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Bryce stared up at Cecily, her hair hanging in waves, framing her face. The sheer curtains across the windows were drawn, but the blackout curtains behind them were still open, giving enough light to reflect off the chestnut highlights each time she moved. He concentrated on her face—her half-lidded brown eyes, her parted lips—because to look any lower, at her naked breasts, would be pushing his self control to the edge of a cliff.
She knelt beside him, and he threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her closer.
She pulled his hands away. “Not quite yet. I told you, there was something I wanted to do first.”
First, as in before they had sex? Considering they were both on the bed stark naked, and he doubted she could have missed that he was ready, what did she want to do?
He didn’t care. If it meant they could get on with what they’d started, she could stand up and sing Yankee Doodle for all he cared. “Then do it.”
She grinned and lifted the end of his ponytail and worked the lowest rubber band off. “I want to see you with your hair down. I want to run my fingers through it. I want to feel it on my breasts.”
“That can be arranged. Let me help.”
“Turn over,” she said. “No moving.”
He flipped to his side, facing away from her. Lying on his stomach in his condition wasn’t a comfortable option. “This good enough?”
“I think so.” One by one, she loosened and removed each band, gently easing the rest of his hair through them. Five. Why had he used five tonight? He could have gotten by with three. Or two. Or one.
She nuzzled his ear. His hair moved, swinging back and forth. Was she rubbing it against her breasts? Could he get any harder? The last band came off and her fingers massaged his scalp. Guess he could.
“I want to see you,” he whispered.
“Damn,” she said.
“What?”
“I should have bought a hair brush. Or a comb. I’d love to brush your hair. I have a little one in my bag, but it wouldn’t be the same.”
“I promise, we can do that another time. Cecily, you’re driving me crazy.”
She giggled. “Well, I’d say that’s a good thing. You can turn over now.”
He intended to flip her to her back, but she stopped him mid flip, her strong arms pinning his shoulders against the mattress.
She knelt alongside him, her dark eyes filled with pleasure. “I’m taking your advice. It’s time for me to be Cecily, and Cecily is in charge. You’re mine now.” She traced a forefinger over his lips. “No talking.”
That finger moved along his jaw—at least he’d shaved before picking her up tonight—up to his ear, twirled a lock of his hair. That one finger ignited fireworks as it moved down to his chin, along his neck, to his collarbone. Lower, to his pecs, stopping to twirl a nipple. Moving across to the other, tracing spirals around the areola, then down, down, in curves like a slalom skier, to his navel. His hips bucked. Good lord, could one fingertip do that to him?
He reached for her hand.
Lower. A little lower. Please.
She either couldn’t read his mind or was ignoring his silent signals, because she swatted his hand away. “I’m adding no moving to the rules.”
“Rules? Can’t we call them guidelines?”
“You’re talking,” she said. “I’ll have to fix that.” She pressed her lips to his.
How was he supposed to not move if she was kissing him? He tried the letter of the law route and didn’t return the kiss. Didn’t turn his head toward hers. Even though it was an awkward, sideways kiss, one part of him insisted on twitching. She didn’t seem to notice.
Apparently, she wasn’t satisfied with their position, because she straddled him, as easily as swinging into the saddle. Her important parts were now dangerously close to his important parts, and he gripped the sheets beneath him to keep from grabbing her, settling her where he needed her.
She tilted over him, dangling those luscious breasts in his face. “You can move your mouth now,” she whispered.
An invitation. She’d said mouth, not lips, which gave him some leeway. He teased her nipple, flicking his tongue against the peaked bud. She rewarded him by moving lower. His teeth scraped her tender skin, his tongue caressed, and his mouth suckled. She groaned.
“You can move one hand,” she murmured.
He went for the other breast, his fingers mimicking what his tongue and mouth were doing. Her pleasure was evident, but his control was slipping, even though those important parts weren’t in contact. And, oh, how he wanted them to be in contact.
This time, his frantic attempts at ESP seemed to be getting through, because she moved her hips up and forward, sliding back and forth across his erection.
He allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sensation, then realized things might be over too soon if he let her continue.
You have the whole night. Enjoy it.
When she reached down to take him inside her, a modicum of reality intervened, and he grabbed her hand. “Condom.”
Her eyes popped open. She blinked. “Right.”
Breaking the spell was what he needed. He reached for the nightstand—he had put one there, hadn’t he?—but Cecily was one step ahead. Of course that put her breast within reach of his mouth again, and he couldn’t resist. She fumbled for the packet. He laved and suckled her breast.
She squirmed against him. If she did that again, it would be too late for the condom. Rules be damned, he took the foil square from her and tore it open. She tried to snag it away.
“No,” he protested. “Give it to me. Give me a minute. I only have two of these and I don’t want to waste this one.” He eased her off him and turned away. Why the hell hadn’t he bought some when they’d stopped for a damn toothbrush? Why did hotels give you shampoo instead of what you really needed?
The thoughts distracted him long enough to feel confident he could roll on a condom without embarrassing himself, and he took care of the chore. Cecily waited, a half-smile on her face.
“You enjoyed tormenting me, didn’t you?” he said.
Her eyes twinkled.
He propped himself on an elbow. “C’mere.”
She shook her head. “I want to continue where we left off. I’m revoking the no moving rule.”
He shifted to his back and let her straddle him again. She glided over him. He explored her breasts, caressed her back, let her find her rhythm. Until he reached a point where distracting thoughts weren’t distracting, and his hips matched her moves. “I want to be inside you, Cecily. Take me in.”
She lifted her hips, opened herself to him and centered his tip at her entrance. Slowly, she lowered herself, guiding him inside. Then stopped. Moved upward, almost severing the connection. Down again, taking him a little deeper. Unable to contain his movements, he thrust upward, clutching her round buttocks. Seating her inside him. She moved. He moved. Lord, he was too close. He sought her sweet spot, swollen and ready. She adjusted herself, giving him free access, and he teased, circled, and rubbed until her hips moved faster and her breathing turned to rapid pants.
One of her hands reached behind her, cupped his balls, and the tension of his impending release overcame any coherent thought. Almost. He hung on long enough to squeeze her nipple a little tighter, to rub her clit a little harder, and she clenched around him. “God, Bryce. Oh God. So good.”
He was with her as his world shattered.
Bryce awakened slowly in the darkened room. The clock glowed two-fifteen. He inhaled the scent of Cecily’s hair as she lay spooned into him. His elbow rested on her hip, his hand cupped a breast. He lay there, simply breathing, fully relaxed. Almost. Cecily stirred against him, her hips moving enough to arouse him. Gently, tentatively, he stroked her breast. She liked that, he knew, but would she resent having her sleep interrupted?
When she lifted a hip, reached between her legs for him, he took it as a no.
Cecily stared at the ceiling, wondering if it would spoil the moment if she asked Bryce about the scars she’d noticed on his back? She assumed he’d gotten them while he was in the Rangers, and he’d never been willing to talk about his experiences. Would he be more open now?
He came back from the bathroom and crawled into bed beside her, drawing her close. He lifted a strand of her hair and let it float to the pillow, a smile on his face. She did the same with his. “One of my fantasies fulfilled,” she said. “No, make that two.”
He gave a crooked grin, then rose to his knees over her and lowered his head, shaking it slowly so his hair swept across her chest. She ran her hands along his back, her fingers seeking and finding one of the scars, then moving past, continuing her slow caresses, each time tracing a piece of the evidence that he’d been wounded.
When he didn’t flinch or pull away, she braved the question. “Did you get these in the army?”
He stiffened, then flopped onto his side, facing away from her. “Most of them, yeah.”
“Will you tell me about them?” She continued to trace his scars. “If the memories aren’t too painful.”
His chest expanded and released as he took several long, deep breaths. She waited out the silence. It wasn’t as if this was out of the norm. Finally, after another long, shaky breath, he turned and faced her, toying with her hair again.
“The Ranger scars are no big deal.” He paused, as if deciding where to start. “I was a K-9 handler.”
He’d never mentioned it, but it made sense, the way he related to animals. She waited again. Bryce needed to do this because he was willing, not because she was going to yank every word out of him.
“Alice. She was my partner. Gorgeous German shepherd. Bomb dog. Trusted her with my life. We all did. Iraq. She alerted. A kid. Maybe eight, ten years old. With a suicide vest. My team fell back, but not quite fast enough, far enough to avoid the blast.”
His breathing accelerated. His nostrils flared. His fists clenched in her hair, but she didn’t try to escape his grip.
“I was closest,” he said. “I was responsible. I should have noticed the kid sooner. It was in his eyes. I caught the brunt of the shrapnel.” He blew out a shaky breath. “But we all survived.”
He blamed himself, but she knew telling him it wasn’t his fault wasn’t going to ease his pain. She traced a fingertip along his jaw. “Alice?”
He released Cecily’s hair. A corner of his mouth twitched. “She lost most of her hearing. Army retired her—with a Purple Heart. She’s living with a family in Montana. They send me a Christmas card every year, with a picture of her. She’s happy, I think.”
“I’m glad. For Alice, and that you could tell me. I know talking doesn’t come easy for you.”
“That’s another story.” Bryce sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and lowered his head.
Given the way Bryce kept his words to the bare minimum, she didn’t think it would take him long to tell. “I’ve got all night,” she whispered.
“My father ...”
His father? Again, she waited for Bryce to continue.
“He’d beat me. Started out if I asked questions about things he’d say. You know, how a kid wants things explained and doesn’t always understand the explanation, so he asks why. I found out later he was wrong about a lot of stuff, but had to come across as mister all-knowing.”
“He felt threatened. By a little kid? His kid?”
Bryce crossed the room to the window. Pulled the room-darkening curtains closed. “Guess so. After that, it was for disagreeing with him. Eventually, just opening my mouth was enough to get me the belt, so I kept my mouth shut. Old habits die hard.”
“Then you don’t need to say anything else now. Come back to bed.”