Skin on Skin (21 page)

A
nna lay between his spread legs on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. He was semihard, which meant that he lay flat for the most part, only just beginning to lift, to angle up instead of down, like a series of eager nods…up, down, lift, fall. Not too thick yet. Just plump, without being too hard. The tip of him was cushiony, like the extra padding on your ass to protect your bones. But here, a man had no bones, just hardness and softness. Especially there at the crown, like donning a helmet before the big man dived in. The image shone laughter from her eyes.

Seeing the laughter made Rand both eager and wary. Pleasure awaited. But how long he had to wait for it decided how painful the climb would be before reaching the blissful summit. By Anna’s languid movements, she wasn’t in a headlong rush to reach that cresting peak yet. Nope, that smile said she wanted to play. Bad, good…he wasn’t sure which. Maybe both.

She ran a finger over the tip of his crown, inspecting it up close and personal. Without volition, he jumped beneath her touch like a diver springing up and down on a board about to lift up into an arching dive, startling a husky laugh from those lips so close to him that he felt a groaning pull deep within him.

“Whoa, partner,” she said, and grasped him firmly with her left hand to keep him still while she continued to explore. To run that finger once more across the top of his crown, smooth over the small bumps lining his upper rim, and dip down over that flaring edge, running a light finger behind the helmeted head of him, making him squirm in uncontrollable movement.

“Hmmm…sensitive here,” she murmured. “How does that feel?”

Easy answer. “Good. But your mouth would feel even better.”

Another husky laugh. Another hot gust of breath hitting him. Another uncontrollable flexing lift of his rigid length, straining in that small hand that controlled him, that kept him there at that angle, pointed downward, toward her mouth.

He watched with rapt fascination as her red mouth parted, as her pink tongue came out and ran over where her fingers had touched him, licking in a sweet glide over the sensitive rim of him, shuddering a breath out of him, making him close his eyes for a moment as if to savor the brief pleasure before letting it go to await the next.

“You’re right,” she said, dark eyes capturing his, “my mouth does seem better.” Gone was all the uncertainty. In its place was a siren licking, teasing, exploring. Pleasing both herself and him.

Another languid lick over the top of him, down the side of him. She swept her devilish tongue beneath the crown of him, hitting a sweet spot, uncovering a hidden plexus of nerves that speared a hot flash of heat through him, making his eyes widen, making him surge up into her hand without thought, just reaction.

“Good?” she asked, eyes wide and curious, a small smile curving those lips.

“Yes,” he gasped.

She took him at his word and did it again. Lick, lave, just there, burrowing deep behind that flaring rim. Seeking out that secret treasure…his pleasure. Making him tremble, cry out. Making him want more.

Softness touched the tip of him, and pressed. He looked down, met those dark, siren eyes watching him, while inches below, he was pressed up against her mouth, a long rod that looked poised on the brink of entering her, knocking there at her gate. The sight of him big and fat against those beautiful small lips sent a hot wave of sensation rushing through him like a tingling pulse. But her lips were closed. The soft cushion of her lips pressed against the cushiony head of him, testing, teasing. Then that mouth parted slightly and her tongue blinding sought him, explored him, while she watched him. Delicate strokes. Searching out, finding that single hole. Exploring its little dimensions with the firm tip of her tongue, making him writhe, speeding his breath, his heartbeat, racing the pulse beneath her hand where she held him still for her enjoyment, learning his pleasure.

It was so hard not to move, not to push himself between those waiting lips, so red, so moist and tender and hot. Because taking, moving, was what men naturally did, without thought. Instinct. A primal impulse to conquer. Not to yield. Yet yielding was sweet and right, here and now with her. There was sweet satisfaction to be found in watching the petals of her confidence slowly unfurl, watching the woman in her bloom. Heat, passion, hungry taking—that would come another time. For now he yielded and suffered and enjoyed. This night was hers.

Like a reward, like a temptation she could not resist, those red lips parted even more and moved over him, taking him in, surrounding him in wet heat, in moist silk, bathing the crown of him, enfolding him in a tight seal. Pushing down, pulling back. Sucking, pulling, tugging, over and over, just past the head of him and then back down, while she swirled her tongue over, around, and under him, arching his back, making him cry with aching relief, with hot gasping pleasure.

“Oh, yes…Oh, God…so good…Anna!”

Hearing him cry out her name made Anna suck harder, more fiercely. Made her thrum her pleasure deep in her throat, vibrate it against him, into him.

Against his will, Rand’s hips began to rock the tiniest bit, as if he’d been so good, so good, for so long and he couldn’t help moving just a little, a tiny bit, moving in her rhythm, sliding in and out of the hot silk of her mouth. In and out, but not deeper. Just moving, sweet friction, in the rhythm of life, of love.

She was the one who took him deeper, as if her small mouth had had to relax and soften, then she could take more of him. Suck, lave, stab, swirl, her mouth sliding down to meet her hand at the halfway mark where she held him tight. Her other hand rising to grip him below that first hand, squeezing him even tighter, sliding down to the base while he slid in and out of her hungry, sucking mouth.

She watched him through half-slitted eyes, gleaming, as if the movement—hers, his—sparked her own desire. As if his panting, straining pleasure stoked hers, quickening her breath, quickening her pace, deepening her force, her pulling. Hardening her surge down his shaft, swallowing him up. Tightening her pull in her wet, mouthy retreat back. Bringing him to the very brink.

It was so good, so good, so fucking good that he didn’t want to give it up.

“No, no, no…not yet. Don’t make me go. Please, not yet,” Rand muttered, groaned, writhed as another clever sweep of her tongue slid over that hidden sweet spot underneath his rim. He didn’t want to let go because when he did, it would be over, and he didn’t want it to be over. He wanted to ride that biting, cresting pleasure, surfing it like a giant wave, building, building, a delicate dance, a precarious balance, not going over yet.
Not yet, not yet. Please, God, not yet.
He fought his pleasure, fought to hold on just a little bit longer.

Her gentle, sweet, wild man. He looked glorious, rough and wild, his jaw tight, his body straining, shaking, aching. Wanting, wanting, and yet holding back. Silly man.

Like a threat, like a promise, her lower hand gave one last squeezing caress, so hard that it almost rolled his eyes back in his head, and still he didn’t go over. He hung on like a man sliding down a precipice, desperately clawing the slippery slope of desire with fingernails dug in deep to slow his inevitable descent, while below him, satisfaction yawned like a hungry lover beneath him, waiting to shatter him. Waiting for him to fall, sweet, stubborn man. Making her want even more to push him over, to make him come, to feel him spurting inside. To see if that small seep of his pleasure tasted even better, richer, when it was full and abundant and liquid in her mouth, rolling down her throat.

Her hand left him, trailed lower, and he tensed even more, his muscles bunching so tight that every tendon, every sinew, every hard, ridged curve stood out in prominent relief, in loving delineation as that slender hand moved lower to softer climes. Tender fingers slid over his aching sac, cupped his balls firmly.

Sweating, trembling, cursing, he waited for her to squeeze him. But she didn’t. Instead she pulled him, gently. And the steady, thready, pulling sensation on his tightly drawn balls, in addition to the licking, sucking, pulling, and squeezing of his arousal, made his mouth open and round. Made a low harsh sound pull out of his gritty throat. And then…then…when he was drawn tight as a wire…
Then
she squeezed and rolled his balls together in her small white palm while she swallowed him down, swallowed him up. Squeeze and pull, and he was gone…coming, shooting, shaking, shattering in her mouth. Quivering, pulsing in her hand. Leaping, pulling, lifting up, drawing tight like a living, throbbing thing in her hand, in her mouth.

Then
she finally tasted him, felt the force of his ejaculate empty into her waiting, tasting, sucking self. She felt him jet into her, splash against the back of her throat, slide down. And yes, he did taste better. His groans were richer, his surrender sweeter, than anything she had ever tasted, ever known. Hers.

He was gasping, unable to get enough air, breathing by reflex only, not thought. All thought had left him. His soul had left him for a moment, for a brief time, torn from him, flung up high into the heavens, reaching for the sky. Touching it for one blind, shattering moment. Then he was plummeting back down and she was waiting for him, catching him, holding him safe in her arms. He gripped her solid realness tight against him, shaking and shaken, buried his face in the midnight blackness of her hair, breathed her in. Softness, woman. His.

“Stay with me,” he said.

Her soft hand stroked his back. “Yes.”

Arms wrapped around each other, skin against skin, heart beating against heart, legs entwined, they slept.

T
he stirring of the air more than any sound awakened Anna. She opened her eyes, saw a stranger standing by the bed, and screamed.

“Anna, what’s wrong? Baby, it’s me.”

She knew that voice, knew it intimately. But she didn’t know that face.

“Rand?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I shaved.” Lips curved up. Teeth flashed white.

She saw his naked, unbearded smile for the very first time, and it stole her breath for a moment.
He
stole her breath. Dear Lord above, he was beautiful. Like an angel fallen from the sky. Like an old master’s sculpture brought to living, breathing life, so beautiful he was unreal. Striking, stunning. A man who would draw all eyes, both men and women, to him when he stepped into the room. A man who was even more handsome than her lying, deceptive first lover.

He was looking at her shyly, expectantly, a total stranger but for his eyes. His beautiful green eyes…those, only those she knew. Not the chiseled face, the lean cheeks, the strong jaw, the full mouth. It was like looking at an old familiar map and finding yourself completely lost.

Handsome face. Lying tongue.

Dark Asian eyes looked out of that face for a moment. Another’s features shimmered like a translucent mask over the face staring down at Anna, making her heart pound, her mouth dry.

Go away, go away. You’re dead!

Rand’s smile faded. He had wanted to please her, to be handsome for her. But she didn’t look pleased. She looked scared.

Carefully, he reached out, took her hand. She was trembling. “Say something,” he said, concerned.

“You’re
young
.” Dear God, so much had been hidden, only now revealed like a joke, like a great cosmic prank.
Young, young. Younger than me.
Five years or more were shaved off with that beard. She had to ask, had to know. “How old are you?”

He frowned at the question. “Old enough.” Then more gently, “I’m thirty-one.”

She closed her eyes.
Oh, dear God. Ten years younger than me!

“What is it? I know I looked older with the beard. Did you have a thing for older men?” He said it half in jesting, half in real question.

Do you have a thing for older women?
was the real question.

Wanting to cry and laugh at the same time, she shook her head.

He stroked her hair tenderly back away from her face. “Hey, I’m sorry I took you by surprise like this. I wanted to please you. Not freak you out.” He smiled crookedly.

She didn’t smile back. Just looked at him. Looked at him but didn’t see him.

“Are you sore?” he asked.

Was she sore? “Yes.”

“Let me run a bath for you. You’ll feel better after a bath.” A tentative smile and then he left her.

She watched him pad away. Only when he disappeared into the bathroom did she find herself suddenly free again, able to move, able to breathe. Able to panic.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
She wanted to run screaming from the room. Instead, she forced a calming breath inside her tight, aching chest. Inhale, exhale. Silently she slipped out of bed. Picking up the sarong from the floor, she wrapped it quickly about her. Not the neatest job, but she was covered. Grab the underwear, bra, and purse, ease the door open. Then she was running, fleeing, a ghost’s laughter chasing behind her.

Rand came out of the bathroom, felt the emptiness of the room and somehow knew Anna was gone and would not be back. He ran to the open door. The hallway was empty, deserted. Ran to the stairwell, found that empty and silent as well, and returned to his room, hurt, worried, panicked.

Why had she run? Everything had been fine, more than fine. It had been wonderful between them. Until he’d shaved off his beard and mustache in a stupid, vain gesture of wanting to please her. A hand lifted to run over the smoothness of his chin.

What had made her run? Only she could answer that.

The real question now was: Was he going to run after her? A woman he’d met and bedded for one night.

The answer was the same as the one he’d given before.

Yes. Hell, yes.

T
he hustle and bustle of New York City felt odd after the lush tranquility of the rain forest. Of Indonesia. She’d been home for over a week now. She busied herself in her medical practice by day, stared up at her ceiling by night. She was her normal self during the daytime, but when darkness fell, it was as if someone else possessed her, kissed her, made her body ache, her heart throb.

And when she awakened from fitful dream after fitful dream, it was his name she whispered, “Rand.”

The nights were unwillingly his, but she banished him during the day. Or tried to. Oddly, it was during the empty stretches of time when she wasn’t busy, when she walked out into the crowded streets for lunch, that she would catch a glimpse of tawny, sun-streaked hair in a crowd, or a sweep of broad shoulders. Her heart would speed and she would race quickly after him, looking, searching, but not finding him. Never him. Always someone else. And the discovery, the desperate chase, the questioning look from a stranger’s face would make her feel foolish and sad.

She’d left him. Fled like the coward she was. Because of vanity, insecurity, fear of herself and of him.

Had she been right? Had she been terribly wrong?

If it had just been one thing, and not two…

His beauty, perhaps, she could have gotten used to. Funny that now, looking back, his beauty was the lesser evil. But his youth…Not three years, five years, or even seven years. But ten years younger than her! Dear God, it made her feel like a lascivious Mrs. Robinson. She didn’t want to be the older woman corrupting the younger man. She felt foolish and old. And then plain foolish because of her silly pride—vanity. She’d never known before how truly vain she was, and how empty it would leave her feeling.

Sometimes, lying in her bed alone at night, restless and empty and yearning, Anna thought of hiring a detective to look for him. She knew his name, his age…a smile twisted her lips…that had to count for something, make it easier to find him. But then she’d wonder if he even still remembered her. Had he moved on to other women? And there would be other women, abundantly so. They would flock to him with that face, that body, those eyes. She missed his eyes most. She missed his arms around her, the weight of his leg over hers, the beat of his strong heart against her ear, his clean scent. One night and it was as if he’d burned himself into her, chased away her ghost. One night and all she could think of…remember…was him. No other. The old wound had healed. But a new one had taken its place.

Her age was all that kept Anna from searching for him. It was different to be young and desperate, but old and desperate was not the same thing. It was more desperate, more pitiful. That silly pride again. Or was it just being plain stupid and cowardly? She ran. That was what she did, what she had always done. Only she was doing something new on top of that—ruining it first before he could ruin it. She was defeating herself…it was a sobering realization. She was forty-one years old. Her chances of finding happiness were slim already, but she, herself, was making them none. No chance at all.

He had made her happy. Had let her tease him, explore him, when the one before him had not. He’d given her pleasure, while the other had taken his and left her only emptiness, frustration, sadness, shame, and finally fear.

Was the way men made love reflective of themselves?

Find him.

Anna thought of it constantly, and the slow-passing days and long, empty nights didn’t lessen the urge. Only grew it stronger. Seven more days passed, and then she caved. She would hire a detective. She would try to find him. To apologize, if nothing else, for leaving him so abruptly. To thank him for pleasing her so. And to see if there could be more pleasure, more time together. Even a brief taste more would be better than the emptiness she had now, and the reaching out for him, the battling down of her fear, was triumph in itself.

As if her resolve were penance enough, the restlessness left Anna, and she slept soundly for the first time since leaving his arms.

During lunch the next day, Anna called a private investigation agency not far from her office and made an appointment for the following Monday. It was Friday. The weekend yawned long and forever before her with only a social event that night and another one on Saturday to fill her time.

Her parents were surprised at the time she was spending with them now, attending several parties with them the weekend prior, when before she had avoided these high-society gatherings like the plague. Social chitchat. Empty talk to fill empty time wearing diamonds and pearls. But it was better than being alone and thinking and remembering. And aching.

Anna felt a little guilty when, at the party that night, her mother squeezed her hand and said, “Anna, I’m so glad you’re getting out more. It seems I was wrong, not wanting you to go. That trip to Indonesia seems to have been good for you.”

Oh, mother. If only you knew.

“Darling,” she said, a smile on her lovely face. “There’s someone who wants to meet you.”

Anna cringed upon hearing those words every mother loves to utter. “Mama, I don’t think…”

“Hello, Anna.”

That low, honey-rough voice transported her for a moment back to sultry Medan, to a more primitive time and setting, so that the gentle murmurings around them dimmed and their sophisticated surroundings faded. Slowly Anna turned and looked up into rich, forest-green eyes.

He was growing back his beard, she noted inanely in that suspended surreal moment. A light shading of hair that served to accentuate rather than hide his face, his beauty. He looked like a rakish pirate now with that slight growth. Or a dark, dark angel. Was he truly there beside her? Like a dreamer, she reached out and touched him, felt his warm hand close around her smaller one. Real. He was real.

“Rand…”

“You two know each other,” Anna heard her mother say, but she couldn’t look away from the mesmerizing pull of those green eyes. Couldn’t concentrate on anything but the feel of his rough calluses rubbing against her palm. He was real. In front of her. Here.

“Please excuse us, Mrs. Huang,” Rand murmured and drew Anna away.

“How interesting,” Mrs. Huang said softly, turning to the elegant matron beside her, who was also gazing curiously at the departing couple. “You must tell me all about your fascinating son, Mrs. Weatherby. An architect, did you say he was?”

“Hmmm…oh, yes,” Mrs. Weatherby replied, turning to her, her eyes gleaming with interest. “And your daughter is a doctor, I believe…”