His expression grew increasingly intent and focused. With quick, economical movements, he pulled his shirt over his head and peeled off his jeans. From his pants pocket he removed several condoms, which he tossed on the bedside table. They were joined by his glasses, which hit the surface of the table with a metallic click.
He proceeded to toss his clothing unceremoniously onto the floor. Then he crawled, naked and beautiful, up the mattress until he was hovering over her.
Viola shivered as she waited for him. Her body yearned towards his; her bones seemed to have melted. When he kissed her, she returned it hungrily, opening wide for him as his tongue invaded and explored.
While continuing the kiss, his hands began to caress bare skin. He quickly located the fastenings of her bra, which were in the front, and divested her of the fragile bit of lingerie. He brushed one of her tingling nipples with his fingertips, causing her to arch up off the mattress when he drew his fingers back. A moment later he slid down so his mouth could replace his fingers, threading a series of short, quick kisses along the hollow under her collarbone and down over the slopes of her breasts.
When he reached her nipple, she felt a primitive pulse begin in her core. Was she going to come from having her breasts caressed? Nearly, she was that excited.
She could see his fingers, tan and masculine against her pale skin, as they plumped up one breast and lightly flicked her nipple. Gradually, he increased the pressure there until she gasped. Quickly, his mouth replaced his fingers and he sucked and soothed while she writhed beneath him.
"Put your hands over your head. Grab the bars, and don’t let go."
Ohmigod, she thought, as all sorts of tiny muscles she’d forgotten she had clenched between her legs. "Why?" she asked, just to be provocative, even as she was reaching overhead for the brass frame of her bed.
"Do it," he growled, in full Bad Boy mode.
She did. Her palms felt slick as she wrapped her fingers around two of the narrow brass bars, and she was even more slick and wet between her legs.
"If you let go for even an instant, I will tie your wrists and ankles to the bedframe."
Again, a ghost of fear. She pushed it back. She wasn't afraid of anything or anyone.
"Do you have any restraints?" he asked, in a low sexy voice.
"You mean, like rope or something? Um, no. Sorry."
His green eyes glinted wickedly. "Just hang onto those bars. I enjoy seeing you that way." He went back to kissing and caressing her breasts, ignoring the way her hips churned and thrust against his lower body. She was practically weeping with a combination of delight and frustration by the time he dragged her panties out of his way and slipped his fingers between the petals of her sex.
She arched up against his hand as he explored, trying to coax him to touch her in a way that would bring the release she craved. Instead, he avoided her most sensitive spots and smiled cruelly as he met her eyes: "Not yet." Oh yes, he wanted control, all right. But she could tell from his own rapid breathing, the tension in his muscles, and the dampness that was breaking out on his skin that he was close to the edge.
"Enough. Put a condom on and come into me." Two could play this giving-orders game.
He flashed her a smile. She loved that he could temper the predatory harshness that came over him with his natural lightheartedness. "So impatient. You have a lot to learn about me, babe."
But he ripped open a condom packet and snapped one on in record time.
Moments later, he was rearing over her as he arranged himself between her legs and lowered his body to hers.
"I’m letting go."
"No, Viola, you're not." One of his hands reached up and curled her fingers more tightly around the bars. She could see the warning gleaming darkly in his eyes. She maintained her hold.
"I need to touch you."
"Not yet."
Rebellion shot to the surface. "Why not?"
"Ssh. You trusted me that summer, remember? I didn't take you anywhere you didn't want to go."
"That was a long time ago."
"I know. But it's gonna be okay. Do what I tell you and you won't be sorry."
Okay. She could go with that, for a while, at least. She nodded.
"Good. Hang on." He slid down until she could feel his breath against her mound. Parting her slick tissues with his fingers, he moved his mouth over her, kissing, licking, nipping.
Ah, god. She felt her hips arch up and press against him as all sensation became centered in her core. He ran his tongue over her folds, up and down, back and forth, deliciously. He snaked it in between, around the opening to her cleft, and then gently nipped her clit until she cried out, needing more and finding it as he continued to drive her up toward the climax that was blossoming inside her.
He didn't let her go there yet, though. He stopped when she was close and slid back up to kiss her mouth. "Good girl," he whispered. "You hung on. That pleases me. Lower your arms now and put them around me."
Fiercely, she closed her arms around him, her fingernails dragging over the firm muscles on his back. She spread her legs even wider for him. She panted, beside herself, thrusting up trying to find him. He grasped her hips and held her still, and she fought him briefly. She was unaccustomed to having her movement restricted. He was the only man who had ever made love to her that way. He’d done it nine years ago too, but everything had been so new to her then that she hadn’t really been aware of how different it was.
"Shh," he breathed. "I've got you."
All thought fled as all the other impressions overwhelmed her. His body moving over hers felt wonderful. He was slim like a runner, but with the strength and coordination of a dancer. Her fingertips caressed his hair and wandered eagerly down over the nape of his neck. She liked the feel of his strong-boned shoulders beneath her palms; she liked the fresh, masculine scent of him and the way the pulse in his throat beat fast and raggedly, a sign of his intense arousal.
Her impatient hands stroked him, glorying in his strength and firmness. Her fingers traced sensuous patterns on his back, dug into the flesh of his buttocks. But he continued to delay, tantalizing himself as well as her while she ground her pelvis against him, trying to find the right angle. She hardly recognized herself in the writhing, shuddering creature who so urgently needed him to fuck her.
"So impatient," he said again, low. Kissing her hungry mouth, he positioned himself so she could feel the pressure of his cock ready to pierce her depths. "Here we go."
When he finally shoved into her, his stroke was sure and hard. She was so ready for him that he easily penetrated her, even though she couldn’t even remember the last time she'd had sex. Instinctively she lifted her hips to meet him. His iron control evaporated. He began moving in a frenzy of primitive possession.
They rocked together, finding a hectic rhythm that was devoid of nuance or sophistication. Viola’s pleasure built rapidly, growing and mounting until the whole world seemed to hold its breath. She rocketed into her orgasm after only a few more seconds, so close was she to the crest. She cried out, and then laughed aloud with the exhilarating joy of the moment.
Stephen was right behind her. He slammed into her once, twice, three more times before she felt his entire body stiffen and go rigid. He didn’t cry out as loudly as she had, but he did keen his pleasure—a low, sensual sound.
Afterward they lay quiet, limbs entwined and both trying to catch their breaths. She could feel his heartbeat—very rapid when she first became aware of it, but soon settling into a much slower and more regular rhythm. Such a nice heartbeat, she thought.
His lips against her hair, he said, "I love how you laugh after you come. You did that nine years ago, too. It's awesome."
She laughed again. "It's just that I feel so happy, so completely alive."
"God, I've missed you, Viola." His voice was affectionate. His hands were fondling her as she lay cuddled against his side, her head on his shoulder. "You make me feel like a teenager again, too damn aroused to make it last."
"Well, I’m glad I’m not a teenager any longer, given how much my age once freaked you out."
"How old are you, anyway?"
"Twenty-six. I'll be twenty-seven in July. You?"
"Thirty in November."
"It seems like such a trivial difference now, doesn’t it? My ex-husband was 19 years older than me."
"Seriously?"
She was already wishing she hadn’t told him that. It had just slipped out. She didn’t want to talk about Derek. Not now, not ever. "Yeah. Mistake, big one. I never should have married him."
"How long did the marriage last?"
"A little more than two years. But it seemed longer."
"Unhappy marriage?"
"Huge mistake."
He caressed her gently, sympathetically. They both lay quietly for a few minutes, thinking their own thoughts. It felt comfortable. He was easy to be with. Had it always been like this? She thought it had. She had liked Stephen back then because he had treated her as an equal. No loftiness, no condescension. His own affable, cheerful manner was similar to her own. They had laughed a lot, she remembered. They'd had fun.
"How did you happen to marry a man who was so much older than you?"
"It was one of those professor/student things. He had a beautiful home, an art collection, cultured, fascinating friends. He'd recently divorced his wife and was looking to replace her with a younger model. He was persuasive, and I was dazzled. We had a whirlwind courtship, and everything happened quickly. By the time I started my dissertation, I was wed."
"And by the time you finished it you were divorced?"
"Exactly." The story was not so simple, but maybe he wouldn’t inquire further. "Between that, and applying for jobs and finally landing the one I’ve got now, that’s pretty much been my life. Not too exciting, compared to writing bestselling novels."
"A writer’s life is not as exciting as you think. All I’m doing is staring into a computer screen all day. My characters are the ones who lead exciting lives."
She decided not to make a remark about Bartholomew Giles’s exciting life torturing people; she probably shouldn’t keep giving him a hard time about that.
"How about you? Have you ever come close to marriage?"
"Me? Nope. Not since that one time in college. I like being single."
What did that mean? Should she ask? Best not, she decided. This relationship was barely more 24 hours old. Friendly and lighthearted was the way to behave on a first date, even when the evening ended in the bedroom.
Or so she thought, anyway. She couldn’t claim to have a lot of experience negotiating such situations. She hadn’t really dated since college. Were they even dating? Or was this just a mad sex weekend?
She had to bite her tongue to keep from blurting out some of those questions that were never to be asked on a first date unless you wanted to commit relationship suicide. No, if she wanted this to continue—and she did, so much—she needed to keep everything light and happy. Hide her heart. Be mysterious and elusive for a change. After all, she wasn't a teenager anymore.
"Why'd you get all quiet?" Stephen asked.
"What? Quiet? Me?" She tugged playfully on the silky curl of his hair that was tucked behind his left ear. "I keep having yummy flashbacks to what we were doing ten minutes ago."
"No need for flashbacks." He took her hand and placed it on his cock, which was perking up again. "We can just keep right on going."
"I'm impressed," she laughed, moving her hand encouragingly up and down the lovely organ. "You're going to run out of condoms at this rate."
"Let's hope there are some all-night drug stores in this town. If I'd known I was going to get so amazingly lucky this weekend, I'd have been better prepared."
"Don't worry, I bought a box today."
"Did you indeed?" He was grinning at her. "For me?"
"There's no one else in my life for whom I'd need them." Damn, she thought as soon as she said it. That wasn't exactly being mysterious and elusive.
"Good," he said, and blanketed her body with his.
"Stephen?"
"Hmm?"
"What’s wrong with you?"
"What’s wrong with me?"
"There has to be something. This has been too much fun. The sex is awesome, you make me laugh, you’re smart, you’re gorgeous, and unless you’ve changed a lot from a decade ago you enjoy a lot of the same activities as me. There’s got to be a catch. Nobody’s this perfect."
He had just come back from the bathroom to find her sitting up in bed with her arm looped around her knees. It was still dark in the room, but there was a faint glow coming from the windows that hinted at the dawn. Neither one of them had slept much. As he climbed back into bed, she smiled and he felt his cock harden again. Which made him say, "I think what’s wrong with me is that I’ve got some medical condition where I have an erection all the time."
She giggled. He settled himself beside her and pulled the sheet over them both. "I could ask the same thing, you know. You seem pretty perfect yourself."
She snorted. "Far from it. But I asked first." She let a few moments go by, then added, "Am I going to wake up in the morning and find you gone?’
"No," he said, ruffling her hair. "You’re not going to find me gone. I’m hoping this is the start of something. It’s not often that people get a second chance. We ought to make the most of it."
She hugged him spontaneously, nestling her face against his chest. She was so sweet, so affectionate, so easy to be with. Their bodies seemed to have a natural affinity for each other. It was everything that he had remembered it to be.
And that wasn’t all. He really liked her. He had felt the same that summer, too. In fact, he had briefly believed himself to be in love.
Stephen knew he had an odd view of romantic love. For a male at least. He actually believed in it.
As an overly imaginative kid, he had been delighted by those fairy tales about princes and maidens. There had been that guy who chopped through the thorny forest to waken Sleeping Beauty. And the other dude with his nightly climb up Rapunzel’s glorious rope of hair. He could totally see himself as Lancelot storming into Camelot to rescue his beloved Guinevere.