The Black Sheep and the English Rose (14 page)

“God, I hope not.”

She laughed, feeling suddenly, gloriously free. She was thirty thousand feet in the air, as unfettered and unbound by the world and what awaited her in it as she was ever likely to be. She was in Finn's arms and about to be naked under his equally glorious body. Honestly, what more could a woman want? And in that moment, she didn't want for anything.

She didn't dare.

“The bag of goodies, darling,” she reminded him.

“Oh,” he said, his voice already huskier, his body already harder, “right.” He spun around, held her close with one arm, and scooped up the bag with the other. “If we're lucky, we might even get to the contents before landing.”

“We've at least another three hours or so.”

He wiggled his eyebrows and nipped at the side of her neck. “I know.”

She laughed, even as she shivered in anticipation of what was to come. Namely, her. Several times, if past history was to be repeated. She used her foot to nudge the accordion-fold doors open so he could swing her into the bedroom and onto the bed, wondering why in the hell she'd let herself get so caught up in his emotional whirlpool. They could have been doing this, having each other, all along.

She started to unbutton her dress, but he pushed her hands away. “I'm going to undress you.”

“Okay.”

But rather than starting with the buttons, he nudged her back onto the bed and motioned for her to scoot back, so she was stretched fully on the mattress. She arched a questioning brow, to which he merely said, “Humor me.”

He'd been the perfect playmate in the past, aggressive when warranted, and gentle when necessary. She trusted him. Here, anyway. Here is where she knew him best, after all.

But there was something else in his eyes now, something beyond the teasing, playful bad boy she'd previously known. Something far more…evolved.
No
, her little voice said.
No analyzing, remember?

She still didn't believe there could be more to this than…this, no matter how optimistic Finn was. After all, that was his nature. There was no obstacle he couldn't supersede, no outcome he couldn't impact in his favor, either with money, skill, or sheer force of will. Or a cunning combination of all three. She was more a pragmatist, a realist, who understood the odds weren't always in her favor, no matter how much power she wielded. But if this was the only way they could each discover what needed discovering, then she was all in, too. At least that far.

She let her heels slip to the floor and scooted back.

He leaned over her, then covered her wrists with his hands before pushing them up along the bedspread, until they were over her head.

“There had best not be any cuffs in that bag,” she warned, though teasingly. For some reason the idea of him restraining her held entirely different overtones—all erotic—than it had earlier when it simply meant failure of a mission.

“No cuffs,” he murmured, his mouth next to her ear, then drew his hands down her arms, making her skin tingle at the warm contact.

She had to work to keep still and not arch into his hands as he drew them along her sides. He didn't cup her breasts. His knuckles barely brushed the swell as his hands continued to move down to frame her waist. Her nipples tightened almost painfully as the expected contact didn't come. The lack of direct stimulation was almost more erotic than if he'd teased and tweaked them.

He massaged his thumbs into the muscles of her stomach, digging his fingers in lightly along her side, before continuing his exploration. Her hips pumped slightly, of their own volition, as he traced his fingers over her pelvic bones. But just as she thought he'd let his thumbs trail down her center, between her legs, he slid his hands to the outside of her thighs and continued to draw his hands lower, until finally, he reached the lengthy hem of her dress.

By now, she was almost frantic for him to directly touch her skin. Any part of her skin. Feeling his hands mold every curve of her body, except those that craved his touch most, was far more stimulating than she'd ever imagined. One thing his slow, methodical journey had done was to dismantle her ability to think about anything other than where he was going to touch her next.

And she was still fully dressed.

It was hard not to be restless, to move her torso, shift her limbs, in an effort to ease the ache that had pervaded her every muscle and pore. The way he'd positioned her hands above her head meant that any move she made felt sinuous, writhing. It made her feel wanton, sexy, voluptuous even, though she was most definitely not.

He teased his fingertips along the edge of her hem, so she could occasionally feel his hands brush against the bare skin of her legs. Thank God she'd chosen to skip putting on stockings. It was almost unbearable just having this much of a barrier between his touch and her bare skin.

As he continued toying with her dress, it took an increasing amount of restraint not to either rip the dress off herself or beg him to do it for her. She fought a smile, wondering if that was his goal. It wouldn't surprise her. Her eyes drifted shut. It was much easier to analyze and think about his motives when it was just about sex. Especially when she knew he had taken very good care of her needs in the past, so there was little doubt of a repeat performance, no matter what route he took.

Her smile didn't fully materialize, however, as without warning, her thoughts veered dangerously toward the area she desperately wanted to avoid. Wondering about things like what he'd be like as a lover over an extended period of time. And she didn't mean a long weekend. Would he remain a considerate, seemingly inexhaustible partner, or would passion ebb, along with his interest in her? More disconcerting was why it mattered?

It mattered, she realized, because if she allowed this to progress the way he wanted it to, lowering barriers, letting him get close, risking…things that weren't really in her power to risk, only to have him bounce off in some other direction the moment he grew bored, it would devastate her.

And she knew that, because he was already starting to matter to her.

“Felicity,” he said, his voice smooth and soft, like a warming sip of cognac.

“Mmm,” she replied, realizing he'd stopped toying with the hem of her dress.

“Don't think,” he said. “Just feel.”

“I was,” she said, being honest. He was the one who wanted more, not her. She just wanted…this. For as long as she could get it. And, at the moment, he was willing to let her. “Am,” she corrected herself, then tilted her head back, pressing her eyes more tightly shut. She'd waited two years; she wasn't going to screw this up. “Just…don't stop.”

He responded by slipping free the button closest to the hem of her dress. The garment buttoned—and unbuttoned—all the way up the front. She wasn't sure she'd survive it.

“No slip,” he mentioned as he slid another button free.

“The dress…it's lined,” she managed, a little short of breath just feeling the brush of his fingertips nearing the sensitive skin along the inside of her knees.

“Lucky me.”

Oh, she was pretty sure the lucky one at the moment was her, but she didn't give voice to the thought. Besides, he'd already seen her in the lingerie she was wearing, with no dress. She'd felt the full weight of his body on top of her while wearing nothing more than the silk bra and panties she currently had on. Which did nothing to explain how incredibly erotic this slow striptease was.

He continued unbuttoning her dress, carefully parting it as he went, but also careful not to do more than casually brush his fingers against her skin. She felt the cooler air of the cabin brush her skin as he bared it, which did little to soothe the heat that was pervading every inch of her body. When he got to the button ever so helpfully positioned at the top of her thighs, he paused. She wanted to squirm, or scream, already dying for him to do far, far more than lightly brush any part of her with any part of him.

She curled her fingers into her palm, resisting the urge to reach down and push his hand where it would do a fair amount of good right at the moment.

She felt his warm breath blow softly against the tender skin of her inner thighs. Then he slipped open that button—
that
button—brushing against her just enough to make her entire body twitch and a soft gasp escape her lips. He parted her dress, then dropped the softest of kisses to the inside of either thigh, before shifting up and moving on, opening another button, followed by a kiss below her navel, then another, and another, until she thought she'd surely lose her mind.

“Finn,” she choked out, not certain if she could stand him opening the front of her dress and not touching her nipples, either. She needed something, anything, to ease the ache that was almost physical pain by now.

“Mmm,” was his only response as he did, indeed, unbutton the last few buttons between her breasts, then draw the material slowly across the front of her silk bra, so gently abrading the tight tips of her nipples, sending little shockwaves of pleasure through her. She moaned now, and didn't care what he made of it. She dug her nails into her palms, determined not to sink her fingers into his hair and drag his mouth back to her nipples. Even through the silk, the sensations of his lips tugging on them would be exquisite.

Maybe she'd been right, and his goal was to make her lose control, lose whatever inhibitions she might have left with him, to demand that he give her what she wanted, so he, in return, could make demands of his own. Only she had no idea what those demands might entail now that he'd made his intentions clear, and she was in no position, or state of mind, to risk finding out.

So she squirmed, and she twitched…and waited breathlessly to see what he'd do next.

S
he was lovelier than he'd remembered, which was incredible considering he'd been fairly certain he'd romanticized and immortalized every moment they'd shared in the hundreds of dreams and waking fantasies he'd had since last being with her.

The contrast of the midnight blue silk made her skin appear almost translucent, and he wanted to lick every creamy, smooth inch of it. She smelled like a combination of the lavender scent she wore…and the musky scent that was simply hers. Her soft moans, and the gasps every time he so much as breathed, told him she was in as heightened a state of awareness as he was. Which was exactly what he wanted.

He wanted her to respond to him at the most basic level; then, from there, he could take her to places accessible only to those who felt more than physical pleasure. She'd come to understand what he knew was there, because she would no longer be able to deny it. He'd imagined it wild and tender, carnal and sweet. A rollercoaster of sensation, emotion, and primal responses, where barriers of any kind could no longer exist. And when he had her there, in that moment, as defenseless as he was, he'd ask her again. Push her again.

But she wasn't letting go. She was clinging, desperately if the fists above her head were any indication, to the patterns they'd established in the past. Wild and carnal they'd been, yes. Primal as well. But with no foundation to build on, except seeking even greater pleasure. Which they had, to sublime, almost ridiculous levels. That, in and of itself, should have told her something.

It had him.

This was likely not the time, or the place, to mount such a delicate and critical mission. He wouldn't get another chance to get it right. But sometimes a person had to take the only moment available and find a way to make it work. They'd be on the ground all too soon, and the job would take center stage again. And they didn't have a really good history of sticking by each other when things got down to the wire, with the spoils going only to one victor. In fact, they had zero history of that.

What he wanted her to see was that there were treasures far greater than priceless gemstones. And that sharing victories made them doubly sweet.

He leaned down and gently bit the tip of her chin, thrust upward as it was, while she arched against the need for his touch. She moaned, and her legs moved restlessly against his, while he fought an equally challenging battle against going ahead with this and risking losing it all.

“Felicity—” he began, only to be surprised when she lowered her chin and claimed his mouth. He hadn't been expecting an offensive maneuver, and it caught him off guard just long enough for her to make serious inroads into destroying whatever common sense and rational thought he might still have. And he wasn't too certain he'd ever had any of that around her. After all, he was campaigning for the affections and possible commitment of a woman he knew to be a thief.

A damned good one, too, he thought as she gently bit into his bottom lip, making him groan, then stretch his body along hers, bracing her wrists to the bed with his hands as he plunged his tongue into her mouth and gave in to his raging need to consume her.

She met his thrust with a sinuous kiss of her own, taunting and teasing him with her tongue, becoming the wanton, confident vixen he'd seduced in Bogota and bedded in Prague. Gone was the uncertain Felicity, her vulnerability vanished and almost hard to believe existed.

She slid her ankles along the backs of his calves, urging him to snug his bulging erection tightly between her thighs. She gasped at the direct contact, the increased pressure, and he silently swore, wishing he'd removed his clothes before he'd started unbuttoning hers.

He slid his hands down her arms and wove his fingers into her soft, fine curls, holding her where he wanted, so he could taste those lips, plunder that mouth, fully and completely. She responded in kind, sinking her slender fingers into his hair, lightly raking his scalp with her nails, making him shudder in pleasure as she drew them down to his neck and urged his tongue more deeply into her mouth.

He grunted with the need to free himself, constrained as he was now to the point of serious discomfort, but unwilling to leave her long enough to take care of it. Instead, he dragged his mouth from hers, biting her chin, harder this time, then sliding his fingers between her lips to continue that wet invasion, his cock jerking as she immediately continued sucking on his fingers while he slid down to take a silk-covered nipple into his mouth.

She moaned and arched into him, sucking his fingers deeper into her mouth. He flipped open the front clasp of the bra, needing to taste her like a man starved for food. Sweet, so damn sweet. He pushed both silky cups aside, rolling one nipple between his fingers while teasing the other with his tongue. She groaned and moved against him, her hips pressing up, pushing at him, demanding he push back.

This, they knew how to do, this almost mindless need to mate, to join, to give and take pleasure. This they could give themselves over to completely. Actually, it was as if they almost didn't have a choice in the matter. She pushed at him, and he moved downward, trailing his tongue along the delicate line of her abdomen as he slid his wet fingers out of her mouth and used them to continue teasing her nipples. He dipped his tongue into her navel, then along the lacy edge of her panty line. He could already breathe in the sweet scent of her and knew she'd be wet and wanting when he finally worked his way there.

He slid his hands along her waist, lifting her hips so he could press his mouth against the damp silk covering her. She sucked in her breath on a little gasp, then moved beneath him. He knew just how wet she would be, just what it would feel like to sink into her, to feel her take him all the way in, holding him so tightly, so perfectly. He thought he might burst behind the zipper of his pants, but he wasn't about to leave her now. He knew that if he pleasured her this way, brought her screaming right to the edge, then pushed her over, let her tumble, fall, regroup, then pushed her over again, even when she thought she couldn't, when he climbed up over her body and thrust himself into her, she'd keep coming, and the way her body would grip and convulse around him in an almost constant roll of aftershocks would jerk him so hard and fast over the edge he'd see stars.

Mindless. Primal. Basic. Essential. That was what this was.

And yet he wanted so much more.

And he planned to push and push plenty hard. But right now, the only thing he was going to push hard was his tongue. Right into the wet, hot center of her.

He slid his hands down, taking her panties with him, all the way down and off, trailing his tongue along the inside of her thigh, the back of her knee, the sensitive spot below her ankle. He yanked off his shirt and, finally, blessedly freed himself of his pants, while nipping the side of her toe, biting her arch, making her squeal and laugh. Then he teased his way back up the inside of her other leg, making her gasp and moan. She was twisting now, writhing as he drew closer, and closer still, panting, knowing what was coming. He wondered if it made it twice as good for her, already knowing how fantastic, how deeply, insanely pleasurable it was going to be. It did for him.

And it was the knowing, the wanting, that made it possible for him to take his time, when all he wanted was to climb over her and slide back into the one place he'd wanted to be since the moment he'd left her two years ago.

If this was the only way to get to her, to get to any part of her, then he was going to get to all of it that he could. And that meant taking his sweet time. Knowing the reward that awaited them both made that an easy decision to make. He pressed the throbbing length of his erection into the bedspread, accepting what little friction he could get there as a means to assuage the ache, at least a little. Then he focused his attention on her, and only her.

He nudged her legs a bit farther apart, then dropped the softest of kisses along the inside of each thigh, so close, but not brushing against where she wanted him most. He felt her fingers twine into his hair, playing with it, toying with the ends, sending little skitters of pleasure through him, but not directing him or pushing him, trusting that he'd take care of her. He pressed a kiss against her soft curls, then slowly, gently drew the tip of his tongue downward. Her hands dropped away, clutching instead at the bedspread on either side of her body as he continued to play, teasing her with his tongue until she was twisting beneath him, then finally sliding one finger inside of her as he suckled and toyed some more. He pushed her to the edge with long, slippery strokes, both with his finger and his tongue, until she finally couldn't hold back any longer and went shuddering and moaning over the edge.

He had to press his hips firmly into the mattress to keep his twitching cock still, gritting his teeth as he slid his thumb over her and kept her vibrating, fighting against the need to climb up and take her now, while she was still quaking. Instead, he started all over again, kissing softly, teasing gently, even more so now as she was twitchy and pulsing. She didn't push him away, but steeled herself against his touch, so ultrasensitive now that the slightest brush of any part of him against her was almost too much. But he took his time, and she slowly relaxed and began to climb again. When he slid his finger inside her this time, he had to swallow a groan of need, so badly did he want to be there right now. He thrust gently into her, pushing up just enough to hit that other spot inside her, so sensitive, all the while kissing, teasing, tasting, until she cried out as her hips jerked almost violently off the bed. He stayed with her until she was just past the peak, then finally, almost shakily, climbed over her and pulled her calves around his waist, lifting her hips completely off the bed, then thrusting into her so hard it drove them both half a foot up the mattress.

She cried out, and he grunted as she took him, held him, moved beneath him, matching him stroke for stroke as she continued to pulsate and shudder around him. He had no recourse, no way to stop the climax rushing to overtake him, and didn't even try. She sank her nails into his back, her heels digging into his lower back as he came with a long, jerking groan. It was as if he couldn't get deep enough, couldn't pour enough of himself into her. It was beyond seeking physical pleasure and well into some sort of primal mating ritual. Earthy, essential, basic. With her.

He idly thought about the bag. He'd actually thought to buy condoms. Just in case. In Bogota, they'd taken care to protect each other, as they had in Prague. At first anyway. But their joinings had been so fierce and so frequent, they'd eventually found any barrier between them to be too much. They'd shared so little of themselves except the physical, but they'd talked then, and he'd learned that she was protected, and healthy, as was he, so they'd decided to trust each other enough to continue without any barrier between them. As he lay almost trembling on top of her now, so thoroughly spent he couldn't imagine lifting much more than his head at the moment, he could only hope nothing had changed in the past two years, or that she'd have warned him otherwise.

He shifted off of her, rolling to his side and pulling her with him. Cuddling wasn't something they'd done much of—any of, really. They'd usually just lain there gasping. Then one of them would get up to use the bathroom, and things would usually commence again in the shower, and on it went until they collapsed and slept. There had been laughter among the gasps and moans, and they'd been by turns playful and forceful, animal and reverent, but at the core of it was pleasure seeking. And only that.

This time it was different. For him, anyway.

She shifted a bit, and he thought she was pulling away, but realized she was simply shrugging out of her open bra and dress. Still, once she was done, she didn't seem to have a really clear idea of how to move into his arms.

So he rolled to his back and tugged her to his side, pulling her arm across his chest, nudging her leg over his. She tentatively laid her head on his shoulder, which made him laugh. So confident a lover, and yet so unsure of herself as a partner in other ways. She propped her chin on his chest and looked at him. “What's funny?” she asked, only partly able to hide her dismay.

He smoothed the damp tendrils of hair from her temple, then traced his fingers over her cheekbones and along the side of her chin, ending by drawing his fingertip across her bottom lip, pressing slightly in the center. “Not funny, endearing. There's a difference.”

She nipped at his fingertip. “Endearing, am I?”

She started to pull away, but he held her tightly against him. “Immensely.”

She didn't struggle, but didn't relax entirely against him, either. It was as if she was prepared to spring into action, if necessary, at any moment. So, she was already back at work, or at least part of her was. He supposed he shouldn't let it bother him, as it was a bit selfish of him to expect her to give all of herself instantly, but it did, a little bit, anyway. He was on a mission, as well, but at that very moment, there was nothing either of them could do, and it was the last thing on his mind. He supposed she might be thinking of him as part of her mission, which bothered him even more. He didn't think she had that in her. As femme fatale as she was in bed with him, and as confident as she was in handling herself in pretty much any situation—dinner with Reese came to mind—it wasn't such a stretch to think she could.

But he'd seen glimpses of the other part of her. The part that had a hard time simply laying her head down on her lover's shoulder. An accomplished seductress wouldn't have blinked at that sort of intimacy, knowing it for what it was, using it to get closer at a time when her partner would be his most vulnerable.