Any Way You Want It (19 page)

He breathed in deeply, savoring the arousal-scented energy wafting from her skin like a delicate yet heady perfume. His own desire rose. He wanted to take from her, breathe in her essence, but he controlled his vampiric ways. Her desire, her satisfaction, meant more to him than his hunger.

He gasped as her delicate fingers began to move, stroking him. His thumbs mimicked her action, flicking her nipples.

Then he slipped down her belly to the waistband of her jeans. He popped the button open, then unzipped, the parted denim revealing the thatch of curls underneath. Damn, that was a gorgeous sight.

His mouth came down on hers, as his hand moved to the apex of her thighs, cupping her mound, feeling the moist heat radiating from her body.

Then he parted her, sliding the pad of his finger over her taut clitoris. At first, he only teased her, playing with her, listening to her small moans, her low hums.

She wiggled against him, demanding more with each shimmy of her hips.

He smiled against her lips, loving how incredibly responsive she was. Giving to him with her desire. Her hand still touched him, which made it a challenge to stay focused—a fun challenge.

She stroked his length, her thumb running up and down the sensitive ridge of his penis, each stroke spurring him to get her naked, and to get himself deep inside her. Slowly, he walked her backwards.

When her thighs hit the bed, he stopped kissing and touching her long enough to lift her onto the mattress, then he followed her down.

“You have the most beautiful breasts,” he murmured as he took one of her tight little nipples into his mouth. Instead of the moan he expected, she giggled.

“You are breast obsessed.”

He lifted his head, giving her an unapologetic smile. “Mmm-hmm.”

This time her giggle did turn to a low moan as he teased her taut nipple—pulling it deep into his mouth. His hands worked on pushing down her jeans, then shoved at his own.

He sucked one of her nipples until she began to wriggle underneath him, all her silky skin stroking him. Belly to belly, thigh to thigh, his erection against her soft curls.

He couldn’t wait. He’d thought about being inside her all night. He leaned over to snag a condom off the bedstand.

“Darling, I’ll go slow next time.”

She nodded, her gaze again unfocused, heavy-lidded with lust.

“Next time,” she agreed. Her legs parted, her opened sex inviting him inside.

More temptation than his mere immortal body could take. He hurriedly rolled on the condom and positioned himself and thrust into her, filling her completely.

They both cried out.

“Are you okay?” His voice was a low, gravelly mutter.

“Oh, yes.” She writhed under him, urging him without words to move.

He obeyed her, pulling out until only the head of his penis was inside her, then pushing in, until he was so deep he could swear he felt each of her breaths, each beat of her heart.

All too quickly, the lust spiraled up between them, and he was driving into her with wild abandon.

She splayed herself below him, her arms flung wide, her fingers curled into the bedding, her legs anchored around his hips. Her body accepted each thrust, her hips rising to meet him, to take him deeper.

It was too much. He felt his orgasm coming, rising in him, tightening his muscles.

Just when he thought he’d fail her, that he couldn’t stop his own release before she reached hers, she cried out, her out-flung arms coming around him as her body shuddered, her vagina pulsing, squeezing.

He growled deep in his throat as he drove deep into her pulsating heat and felt himself explode inside her.

He collapsed onto her, his eyes closed, bright lights playing across his closed lids. He had to be seeing heaven—and even if he wasn’t, he knew this was as close as he was ever going to come to it.

Maggie lay utterly boneless under Ren, reveling in the delicious aftershocks pulsing though her body, only made more pleasurable by his weight, and his penis still buried inside her.

Even with the intensity of his lovemaking and the drained feeling of her release, she felt giddy, almost high. Ren’s reaction to her was so intense, so passionate. It was a heady feeling to know she incited a man to this kind of lust.

“I turn you on, don’t I?” She knew it was a rather random and silly thing to ask, but she was simply so amazed that she had this kind of effect on him.

He lifted his head, his hair falling down in a veil around them. One brow lifted and he offered a lopsided smile.

“Hmm, I’m going to have to think about that.”

She smiled, knowing her grin was wide and ridiculously pleased.

“Oh, yeah, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and velvety, “you definitely turn me on.” His lips brushed against hers as he kissed her slow and long.

“Am I too heavy?” he asked, moving to kiss the side of her neck.

“No, you feel nice.”

He smiled, then kissed her again. But when he broke the kiss this time, he rolled off of her, and pulled her up against the pillows. He moved up beside her, until they were nestled together in the billowy softness of the covers, face-to-face.

He reached out and twirled a piece of her hair around his finger.

“So, who is Peter?”

Maggie blinked. She hadn’t expected that question. She figured her answer at the bar had been good enough. Apparently not.

“I told you, he was an old boyfriend of mine,” she reiterated, fiddling with the edge of the blanket.

His hand left her hair, and caught her fingers, stopping them.

“Was he a serious boyfriend?”

She met his eyes, trying to find the right thing to say to dismiss the topic. Of course, the easiest way would be to just say no. But as she looked into his eyes, seeing the honest interest there, she heard herself saying, “Yes. We were engaged.”

Something flickered in his hazel eyes, an emotion that she couldn’t quite read.

“Then you were very serious.”

She pulled in a breath, not sure how she wanted to handle this. She didn’t want him to pity her; that ruined the sexiness of this whole situation.

“Is he the reason you’re so uncertain with men?”

That question startled her. She’d thought she’d done a pretty good job of disguising her discomfort around men. She’d managed to go through with this last night, and tonight she hadn’t even hesitated. She remained silent.

“What was Peter like? Why did he think you weren’t a good pianist?”

“Because I’m not,” she said, rolling onto her back, wanting to talk about her failed career as a pianist even less than she wanted to discuss Peter. Okay, maybe not less—but she would just as soon avoid that topic, too.

“Was Peter a musician?”

Maggie turned her head at his tone, the slow, southern drawl suddenly replaced by a different accent completely, clipped and proper.

The change was so disconcerting, she found herself nodding. “Yes. He was a violinist.”

Ren rolled over onto his back, frowning up at the velvet canopy. “Violinists can be so damned pompous.”

Again, she caught the change in his accent. “Do you know a lot of violinists?” she asked slowly, trying to understand the change in him and the adamancy of his statement. He sounded as if he knew many in his lifetime, which didn’t seem likely to her. But then, what did she really know about him?

He glanced at her, and something akin to surprise flashed in his eyes, then disappeared as he said flatly, “Not a lot. But enough to know they can be real dicks.”

She considered his words, and the fact that the slow, southern drawl was back.

Then she sighed. “Yeah, well, in this case you are right.”

Ren rolled back toward her. “Did it end badly?”

She laughed humorlessly. Now it was her turn to stare up at the canopy. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Ren was quiet for a moment, and she thought maybe he was letting the subject drop. She should have known better. She felt the bed shift, then his hand gently nudged her to face him.

“What happened?”

For a moment, she got lost in his eyes. Amber brown flecked with pale green. Hypnotic eyes.

Again, she was amazed by how the mere difference in his lashes could make his eyes look so different.

His thumb traced her lower lip as he studied her in return. The combination of his gaze and his caress was comforting, so nice.

“He broke it off on our wedding day.”

His thumb paused and she immediately wished she could take back the words. She so did not want his pity.

“On your wedding day?”

Maggie pulled in another breath, staring back at the velvet canopy. “Yeah. But I don’t want you feeling bad for me. It was probably for the best.”

Ren levered himself up on his elbow so he could see her face.

“Hell, yeah, it was for the best. The guy was obviously a stupid ass.”

Maggie met Ren’s gaze. His mouth was pulled down, his brows together. He was furious. For some reason, that made her laugh. Ren’s glare of anger turned to one of confusion.

“What’s so funny?”

“He didn’t just jilt me on my wedding day. He announced in front of all the guests that he was in love with the caterer.”

“Holy shit. This guy really was a stupid ass.”

She giggled, actually feeling okay that she’d told Ren about the whole horrible experience.

Somehow saying it aloud made her feel better. His reaction was making her feel better, too. He didn’t pity her; he was furious on her behalf.

“At the time, I was really upset, and painfully embarrassed, but now,”—she rolled over to face him, touching his hair, then the strong muscles of his shoulder—“I definitely feel like it was a good thing.”

He leaned over her, his gaze roaming over her face as if trying to read her real emotions. Trying to understand her.

“You’re right,” he said, some of the irritation leaving his face. “I know he did me a hell of a favor.”

He kissed her soundly.

“Do you still love him?”

Ren couldn’t guess why he’d asked her that. What should it matter to him—aside from the fact that he did like Maggie, and he hated to think she was still pining for a man who did not deserve her affection.

Maggie didn’t answer right away. Her silence created another strange sensation in him, something close to dread. Although again, he wondered why.

“I thought I did.” One corner of her mouth pulled down as she considered the idea. “But now I see that he wasn’t good for me. At all. And not just the cheating, which I will admit battered my ego, big time. He spent a lot of time chipping away at my confidence.”

Images of Ren’s parents flashed in his mind. The mother who only wanted him when she thought there was something for her to gain from him. The father who never wanted him at all.

He understood how others could wear away a person’s confidence, leaving them doubting themselves. It was good she’d escaped the ass before the damage was irreparable.

He levered himself away from her. “Play for me.”

She laughed, clearly not following his thought process. “What?”

He gestured toward his piano with his head. “Play the piano for me.”

She immediately shook her head, still smiling, but reluctance clear in her eyes. “No.”

“Come on,” he said, sliding off the bed, grabbing her ankle as he went, pulling her toward the edge of the mattress.

She squealed, flinging out her arms to grab onto the sheets, the mattress, whatever she could to stop him.

He continued to tug until her bottom was at the edge of the bed, her naked body only half covered by rumpled covers.

“Ren.” She wriggled a little more, laughing.

He grinned, loving the sound of her laughter, as musical as any piece he ever wrote. He loved how her pale skin grew flushed. He loved the tangle of her hair.

“Please,” he murmured, his words low. “Play for me.”

Her laughter faded away as she considered him. She sat up, taking the sheet with her as she did so, keeping her full, luscious breasts covered.

“You’ll be thoroughly unimpressed.”

He held out his hand. “Let me be the judge of that.”

She hesitated, then with one hand still keeping the sheet pressed to her, she took his fingers with the other. He pulled her to her feet, then watched as she shuffled to the piano, swathed in white cotton. She looked adorable, mussed, and still unsure.

His chest tightened at the sight. God, she was beautiful.

She wrestled with the piano bench and the sheet until she was finally settled with the sheet firmly tucked around under her arms, leaving her covered from the chest down. Warm lamplight cast a golden glow on her bare shoulders. He moved behind her, almost touching her, the lure of her smooth skin a mighty temptation. But he didn’t. He didn’t want her to stop. He wanted to hear her play.

Her small, delicate fingers stroked the top of the piano. Not a pianist’s hands, Ren thought. More the hands of a fey creature, small and shapely.

She pushed up the lid and touched the keys. It was an almost loving touch, the way he’d once stroked the keys himself, with a sort of reverence.

The way he no longer touched them, but the way he wanted to touch her.

She held her fingers over the keys, then started to play. “Moonlight Sonata.” A standard piece.

She played it competently. He heard the music, but he was lost in watching her. He stepped closer, his body nearly brushing against the sheet surrounding her. The warm scent of her body rose up to him. Sweet vanilla and the clean aroma of his shampoo.

He leaned closer, breathing in, both the scent and a bit of her energy.

Her fingers stumbled on the keys, as she became aware of him, so near. But she resumed, changing songs, surrounding them in beautiful music and sweet desire.

He couldn’t stop himself; he had to touch her.

Maggie nearly gasped as Ren’s big, strong hands touched her shoulders, driving shivers of need through her body. She’d been painfully aware of his presence behind her, wondering what he thought of her playing. But surprisingly, she was more focused on the fact that he wasn’t wearing anything, and she could be admiring the lean muscles of his gorgeous body.