A Breath of Magic (13 page)

He shot me a look of pure anticipation before letting go of the strawberry. It landed perfectly on my belly button, and then he bent his head. His tongue caressed my skin in a sensual rhythm, swirling into the chocolate, eliciting a rush of goose bumps. I tipped my head back, closed my eyes and tried to relax, tried to keep my muscles still.

They refused. Again, they tensed. Again, they released. His mouth found the strawberry and he nibbled it until his teeth scraped oh-so-gently across my belly button. I moaned. My hips moved, pushing my belly up tight against his mouth. Another languorous slide of his tongue across my skin brought forth a fresh crop of goose bumps. And then, far too soon, he lifted his head.

“My turn,” he said, as he returned to his prior position. “But I’m happy to answer another question first, if you’d like.”

I pulled myself upright and dragged air into my lungs. Before I even dared attempting to speak, I poured us each a glass of wine. After giving him his, I drank mine down in two gulps. “You’re scary good at this,” I managed to say. “Seeing how this was my idea and all.”

He winked. A light grin teased at his lips. “I should’ve warned you how competitive I am. Had to come out of the gate at a full sprint.”

I choked out a laugh, though my body was still trembling. “Remind me never to play Monopoly with you.” Inhaling another breath, I indicated the bowl with the questions. “Go ahead. I’m getting hungry.”

Unfolding the paper he’d selected, he scanned it. Then he cocked his head to the side, a devilish smirk on his face.
“What did you think the first time you saw me? Be honest, Red.”

Damn it! I wanted to ask
him
that question. “I thought you were too handsome and too sexy to be real,” I admitted. “I also thought you were having an affair with your assistant.”

“We are. Or, we were.” His tone was even and his face straight, so I totally believed him. “But she hated the pendulum so much she went back to her husband. I’m hoping when she gets your gift certificate she’ll have a change of heart. The workday is so much longer without our midday sex romp.” He sighed piteously.

I still would have believed him, but his lips twitched from his effort not to laugh. My lungs squeezed out the air I’d held in. “Geez, you’re evil! You almost had me!”

“I know. You have a horrible poker face.” His hand touched my knee in a gentle glide, sending another bolt of hot, heady awareness over me. “I believe you said you were hungry?”

“Oh, yes. Very, very hungry.” I focused on the tray of food, considering what I might want to taste and where I might want to taste it from. Deciding how bold I could be. I had one thought, one utterly delicious, specific image in mind, which would require a fair amount of boldness. Not sure I was quite ready to pull it off, I went with my second choice, and selected the canister of whipped cream. “Lie down, Ben.”

“On my back or on my stomach?”

“Your back.”

He complied, and I scooted closer. My eyes soaked up the pure masculine beauty of his body. A ball of warmth ignited deep in my stomach, teasing out until every inch of me radiated heat. Straddling his waist, I closed my eyes for one beat…two beats…and then opened them. “Most women,”
I said, barely noticing the catch in my voice, “would probably squirt the whipped cream into your mouth. And then devour it slowly.”

“But you are definitely not most women.”

“No.” I shook the canister hard. “I am not.”

I pushed the nozzle down and sprayed the whipped cream in a circle around his left nipple. A breath shuddered out of him as I created a peak and filled the circle in. I searched the tray until I found the bowl of maraschino cherries. My fingers slid around a slick, wet cherry and I oh so slowly placed it on top. The whipped cream canister slipped out of my other hand, landing softly on the bed.

“Nice,” I whispered. “Very, very nice.”

His muscles clenched so tightly that I saw them tremble beneath his skin. I swished my bottom on his waist, teasing him. Tantalizing him. He shuddered again. His lips formed an O.

Dark, sensual, heavy-lidded eyes watched me, begging me to get on with it. Happy to comply, I leaned forward, keeping my eyes on his, until my lips touched the cherry. Using my tongue, I scooped the cherry into my mouth. I bit down, the juices exploding in my mouth, sweetness dripping down my throat. Licking my lips in my best porn-star move, I smiled. He groaned, so I must have been successful.

Scooting backward from his waist, I tightened my thighs around him. I felt the hardness of his cock pushing against his boxers, pressing against my panties, making me wet. So very wet. I moaned at the feel, at the reality of the position we were currently in, at the realization that nothing but a few pieces of fabric lay between us.

His hand came to the small of my back, teasing the lacy sheath up so he could touch my skin. “I think you should clean up your mess, Red,” he said, his voice rough.

I blinked, not sure at first what he meant. But then, with
his other hand on the back of my head, he applied a small amount of downward pressure and I saw exactly what he meant. My whipped cream peak was melting—from the heat of him, from what I was doing to him—and dripping down the hard planes of his chest onto my sheets.

“I always clean up my messes,” I said, and with my tongue I lapped up one mouthful at a time, catching the drips, tasting his skin again and again until he was, quite simply, licked clean. His erection throbbed beneath me when I sat fully up.

“You’re a devil woman,” he rasped. “How…how long is this game?”

I slid off of him, my muscles like jelly, my belly quivering, the power of the desire I’d engendered warming through me. Once I was back on my side of the bed, I batted my eyelashes. “We’ve hardly started. Don’t tell me this is too much for you? I thought you were competitive.”

“Oh, Red…you’ve seen nothing yet.” And over the next hour and a half, he proved that. One question, one mouthful of food and one seductive taste at a time, we kissed, touched and savored each other in ways I couldn’t have imagined.

Through the questions, I learned that Ben had one sibling, a brother, but that he didn’t like talking about him. So much so, he wouldn’t even tell me his brother’s name. I also discovered that Ben was an Ivy League graduate, that he preferred summer to winter and that his favorite sex position was on top with a woman’s legs wrapped around him. He learned that I believed in ghosts, hated slasher flicks, indulged in one glass of wine almost every night and fantasized about having sex outside beneath a starfilled sky.

At last, with only two questions remaining, I grabbed one from the bowl, just wanting to get this game over with so we could move on. Frankly, I didn’t know how much more
foreplay my body could handle. But I cleared my throat when I saw the question: “ ‘Do you want children someday? If yes, how many? If no, why not?’ ”

He swallowed heavily. His body tensed and his shoulders stiffened. “No, I do not want kids.”

His brusque tone startled me. “Why not?”

A veil came down, effectively hiding the emotion in his eyes. His tension increased, and the vein in his neck pulsated. Knowing I was cheating but unable to stop myself, I sent a mental push toward him, wanting to hear his answer.

He shook himself, drew in a breath and then said, “Kids require more than I’m able to give.”

I sent another push. “What do you mean?”

“They take too much time. Too much love. I don’t have enough of either.”

I stared at him, trying to see inside of his head, wishing I could read his thoughts. No way did I buy his explanation as the full story, and seeing how I hoped to have children someday, his response shocked me. Saddened me, even. But rather than focusing on that, rather than using my magic to get more out of him, I set it aside. Whether children were in my future or not, I didn’t know. What I did know, thanks to Alice, was that Ben
did
exist in my future, as long as I played my cards right.

I simply nodded and smiled. “You’re right. Kids do require a lot of energy and resources. So”—I dragged my eyes from him and planted them on the tray—“what are you hungry for now?”

His tone became sexy, teasing…relieved. “I don’t know, Red. What haven’t I tried yet?”

I shrugged. “I think you’ve tried nearly everything. Haven’t you?”

“Turn over and lie down,” he ordered. “There’s one thing left.”

Without saying a word, I flipped myself over and pressed
my cheek into the pillow. I felt him shift on the bed. Then, something warm and sticky drizzled into the shallow depression at the back of my knee. I groaned.

“Chocolate?” I asked.

“Honey,” he responded. Pleasure whipped through me as his tongue once again burned into my skin. My leg flinched and clenched as the pleasure turned to spasms of delight. I gritted my teeth and clasped the pillow. And then, I groaned again.

He stroked his tongue along the depression, and I had to work to keep my leg flat. With his mouth against my skin, he asked, “Do you know what this area is called?”

“The back of my knee?” I said in a breathy voice.

“Actually, this space here”—another languid glide of his tongue—“is called the popliteal fossa.”

I gasped as tendrils of pleasure rippled out from my leg, through my body, tearing through my muscles. “How in the world do you know something like that?”

“I did a stint in premed before becoming a numbers man. And—you might find this interesting, Red—for some women, the popliteal fossa is a highly erogenous zone.” Then, as if to prove his point, he suckled.

Good God, who knew that such an obscure area of your body could be so extraordinarily sensual? Not me, that’s for sure! “It…um…feels pretty cleaned off back there now,” I whispered. “Not that I’m not enjoying this.”

“Ready to finish this game of yours?” Anticipation and longing hung in his voice, churning my own into a near frenzy.

“Yes. Are you?” I turned over and sat up, pulling my knees to my chest. My legs still trembled, my stomach dipped.

He pushed himself away, retaking his place at the head of the bed. “One question remaining. And it’s
my
turn.”

I knew what the question was, obviously, and again, it was one I’d hoped to ask him. “Go ahead,” I said.

“Name something you’d change if you could.”

“My relationship with my sister. We aren’t…haven’t been close for a while. I miss her, but”—I tightened my arms around my legs—“it’s too late. Or maybe it’s too soon. Regardless, now isn’t the right time.”

He reached over and ran a finger down the side of my cheek, looked into my eyes. I let my face drop into the touch. “Do you want to talk about it? We can hit the pause button. I’m a good listener,” he offered.

Rebound guy, my ass. He’d turned me on repeatedly that night, but this one little gesture gave me more hope, and sooner than I’d expected. But no, I didn’t want to talk about Sheridan. Not tonight. “I’d rather continue on. I’ve…ah…been waiting for this last question all evening.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh you have, have you? Feel like telling me why?”

“Nope. I’d much rather
show
you. So, what I want you to do”—I placed the tray on the floor, but not before I grabbed my chosen food—“is to lean back on your pillows, but don’t lie down all the way.”

Curiosity and desire battled in his expression, in the deep blue of his eyes, but he obeyed instantly. Once he was in place, I straightened his legs and straddled myself low on his hips. He was hard. So very hard. I wiggled my bottom, feeling him throb beneath me, and I grinned. He choked out a laugh, but his gaze remained firmly planted on the fruit I cupped in my hands.

“What are you going to do with that?”

I cocked my head and winked. “Let me show you.” And then, at a leisurely pace, as if I weren’t dying to feel him inside me, I unpeeled the miniature banana. “These,” I said with a heavy drawl, “are called Lady Fingers. Sort of appropriate, don’t you think?”

He cleared his throat, a mix of danger and humor in his eyes. “What I think, Red, is that you’ve underestimated me.”
In a purely male gesture, he drove his hips upward so that I could feel him pressing against my panties.

A shiver of anticipation rolled over me. “Such ego,” I teased in a breathy whisper. “I chose this particular type of banana for one very important reason, and it has nothing to do with
that
.”

“Then what would it be?”

“Ease of use,” I replied. “Let me show you.”

Leaning to the side, I dropped the peel into a wastebasket. Heat trickled into my cheeks, seeped into my body and made my hands tremble ever so slightly as I lifted the waistband of his boxers. Very carefully, in a slow and measured movement, I slid the minibanana into his waistband, leaving it at an oh-so-cute, if somewhat awkward, angle.

My lips quirked when the muscles in his abdomen shuddered. I loved seeing this: the proof that I affected him as much as he did me. Resting my palms on the bed for support, I slid myself down the length of his body just a little, and then I tilted my head and broke off the tip of the banana with my mouth.

He laced his fingers in my hair as he groaned. I lifted my chin enough so he could see into my eyes as I chewed. As I swallowed. As I licked my lips. And then I went for more. He muttered a curse. “You really are going to kill me tonight.”

“That would be a pity.” My lips wrapped around the banana again, and I took in another mouthful. I scooted myself backward a bit more. Nearly lying flat, my breasts tight against his thighs, my chin pressed into his groin, I used my tongue to retrieve the remaining fruit. Then, very slowly and very efficiently, I licked all leftover residue from his belly. His muscles tightened and released over and over and over again. My nipples hardened and fire pulsated in my blood.

“Enough,” he said, his voice thick. “I can’t stand any more of this.”

Twisting my neck so my cheek rested on the hard angle of his hip, I looked into his eyes and licked my lips again. “The game is over. Want to go watch a movie? Or leave?” I inhaled a long, deep, deliberate breath. “Or would you, perhaps, like to leap on me?”

He growled and grasped me, pulling my body up, up, up until my lips hovered above his. “I want you.” His eyes searched my face for confirmation. I nodded, and in one swift move he rolled us over so that he was on top. The kiss, when it came, was hungry and hard. His tongue invaded my mouth almost desperately, as if what he found there was the one and only thing he desired. I moaned as his hands slipped inside my panties, squeezing my butt and then traveling up to my hips, up to my waist, where he grabbed on, holding me close.