Against the Odds Page 12

  “This torture stuff,” he managed. “You do it really well.”

  She paused, but said nothing, then slipped the clingy knit off entirely, so that her hair spilled out in a springy wave of silken curls that brushed down along her shoulders. How badly he wanted to lean over, slip his fingers beneath those silky blue straps and tug them down, then spin her around and pull her down on top of him.

  “Misty…” he began, already tightening his muscles as he prepared to roll to a sit.

  She shifted then, just enough to look at him over her shoulder.

  The unintentional seductiveness of the pose, her shoulders bare, the lean line of her body, like a dancer, coiled and supple. Her eyes had rounded just slightly in question, her hair was mussed and tousled around her face, her lips still puffy from his kisses. The look of her arrested any movement he might have made. “Jesus, you’re stunning.”

  She stilled, then breathed softly. “Thank you.” Then, still looking at him, she slowly fingered one bra strap over the curve of her shoulder, let it drop to carelessly brush her upper arm. He’d seen the front of that bra, the demicups, so incredibly sexy. He was amazed how one thin strip of silk dangling on her arm could make him even hotter.

  Then she shifted on the table until she was kneeling on it, facing him, her slim skirt taut around her thighs as she sat back on her heels…creamy skin spilling out of that demibra, nipples hard and begging for his mouth.

  Tucker fought twin urges to stroke her…and himself. The need to find some relief was overwhelming. But he kept his hands as they were, locked tightly above his head, braced there as surely as if she’d handcuffed him.

  And that image proved dangerous, as it only made him think of doing the same to her, kneeling in front of him, wrists restrained, nipples freed for his tongue.

  The image was wiped from his mind the instant she slipped the other strap off her shoulder. Her arms, crossed in front of her chest, kept her bra from spilling off and freeing her breasts to him completely.

  “Take it off, Misty,” he said, unaware of how commanding he sounded. All he heard was the need. He was almost desperate with it.

  She merely smiled. He wanted to snarl. Foreplay be damned. Torture didn’t begin to measure what she was doing to him. Payback was going to be hell. He’d make sure of it. Only he wasn’t entirely sure she’d be all that upset about it. Neither would he, come to think of it.

  Then she was slowly peeling the skim of pale blue lace downward, fully revealing those taut nipples, surrounded by bud pink areolas that had filled his mouth so perfectly. Dear God had he ever seen skin so perfect, so unkissed by the sun? Kissed only by him.

  He’d always been drawn toward fiery, darker women. Believing the darker the skin, the hair, the eyes, the more passionate the temperament.

  Now she had him reassessing all his beliefs.

  She let the cups tip forward as she reached behind her back to unhook the bra.

  Tucker was moving before he realized his intent. She leaned away, so he took her hips, turned her until her back was to him. “Let me.” He brushed her hands away and gently undid the hooks, letting the wisp of silk and lace fall to the floor.

  He dropped his hands, but remained seated on the edge of the couch, just behind her, almost, but not quite touching any part of her. “Anticipation,” he said softly, his breath stirring a wisp of her hair. “Is hell.” He lifted her hair and leaned in to kiss the base of her neck. She trembled. “And heaven.”

  He slid her hair to the side, continued his exploration around the base of her neck, drifted his lips along her collarbone, stopping to nip gently at her shoulder. “Exquisite.”

  Her breathing was shallow, unsteady. It took every bit of his own ragged control to keep from pulling her to the floor, to continue this slow assault, knowing they’d eventually get to where he so badly wanted to be. “You taste…” He couldn’t find the word, so he simply continued to savor the softness that was her. He nudged her head back, so it rested on his shoulder, allowing him access to her earlobe, the edge of her jaw.

  Her hands came up to cover herself, though to his surprise and increased arousal, not from shyness, but from need. She pressed her palms against the tight buds her nipples had become, shuddering lightly as he drew the tip of his tongue along the shell of her ear.

  Watching her touching herself as he tasted her was almost too much. He circled his arms around her waist, slid his palms across her abdomen, then upward. She went to move her hands, but he covered them instead. “Do what you need, take what you need,” he murmured against her neck.

  “I need you. Touching me.” She slid her hands from beneath his, then pressed his palms against her breasts. Shuddering, she said, “Yes,” the word a vibrating growl.

  Her body leaned heavily back into his, her head rolling on his shoulder as he rubbed his palms lightly back and forth across her nipples. When he rolled them between his fingers, she arched and cried out. He thought he might have too, he was so damn close.

  He fastened his mouth on her neck, wanting to roll those hard nubs between his lips. She continued to writhe beneath the twin attentions of his hands and his mouth, until his control snapped. He slid back to the loveseat, pulled her with him until she lay sprawled on her back across his lap, her legs splayed across the table. “I need to taste you. All of you.”

  She looked up at him, eyes a deep violet. “Please.”

  He lowered his mouth to hers, took her deep into a hard, rough kiss. There was no finesse left in him, no patience. He tore his mouth from hers, breathing hard, but needing more than just her soft lips. He lowered his mouth to her breasts, to those sweet puckered nubs. He laved her, suckled her, took her into his mouth until she was arched and clawing the air. His need was a clawing thing as well.

  He needed to feel all of her. She was already rolling to face him, aligning her body with his as they slid down into the cushions. It wasn’t enough, the loveseat too short to accommodate them. He wanted more, needed more.

  He kept her plastered to him and sat up, spun his feet to the floor even as he shoved her skirt up so she could straddle his lap. Finally, she was pressed against where he so badly needed to feel her. She all but ripped his shirt open. They both groaned as skin finally met heated skin. He pressed her close, and it still wasn’t close enough. She was moving on him, he felt like something live, hot and molten, had been pumped into him. He was on fire. And he knew all about fire.

  Pants, why in the hell was he still wearing pants, goddammit. But he couldn’t put thought to deed. They were both grinding at each other, seeking what they were beyond needing. He’d taken her mouth again, she’d taken his with her tongue, branded him, beguiled him, consumed him.

  He had his fingers buried in her hair, kissing her like he’d never kissed anyone. Her hands slid between them, tugged at the waistband of his pants. Somehow, with him pushing, her pulling, they managed to slide everything down his thighs.

  His breath caught, held, as she freed him, the air brushed him…then, before he could question her, question himself, think a single clear thought, she was there, sliding down over him. Slow, they should be going slower, he thought wildly, it was going to be over before it began. But that wildfire in his blood had caught and had already rampaged out of control. He was already thrusting deep before he could form a single thought. She was so sweet, so damn wet, tight. And she moved on him like a dancer, coaxing his hips to match hers. And they did, effortlessly.

  He took her mouth hungrily. It was as if he couldn’t bury enough of him inside of her, he wanted more. And more. She was grunting—or maybe it was him—as they bucked harder and harder. Now her hands were in his hair, pulling as she bit his lower lip. Even the pain was somehow exquisite.

  And then she was growling, pushing harder, squeezing tighter…and he shot, like fire fed with a sudden burst of oxygen, right through the roof. The shout as he climaxed was literally ripped from somewhere deep inside his soul.

  He almost came off the cu
shions he bucked so hard, thrust so high. She grabbed at the back of the loveseat to stay with him, little panting squeals came from her as he pounded his way through the climax. Waves, it was like great shuddering waves.

  “Jesus,” he breathed, wondering if his heart was going to slow before it split right through his chest.

  She slowed, relaxed her grip a little, but didn’t stop moving on him. If he was capable of speech, he’d apologize for getting there first, tell her he wanted to keep going, but was pretty sure every body part he had was paralyzed.

  Her head tipped back as she arched, instinctively seeking what she still needed. Somewhere he found the ability to move. He gripped her hips, slid her from him. She whimpered in protest. He wasn’t all that happy to leave her either.

  “Shh,” he managed, his throat and tongue dry from all that panting and groaning. He’d never been particularly vocal during sex. A smile curved his lips. He imagined that was about to change. Again, they’d both found their something new.

  He lifted her from his lap, leaned forward until he could nudge her onto the coffee table. She was climbing up from the fog they’d both descended into. He didn’t want her to. Not yet.

  His pants and briefs were around his ankles—for Christ’s sake—which inhibited him further, but he managed. Sliding to the floor on his knees, he shifted her around. “Lay down.”

  “But…” He gently pushed and she gave in, her muscle control apparently as rubbery as his. She shivered as the glass met her heated skin and started to sit up. He pushed her down.

  “Only part of you is going to cool off, trust me. Lay back.”

  Her eyes blinked open, her head lolled toward him as she struggled to focus. “Tucker…” The word was thick, hoarse.

  “I’m here, let me…you’re not done yet.”

  A lazy smile came over her face. “Oh, I’m fine. Later. For me. Later.”

  He shook his head. “Now.” As he spoke, he brushed his palm across her stomach, then dipped his head and took one soft nipple into his mouth…as he dipped his fingers between her legs.

  She tensed slowly, then arched exquisitely as he continued. Her gasps turned into low moans, and then back into gasps as she gathered up.

  “Come for me, Misty. Take me. Take what you want.” He slid his fingers into her, slowly, then back out, all the while flicking at her now tightened nipples with his tongue. “Yes,” he growled against her damp skin as she tightened around his slick fingers, cried out and bucked hard against him, again, then again.

  When her head finally rolled toward him, he shifted, slid from her, took her mouth. Her arms, boneless, slid around his neck, tugging him closer. “Mmm,” was all she could manage.

  Finally he eased back and she opened her eyes. They stared at each other for several long seconds. A slow smile curved her lips. “So.”

  “So.” He grinned. “Pretty raving magnificent for a first go at it, eh?”

  “You do a very bad British accent,” she said lazily.

  “I’ll strive to improve.”

  “Might kill me.” She closed her eyes, then smiled as she stretched and twitched just a little with one last tiny spasm. “But okay, if you insist.”

  And just like that, he wanted her again. Not that his body was close to cooperating, but if it could…“Shower?” At least then he could keep his hands on her.

  “That would require moving.”

  “I could carry you.”

  She slid her gaze to his. “Could you now?”

  “We firefighters are used to lugging lots of gear up many flights.”

  “Be still my girlish heart.”

  His grin widened a bit sheepishly. “I just compared you to heavy equipment, didn’t I?”

  Her eyes drifted shut. “One could interpret it that way.” She didn’t sound too put out. “But if we’re going to discuss heavy equipment…” She lifted one eyelid, glanced downward, then back up at him.

  “No fair pumping my ego so smoothly when I was so—”

  “Unsmooth? And I’d say we both pumped quite well.”

  He laughed and slid his arms beneath her and lifted her. “Ah, just right,” he said.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Apology accepted.”

  He rolled back on his heels, tightening his hold on her as he stood up, only to pitch forward when the pants around his ankles hamstrung his movement. “Oh!”

  But it was too late. As his knees smacked hard against the coffee table, Misty rolled from his arms, to the carpet beyond the coffee table, landing with a soft thud. And a giggle. “Apology rescinded.”

  10

  “WELL, THAT WAS THE APEX of smoothness right there. Jesus, are you okay?” Tucker swore even as they both laughed. He leaned over the table as Misty sat up and pushed her hair from her face.

  “That’s what I get for doing this without a trained professional, I suppose.” Her eyes were in full gemstone twinkle. “This would be where that warning ‘don’t try this at home’ would likely come into play, don’t you think?”

  And it was right in that moment that Tucker thought he actually felt his heart tumble inside his chest. Was this what it felt like to fall in love?

  His parents had been such a shining example of love and devotion, he’d always assumed the same would happen for him. But as the years mounted, he’d honestly begun to wonder if maybe they were the exception and he’d overromanticized the whole deal.

  At the moment, however, he wouldn’t have been all that surprised to hear harps and violins. Maybe it was this simple after all. It just took meeting the right one.

  “Actually,” he said, for the moment putting off the potentially life-altering, not to mention dangerous sensation to postcoital hormone-induced infatuation, “the phrase that applies here is ‘if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.’”

  “Should I be so trusting then?”

  “It’s worked out pretty well so far, hasn’t it?”

  Her eyes darkened and a little sigh escaped. “There is that.” A slow smile curved her lips. “However, perhaps you should pull your trousers up first,” she admonished. “Or just take them off altogether.”

  “Top-notch idea,” he said, grinning when she winced. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop with the accent. Attempted accent,” he added when she just gave him a look. “I can’t help it. I love how the inflections reflect your mood. We should all have such a multidimensional tool at our disposal.” He turned back to the loveseat and pried off his shoes, glancing back when he heard her snicker.

  She waved a hand at him, trying not to laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s too easy.”

  “What?” Then he replayed his words in his head and shook a finger at her. “Naughty, naughty girl.”

  She simply shrugged. “It’s my job to think like that. Can I help it if I happen to excel in my chosen profession?”

  “No. And with my heartfelt gratitude, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He shifted his attention back to getting his shoes off, and found himself thinking that here he was, sitting half-naked, leaving cheek prints on a glass coffee table in a five-star penthouse suite…his pants down around his ankles, a mostly naked woman sprawled on the floor behind him—a woman he’d just met and made wild, uncontrollable love to…and he didn’t feel the least bit awkward. About any of it. Quite the opposite in fact.

  He slid his pants off and noticed his wallet had fallen out of his pocket at some point and bounced under the table. He reached for it at the same time she did.

  “Here,” she said, scooping it up first and handing it to him.

  That’s when it hit him. Uncontrollable. Dammit. “Thanks.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We—I didn’t use any protection.” He looked directly at her. “I’m sorry. I know it’s a lame excuse now. I’ve never done that before. Ever.” Hell, even as a hormone-crazed teenager he’d never done anything this stupid. “I’m healthy, if that helps. We get tested as part of department regulations.”

  M
isty kneeled, wiggled her skirt down and moved to perch on the opposite side of the table, apparently as at ease with her partial nudity as he was. If he wasn’t so busy beating himself up, he’d have found her level of comfort around him immensely gratifying.

  “It’s okay, Tucker. I mean, it’s not all your responsibility. I take responsibility, too, here. I—”

  “I always take care of things, always, but we—this—” He shook his head and would have sworn, but she was grinning and he couldn’t help it, his lips twitched, too. “I’ve never been like this, the way I was with you. It was—”

  “Incredible?”

  “I was going to say insane, since I obviously was, but yes, it was that, too.” And more. The postcoital infatuation wasn’t wearing off. If anything, that excuse was feeling flimsier by the second. “Still, if there are any…complications, from this, from us, I want you to know, I—”

  “I had a sponge in,” she interrupted. Now she flushed a bit as she shrugged. “When I left here earlier, I was heading to your place and…well, a girl can’t be too careful. If it helps, I’m healthy, too. But there won’t be any complications.”

  He sighed in relief. For both of them. “Still, I should have asked, should have—”

  She covered his hand, then cupped his face in her palm. “You really are a sweetheart, you know that,” she said, looking into his eyes. “Honorable and stalwart.”

  He smiled and actually felt his skin begin to heat up. “You’re making me sound like a knight of the realm again. Trust me, my reputation back home is—”

  “If you try to tell me you’re some kind of cad—” She broke off and laughed. “Well, I suppose I should believe it, considering your proposition the night we met, not to mention what we were about just now and back in that stairwell.” She rifled her fingers through his short hair. “But I don’t believe it. I suppose that’s the fiction writer in me, eh?”

  He closed his hand around hers and pulled it to his mouth, where he kissed her fingertips. It made her eyes widen, then soften. He’d remember that, and find ways to do that more often. She made him want to be stalwart and honest and all the things a woman like her would need to fall in love.