  But if last night had taught her anything, it was that those three things weren’t anything to be afraid of, and that losing control every now and then was exactly what she needed.

  Lucas was still asleep, she noted a little wistfully. She wanted to wake him, preferably by sliding on top of him and taking him inside her again, but she wasn’t sure her newfound sense of daring extended to multiple acts of man-jumping. Yesterday, she had been determined to start living and stop hiding when she strode into his room and asked for what she wanted, but it still hadn’t stopped her from being afraid. There had been a moment there, right before instinct took over from everything else, when her fear of losing control had washed over her again. But she had ridden it out. And it had been worth it. A whole new world had opened to her, taught her things about herself that amazed her. Like that she could enjoy having a man in her mouth so much. He had tasted so good, and the power she’d felt as his body had tightened like a bowstring as he neared his climax…It had been an enormous turn-on.

  Sex had never been like that with Brandon. But, after last night, she had a list as long as her arm of things that had never been like that with Brandon.

  She really had been living half a life, sacrificing joy and excitement and feeling alive for safety and familiarity and the known. She felt a momentary sadness when she thought of Brandon. Had it been the same for him, too? Was he sitting somewhere right now, thinking about all the years they’d played it safe with each other?

  Feeling the sudden need to be outside, she eased from the bed, found her clothes, and tiptoed into the hall to get dressed. Making her way downstairs, she slipped silently across the living room and eased the terrace door open. Across the terrace, down past the pool…she hesitated for a moment by the blue water, then stepped closer to the edge and dipped a toe in. Without thinking, she closed her eyes and let her body simply fall, slack and loose, into the water, clothes and all.

  The warm water embraced her as she sank, and she lay on the bottom for a few precious seconds and stared up at the surface of the water, marveling at the way the light rippled through the blue.

  Breaking the surface, she swam toward the broad steps and waded up them until she was half out of the water. Sitting, she leaned against the next highest step, the water lapping around her chest, and closed her eyes.

  With the morning sun warming her face, Sophie made a conscious effort to remember the good times with Brandon. At the very least, he had been her best, closest friend for fourteen years. They had laughed, and cried and fought and loved with each other. She would be doing both of them a disservice if she filed their relationship under Regret.

  Sucking in a great big breath, she let it out on a belly-deep sigh, consciously letting go of the past at the same time. Today, this morning, was her new beginning. Lucas had allowed her to unlock parts of herself last night. Now, it was up to her to rise to the challenge of ensuring that she continued to resist the urge to play it safe, to subvert her true desires, to live in fear.

  Opening her eyes, she chased clouds across the blue, blue sky and let her mind range over the possibilities and choices that lay ahead for her. For starters, she needed a new job. That was a given, of course, with her awkward relationship with Brandon. As much as she loved his family, and they loved her, it would be uncomfortable for all of them if she stayed at Sorrentino’s. Plus, she’d worked there since she’d left culinary school. She’d never known any other kitchen. The thought of branching out into a new style of cooking was as exciting as it was scary. But she was going to do it. And maybe not necessarily here in Australia, either, she suddenly decided. Maybe she’d try her luck in London, or even Europe. Why the hell not?

  Despite her bravado, her stomach knotted with tension as she thought about the kinds of risks she’d be taking professionally and personally. Leaving her family and friends, everything familiar and comfortable.

  “Stuff it,” she said out loud. Deliberately, she remembered Mrs. Hartley’s roses, and the fierce indignation and fearlessness that had driven her to wreak revenge on their busybody old neighbor. Once, she had been brave, larger than life.

  She could be that way again. And she owed it to Carrie to try, she suddenly realized. Living half a life would not bring her sister back or stop Sophie from feeling pain and loss in the future.

  Closing her eyes again, she dropped her head back and allowed herself to dream….

  8

  LUCAS WOKE TO A FEELING of utter well-being—until he remembered why his body felt so loose and well-used. Sex with Sophie Gallagher. Bone-jarring, teeth-grinding, hot-tamale sex. Sex that he would never have again once he said what needed to be said this morning.

  Damn it.

  It was tempting to say to hell with the consequences and continue sleeping with her. But he’d already acknowledged that Sophie wasn’t like the women he usually bedded. He would hurt her if he took what he wanted for as long as he fancied it, as he had hurt other women before he’d learned that it was best to keep things light, limit himself to a couple of nights or a handful of days then move on to the next eager woman who knew the score.

  So now he had to give Sophie the what’s-what speech. The one where he told her that last night had been great, but that it was a one-off. Like that wasn’t going to be one awkward, son-of-a-bitch conversation.

  He heard her before he saw her—she was humming, something poppy and catchy. When he rounded the corner into the kitchen, he saw that she was dancing, too, her derriere wiggling as she boog
ied from the fridge to the counter.

  “Good morning,” she said when she saw him. She smiled, her face open and sunny.

  Man, he felt like he was about to kick a puppy.

  Do it. Get it over and done with.

  Right. He took a deep breath. Then let it out again. After breakfast. He’d do it after breakfast. Definitely.

  “You know, this diet you’re on really sucks,” she said as she arranged fruit salad and yet more cottage cheese on a plate for him. “I could make you a nice egg-white omelet, or even some homemade beans that would be just as good for you.”

  His mouth watered, and he wasn’t sure if it was because she was wearing a tight black tank top or because her alternative menu suggestions sounded so good.

  “Thanks, but I’d better stick to the stupid thing,” he said. Just like he had to stick to his decision to let her know the score. Regardless of how reluctant he felt to do that now that she was smiling at him so warmly.

  “Do you mind if I eat with you?” she asked.

  She’d arranged another plate for herself, but he saw she’d added some slices of fruit bread to her meal in lieu of the cheese. If only. He coveted the bread, remembering fondly the days when carbs had been his friends. Was it really only three days ago?

  “Sure,” he said. “That’d be…nice.”

  She carried their plates to the table since it was difficult for him to use his crutches and carry a plate at the same time.

  Once they were both seated, she picked up a piece of apple and popped it in her mouth.

  “Listen,” she said in between crunching on the fruit, “I wanted to thank you again for last night. It was great.” She was blushing, but her gaze was determined as she eyed him across the table.

  Shit. Things were about to get awkward.