Ready to Fall (8 page)

She stood very still as he stroked a hand down her spine and pressed kisses along the back of her ribcage. “Um, Chris?”

“Yeah?” His voice was muffled against the skin of her back.

She gathered her nerve. No risk, no reward. “Is . . . this going where I think it's going?”

By the time she finished speaking, he'd reached the back of her neck. She shivered violently.

“Hmmm?” He licked a spot at the base of her skull that made her gasp.

She clenched her thighs together, trying to soothe the sudden ache in her center. “Are you spending the night with me? Or are you just practicing a new form of kissing-based medicine on all my bruises?”

He raised his mouth, brushing his lips against her ear as he spoke into it. “You haven't had bruises anywhere I've been kissing for the last few minutes. If you want me, I'd like to spend the night. In your bed. In you.”

At those words, her knees nearly collapsed beneath her.

“I want you.” A vast understatement. “Even though I know my bicycle will inevitably kill me at some point if we have sex.”

“No risk, no reward.” He took her hand and tugged her out of the bathroom.

“Just what I was thinking.”

She followed him into the hall without a single doubt in her mind. With only one thought repeating over and over again: A night with Chris Dean would surely be the biggest reward of her life.

S
arah Mayhew had irretrievably scrambled his brain. There was no other explanation for everything that had happened recently. Why else would he have agreed to teach a grown woman to ride her bike over the course of three days? Why else would he have kissed her against the front fender of her car in a dark, deserted parking lot, even after swearing he wouldn't touch her again? Why else would he have failed to remind her to wear her helmet on that last loop around the lot? Why else would he have forgotten the damn first aid kit, even after he'd set it aside to take to the lesson?

Most importantly, why else would he be pressing Sarah onto her bed in the dark warmth of her house? Why else would he be yanking off his clothes and her cute underwear despite all the reasons he shouldn't?

It was her. It had to be her. Because no other woman had ever affected him this way.

Oh, he knew he'd reap the consequences of this night in the morning. Most likely, he'd get his heart stomped on for the second time in a year.

Right now, he didn't care. He intended to make this night with Sarah unforgettable. Worthy of a woman as sexy, funny, and determined as her. He wasn't sure about many things. Not anymore. But he
knew
, given the electricity that arced between the two of them every time they touched, that a night with her would destroy the memory of every other sexual encounter he'd ever had. Every other woman he'd ever known.

When he finally had both of them naked, he looked down at her, spread across her bed. Her blond curls lay in disarray against her pink cheeks, and her blue-gray eyes met his without hesitation. When his eyes lowered, she didn't squirm. Didn't hide herself. Didn't apologize for being what she was: short in stature, but lushly curved. Her pretty breasts and round tummy made him want to nibble, while her strong legs and generous hips invited the stroke of his hands.

She was a small woman, but not a fragile one. At least, not usually.

“Sarah?” Much as it pained him, he had to ask. “Should I stop? Are you still hurting from your fall?”

In answer, she grabbed his hand and tugged him down on top of her. Her legs opened, and she hooked them around his hips.

A grin spread across his face. “I'll take that as a no.”

He lowered his mouth to hers, courting her lips with gentle brushes of his own. The corners of that luscious mouth turned up when he nibbled her bottom lip. He moved to press kisses on her cheeks, chin, and forehead. Spying her little snub nose, he rubbed it against his own. She gave a pleased little hum deep in her throat, and the sound made him smile.

He lifted his head for a moment and saw the joy on her face. His heart seemed to crack within his chest, warmth flooding inside it for the first time in months. A happy Sarah Mayhew . . . God, he'd never seen anything more beautiful. And he was the one who'd made her look like that. Him. No one else.

Newfound confidence made him bold. “Turn over, Sarah.”

After shooting him a startled glance, she did. And for a moment, he just stared. God, he loved her ass. With the sort of deep and abiding affection he'd never felt for a woman's backside before. It was just so . . . round. And dimpled. And adorable.

But starting there wasn't part of his plan. So he began at her feet, kissing and nipping his way up her legs, over that amazing ass, across her back, and to her neck. By the time he reached the curve between her neck and shoulder, she was squirming. So was he, to be honest.

Her hands clutched the pillow under her head, her knuckles white, and she was breathing in quick pants. He braced himself above her on one arm, and sent the other searching between her legs.

When he found the warmth and wetness waiting for him there, he groaned. His cock grew even harder, ached even more, which he hadn't thought possible.

“God, Sarah.” He pressed a kiss against the back of her neck. “You are the sexiest woman I've ever known.”

She didn't answer, but she pushed herself more firmly against his hand, shifting her hips to increase the friction. He parted her folds in a gentle stroke, and then began to explore. His fingers traced through the crease of her sex, brushing against her clitoris and dipping into her pussy. She whimpered when he filled her with his thumb and rubbed inside her, and she shuddered in arousal when his forefinger circled her clitoris in gentle, inexorable circles.

“Feel good?” he whispered into her ear.

She spoke into the pillow, her voice hoarse. “Don't fish for compliments.”

After a minute, he withdrew his hand from between her thighs, urging her onto her hands and knees so he could see and feel more of her. He curved himself over her back, completely surrounding her with himself. The contrast between his large, hard frame and her small, soft body . . . Christ, it made him forget everything but the urge to push inside her. Immediately.

Mindful of her pleasure, he forced himself to hold back. And his restraint came with its own rewards. With her up on her hands and knees, he could support himself on one arm and fill his other hand with her breast. Play with her nipple, tugging and pinching it until her hips pushed back against him in an urgent rhythm. God, that ass felt so good pressing against his cock. So perfect.

“Are you ready for me?” he asked, hoping to God her answer was yes.

“Um . . . ,” she said.

He froze. Oh, Jesus, had he entirely misunderstood her? Was she putting a stop to this?

“Condoms, Chris.” Her voice was quiet but firm.

At those words, his head bowed in relief, and he rested it against her shoulder. “In my wallet. Let me go get them.”

“I have a better suggestion.” She tilted her head to her right. “Check the top drawer of my nightstand.”

He reached over, giving thanks for his long arms. He didn't even have to move from his position atop her pliant body. He fumbled blindly through the contents of the top drawer until his fingers closed around a cardboard box. With a grunt of triumph, he brought the box to the bed and searched for a foil package. But there was something . . . odd . . . about these condoms. He didn't quite understand—

She cleared her throat. “Tampons.”

He could hear the stifled laughter in her voice, but he didn't care. In about thirty seconds, he planned to be inside her, so not a lot was going to bother him at this point.

“Ah,” he said. “That explains a lot.” Dropping the tampons onto the floor by the bed, he searched in the drawer again. This time, he came up with the right box. He plucked out a condom and managed to tear open the packaging with one hand, which he considered a triumph.

He rolled the condom down his cock. Then he forced himself to pause and ask one more time, “Is this okay? Are you ready?”

“For God's sake, Chris. Stop fucking around and do it already.”

Just for that, he delayed the inevitable. Instead, he rubbed the head of his cock around the entrance to her pussy and pressed it to her clit again and again, until she was whimpering and rocking her hips against the pressure. It almost killed him, but he resisted pushing into her until he heard her strained whisper.

“I'm about to come, you maddening son of a bitch. If you want me to do it around your cock, I suggest you get it inside me. Soon.”

His blood roared in his ears at the thought of feeling her come while he was buried deep inside her. Without any further preliminaries, he positioned himself and slowly slid into her pussy. He took his time, wanting her to feel every inch of him. By the time he'd buried himself completely inside her, both of them were breathing in rapid pants.

He remained still for a long moment, trying to gather himself. The heat and tightness of her had him on the verge of coming, and he desperately tried to think of anything that would slow this down. Anything that would ensure she found her pleasure before he found his.

Nothing came to mind.

Actually, that was a lie. His mind was entirely filled with her. How soft she felt beneath him, around him. How she moaned when he took a nipple between his thumb and forefinger and lightly pinched. How it sounded when he withdrew from her wetness and pushed back in with a smack of flesh against flesh. How she smelled, like some sort of combination of musk and berries. How her spine arched every time he withdrew, and how she pushed herself back against him when he returned. How swollen and slick her clitoris felt when he slid a finger around it and pressed.

And finally, God help him, how fucking amazing it felt minutes later when her pussy tightened around his cock and she came in a series of moaning shudders. He wanted to hold back, to try to bring her to orgasm a second time, but there was just no way he could resist the call of her body and her pleasure. The pulsing of her inner muscles erased everything from his existence but the need to mark her as his. Holding her hips with both hands, he pushed into her as deeply as he could and shouted his pleasure into her dark bedroom when he came.

* * *

When she left the bathroom, he was waiting for her just outside the door.

He reached out with a gentle hand and stroked the small wound on her cheek. “I never treated your cut. Something must have distracted me.”

“By
something
,” she said, “do you mean your penis?”

“Pretty much.” He grinned at her and took her hand, pulling her back into the bathroom. The disinfectant wipes and bandages lay on the counter where she'd left them an hour or so ago. “Time to get you all cleaned up.”

“Are you calling me a dirty girl?”

“Are you denying it?”

“Hell, no,” she said with a laugh. “Becoming a dirty girl has been my life's ambition. I can die in peace now. Which is convenient, given the circumstances. Because we had sex, I'm pretty sure my bike is going to burst through my garage door and kill me any moment now. That's what always happens to dirty girls in the movies, anyway.”

He shook his head at her and smiled. Sarah's face sparked with life and vitality, as it almost always did. He could picture a man doing pretty much anything to preserve that joy in her eyes, to keep that vibrant spirit in his life. To claim her incredible, voluptuous body. Honestly, he didn't know what the fuck was wrong with the moron at her school. What kind of idiot wouldn't notice Sarah? What man wouldn't want her in his bed and by his side?

After flipping on the light, he inspected her cheek. “Not too bad. I don't even think it'll need a bandage. I'm just trying to make sure there's no gravel or dirt in the cut. I don't want it to get infected.”

She offered her cheek to him with absolute trust, her blond curls surrounding her head in tousled disorder. But when he gently touched a disinfectant wipe to the cut on her cheek, she hissed a deep breath through her teeth. He could see her shoulders tense.

“I'm sorry.” He continued dabbing with the wipe, making sure to remove all the dirt from the wound. “I know it stings. But I'll be done in just a moment.”

“You know, other than my dad and my friend Mary, you're the only person who's ever taken care of me like this.” Her eyes had become distant for some reason. Sad.

“What about your mom?” God knew, Chris's own mother had bandaged countless cuts on her son and daughters over the years.

She shook her head. “She drank while I was growing up. Most times, she barely noticed I was in the house with her, so she paid no attention to cuts and scrapes. And eventually, Dad got full custody, so I didn't see her much after that.”

Chris's hand stilled on her cheek, the image of a young Sarah alone in a house with a negligent mother tugging at his heart. Had she learned to win her mother's attention with humor and exaggeration? Had she performed for her mother's drunken amusement, not knowing any other way to please the woman who'd given birth to her? Or would Sarah have become the same sort of woman no matter what, even with a better mother?

And what could he say in response to that, really? Nothing useful, that's for sure. “That sounds really hard, Sarah. I'm sorry.”

She remained uncharacteristically silent as he finished cleaning the cut. Without her happy chatter, he realized he couldn't hear another sound anywhere in or out of her house. No sirens. No traffic. No half-heard conversations drifting in through the windows.

“It's so quiet here,” he told her. “In Rockville, I lived in a condominium complex near the center of the city. Even with decent soundproofing, you couldn't entirely block out the sounds of cars and people going past.”

Her head tilted slightly toward him. “Is that where you moved from?”

“Yeah.” He hesitated, wishing he'd never raised the subject of his previous home. “I moved here less than a year ago, though I'd been planning to relocate for a while.”

When she looked up at him, curiosity had brightened her eyes. “There's a big difference between life in Rockville and life in Nice County. What made you leave? Was there a better market for a bike repair shop here?”

He didn't want to discuss any more of his history. Didn't even want to think about the life and woman he'd left behind in Rockville. But he knew it was too late to take back his careless comment or deter Sarah from asking about his past. She was too tenacious, too damn inquisitive. There was no dodging the topic. Now he simply needed to decide how little he could share while still answering her question.

How could he even explain Brianna to someone like Sarah? The two women might as well have existed on separate planets. Hell, in separate universes.

His former lover had been an ambitious, reserved doctor with an air of solemnity about her. Tall. Redheaded. They'd bought the condo after a few years of dating and led a pleasant life there. She hadn't demanded too much of him, and he'd never expected too much from her. With their demanding jobs, they hadn't even spent much time together. But neither had dreamed of a grand, passionate love affair. They'd told each other that compatibility, similar interests, and calm temperaments were the keys to a successful relationship.