Fucking hell.
Yes, they were fucking well going to talk.
And they were fucking well going to do it now.
He pulled off his coat, threw it on the armchair Elle drunkenly advised him to move and walked directly down the hall and up the stairs to the guest suite.
The door was closed.
Since she’d stayed with them, he’d not come up the stairs to see the door closed. Of course now the kids were out of the house. It was just Prentice and Elle.
Which meant she closed the door.
His jaw grew tighter and his resolve grew firmer.
He didn’t bother to knock, just opened the door to the darkened room.
The door to the bedroom wasn’t closed and he walked straight to it, seeing her clearly in the moonlight lying in bed.
She was on her stomach, her head facing him, her hand on the pillow in front of her face. The covers were down to her waist and the nightgown she was wearing was satin or silk. He couldn’t distinguish the color but he could tell it was one or the other from its sheen.
“Elle,” he called loudly.
She didn’t move.
He sat heavily on the bed by her hip and put a hand to small of her back, repeating her name.
Her body jerked, her head twisted to look at him and she jerked again.
Then she came up on an elbow and whispered sleepily (and disbelievingly), “Prentice?”
“Get up, we need to talk,” he replied, his voice curt.
She didn’t move.
“Up. Now,” he ordered, speaking to her like he spoke to his children when they resisted his commands.
“What?” she breathed.
He stood. “Elle, up.”
Then he walked out of the room.
He meant to turn on a light but before he could he glanced her way and saw she was out of bed, reaching for her dressing gown which was thrown over the armchair in the corner.
He also saw the nightgown was a light color and it was edged in lace at the bottom, the lace a far darker color.
It was also very short and, with Elle bent to reach for her dressing gown, it had ridden up, exposing her thighs all the way up to the very edge of her ass.
Prentice felt his body respond to that very alluring sight.
He gritted his teeth.
She walked in, shrugging on the dressing gown.
When she hit the room, she pulled her hair out of her face, keeping her hand at the top back of her head, her hair bunched in her fist.
Her eyes were on him in the moonlit room.
“Are you drunk?” she asked softly, dropping her hand and the heavy fall of her hair settled around her face, on her brow and even in her eye.
He watched this.
He liked it
And when he responded, he didn’t lie.
“Aye.”
She regarded him silently for a moment.
“Maybe you should go to bed,” she suggested, her voice still soft.
“I don’t want to go to bed. I want to talk and we’re fucking well going to talk.”
“We’ll talk in the morning.”
“No, you’ll make excuses in the morning. You’ll avoid me or ignore me and that’ll piss me off. Then we’ll have words which will piss me off more. So, we’re no’ talking in the fucking morning. We’re talking now.”
“I think –” Elle began as she started to move.
He had no idea where she was going just that it was away from him.
And he was not having that.
He caught her upper arm in a firm grip, pulled her in front of him and shuffled her back, his intent to get her attention and negate any attempt at retreat.
He succeeded when her back hit the wall.
He closed in, pinning her.
She made a noise that he couldn’t decipher, fear or anger, he had no idea.
He also didn’t care.
Because it was then he smelled her.
Her scent was extraordinary and it was strong. He’d never smelled anything like it. It wasn’t her perfume which was enticing but it was also delicate.
This was something else.
Something he had to have more of.
Immediately.
His resolve to talk flew from his mind as he dipped his face to her neck, running his nose along its length, breathing in deeply.
God, she smelled good.
Elle went solid.
“Prentice?” Her voice was hesitant.
Nose behind her ear, he asked, “What is that?”
Her body jerked and she enquired, “What’s what?”
“That fucking smell.”
“I… um… what?” she stammered, her hands coming to rest on his waist, putting gentle pressure there to move him away.
He resisted.
She gave up.
His head came up and he stared at her face in the moonlight.
Christ, she was beautiful.
“That smell,” he said. “What is it?”
He watched her blink.
Then she answered, “Aromatherapy.”
He didn’t reply. This word meant nothing to him. He just continued to stare, feeling her hands on him, her touch light.
She went on and now she sounded nervous, “I use it to sleep. The scent relaxes me. I rub it behind my ears, on my temples, at the nape of my –”
She stopped speaking because Prentice felt it necessary to experience this phenomenon and his nose went to her temple, his lips brushing her cheekbone.
He heard her take in a breath.
Then his hands slid along the silk at her waist, curving around her back. Her rigid body hit his as the fingers of one hand curled in at her waist, holding her captive against him. The other hand went up, encountering her soft, thick hair. He gathered it in a fist and used it to push her head down and twist it to the side so he could bend his neck and smell that scent at her nape.
Christ, she felt good.
And she smelled good.
And, he decided, since his mouth was right there, he might as well see if she tasted good.
Which he did, sliding his tongue around her neck where it met her shoulder and pulling her head back at the same time.
She shivered.
Yes, she tasted good.
“Prentice –” she whispered but he realized where his hand was and he also decided to see how that fucking ass of hers felt in his hand.
He released her waist and his hand drifted over the silk and down her ass, cupping it gently and pulling her into his hard thighs.
That didn’t feel good.
That felt fucking great.
“Prentice, step away,” she whispered, her voice not soft but throaty.
Now she sounded good.
Fucking hell.
He didn’t respond verbally.
But his stiffening cock went rock hard.
His lips trailed her jaw.
Her hands came up to his shoulders and she gave a weak push.
“Prentice, step away. We can’t –”
His mouth went to hers but he didn’t kiss her.
He looked her in the eyes and remembered, instantly, what she liked. He remembered how he could make her wild. He remembered that once he’d made her come simply by manipulating her nipples while she rubbed her crotch urgently against his thigh.
They hadn’t even disrobed.
And he remembered her face when she came.
And he wanted that now.
His hand moved away from her ass, trailing up her side, his fingers curving around her breast and his thumb slid across her already tight nipple as he slid his thigh between her legs.
Her lips parted, she audibly sucked in breath and her hips automatically ground down on his thigh.
Holy fucking Christ but she was magnificent.
“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged as he closed a finger and thumb on her nipple and rolled.
She gasped, her eyes drifted closed, her head tilted back, her hips buck
ed against his thigh and then she moaned, soft and sweet.
Hearing that, feeling her, seeing her, her scent all around them, Prentice lost control.
And he determined that she was going to lose hers too.
And, like he used to do, loving her beautiful, animated face when he got her excited, he was going to watch.
With his fist in her hair, keeping her head positioned so he could see her, he pulled down the lace of her nightgown and his fingers went back to her nipple. Relentlessly, he manipulated it and she didn’t disappoint. She rocked against his thigh, grinding down harder, harder, until her breaths were sharp and her movements were urgent.
Her hands yanked his shirt free of his jeans, fingers roaming his back, nails digging in.
She fought his hand in her hair, seeking his mouth with her lips.
He didn’t allow it. No way in hell.
He was enjoying the show.
When her movements became frantic and he knew she was close, his fingers stopped, his hand curled around her warm, soft breast and she gasped in protest.
“Do you want me?” he asked, his voice a low growl.
“Yes,” she whispered immediately, her hips still moving insistently on his thigh.
“Say it,” he demanded.
Again, she didn’t hesitate. “I want you.”
He was ruthless, for some reason needing it, he pushed, “Say it with my name.”
She kept grinding against his thigh, arching her back to press her breast into his hand, seeking his mouth with her lips. “I want you, Prentice.”
“Call me Pren,” he ordered.
She tugged her hair free enough to get her mouth on him but he avoided it and her lips hit is neck, her nails scraped along his back and his cocked jerked in response.
He knew he couldn’t take much more of this. It had been a long fucking time and she was magnificent.
She didn’t make him wait.
“I want you, Pren,” she whispered against his neck then he felt her tongue there.
His finger and thumb closed on her nipple, she moaned with pleasure, the sound rent right through him and her teeth nipped his neck. His hand left her hair and slid down her back, around her waist to her belly and down to cup her over her underwear.
He felt her wetness.
She was drenched.
She couldn’t force that. That wasn’t a game.
That was all Elle.
His Elle.
He made her that wet.
Yes, she fucking wanted him.
The feel of her arousal nearly made him come.
Then she pressed herself into his hand and he was done.
Hooking her underwear with his thumbs, he tore it down her legs. She stepped out of it while he held her to the wall with a hand in her belly and his other hand went to his zip. He freed his swollen, aching cock and then he grasped her hips.
She helped, giving a soft hop, she jumped up, opening her legs for him as he positioned between them, her sweet, soft ass and the weight of her settling into his hands.
Fucking magnificent.
He drove into her.
Wet, slick and tight.
And unbelievably beautiful.
She cried out, her legs wrapping around his hips and her arms holding tight around his shoulders as he thrust into her, hard, deep, violent and not in his control.
She tilted her hips and met his thrusts, her mouth back to seeking his, one of her hands in his hair trying to guide his head to hers.
He resisted, watching her efforts, getting off on her need for that connection, the pleasure he could see, even in the moonlight, making her beautiful face stunning.
He was going to come, he was ready, and they’d barely started.
He was never going to last until she climaxed.
“It’s never… not ever,” she moaned, her voice rough but it still sounded like silk. “Pren, it’s never been this good.”
Then her neck arched and her body bucked uncontrollably in his hands so forcefully he nearly lost hold. Prentice watched her come, her sex clenching and releasing, rippling wildly against his driving cock.
The glorious sight and incredible feel of it sent him over the edge; he slammed into her one last time and joined her.
She was right.
It had never been this good.
Not ever.
Phenomenal.
When he finished, his face buried in her neck, his breath heavy against her skin, he flexed his fingers into the soft flesh of her ass and ground his hips into hers.
In response, her arm around his shoulders tensed, the fingers in his hair drifted and she trembled.
The feel of her body wrapped around him, her ass in his hands, her still gently convulsing wetness tight around his cock, the scent of her, her lips against his neck, Prentice regretted the fact that the kids were only gone for one night. He disliked the fact he was best man to Dougal and she was maid of honor to Annie at a wedding to be held the next day.
Instead, he wanted what they just had, again and again, until he’d had his fill.
Which would take weeks.
Maybe months.
Probably a lifetime.
He felt her body grow tight against his and her mouth came away from his neck.
“Prentice, put me down,” she demanded, her voice suddenly cold.
At the sound, his head came up and he looked at her. Her face was as cold as her voice.
Oh fuck. What could possibly be going through that head of hers now?
“Put me down,” she repeated.
“Elle –” he began.
Her hands shoved at his shoulders angrily.
“Don’t call me that,” she hissed. “Put me down. Now.”
He was confused. He was also on guard.
What on earth could make her upset after that?
“Are you angry?” he asked.
She opened her mouth, closed it then opened it again to speak. “Are you serious?”
“Elle –”
“I said, don’t call me that!” She shoved again.
His guard came down and his temper started rising. “What the fuck’s the matter?”
“What the… what… what’s the matter?” she stuttered, giving him another shove.
“Aye, what’s the matter?” he repeated, pressing her into the wall and not letting go.
Her eyes leveled on his and she said in a voice that dripped icicles, “You just fucked me against the wall like a common whore.”
No, his temper wasn’t rising.
It had exploded.
Even so, his voice was low, even and rumbling when he asked, “How in the fuck do you figure that?”
Her body jerked, she glared at him then he watched something dawn on her, her face going slack before she winced.
“This is punishment,” she whispered.
He was back to confused.
But he was also still furious.
“Punishment?”
“I don’t deserve this,” she said softly.
He was losing patience, not that there was much to lose.
“Elle,” he clipped, “explain.”
She went back to her earlier theme. “Put me down.”
“No.”
“Put me down!” she cried.
“No!” he shouted.
“I can’t believe this of you. Not you,” she snapped then her voice dipped quiet, even hoarse, as if she was fighting tears. “Not you.”
Something was happening and the situation, out of his control and degenerating quickly (as… fucking… usual with Elle), was hitting the danger zone.
“Explain Elle.”
She shook her head and pressed against his shoulders.
He pressed her deeper into the wall, so much deeper, he heard the breath escape her lungs.
“Now, Elle. Explain how the fuck you can twist what just happened into something bad.”
She stared at him and he could swear he saw wetness trembling at the bottoms of h
er eyes.
“You treated me like a whore, to punish me for what I did. I can’t believe you’d do that,” she whispered.
Christ, what was the matter with her? Was she mad?
“I didn’t do it,” he bit out.
“Yes you did.”
“How could you think that?” he clipped.
He could barely hear her when she finally explained, “You didn’t kiss me.”
But he heard her.
And his body went solid.
For a second.
Then he relaxed, buried his face in her neck and burst out laughing.
He felt her stiffen again in his arms.
“This isn’t funny,” she whispered.
He lifted his head then he pulled her away from the wall. Then he walked with her in his arms to the bed.
“Prentice –”
His mouth came to hers. “Baby, I didn’t kiss you because I wanted to watch you come and I can’t do that when I’m kissing you.”
He heard her sharp inhalation of breath and her fingers curled into his shoulders.
They reached the bed and without hesitation he took them down, him on top.
His hand went to the side of her head, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone as he looked into her eyes in the moonlight.
“This time, you can come while I’m kissing you.”
“Prentice –”
“But you’ll be naked,” he went on.
“Prentice –”
“And so will I.”
“Pren –”
She didn’t finish his name because he kissed her quiet. And he remembered he used to do that all the time too. And he remembered how much she liked it when he kissed her.
Because now, immediately, as she had done twenty years ago, the minute his tongue touched hers, her soft body melted into his.
And he kissed her a lot. And he did it everywhere.
And, much, much later, when they were both naked, he was rocking deep inside her tight, wet silkiness, he knew exactly what she looked like with her hair spread across the bed and her body underneath him, Prentice made her come while he was kissing her.
And that, too, was phenomenal.
* * * * *
Fiona
Fiona was back in the place she went to when she died.
She hadn’t been there in ages.
It was nice enough.
Well, actually, it was lovely. With a gently rolling stream, trees in fragrant bloom, abundant wildflowers, the grass so green it nearly hurt her eyes and it was so thick, you could sleep on it.