Too Hard to Handle, page 19
His eyes flashed up to her, sparkling devilishly, his hands sneaking up to grip her hips. God, he’s hot. Both metaphorically and literally. “And here I was hoping I was being subtle,” he said.
“If there’s a subtle bone in your body,” she told him—was it her imagination, or had the temperature inside the little room jumped ten degrees in the last ten seconds?—“I’ll eat that tissue dispenser.” She gestured over her shoulder.
“Is that a bad thing?” he asked, his thumbs rubbing circles on her hip bones. She imagined those thumbs rubbing in the same circular motion on a totally different part of her body. Heat bloomed over her skin, under her skin, coalescing low in her belly. She turned to grab another wipe. It was either that or she was going to find a way to join that Mile High Club, and damn the pulled muscles and sprained joints that would inevitably follow!
“Eating the tissue dispenser?” she asked, one brow raised. “Well, I imagine it’ll cause some mad indigestion and probably won’t—”
“That I’m not subtle about what I want,” he interrupted, his voice wonderfully low. It made the tiny room seem even more intimate.
“D-did I say it was a bad thing?” she asked, putting the towelette to good use on his clean, slowly seeping wound while simultaneously searching through the first-aid kit for more butterfly bandages. You know, just to give her hands something to do other than sneak up under the hem of his sweater and run all over his corrugated belly and mile-wide chest. The iron-y smell of blood reached her nose, competing with Dan’s clean scent and the harsh, medicinal aroma of the antiseptic.
“Some women like a little mystery in their men.” He shrugged one big shoulder. “They like the not knowing. They think it’s exciting.”
“Pfft,” she snorted, tossing the last wipe away and then carefully pulling the two halves of his wound together with one of the bandages. The cut could probably use a stitch or two, but she hadn’t the skill or the stomach for that task. Needles? She shivered. No, thank you. “You mean some girls like it,” she corrected. Her proximity to him made her head spin and her knees tremble with the desire to straddle him and rock herself to completion against the huge erection straining the front of his jeans.
He didn’t even pretend to hide it from her when he shifted atop the toilet and her eyes automatically pinged down to his fly. “I-I…” She had to stop and lick her lips. Her throat had gone completely dry. “I stopped playing games, including hard to get, when I was in my twenties.”
“Mmm,” he grumbled.
Now he was Mr. Grumbly Grumbleton. She couldn’t decide who she liked better. Growlerton or Grumbleton. They were both sexy as hell. Applying two more butterfly bandages, she used a tissue to wipe away the few drops of blood that had welled out of the wound. She was in the process of backing away to study her handiwork when Dan tightened his hands on her hips.
“You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that,” he rumbled. Mr. Rumbly Rumbleton? “’Cause I don’t believe in playing games either.”
“So what do you believe in?” Her voice was now so hoarse it sounded like she’d been eating glass. Some people didn’t have a poker face. She didn’t have a poker voice.
“Oh, I believe in a lot of things,” he whispered, a muscle ticking in his jaw beneath his beard stubble. It made the crescent-moon scar twitch.
“Like what?”
“Like buying American-made cars. Like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Like moms and dads who dance in the kitchen after the kids have gone to bed. Like the magic of moonlight. Like babies. Like love.”
And now not only was her heart pounding and her blood running hot, but there was also a lump sitting in the middle of her throat. The things he believed in were so pure. So simple. And to hear them come out of the mouth of such a complex, mysterious man who operated every day in a complex and mysterious world just made them all the more poignant.
“I also believe in asking for what I want,” he went on, a dark, carnal gleam in his eyes. He pulled a wad of gum from his mouth and tossed it in the little trash receptacle. Uh-oh. That’s telling. A thrill skittered through her. “I’ll even ask for it nicely,” he continued, “just like you said.”
She cocked her head.
“When we were standing on the street in Cusco and you told me I’d be amazed what asking nicely would get me,” he clarified.
She swallowed. Or gulped, really. And even though her lungs were working overtime, she couldn’t catch her breath. It was like all the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room. Where’s the mask that falls from the ceiling when a girl needs it?
“Wh-wh-wh—” Seriously? She gulped again and managed, “What do you want, Dan?”
He licked his lips, those wonderfully male lips, and caught the bottom one between his teeth. “Can’t you guess?”
“Tell me.” She wanted to hear it. Needed to hear it. It thrilled her when he said he wanted her, when he explained exactly how he planned to assuage that want.
“You, Brooklyn,” he murmured, palming the back of her neck and pulling her down until their lips were a hairsbreadth apart. As always, her heart tripped over itself at the nickname. “All I want is you.”
“Tell me more,” she whispered against his mouth.
“I want to kiss you on your soft lips and suck on your wet tongue until you beg me to do the same to the tips of your breasts.”
“Yessss,” she hissed the word, closing the distance between them until… Oh! Warmth. Liquid, bold, unhesitating warmth. That was his tongue plunging into her mouth to claim and conquer, to pillage and plunder.
Dan was not a man who hesitated. About anything. And he didn’t hesitate now, kissing her like he always kissed her, kissing her like she’d never been kissed before. With an intensity that spoke of his unwavering self-assurance. He knew what she wanted, what she needed. And he knew he could give it to her. Period. End of story.
She realized then, standing there while he made love to her with his mouth so expertly that her sex grew heavy and swollen with desire, that Dan’s nickname “The Man” didn’t have anything to do with him being loyal and upstanding and filled with the kind of macho knowledge that allowed him to build a rocket ship to the moon with a paper clip, a rubber band, and some C4. Or, at least, it didn’t just have to do with those things.
He was “The Man” because, quite simply, he was a man. In every sense of the word. Domineering. Potent. Virile. Lionhearted. Powerful. And above all else, completely unafraid to be exactly who he was. To show her, no holds barred, exactly what he wanted from her, what he needed from her, what he demanded from her.
“Dan,” she murmured against his firm yet deliciously smooth lips. His breath tasted minty and fresh. “Please.”
“Please what?” he whispered back, taking a nip at her bottom lip. The sting was a challenge, as were his next words. “I told you what I want. Now you tell me what you want.”
Wetness coalesced between her thighs at the thought of what she wanted. “What you said,” she allowed.
“Tell me,” he demanded again. “Give me the words.”
The tips of her breasts stung, ached as they brushed against the lace of her bra with each breath she took. There was no room. No room to do all the things she wanted to do. But she needed something. Something he was forcing her to put into words. And it terrified as much as it titillated.
She was not as bold as Dan. Not as sure of herself. To speak her desires, her wants aloud, was admitting more than her simple physical urges. He would know how much she needed him. How much she wanted him. How much she adored him. In each and every way.
“Tell me, Brooklyn,” he husked, his eyes a hot challenge. His fingers on the back of her neck rubbing and massaging, succoring her even as the hand on her hip inched back until his fingers curved around the globe of her ass in a blatant demand. He had her exactly where he wanted her, and he wasn’t letting her go until she did as he commanded.
Well, okay then…
“I want you to take off my sweater and my bra.” Heat climbed up her neck and cheeks.
“Yes?” He dropped his hand from her neck to grab the hem of her sweater. But he didn’t remove it. Just allowed the backs of his fingers to brush against the quivering flesh of her stomach. “And then what?”
“I-I want you to kiss my breasts and suck on my nipples,” she managed.
“Mmm,” he growled. “That sounds right. Like we agreed.”
“Hmm?” It was hard to pay attention to his words when he was standing and crowding her back against the little vanity. He was so hot. And huge! This bathroom was not intended for a man of his size.
“It sounds like heaven,” he clarified, pulling her sweater over her head and carefully hanging it on the latch of the door.
She was panting, impatient. But she didn’t have long to wait. He reached behind her back and, one-handed, flicked open the catch on her bra. Slowly, deliberately, he peeled it from her shoulders. Hooking one strap over the corner of the mirror, he turned back to her. They were thigh to thigh, squeezed into the tiny space. And the air was hot as a furnace.
Or maybe that’s just me…
When he moved to resume his seat on the toilet lid, she felt the desertion of his big body like a physical blow. But he held her hand and pulled her toward him, her legs between his spread thighs, her breasts bobbing just above his head.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, eyeing her reverently.
She bit her lip and shook her head. “I’ve never had much up top, but I—”
“Shhh.” He stopped her, gently cupping one tender mound in his hot, callused palm. When he rubbed his thumb over the tip, she thought she might die. Sensation zipped from her nipple straight to the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. Her knees shook. “You’re perfect. High and tight, with these amazingly responsive nipples.”
That last part, the amazingly responsive nipples part, was a recent occurrence. He lifted his other hand, cupping her opposite breast and giving it the same loving attention until both her nipples poked out like pencil erasers. “Given your coloring, I expected ’em to be darker. But they’re the exact shade of cotton candy. So delicate and pink.”
“Dan—”
“Bend down just a little,” he instructed. “Let me taste ’em and make both our fantasies come true.”
“Holy shit,” she hissed, pressing her palm to the bulkhead behind him so she could bend forward enough to have the tips of her breasts level with his mouth. When his hot breath brushed over one super-sensitized point, a rush of wetness flooded from her core. And when he looked up at her, hunger and desire and…something she couldn’t name sparkling in his eyes, she couldn’t stand it a second longer. “Please,” she begged, cupping the back of his head and pulling him forward that last inch. “I need to feel your lips on me.”
And then he obliged her, opening his hot mouth around her nipple. He laved it with the flat rasp of his tongue, then he closed his lips around it and sucked. Strongly. Because somehow he knew that’s what she needed.
She cried out. The pleasure was so good. Too good. And with each hard pull at her breast, she felt an answering tug between her legs. She slapped a hand over her mouth. With the engines humming, it wasn’t likely those in the cabin could hear what they were doing, but—
“You taste amazing,” he said. “Are you this sweet all over?” She knew it was a rhetorical question because he continued before she could answer. “I can’t wait to find out…”
Chapter Fifteen
Just as Penni had promised, Dan was in heaven. Despite the tight spot, despite the fact there was a traitor sitting not fifteen feet from them, despite the lingering smell of blood mixed with antiseptic, he was in paradise.
Because he had Penni in his hands. In his mouth. Sweet, wonderful Penni and her little catching breaths and deep, throaty moans. She was so responsive. Made for love. Her nipples pebbled against his tongue, begging to be sucked. To be licked. To be laved.
He did exactly that. And with every pull of his lips, her hips arched forward just the tiniest bit. He imagined the move rubbed her sex along the seam of her jeans. Imagined she was hot and wet and wonderfully swollen. For him. For the pleasure he was giving her. For the pleasure yet to come.
“God, Dan,” she said huskily, her fingers tousling his hair as she held him to her. “I need…”
She trailed off. And he knew by the hot blush that had stolen into her cheeks when he’d demanded she tell him what she wanted that dirty talk didn’t come easily to her. But that just made it hotter. Made her hotter. That she was pushing her boundaries with him. For him. He didn’t give her a reprieve.
“What?” he breathed around her nipple, playing with the tip. Flicking his tongue against it just as he would against her hot little clitoris once he got her jeans off. “What do you need, Brooklyn? Tell me.”
“I need you to make me… Oh Christ. That feels good,” she moaned.
He didn’t allow her to distract him. Moving to her neglected breast, he gave her nipple the same attention. And once it was standing hard and proud, he leaned back to look at his handiwork. Her breasts were so lovely. Small and firm and utterly feminine. They seemed a little rounder, a little fuller than they’d been in Kuala Lumpur. The same could be said for her hips. Quitting the Secret Service looked good on her.
“You need me to make you what?” he demanded, looking up to see her eyes on him. The brown pools were shiny and bright, her lids lowered with passion.
When Penni looked at him like that, like he was the only man in the world, he felt about ten feet tall and bulletproof. He had the sudden urge to pound his chest and roar.
“I need you to make me come,” she said, biting her lip, running a finger over the little bump on the bridge of her nose. It was as much a sign of her uncertainty as it was of her need. The move was so totally, uniquely Penni. And so totally, unquestionably sexy.
“How do you want me to make you come?” he asked, one brow raised, loving the red flush that bloomed over her chest and stole up the length of her throat, obliterating the ring of darkening bruises there.
One look at them and he wanted to beat the shit out of Kozlov. Again. Because no one should ever mar the beauty of her ivory skin, the perfection of her long, lovely neck. Of course he forgot all about Kozlov when she opened her luscious mouth. “With…” She hesitated. He could see her screwing up her courage. It was as adorable as it was hot. “With your fingers,” she finally whispered, her breaths coming fast, causing her beautiful breasts to bob in front of his face. “Just like you promised.”
“Good.” He nodded, a muscle ticking in his jaw in rhythm to the erection pulsing behind his fly. The thought of putting his fingers inside her, inside all that silken, wet heat, made him so painfully erect he thought it a wonder the button on his jeans didn’t explode off and go pinging around the lavatory. “That’s good, Brooklyn,” he praised. “Now lift your foot and put it between my legs.”
“Wha—?”
“I’m gonna take off your boot so I can peel one leg of your jeans off,” he explained. “I want you to be able to spread your legs for me. I wanna do this right since you asked me so nicely.”
Her nostrils flared. And even though she hesitated one second, then another, she did as he asked. Tackling her laces, he quickly removed her boot, surprised to find his fingers were shaking with want, with need, with a desire so hot he imagined he saw steam rising from his wet clothes. Then he went to work on the button of her jeans. She remained stock-still. Standing in front of him like a sweet, feminine sacrifice. So trusting. So certain that he would take what she offered and give her what she needed.
Her panting breaths were amplified in the small space, and he loved it. It made everything hotter, more urgent. Made him hotter and more urgent. Which was why it was such a test to make himself slowly, ever so slowly peel her jeans down over her hips, her thighs, her impossibly long legs. But he did it, to draw out his pleasure and his pain at seeing her long, lithe, womanly body revealed. She was wearing black lace panties. Just a wisp of material that teased and tempted him with the delights it covered.
He leaned forward because…well, just because he had to, and pressed his mouth over the lace between her legs. He breathed out, warming her already molten sex. Then he breathed in, and drank in the smell of her desire. It shot straight to his head like top-shelf bourbon. Better than top-shelf bourbon, because he knew that after he was finished here, he wasn’t going to hate himself. This—being with her, touching her, giving her pleasure and letting her please him—was good. It was healthy. It was—
Out of nowhere he experienced that familiar sense of hesitation. That sense that he shouldn’t want another woman so completely. But before it could take over, something strange and wonderful happened. A simple phrase drifted through his mind…Stop holding on to what hurts and start making room for what feels good.
And even though he knew he’d heard it at an AA meeting, he would swear it was his beloved wife’s voice that whispered it inside his head. Dan wasn’t sure he really believed in a higher power, in the promise of life after death, but he would swear that he could feel his wife telling him it was time. Time to let her go. Time to soldier on. Get busy living or get busy dying. And then he knew…
It was going to be okay.
He was going to be okay.
And just like that, she was gone. Leaving nothing behind but a warm sense of blessing, of permission, of encouragement.
A lump formed in his throat and he gripped Penni’s hips, turning to lay his face against her warm stomach. He wrapped his arms around her bottom and hugged her to him as his heart, which he’d thought would remain a closed first for the rest of his life, slowly unfurled.
“Dan?” she whispered. “What…? Is something wrong?”
“No,” he managed, shaking his head. His heart wide open. “No, Penni,” he said, pressing a kiss to her stomach, loving how the muscles quivered against his lips. “Everything is really, really right.”
Her fingers tangled in his hair, smoothing it back from his face. “Dan, I—”
