Barefoot at Sunset (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 1) (24 page)

She went with him to the bed and, there, he laid her back on the puffy down comforter.

For a moment, he said nothing, then climbed onto the bed, straddling her. “I’m not good with words like you.”

She put her hands on his hips, slowly moving in to get the button of his jeans. “This isn’t about talking.” She unbuttoned and let the heel of her hand press against his erection, getting a thrill from his reaction.

“But I want to say something.”

She rolled her eyes and fought a smile. “If you insist.”

“I insist.” He lowered himself on top of her so their faces were close. He kissed her cheek, his lips featherlight, but the little bit of contact sent fiery sparks to every nerve ending. “I want you to know…there’s something about you that is different from any woman I’ve ever known, and even though that scares the hell out of me, I want you. I want
you
. Not just…this.” He glanced down at their connected bodies. “But…
this
.”

A whole different set of nerves tingled. Nerves she associated with…fears. Not little left-turn fears, but big, major heartache fears.

This was sex. Or it should be. Short-term, hot, mutually agreed upon as the right time…
sex
.

Not
this
—whatever he thought
this
was.

But telling him that would kill the moment and maybe take that sweet gleam out of his eyes. She went for humor.

“Let me get this straight. It’s not this, but this.” She tapped his lips, purposely playful. “Word-challenged but damn cute.” Sliding her hand to the back of his head, she brought his face to hers. “Now use your mouth for good.”

She took control of that kiss, using enough passion and pent-up pleasure to remind them both that
this
was sex, and that was good. Anything more and the risk was far, far too great.

With every kiss, every touch, her thoughts on the subject melted along with every cell in her body. Clutching his shoulders, she pulled him all the way onto her, wrapping her legs around him to feel all of him through the thin material of her yoga pants.

Long, lean muscles. Powerful thighs. Corded, cut abs. And one sizable hard-on spearing her belly.

They rolled together and started taking each other’s clothes off with slightly shaky hands. She battled his shirt buttons and he finished for her, sitting up to strip out of the sleeves. He tugged at her top, sliding it over her head and smiling down at her before he reached around, unsnapped her bra, and slipped it off her arms.

Sighing with raw pleasure, he hovered over her, torturing her with a long, slow trail of kisses from her throat to her chest, searing her skin, and then finally taking her nipple in his mouth to suck and lick it to a painful point.

Lost. Emma was lost in the sensations that rolled over her. Heat and desire that coiled through her chest. Achy anticipation tightened her lower half. Every inch of her body sparked as if his fingers held electric charges.

He easily peeled off her pants and stood to strip his own. They were down to nothing but her lacy thong and his fully engorged boxer briefs before either one slowed down for a second.

When he did, in that last moment of suspended expectation, Mark got up and pulled the bed drape, then walked around to the other side and did the same. Through the sheer fabric, she watched him open the nightstand drawer and take something out. Then he closed the final pane at the bottom and climbed in, cocooning them in their own intimate, sexy, secret world.

He set a condom packet by the pillow and slid her higher on the bed. Next to her, he moved his gaze over her, up and down, as heated as his hands. Finally, he circled his finger around one nipple, staring at the response he elicited.

“Beautiful Emma,” he whispered, his finger so light it was as if he was afraid he’d break her. She looked up at him, the closed drapes diffusing the light and accenting the angles of his chest and the darkness of the hair between his pecs.

Talk about beautiful. Even she had no words.

He trailed his finger down her stomach, circling her navel and making her smile when it tickled.

“I don’t want to rush this,” he said.

“Kind of hard not to.”

“First time should be special.”

She exhaled softly. “It
is
special.”

He slipped his finger into the lace band of her panties, then took it out again, drawing a line up her stomach. “You’re so damn smooth.”

“Oil and body scrub. Yours are the second hands that have been all over me today.”

His eyes shuttered as if her statement hit him hard. “No more. Just mine.” He underscored that by spreading both palms over her, then moving on top of her, straddling again. “Mine for the week. Mine for…” His gaze lifted from her body to her eyes, his blue eyes surprisingly intense.

“For now,” she finished. “Emphasis on…” She lifted her hips under him, trying to let him know how ready she was. “
Now
.”

He laughed softly. “Woman, I’m going to have to teach you how to cherish the moment. In fact, I think I’ll take all night and day to teach you.” With a teasing smile, he lowered his face and kissed her briefly on the lips, then worked his way down, leaving a fiery trail over her body.

She surrendered to his mouth and kisses that were slow and thorough and insanely deep. He touched everywhere, exploring, licking, tasting, and blowing soft breaths on her skin until she whimpered and sighed. He finally slipped off her panties and kissed each thigh, spreading her legs to torture her with his tongue and take her right to the brink of satisfaction.

She hung there while he made his way back up. Mark let her strip him naked so she could close her hands over a thick, solid erection that pulsed with his need. She ached to taste him, too, but he gave her the condom to sheathe him. Purring with pleasure, she slid her hands over his shaft. Again and again, memorizing every inch of it.

On top of her, he pulled her legs around him, braced himself over her, and looked at her for what felt like an impossibly long time, but was probably only a few seconds.

She lifted her brows. “Do you want me to beg?”

“No…” He let the tip inside. “I want you to feel. Everything. Every second. Every shudder. Every time I move in and out. Don’t miss a thing, Em.”

“Okay.” She grabbed the hard muscles of his backside and tried to pull him in faster, but he laughed softly.

“Why are you in such a hurry?”

“Desperation?” Her voice cracked a little, but he just smiled.

“We have all the time in the world.”

They had a week. But now didn’t seem like the perfect time to remind him of that. “Mark,” she whispered into a kiss. “I really want you inside me.”

It was enough to put him over the edge, making him thrust in deeper. All the way, filling her, making her cry out with the perfection of their joined bodies.

He stayed all the way inside her, holding perfectly still for one second, two, three, looking into her eyes, balancing them both in midair, breathless. And then he let go, plunging in and out very slowly at first, then building to a perfect, natural, sexy rhythm. He moaned her name and groaned with need and dragged her right along to the edge of complete surrender.

And one more time he held them there, poised on the cliff of pure ecstasy, suspended, every stroke and touch one step closer to falling, falling,
falling
into his arms.

Into him.

Pleasure finally won, pulling her over waves and waves of exquisite sensations, dragging her through an orgasm so long and intense it almost hurt. He pumped, then slowed, pushed, then stopped. Then it started all over again, until there was another crash, another surrender, another cry from her lips as she came again.

And just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he lifted her backside enough to reposition them and drove into her with merciless command, forcing her shattered and satisfied body to squeeze out one more blinding climax.

The last one was best of all, sweet and endless and perfect, because he came with her. Eyes closed, he lost control and pumped her full of himself with sexy sounds until all he could say was her name. Over and over again.
Emma
.

Emma
.

No one had ever said her name like that. No one had ever made her come three times in a row. No one had ever made her wait so long or want so much. No one…until a perfect stranger who, by his own admission, would only ever love one woman.

And that wasn’t her.

Forget the ticking clock. It wasn’t the short-term present or unknown future that worked against her with Mark. It was the past.

Had she forgotten what she was “up against”? The memory of his soul mate, who could never be replaced.

She closed her eyes and tried to erase the thought with the sound of her name on his every breath, wrapping her arms around his neck until their breathing steadied and their sweat dried and their hearts slowed to a normal beat.

Except, after that? Emma was afraid nothing about her heart would ever be normal again.

Chapter Nineteen

“I can only imagine how you’d describe this,” Mark said, laying his head back on the marble tub while he tried to decide if it was worth it to remove his hands from the sweet, soft spots of Emma’s body to get a drink of champagne from the plastic glasses they’d brought in with them.

“Take a guess,” she said, nestling her back flat against his chest and lifting her long leg up to let the bubbles drift over her silky skin.

“Wet, warm, and wonderful?” he suggested.

“A little elementary, but you did incorporate alliteration. There’s hope for you yet. Try describing what you’re feeling.”

“Umm…hard again?” He pressed against her backside so she knew he wasn’t kidding.

She laughed and jabbed him lightly with her elbow. “Not in my brochure, Mr. Solomon.”

He stroked her bare breast, thumbing her. “It’s been a long time since I only needed a few hours to recover,” he admitted. “I like it.”

She sighed. “You know what I really like about you?”

He rocked his pelvis again as an answer.

“Besides that,” she joked. “I like that you are one hundred and fifty percent honest.”

“We had a deal, remember?” Although, a little shadow of guilt darkened the corners of his conscience. He hadn’t been one hundred and fifty percent honest with her—not about her ex.

“I don’t think I needed to ask for that favor of honesty, though,” she said, reaching for her drink. “You’re a fundamentally honest person.”

“Mostly.”

“When’s the last time you lied?” she asked.

“Lies can be of omission, you know.” He moved his hand from her breast to take a deep drink, wishing he hadn’t agreed to champagne just to see her pop the cork without fear. He’d prefer Scotch for this conversation.

“Really? What haven’t you told me that you should?”

Shit
. Way to ruin a perfectly good round two. The minute he told her that he knew Kyle Chambers had left her for another woman, she’d spiral. Who wouldn’t? She’d be hurt all over again, and she’d be ticked at him for not telling her sooner.

Maybe he should do this over food. Dressed. Pushing up, he managed to climb out of the soapy tub. “It’s almost eight o’clock, and I’m starved. In or out tonight?”

She looked up at him, her gaze dropping over his body and lingering on his partial erection. One touch—hell, that look for two more seconds—and he’d be at full staff and ready to go again.

“As much as I like the idea of going out to dinner, I’m a little over the rich restaurant food,” she said. “I saw some pasta and the basic makings for a salad in the kitchen. Too pedestrian for you?”

“Are you kidding? I love that idea. Let’s cook dinner.”

She reached up and ran her hand up his thigh, settling just below his balls. “Unless you want to try it fast and furious this time.”

“Fast is for teenagers. Slow is for lovers.”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “I will make a copywriter out of you yet.”

Laughing, he stepped into the shower and rinsed off the bubbles with cold water, which helped deaden his arousal—a little, anyway—then walked into the bedroom to grab some loose-fitting linen pants, skipping anything under them.

He stuck his head in the bathroom to tell her he was going to start boiling the water, but didn’t say anything when he found her still in the tub, pressing her fingertips into her temples as if her head ached. “Stop,” she whispered to herself. “Just stop.”

“Emma.”

She turned, startled.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She smiled, but it was tight and didn’t reach her eyes. “Never been better.”

“Now who is lying by omission?” He stepped into the bathroom. “What’s wrong?”

“Would it be totally breaking the rules if I lie and say the champagne gave me a headache?”

“Yes. Tell me what’s the matter,” he said simply, coming closer.

“Nothing,” she replied.

“Emma.”

“I mean
that’s
the problem. Nothing is wrong…with you. You’re perfect, and this is…not real, and I’m having a moment, okay?”