Her apartment dizzied him. Or maybe it was the inept blood flow to his brain. Books and bright toy bins and a tidy but mismatched row of shoes at the entrance. Unremarkable furniture buried under knit blankets and a stack of folded laundry. His gaze roved, sending him impressions of a clean and organized and undersized space.
“It’s not Buckingham Palace, but it’s mine.”
“Sorry.” His knee-jerk apology had nothing to do with any defensiveness in her tone and more to do with worry he’d been giving her space a dismissive look.
Rachel’s hand on his forearm cooled his blushes. “How grand a tour do you need before we get to the fun stuff?”
He slid out of his shoes and nudged them into line next to a green sandal. The other half of the pair was a few soles away. “I’m here for your needs.”
She let her tongue slide over her lower lip, caught that lip with her teeth. Released a silent sigh.
He was riveted.
“Okay, then. Kitchen, living room, bathroom’s at the end of the hall.” She waved in general directions as she led him her way. “This is my room.”
And maybe it was anticipation, maybe the contrast to the controlled clutter in the other spaces, but he felt as if he was entering an oasis. A brass bed with green and yellow bedding, three plants thriving along the top of the dark wood dresser, gauzy curtains. And in the middle of it all, not a mirage: Rachel.
“Cute.”
She widened her eyes at him. “You are eloquent.”
He rubbed the buzzed hair at the back of his neck. He shouldn’t have let the barber use clippers; it left coarse prickles and he didn’t want Rachel repulsed by running her hands over his scalp.
He wanted Rachel to run her hands over his scalp.
And his beard, and his body, and his cock. “Most of my words right now are beyond crude. If you want a civil conversation, let’s go back to the living room. Or a restaurant. Or anywhere I’m not looking at you and your bed.”
She stepped to him. Her hands were strong and capable, exactly the hands he’d have expected, with her job. Stroking down his arms, circling his waist. He stroked into her hair, wrapped fingers around her nape. She grabbed his ass. Their lips met.
Her eyes closed. She tasted of mint and her hair was a tangle of silk and, groaning, he teased his tongue against hers. Rachel hummed in response, and his cock firmed against her belly. She backed one step. Two. He followed, tight against her. Together, they slid onto the bed. He pressed her chest into his, running a hand down her spine while shifting so she straddled him. Still nipping at her lips, tasting her sweet softness, he slipped a hand under her shirt’s hem and the satin of her skin set his fingertips aflame.
Her skin, her kiss, the eyes she opened to meet his, ate away anything he was going to say.
The man had a magic mouth. She could do hour-long infomercials about his kisses.
And they were just getting started.
“One thing,” she said, lifting away and breathing heavy. “I’m out of condoms.”
She’d passed all her human anatomy classes. She knew he didn’t have more muscles in his lips than other people. But his were firm and strong and moved in opposition to each other, like the lower was still meaning to kiss her while the upper curved in self-satisfaction.
Somewhere behind the insistent tingling desire of her breasts a shard of curiosity prodded her to study his lips in motion.
“Now, aren’t you glad I was never the scouting type?”
She glanced from his lips to his bright-spark eyes. Her fingers tangled to clasp with his as their hands met between them. “I thought scouts were the prepared ones.”
“Nope. They were all off learning meritorious skills while bad boys like me snuck around thinking up devious ways to get laid.” He slid her hands into his front pockets and canted up his hips to give her room to delve. She understood his goal, even grazed the edge of a foil packet with a fingertip. But thrusting up his pelvis also drove the ridge of his erection against her. She spread her knees wider to sink into the pleasure.
Theo fell onto his elbows, then flat on his back, bracketing her hips while she tilted into him. Those lips of his softened as he breathed out a moan.
It was too much. She was breaking into a sweat of need and panting and desperate action. She hooked a finger to draw out the condom, ran the heel of the other hand up his flies. Smiled at his louder moan. He unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans and started on his own. She peeled off her shirt and bra.
For a moment—two seconds, no more—as he was caught in the tangle of his Elixir-branded tee, his face was covered and memories of Sergei’s body superimposed themselves. The broad inverse triangle of a torso, the black curls of chest hair. Had every man she’d fucked had those same nipples, or just these two?
But then his shirt sailed over her shoulder and he—Theo—stroked a thumb along her collarbone. Slid the other hand to the curve of her lower back. Swallowed audibly as he let his gaze roam her body. Everything as slow and quiet as river water coming to a boil over a campfire.
And as inevitable, given the heat.
She laughed her relief at finding herself right where she was, in her room, in her safe apartment, atop Theo. Dangling a condom in front of him. He snagged it and tossed it beside them as they finished stripping, and then they were right back to speed and hands and tongues and flesh. He was a man with good flesh, Theo. Warm and sure and tender. A touch too tender, until Rachel showed him what she liked. The firm pad of his thumb, the figure eight stroke that distracted her from her urge to explore his cock. His ass, his thighs, his entirely delicious abs. She collapsed back into her blanket as Theo focused in on her clit, clamped her feet against his calves in case he got foolish notions about abandoning her before she came.
He did not abandon her.
He did not stop stroking. His thumb obeyed her wishes, and he fulfilled desires she hadn’t spoken aloud—unless Theo knew the language of groans and growls. Tongued her nipple, sucked, tugging a bit on her hair as he increased the tempo on her clit. Let her writhe. Her arms flailing, then hands landing in his coarse thick hair, and he grinned at her.
Maddening.
He maddened her. Slowed his movements. Made them lighter. Made her thrash as she threw herself at him, compensating for his failure of a thumb by doing all the work herself. Fuck that. She was a single mom, she knew about doing all the work herself.
But before she could twist her hips away and bring herself to orgasm, Theo said, “Condom.”
Begged her, really.
So she bucked herself into his hand to make a point, but clawed the packet towards them and ripped it open, rolled it down his hot hard cock. They both were groaning, and hers turned into a gasp of bliss as he thrust into her. Thrust deep, but levered his body up so there was no need for his thumb to leave her clit. Smart, maddening man. He withdrew and slid back, slow, counterbalancing the torturous pace with his thumb’s rapid pulse at her clit. Rachel’s head spun and her fingers dug into his shoulders and she lost the last of her breath as she cried out and came.
He gentled again, fully sheathed in her, and traced tickle-sharp fingers up her sides. Waited for her half-open eyes to meet his smug look before leaning in for a kiss. Kiss. Meager word for the leisure and life and laughter and length of their lips meeting. Murmurs became words, and he asked, “Good?” Not self-satisfied, not curious, no. He was checking in, and maybe warning her, too, because when she nodded, Theo shifted apart his knees, braced his hands on her hips, and began to move.
Yes. Hell, heaven, all the gods and goddesses both full and demi, yes. He tried to focus on the soft blur of her eyes, slumberous but somehow still challenging, and ramped up his pace. Harder, more rhythmic, pushing forward and forward and forward until her eyes widened and her breathing matched his.
Both their voices half-coherent in rhythm, yes and god and oh and yes. Her arms flailed but then she got a grip on his ass and he was empty of finesse. No control at all. Nothing but the way she squeezed him tight, inside and out, and his thrusts slammed deep as he, as she, as they both moaned and came and panted and came and groaned.
She slid him to her side, a cool spot on her mattress that fast warmed to his radiating body heat. He mustered the energy to roll his head her way. “Wow.”
Her eyes stayed closed but her smile broadened. “Ummm.”
“I’ll get water,” he said, but let the torpor take his muscles until she nudged his ankle with her toe.
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
He leaned in for a kiss before swinging himself upright. A quick detour to dispose of the condom and splash water over his flushed face, then he made himself at home in her kitchen. He found a tray between the fridge and microwave, and assembled a couple of sandwiches to bring back to bed.
“My hero.” Rachel fluffed her pillows. She’d folded their clothes and donned a robe and tidied the bed. He froze in her doorway, a naked statue bearing sustenance. Even more out of place than the Parthenon Marbles in the British Museum.
Then she approached, and her robe gaped open, and she stroked up his flank before taking the tray. So he relaxed.
Except for the part of him fixated on the swell of her breasts.
She grinned. “If we’re going for round two already, I’d better set this on the dresser for now.”
He glanced at his watch. “I’m ready if you are.”
“Good.” She drained her water glass, and set it back with a distinct thunk. “I’m ready.”
He had no right to be proud of himself that she didn’t stop to fold her robe after discarding it. His chest filled with glory anyway.
Thorough sex, hasty sandwiches, dressing to beat the clock. With each second beside her, the feeling spread and became something too intense and too fragile for his own good. He didn’t make the slightest attempt to curtail it. By the time they hastened out of her apartment so she could get back to Hannah, his mind was full of next time and hopefully also the time after that. It wasn’t until they’d driven off their separate ways that he realized he still didn’t have her number.