Branded by Firelight, page 9
“The bed,” he said, giving her a light nudge in that direction. “Now.”
She began a slow saunter across the room, letting the loosened dress fall from her shoulders. She shimmied it over her hips and stepped out of it, leaving her in nothing but the high heels, stockings, and a garter and thong combination that showed off her firm, swaying bare ass and sent his brain into a tailspin. She shot him a glance over one naked shoulder, checking to see what his reaction was, and the small smile of triumph when she saw his expression completely undid him.
She was smart, she was beautiful, and she was balls-achingly sexy. How the hell had he gotten this lucky?
“Lie down. Leave the shoes on,” he added when she stopped at the side of the bed, testing to see how cooperative she planned to be. Some women liked a man who took the lead in the bedroom. Some would rather be in charge. Claire could go either way. Maybe she liked both.
She flipped the comforter to the foot of the bed and reclined on the crisp white sheets, dangling her long, stocking-clad legs and high heels off the mattress with a hint of sexual impatience that made him grin. She propped herself on her elbows to watch him. She had pert, pretty breasts with peaked nipples that he’d get to in due time.
“You like to give orders?” she asked.
She sounded curious. Intrigued, even. Maybe more than a little turned on by the idea.
And he found that hot. This, then, was the game they were about to play. From the moment he’d met her, he’d longed to mess up all of that perfection and shake her self-control. Not because he had anything against it, but because he suspected she needed to let it go.
“I like giving them to you, yes,” he said. “And you’re going to love it.”
He began unbuttoning his shirt, easing each tiny disk through the loophole with slow deliberation. He tugged the shirttails out of his trousers and leisurely stripped down to his briefs, happy to have her look her fill while he took his time. He wasn’t shy. He debated taking the briefs off too, before deciding he’d better wait. The glide of the fabric against his erection might be more than he could take with her looking at him like that.
She was placing a significant amount of trust in his hands. He was going to stretch it to its limits.
He knelt on the floor between her knees. “Spread your legs for me.”
She parted her thighs without the slightest hesitation. She remained on her elbows, watching him, giving him no clue as to whether or not she was ready for what was coming next. It was something he liked—and he liked it a lot—but not all women were comfortable with oral sex. It was up to him to make sure she enjoyed it as much as he did.
He ran his thumbs over the insides of her thighs above the tops of the sheer stockings. Her hands fisted in the bedspread, which he took as an encouraging sign. Then he eased his thumbs under the crotch of her thong, edging it to one side, and parted the damp folds he exposed. Claire’s hips lifted a little, thrusting herself toward him. He traced her outer folds with his thumbs, then eased a finger inside her, working it in and out while she rubbed against the heel of his hand. Her legs trembled as she tried to hold an orgasm back. He wasn’t having that. The more she resisted giving in, the greater his intent became to make her let go.
The scent of her arousal was too much for him to resist. He brought his mouth to her entrance. He licked his tongue along the seam, finding the nub, and then thrust his tongue inside her a few times. He slowed, pausing to see what her reaction was and if she liked it.
She bucked her hips in protest over his sudden inattention. “God, Ben. Yes. Don’t stop.”
She wrapped her legs around his shoulders, her heels digging into his back. Her breathing became ragged, the soft sounds of pleasure, hoarser. She was going to come any second. He suckled her nub, and with a cry, she let go. He held her hips with his hands, his tongue inside her, the waves of her release coursing from her and through him, straight to the anticipatory ache in his groin.
As she began to relax, her legs around his shoulders going limp, he lifted his head. She was still on her elbows, watching him, her eyes drugged and heavy and reflecting intense satisfaction.
“There are no words for how fantastic that was,” she sighed, flopping onto her back.
“Darlin’,” he drawled, “you haven’t yet experienced fantastic. That was barely the beginning.” He had a raging, unsated erection begging for relief, and another orgasm to coax out of her. And that was all before dinner.
He slipped her heels off her feet, unclipped the garters, and expertly rolled down her stockings, careful not to tear the delicate nylon. He rubbed his hands up and down her bare legs, enjoying the smooth length of them, before scrounging three condoms from his discarded pants pocket. He tossed them onto the stand next to the bed where they blinked in the red glare from the digital clock. He had a few details to attend to before they got to the gift-wrapping.
He swung onto the bed, shifting her so that she was beneath him. He dragged the tip of his finger down her cheek and along the line of her jaw. Her hair, no longer citified and tidy, splashed across the stark pillows as if she’d just been well-loved. He had her mussed. And he enjoyed seeing her this way—both sated and aroused—every bit as much as he’d expected.
“I think I forgot to tell you how beautiful you are,” he said, flicking his fingertip across her lower lip. “Let me make it up to you.” He covered her mouth with his, his heavy erection dragging against her belly and shouting at him to pick up the pace. He’d gone for slow first. He was ready to offer up fast and amazing.
In a second.
He trailed kisses against her throat, then the delicate length of her collarbone, and finally, slowly, the tip of one breast. He drew the nipple into his mouth. She arched her back, silently begging, digging her fingers into his shoulders before sliding her palms over the posterior muscles. She eased one hand between his legs and cupped him, caressing his weight. Then, she had his length in her hand and her touch was so incredible, the way she closed her fingers around him and squeezed with just enough pressure that he saw stars.
He groped for a foil packet, and with assistance from Claire, in seconds he was sheathed and inside her. His aching shaft practically sighed with relief when he buried it to the hilt. And then he began to thrust, hard and fast, forgetting about any kind of finesse. He was after release.
Claire was right there with him, her legs tangled with his, her hands on his ass, urging him on with her cries. Harder. Yes. Oh, my God, Ben. I can’t...
He might have heard a little prayer somewhere in there too, although that could have been him.
Her orgasm rippled the length of his erection, and he came on a groan of indescribable pleasure, panting her name as the stars spun against the backs of his eyelids.
The room slowly settled back into place. A car horn sounded outside, the noise faint and far off. They were both breathing heavily. He was still inside her, still semi erect, and as he unwillingly withdrew from her, she made a small moue of protest that had him kissing her lips. He pressed his forehead to hers. Her heart, beneath the palm he’d placed under her breast for balance, beat as wildly as his. Panic, exhilaration, and numerous other emotions that he didn’t dare examine too closely, bombarded him.
He was so lost.
They ate at the table in front of the window, leaving the curtains drawn back so they didn’t have to turn on the lights. Sweetheart had been settled at a time when buildings rarely rose above two or three stories, meaning there wasn’t much to impede their view of the neighboring rooftops.
The pale gleam from the window didn’t stretch the entire length of the room, leaving shadow-drenched corners that leached the room and its contents of color. Claire lazed across from him in a wingback chair padded in crushed velvet, one bare leg tucked beneath her as she cut her steak into tiny pieces with methodical precision.
She wore his shirt, his Stetson, and sweet, blissful contentment. He’d gone commando under his jeans. Pride stole through him. She looked like a woman who’d had one appetite well-satisfied, and as a result, worked up another.
She caught him staring at her. “Is something wrong?”
Nope. Not one single thing.
He pointed to the food on her plate. “Don’t play with it. Eat. You need to rebuild your strength. The night is young.”
“Is that so?” But she popped a bite into her mouth, chewed it, and swallowed. She lifted her wine glass, and after she’d taken a small sip, looked at him from under the brim of his hat. “I don’t know a whole lot about you.”
She knew he was damn good in bed.
But he wanted her to know more. “My dad’s a Mormon.”
He blurted it out, his own words a surprise. While it wasn’t exactly a secret, it wasn’t something that came up in casual conversation either.
She set the glass down, lining it up with her napkin. “And you’re not?”
“He found the church late in life.” Everyone had their own methods for dealing with the shit that went wrong in their lives. His dad turning to religion to atone for his sins was no reflection on Ben, even if it might feel that way some days. “Your turn. Tell me a secret about yourself.”
“You already know mine.”
He knew one of them. He didn’t know them all, or even the biggest—the one that was most important to her. But that was okay. He’d already warned her they’d come too far to be casual lovers. If she was ever going to tell it to anyone, it would be him. He could wait. In the meantime, he’d let her in on another of his. “Why didn’t you ask me about the woman at the library this afternoon?”
“You’re entitled to your privacy.”
“Nice try.” He nudged her foot under the table. “You didn’t ask me because you’d already figured it out.”
The fine muscles around her eyes worked. She bent her head over her plate and cut another bite-sized piece of steak, then peered up at him through thick lashes. “She looks very young.”
He liked that she didn’t pry, but he wanted a genuine reaction from her. Any would do. Claire continued to hold her cards too close to her chest, making her thoughts a mystery to him.
“She met my dad on the rodeo circuit. She turned sixteen the day before I was born. My father was thirty-nine,” he said.
“That’s quite an age spread.” Her expression remained carefully neutral, giving nothing away. Maybe she thought he was stringing her along, making the story up.
He wished. “Dad struggled with guilt over that for as long as I can remember. She left when I was nine.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to be. I’m not telling you to make you feel sorry for me. I’m telling you because you asked me for a secret, and this is the one I’ve never told anyone else.”
That got a reaction. She slow-blinked. Twice. “The only one you’ve never shared?”
“I’m pretty much an open book,” he said.
“One with lots of pictures,” she added, nodding, which drew a bark of laughter from him.
She set her fork down and propped her elbows on the table, resting her chin on linked fingers. Honey-brown hair spilled around her slim shoulders. His attention fixated on the smooth bare flesh of her throat and the tops of her breasts, exposed by the partially unbuttoned shirt. “You’re angry with her for leaving.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I get that. I’m angry that she abandoned a nine-year-old boy with a man who hated himself every time he looked at his son.” He shook off the past, sorry for bringing it up.
He usually preferred not to think about everything his parents had gotten wrong, and how for years he’d blamed himself for their unhappiness, rather than placing the blame squarely where it belonged—his mother had been a buckle bunny who’d lied about her age, and his father should have known better than to sleep with a girl who would have been too young for him even if she’d been legal.
“At least my dad’s found some peace. And she got the family she wanted.”
That last part came out too bitter. Then again, Claire had witnessed him telling his mother to quit following him or he’d call the police and get a restraining order, so she wouldn’t be fooled by any pretended indifference.
“She’s pretty, Bennie. Who is she?”
“She’s none of your business. Stay away from her too.”
“You’ll always be her child,” Claire said. “Her firstborn.” She toyed with the white linen napkin neatly folded alongside her plate, tracing its edge with her finger. “No one can replace you.”
He was disappointed in Claire for defending her. He’d wanted a reaction from her, but not as a show of sympathy for a woman who’d abandoned her child. There was no excuse for such an action, only selfishness. Claire didn’t understand. How could she? Her mother hadn’t walked away from her children after their father passed away.
“Two half-brothers seem to have done that just fine,” he said.
Her cellphone interrupted, the ringtone muffled because it was in her purse by the door where she’d dropped it when they came in. She looked at the red numbers on the clock on the bedside table, then scrambled out of the wingback and made a dash for the door. It was closing in on midnight.
“That’s my mother. I promised I’d let her know if I was going to be late.”
He turned his chair sideways to the table so he could enjoy the sight of the tail of his shirt swinging against the backs of her thighs. The shirt covered her ass, but just barely. When she bent over to retrieve her purse, he was betting the view would be spectacular. And he was right. Lust lanced his groin.
“Tell her I was fantastic,” he called after her.
“Someone’s a little full of himself,” she shot back.
“Was I fantastic?”
A satisfied smile flashed at him from over her shoulder. It killed him when she looked at him like that. “You were okay.”
The phone stopped ringing before she could reach it. She rifled through the small bag and withdrew it.
“Say we’re watching a movie so you’re spending the night at the ranch again,” he said.
Claire paused, phone in hand. His hat had slid forward so that she had to tip her head back to see him. “This is Sweetheart. Do you really believe she won’t find out that we got a room here instead of going to dinner?”
Ben stretched his arms wide, then laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “You’re... what? Twenty-eight? Twenty-nine? Do you really believe she’ll call you on it if we’re found out?”
“My mother treats me the same way she did when I was sixteen. If you think she’d be okay with me spending a night in a hotel with you, you’re out of your mind.”
But she ran her gaze over his chest and down to the unbuttoned fly of his jeans in a manner that suggested she was willing to take her chances. He was hard and not shy about letting her see that he wanted her.
He was more anxious to find out how much she wanted him. The first round had barely taken the edge off. He couldn’t swear a second would suffice. Waiting while she made up her mind was driving him nuts.
She lifted the phone to her ear. He heard Mrs. Brand say hello.
“Hi, Mom,” Claire said. “Sorry I missed your call. My phone was in my purse.” She shot another glance in his direction. Slowly, well aware she had his undivided attention, she slid another button on his shirt free. “Ben and I are watching a movie. I’m going to crash here for the night.”
She’d considered telling him about Tabitha, but when her mother’s call interrupted, the moment was lost and she had no idea how recapture it—or if she wanted to try. He seemed so hostile. So unforgiving.
She wasn’t ready to get into the kind of debate with him where she had to defend prior choices. Every time she looked at those birthday photos and saw that sweet little face, she was reminded of all the milestones she’d missed. The first tooth, the first words, the first steps... Those were only the beginning. There were so many more to come and she had no idea how she was to survive them. She’d give anything to be able to turn back the clock and do everything over, but it was too late. She’d been at the lowest possible point in her life and she’d done the best she could. Before she’d held that new life in her arms, she’d been able to assess the situation in practical terms. Not after. No one would ever grasp what it had cost her to give up that tiny bundle—least of all Ben.
How could he, when he had so much anger in him over being abandoned by his own mother?
Tonight was supposed to help build the bridge to her future. It placed the punctuation mark on her past. It was about the present. The here and now.
She returned the phone to her purse and dropped the purse on the dresser. Then, she shrugged the shirt off her shoulders and allowed it to slide to the floor. She began to walk toward him, tossing his hat onto the bed they’d demolished. She owed him no explanations. She was tired of the guilt and the loss and the sadness. They’d agreed on a short-term, sexual relationship. She didn’t need to think about the past or the future when she was with him, since he played no major part in either.
He started to stand.
“No,” she said. “Don’t get up.” She selected one of the remaining two condoms from the bedside table. The foil crackled. There’d be no more careless pregnancies for her.
Interest sparked in his eyes. A long, slow smile creased his cheeks. “One of us should close the curtains.”
She’d never, in her entire life, taken this kind of risk. Having sex with a man who enjoyed exploring her body for a change should have been novelty enough for one night. “We’re on the third floor and the lights are off. Who’s going to see us?”
“Anyone looking up from the street. If this ends up on YouTube darlin’, I want to be on the record as saying it was not my idea.”
But he wasn’t protesting either, and the chances of someone outside on the street glancing up at a dark window were too slim to count. The possibility of them getting a video worth sharing was slimmer still.
