“You’re . . . big,” she whispered.
Not that big, but hell, he wasn’t going to argue the point. “Hold that thought,” he said, and went to the little goodie basket, which amongst other things, had condoms. On the way back to the chair, he grabbed the vibrator she’d left on the bed, shooting her a grin that changed hers from anticipatory to . . . nervous.
He decided he liked that. He liked that a lot.
Twenty-one
If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.
—Breanne Mooreland’s journal entry
Breanne stared at the glowing vibrator in Cooper’s hand, so innocuous-looking—until he twisted the end and it buzzed to life.
The sound of humming filled the air, making her body hum as well. “Um . . .”
“Come here, Breanne.”
Her feet stood rooted to the spot. He wasn’t touching her, nothing was, but her nipples were hard, and between her legs she throbbed.
Then she lifted her gaze to Cooper’s, and at the long, slow, hot-eyed look he shot her, she swallowed hard.
He set the basket of condoms on the floor beside the chair and sat, crooking his finger at her.
She went, and when she got close, he pulled her down on his hips, his hands urging her thighs wide over his so that she straddled him.
“Mmm,” rumbled from his chest at the skin-to-skin contact. Holding her legs sprawled open, he leaned forward, put his mouth on her throat, kissing his way over to her shoulder, from which he took a little bite. She jumped when he brought his other hand up, trailing the vibrator along first one inner thigh, then the other.
And then between.
She felt the jolt clear to her toes, and put her hand over his.
He lifted his gaze. “Too unromantic?”
Unromantic was exactly what she wanted here, to keep her heart out of the mix. “No. It’s just that—” She felt herself blush.
“You’ve never used one of these before?” he guessed.
“Only for a flashlight,” she admitted, sucking in a breath when the vibrator slid even higher, rumbling lightly, tingling her flesh, making her pulse leap with both excitement and trepidation.
“Ready?” he murmured.
“Um—” She broke off with a gasp when he sucked a nipple into his warm mouth at the exact moment he hit ground zero with the vibrator.
Her body tightened, strained, and the sound that tore from her throat was not a no, don’t but a definite oh, please. An on-the-edge oh, please, to boot.
Slowly he circled the tip around, dipping into her own wetness, spreading it, and then back to her happy spot, just skimming lightly over her sensitive flesh.
She jerked again, let out another of those shockingly needy whimpers, and arched up for more. Suddenly her skin felt too tight, her pulse beat in her ears so loudly she could hear nothing but the rush of her own blood, heading south, pooling between her legs.
Another slow, purposeful circle of the vibrator, combined with a hot, wet glide of his tongue over her other nipple, and she was actually going to come without straining for it. In less than thirty seconds. “Cooper—”
“You taste amazing.” Lifting his head a fraction, he stared down at her breast and lightly blew out a breath. “Do you know that?”
Luckily he didn’t seem to require an answer, leaving her free to moan again.
And at the sound, he eased back, and she had to bite her lip rather than beg for more.
He was watching her. He knew exactly what she wanted, damn him. “Hurry,” she managed, knowing she sounded too desperate, too impatient. She didn’t care. She arched toward him.
His answer was another maddeningly slow circle of the vibrator, and just as she nearly tossed herself over the chasm into a glorious orgasm, he pulled back again, brought it to his mouth and licked the tip. “Amazing,” he repeated huskily.
Staring at him, something within her snapped. Grabbing the vibrator, she tossed it aside, wrapped her fingers around his erection, sighing her pleasure at finding him both so silky and steely, and rubbed the very tip of him against her.
In. She needed him in.
“God, Bree.” His fingers dug into her hips as he held her off, his expression tight. “Wait,” he ground out.
No. No waiting. He was thick, even just the head of him—all she could get at the moment—stretched her. It felt glorious. She rocked her hips, wanting more.
He caved with a softly uttered “fuck,” and thrust into her, making her gasp with pleasure.
“The bed,” he ground out. “I want to—”
“Here. Now.” Fast and hard. Just two bodies straining toward the same thing. No minds, and especially no hearts, no souls. She rocked again, running her hands down his damp chest. His body was tense and quivering, every muscle straining. “Please, now.”
“Condom, then,” he grated out, sweat breaking out on his brow as he struggled to remain still. “Get it.”
Reaching down into the basket, she pulled out the first one her fingers touched. “Very berry,” she read on the purple-colored prophylactic. “Grape flavored.” She looked at him. “Yum.”
This ripped a rough, laughing groan from his throat as he took it from her fingers, tore it open, and stroked it down his length. He stroked a thumb over her throbbing flesh. “I wish you’d let me—”
“No, let me.” And she guided him home.
“Slow,” he said tightly, jaw bunched, his gaze never leaving hers.
“There’s no slow tonight.” She needed the oblivion, needed him to be the one to give it to her, and she sank down on him, almost melting at the feel of him gliding all the way home.
His quiet “Oh, yeah” mingled with hers. She would have moved on him, had to move on him, but his fingers dug into her hips, holding her. “Just for a second,” he whispered, stroking a strand of hair from her eyes, looking at her so intensely, so sweetly, so incredibly deeply, she felt her throat tighten.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. No sweetly. No deeply. No tenderness at all. Closing her eyes, she took his mouth in a kiss, entwining her hands with his so that she could lift up until he almost slipped out of her, then sinking back down. “Like this,” she said, and as if she finally broke his reins, he swore lavishly and took over, arching up thrust for thrust, hips pistoning wildly as he took her. Hard. Fast.
She cried out, but he swallowed the sound with his mouth, one hand on her bottom, guiding her down as he arched up, his other hand in her hair, holding her head for his possessing, fierce kiss.
Hot.
Wild.
Out of control as they gasped for breath, damp flesh slapping against damp flesh, fingers digging into trembling muscles . . . and then straining toward that finish line she’d wanted, where a turbulent whirlpool of colliding sensations waited.
Breanne got there first; she felt it building, felt it sweep over her, an unstoppable freight train homeward bound. Through a kaleidoscope of lights going off in her head, she heard Cooper let out a low, guttural groan as he found his own release. Still trembling, she fell over his hot, damp chest, snuggling in when he wrapped his arms around her tight.
“Jesus,” he breathed softly in her hair, his arms still trembling. After a long moment he sagged back and looked at her from beneath those sexy, heavy-lidded eyes.
Okay, no big deal, she thought. Sure, she’d broken her nomen rule, but she’d managed to keep her heart and soul safe and tucked in. But she hadn’t accomplished that by meeting his see-all eyes and letting him warm her from the inside out. “Well.” She smiled with forced cheer and didn’t look at him. “That was fun.” She tried to get up, but he held on.
He was still inside her, not hard but not soft, either. Sinking his fingers into her hair, he forced her head back so that he could look at her. Suddenly his eyes weren’t so sleepy. “Fun?”
She swallowed hard at the indescribable expression on his face. “Yeah, you know. As in, let’s do it again sometime.”
“Fun is eating ice cream. Fun is having a day off. Fun is a walk in the fucking park, Breanne.”
“Um—”
“What we did was pretty far beyond fun. What we did was off the fun chart.” He narrowed his eyes. “You wanted to know what was wrong with you?”
“Uh . . . no. I changed my mind.” The tension he’d banished with an orgasm was back.
“Did you, now?” he murmured. “Interesting.”
Around them the fire crackled, the house creaked, all assuring her that this was real, not some sort of fantasy dream. It was real and she had a man, still buried inside her, staring into her eyes, seeing things she wasn’t ready for him to see, trying to get to the bottom of something she didn’t want to discuss.
So she cheated. She tightened her thighs, as well as her inner muscles, and hugged him.
Immediately his eyes went opaque. Almost helplessly, he thrust up with his hips. “No fair,” he whispered.
Which is why she did it again.
This time he closed his eyes and groaned. “Let me guess. You want some more fun.”
“Good guess,” she murmured, and leaned in for a kiss, squeaking in surprise when instead he surged to his feet, still holding her wrapped around him. With a hand on her butt, the other still fisted in her hair at her back, he headed toward the bed. “You’re not going to rush me this time,” he warned her, and before she could say otherwise, he let go of her.
She fell through the air and hit the mattress, bouncing twice.
She rolled to her belly to crawl away, just as a new condom landed right in front of her nose.
Lemon yellow. In spite of herself, her entire body tightened in anticipation.
“But first,” he said silkily, holding her down with a hand low on her spine. “Back to that critique of your performance.”
“No, I—”
“I’m not sure what you’ve been told before,” he went on, unconcerned with the fact that she’d gone stiff and unhappy. “So we’ll start at the beginning.”
No way was she going to stick around for this. Surging up to her hands and knees to crawl away, she said through her teeth, “I told you, I changed my mind—”
Snagging her ankle, he held on with a grip she couldn’t shake off, though she tried with the sudden strength of a samurai warrior.
He merely caught her other ankle and slowly dragged her back across the mattress, with her fighting the whole way. Kicking didn’t help; he had a hold on her that didn’t allow for it, though she gave it her best.
“Oh, go ahead and play dirty,” he said conversationally, not even winded, the bastard. “I’m used to fighting dirty.”
Gripping onto the covers gave her no traction at all as she was hauled closer and closer to her greatest source of stress. “Damn it, Cooper. Let me go—”
He simply yanked her the last few inches, then flipped her over, switching his grip from her ankles to her thighs, effortlessly holding her down, leaning over her to see directly into her face.
If he laughed, she swore to herself, she was going to kick his balls into next week.
He wasn’t laughing.
Instead, he was looking down at her with a softened expression of tenderness that froze her limbs and sucked the breath out of her lungs, making her throat so damn tight she couldn’t even swallow.
“Breanne,” he said very gently.
“Don’t.” Somehow she managed to swallow the ball of emotion lodged in her throat, though it burned like fire. “Don’t.” Though it was silly, she tossed an arm up over her eyes.
He simply reached up and pulled it away from her face, that much closer now, kissing first one cheek, then the other. Then her jaw, nuzzling the spot just beneath. “You are the sexiest, most amazing woman I’ve ever met,” he said. “There is nothing wrong with you, nothing at all, except . . .”
She kept her eyes tightly closed. “Except . . . ?”
“Except that I missed a few spots the first time. I need to make sure I’ve thoroughly researched each area before giving you my full opinion.”
She heard the rip of the condom packet and opened her eyes.
“Look at you,” he murmured, staring down at her. “So sexy, so amazing. We’re going to make love again, Bree, just so I can prove it to you. And then again, if need be. No task is too much for the cause—”
“Cooper—”
“Right here, babe.” He slipped into her body, fitting like he’d been made just for her. “Feel me?”
Was he kidding? With his hands cupping her face, his body buried within hers, she could feel nothing but him. “I feel you.” Closing her eyes, she escaped a little bit that way, a desperate attempt to bring this back to the purely physical act. And what a physical act it was.
Decimated from their lovemaking, Cooper watched Breanne sleep. A new experience. With Annie, he’d always gone home afterwards, to his own bed. With any others, he’d always run off before the condom even cooled.
Never in his life had he felt like sleeping with someone, as in actually closing his eyes and drifting off. Sleep was a personal thing, something one did alone.
Like jacking off.
But he didn’t feel like sleeping by himself. Truthfully, he didn’t feel like sleeping at all. He just wanted to hold her and look at her. Christ, he’d turned into such a sap.
Breanne hadn’t gone easily into slumber. She’d tossed and turned until he’d hauled her back against him, her spine and butt snug to his chest and crotch—a very nice position because it left him a free hand to caress. Now he pressed his face into the crook of her neck to inhale her intoxicating scent, and rubbed his thumb over her nipple.
In sleep she reacted, the tip hardening.
He wanted to wake her up.
But he knew how exhausted she was, mostly from stress, so instead, he kissed her shoulder and listened to her breathe, with no idea what he was doing, because this sure didn’t feel like a quick little ski bunny sort of thing.
It didn’t feel like a quick little anything.
He wondered if it was still snowing, if they’d indeed be able to shovel out tomorrow and get into town. Then there was the matter of the dead body.
Even as he thought it, from far, far below, somewhere in the house, came a very soft thud.
Cooper’s hackles rose. It was past midnight. Past the hour that Shelly would be making noise in the kitchen, or Dante would be doing whatever it was he did.
Maybe it was Lariana and Patrick with their habit of screwing in every room of the house. He didn’t know, but there would be no relaxing now until he made sure. He slipped out of the bed.
Breanne rolled to her belly, spread-eagle, hogging all the space and the blankets, which made him grin. “Be right back,” he whispered, but she didn’t move.
He slipped into his Levi’s, stuck his gun in the waistband, grabbed the flashlight he’d commandeered, and headed out.
The hallway was pitch black. He flicked on the flashlight, which didn’t help much, but he knew his way by now. The noise had come from somewhere downstairs; he knew this, though as he searched, he found nothing in the great room, the kitchen, or the dining room.
Nothing anywhere.
He was halfway back to his bed and Breanne when he remembered.
Edward.
Swearing, he whipped around, making his way to the servants’ quarters. The doors there were all shut, and silent. So was the cellar door. But the strand of his own hair he’d carefully draped across the jamb had fallen.