Chapter 20
Tempest sighed in Lucky’s arms, snuggling against his chest.
“Was that wonderful feeling . . . normal?”
He chuckled. “You like my touch?”
She nodded, inhaling his scent of sage, leather, and citrus. “But what about you?”
“This isn’t about me.”
She raised her head to look into eyes that reflected firelight as if he burned inside. “I’m not completely naive.”
“Not anymore.”
She drew circles on his chest with one fingertip, relishing being able to intimately touch him. “Your skin is so smooth.” She leaned forward and stroked the tip of her tongue across one nipple and then the other. When she felt him shudder in response, she grew bolder. She licked his nipple and felt it tighten into a taut peak, so she nipped the other and felt him move restlessly against her.
“Does that hurt?”
“Not there.”
“Do you believe what’s good for the goose is good for the gander?”
“Are you volunteering?”
“I’d like to touch you, too.”
She felt him spear fingers into her hair, pulling loose her chignon and letting her long hair tumble down around them. When he crushed her lips in a hard kiss, she reached up and twined her hands in his thick hair, desperately wanting more of him. She was starved for what he had to offer. Perhaps it was the aftermath of seeing the ghost or being susceptible to his looks and charm. She didn’t care. She’d waited so long for a man to love her, or at least make love to her, that she couldn’t resist anything he had to offer.
When he bit her lower lip and sucked on it, she squirmed in his lap, feeling the ridge of his hard shaft excite her all over again. She reached down and pushed her hand between them so that she could feel, hold, and rub his long length through the fabric of his blue jeans.
Lucky raised his head. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Can’t I do for you what you did for me?”
She scooted back and fumbled with the first button. When she got it unbuttoned, she glanced up at him.
He smiled, then leaned back and braced his hands on the blanket and stretched out his legs under her. “I’m all yours.”
At his words, she felt free to pleasure him. She popped one button after another until his shaft sprang free. She looked in amazement at the long, thick, dark shape. She touched the glistening end with one fingertip.
He tensed and groaned, pushing up toward her.
She jerked back her hand. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“If you don’t touch me, you hurt me.” He reached forward, took her hand, and wrapped it around his shaft. “That feels good.”
She squeezed and stroked his smooth skin. “Like that?”
“We can do better.” He patted her butt. “Move up on your knees.”
When she straddled him on her knees, she looked to him for more instruction.
“Now wet your hand between your thighs and use your moisture to stroke me.”
“Oh. I’m not sure if—”
“You can do it.”
She pulled up her drawers, reached under, and stroked her hot, moist, achy center, remembering how he had touched her there.
“That’s right.”
She glanced up to see him watching her with fever in his eyes.
“Use your fingers. Go deeper.”
She felt her soft, swollen folds give way to more heat, more moisture as she held his gaze.
He smiled, flashing his dimple. “You want me?”
She nodded, withdrawing her hand and clasping his rigid shaft, spreading her moisture up and down the length of him.
“Like this.” He leaned forward, clasped her hand, and taught her the rhythm, stroking up and down, faster and harder.
When he leaned back, closing his eyes, she continued the movements, reveling in the feel of him, her power to please him, and the intimacy. He groaned, pushed hard against her, and spurted into her hand, blending their essences.
He pressed a kiss to her lips, picked up a handkerchief, and handed it to her.
She wiped off her hand, almost reluctant to lose that part of him, and set the handkerchief aside. “I had no idea there could be so much variety. I’d only heard about the missionary position and how women were simply meant to endure.”
He chuckled. “I can make that position pleasurable, too.”
“Are you going to prove it?”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I want very much to prove it.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
She shivered with anticipation, part fear, part excitement, part worry, but then remembered the danger of pregnancy. She couldn’t risk bringing a child into the world without a husband and father to help. She sighed.
“What is it?”
“We can’t risk making a baby.”
“There are ways around it.”
“Really?”
“Have you heard of a French cap?”
“No.”
“It covers a man’s shaft like a glove.”
“And you have such a device?”
“Always. Just in case.”
“Like your .44? Just in case.”
“A man should always be prepared to protect his ladylove.”
She felt a sudden longing in her heart. “Am I your ladylove?”
“Would you like to be?”
“Yes, I think so.”
He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “You are my ladylove. And I treasure you.”
She felt an expansive blossoming in her heart. Not love, of course. A woman would have to be a fool to fall in love with a heartbreaker like him. But she felt a great kindness and appreciation toward him. He knew the worst about her, but he still liked her. That alone was a great gift.
When he reached for the waistband of her drawers, she allowed him to untie the bow, although she shivered at the thought of being completely naked.
“Please stand up for me.”
When she stood, her drawers slipped down her legs to pool at her feet.
He simply looked at her for a long time, not saying anything.
But she knew he liked what he saw because his shaft grew hard again, and poked out of his blue jeans.
“You’re completely beautiful,” he finally said. “When we find that artist, I’d like him to paint you in the nude.”
She gasped in shock.
“It’d be just for me. And you. Nobody else would ever see it.”
“What about the artist?”
“Artists are used to seeing nude bodies. It’d mean nothing more than painting a still life like a bowl of fruit.”
“I hardly think being compared to fruit is a compliment.”
He chuckled, glancing down. “You can compare me to a banana.”
She couldn’t keep from laughing at him. “Fine. He can paint all the bananas and peaches he likes.”
“What if I was in the painting with you?”
“Naked?”
He stood up, shucked down his blue jeans, and stepped out of them. “Like this.”
She inhaled sharply at the beauty of him. “That’s a different matter.”
“Is it?”
He stalked over to her, ran his hands up and down her back, then clasped her butt and pulled her against him, wedging his cock between her legs. He began a slow dance, in and out, as he pressed his mouth to hers and repeated the dance with his tongue.
She clutched his shoulders, digging her nails into the strong muscles of his shoulders as she rode him, clenched him, rubbed him, unable to get intimate enough to ease the burning that was building inside her. She felt him dig his fingertips into her butt. He held her tight as he pumped faster between her legs while she clung to him, writhing and straining and moaning.
He groaned louder and thrust harder as she hung on tight, struggling to reach that peak of exultation. When he called her name and shuddered, she was cast free of her earthly bonds. They reached the heights of their fiery pinnacle together.
As she plummeted back to reality, she would have fallen if he hadn’t been holding her. She’d never felt so weak and yet so satisfied. When he eased her to the blanket and sat down beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close, she sighed in contentment.
He tilted up her chin and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “And that is what it means to be a man’s ladylove.”