As If You Never Left Me (Crimson Romance) (11 page)

“What’s the matter?” Rey asked. He’d demolished an entire burrito and a pile of rice and beans, plus at least two glasses of wine.

“Nothing. It’s a lot of food.”

“No dessert, then?”

The diner was famous for its pies, but Joely’s stomach wouldn’t stop fluttering. She was unaccountably nervous, her hands trembling, her breath too fast, her heartbeat pattering in the back of her throat. “Probably not.”

“That’s okay. It’ll keep.”

He sipped his wine, then set it back down. She watched his hand as it cupped the wineglass, then drew slowly away. His fingers lingered against the rounded belly of the glass and she thought about yesterday, the warmth of his mouth in the cold and snow —

“Rey … ” She trailed off, not sure she could say anymore. Still looking at the wineglass, she gathered her courage. “Rey, I want to try it.”

He said nothing. Surprised at the silence, she finally looked up, only to find him looking right at her, an undeniable smolder in his eyes.

“The pie?” he said quietly. “Or me?”

She couldn’t laugh. She was too scared. “You, Rey. You’ve got your month.”

He laid his hand on the table in front of her, palm up. “Thank you.”

For the space of a long breath, she could only stare at his hand, the tapered fingers, the creases across his wide palm. Then, shivering a little, she lifted her own hand and slid it into his. His fingers curled around hers gently.

“I still love you, Joely.” His voice seemed to come from far away.

“I know,” she said, and squeezed his hand.

• • •

As the dinner smells faded, another, subtler aroma took over. Not quite floral, not quite citrus, it gave Joely a soft, melty feeling. It was the candles, she realized. Rey had obviously talked to all the right people. Tara at the gift shop knew all about aromatherapy.

It touched her that he’d gone to so much trouble. He’d been like this when they’d first started going out — romantic and willing to spare no expense to give her a memorable evening. It had lasted for a year or so into their marriage, even.

They were on the couch by now, the remains of dinner left to itself. Joely couldn’t even muster enough interest to scrape the plates or put the leftovers in the fridge, not with Rey looking at her with sex smoldering in his eyes, and the smell from the candles growing stronger. She leaned into him, fisting his shirt in her hand. Her tongue traced his lips, remembering the shape. His lower lip was full and pillowy, the upper thin but bowed, the combined effect one of irresistible sensuality. He knew how to use that mouth, too. She wanted him to use it tonight in as many ways as he could think of.

He cupped her elbow in one hand, but made no further overtures as she slowly undid his shirt buttons. She slid her hands inside, drawing her fingers through the rough hair, finding his nipples and rubbing them with her thumbs until they rose under her encouragement. He drew in a quick breath and let it out, and his fingers tightened a little on her elbow.

“Touch me,” she whispered. He was waiting for her permission, she was certain, giving her control. At her words, he sighed and scooped his hands under the tail of her shirt. His palms slid up her back to the clasp of her bra and worried it open. Then his hands moved forward, until her breasts settled into the curve of his fingers.

She leaned harder into him, pressing her breasts into his hands. Her nipples strained against his palms, tingling with arousal that shot through her body, pooling in taut heat between her legs. She wanted him so badly, it was like insanity pulsing through her blood. Wanted to possess him, wanted him to possess her. She remembered what it was like to have him inside her — he could fill her hard and deep, and he knew how to make her scream. But she was afraid. She felt like a virgin. He’d been inside her more times than she could count, but right now it was as if she had never made love to him at all.

He kissed her again, his mouth hard and insistent. No more polite waiting. His tongue moved in an urgent rhythm, hot in her mouth, his hands stoking the flame. Need stabbed through her body as he rolled her nipples between thumb and forefinger, squeezed and teased them. The clothes had to go — no question about that. Writhing into the movement of his hands, she worked her way out of her shirt, her bra, peeling his shirt off him as well, until finally she could press bare skin against bare skin. She drew a harsh breath, overwhelmed the sensation. It had been so long …

Not too late to turn back. You don’t have to go through with it.
But of course she did. She wanted it too much. His warm skin, the rough texture of the hair on his chest, rubbing against her nipples. His heartbeat against her, the rhythm of his breathing. She remembered a day when she had craved him, times she would have sold her own soul just to touch him. Days she thought she might die if she couldn’t have him inside her.

This was one of those days.

His fingers found the buttons at her waistband, loosened them, then trailed down her thighs, her calves, as he slid her pants off her. She closed her eyes. Gentle, careful fingers, barely brushing her skin, creating new lines of fire through her body. Eager, greedy, she pulled at his jeans until they slid undone down his hips. She hesitated, surprised at her own uncertainty. She had made love to this man a hundred times — more. Why did it feel so different this time? As if she no longer knew how to touch him?

She took a breath, trying to allay the thin shiver of apprehension, and put her hand against the straining cotton of his briefs. He moaned. That was good. She remembered that sound. It meant she’d done something right. She smiled.

Confidence beginning to return, she peeled off the briefs, her hand conforming to the familiar curve of his ass. His skin twitched a little under her touch, and she felt goose bumps rise. The muscle there was still firm and round, still very grabbable, making her think he hadn’t stopped his regular workout. Her other hand rose to cup the other buttock, and she hesitated before pulling him in toward her, opening her legs, drawing him between them.

It felt right to have him there. Like he belonged. Of course he did. They’d been perfectly matched in so many ways. Sex had always been incendiary between them. Bed-rattlingly hot. Her skin lit up, anticipating reunion, re-acquaintance, the oh-so-familiar, oh-so-achingly, suddenly new sensation of penetration. Inside her. She needed him inside her.

She traced her fingers forward, to the front curve of his hipbone, then down, touching the springy curls of his hair, finally touching the tips of her fingers to the root of his sex. She couldn’t help a smug smile when he flinched. He caressed her hair, bent to kiss her, drawing her head in as he softly devoured her mouth. The taste of wine and salsa still lingered in his mouth, and she pressed her tongue in deep, tasting it all. Her fingers pressed gently against his erection. Memory flooded through her, recalling the exact shape of him, the textures of his skin. She traced his hard length, the slight curve, touching the rim, caressing around it, then gently up the slick skin to the tip.

He pushed her hand away.

“What?” she asked, wondering if she’d been too rough in her enthusiasm.

He smiled a little, crookedly, his fingers curling over hers in a caress. “It’s been a long time. I’m going to be way too far ahead of you if you keep that up.”

Freeing her fingers from his, she traced the back of her hand up his belly until her nails brushed his nipples. “How long?”

“As long as it’s been for you.”

She swallowed a sudden lump of emotion and pressed her face into his chest, kissing the hollow between his pectoral muscles, letting his hair tickle her face. He had waited, too. He had waited.

Drawing her firmly against him, he slipped his hand into her panties, his fingers dipping into her folds. A rush of arousal followed his touch, her body heating up, wetness flooding her. She stilled at the intense sensation. Tears had come to her eyes. She wasn’t sure if they were from regret, happiness, or just arousal. Maybe all of the above.

He stopped, too, fingers still inside her, but withdrawing a little. She shivered.

“It’s not too late,” he murmured. “You can still tell me no.”

She shook her head.

He seemed surprised. “You’re sure? You’re sure you want this?”

She thought she should answer him aloud, but found herself incapable of forming words. They seemed to be stranded somewhere between her brain and her lips.

Instead she groped between the couch cushions, where she’d hidden a condom. She opened the package and sheathed him. He gasped as her fingers slid down him, unrolling the thin latex.

Pleased by the reaction, she pulled her panties out of the way, not bothering to take them off, just pushing the crotch material to the side. She grasped his shaft and pulled him toward her, then held him there for a moment. The weight of him there, pressing against her sensitive flesh, just on the verge of penetration, made her want to weep with joy. She blinked back another round of unexpected tears.

His hips pulsed, automatically, she thought, and she moved her own hips back to keep him from penetrating her. She wasn’t ready. Not yet. Instead, she took firm hold of his shaft and moved him up and down, toying with him, a small distance in, then sliding him out.

He arched his head back, emitting a low, breathy moan. It occurred to her belatedly that she’d never taken charge with him quite in this way. She’d been taking care of him; now she was aggressive with him, controlling the dynamic of the encounter. He didn’t seem to mind.

She undulated her hips, stroking him with her body, letting only the barest tip of him inside her. God, it felt good. It was like heaven. Not just because it was sex. Because it was Rey.

He braced his hands against her shoulders, not controlling her movement at all, but meshing with her rhythm, moving with her, as she pressed harder and harder against him.

Finally, her body full of heat and light and something she tentatively wanted to call happiness, she let go of him and moved forward, until he was inside her. He hesitated, but only for a moment, as if waiting for a signal. But she’d already given the signal when she’d let him go. He took a breath, short and shallow, then pushed into her, deep, firm, all the way to the root.

She closed her eyes and smiled. It was just as she’d remembered it, but more. It had been so long that it felt brand new, like something she’d never done before. At the same time, she remembered this sensation, of being taken, claimed, so full of him she could barely contain it. She threw her head back and let out a sound of pleasure mixed with triumph.

He arched over her, pressing her back into the couch, filling her more thoroughly than she would have thought possible, bringing back every memory she owned of them like this, open to and claimed by each other, giving and receiving, filled and filling. Flame spiraled through her as he thrust into her. He withdrew, pushed hard in again, and she dug her fingers deep into his shoulders, just holding onto him. He lost himself to the rhythm, thrusting, possessing her, enthusiastic but not hard, just Rey, deep and solid inside her. Fire built in her body until it rose and exploded, radiating through every inch of her body. Even her fingertips climaxed.

She smiled and cried out, shivering as he clutched at her and thrust again, again, two or five more times, deep enough to strike her womb, sending the sensation reverberating into her chest, until finally he, too, shuddered and gasped his way to completion.

He set his forehead against her shoulder, a fine sheen of sweat covering his sculpted back. “That was supposed to happen in the bedroom,” he whispered. “I had the bedroom all ready.”

“The candles work too well,” she answered, smiling.

He laughed a little and kissed her softly, first on her mouth, then on the tip of her nose. He was still inside her and she shifted a little, taking him farther in before she lost that connection completely.

“We were always good in bed,” he said. “You can’t argue with that.”

“No,” she replied. “No, I really can’t.”

“I guess we’re good on the couch, too.” Laughing a little, he maneuvered his way off the couch and scooped his arms under her. “Let’s take this someplace more comfortable.”

• • •

The cuddling was almost as good as the sex. She lay spooned against his stomach in her almost too-small bed, sipping from the glass of champagne he’d poured for her, smelling the candles burning on the chest of drawers. There were flowers there, too — a large bouquet of carnations and daisies. It was all so perfect.

Too perfect, even. A tear gathered at the corner of her eye and she flicked it away, surreptitiously she thought. But Rey, curled behind her, laid his chin on her shoulder and said, “What’s wrong, Joely?”

“Nothing.”

“No, there’s something. Tell me. Please?”

“This is wonderful,” she said, her voice wobbly.

“Yes, it is.” She could tell from his tone that he was waiting for her to drop the other shoe.

“But there’s more to it than this, isn’t there?” More than just the sex, more than the way he could make her burn, more than the way he felt like he belonged inside her body. They’d had that once and had thrown it away — how could they be sure they could find it again?

He tightened his arm around her waist, but gave her no answer.

Joely woke at her usual time the next morning, even though she hadn’t set the alarm clock. It hadn’t been a comfortable night, as there simply wasn’t enough room in her bed for two people. Rey didn’t seem to have been bothered, though — he lay on his side snoring, one arm dangling off the edge of the bed. If he moved only slightly the wrong way, he’d fall flat on her braided area rug.

She slipped carefully out of the bed, resolutely focusing her attention on the closet, thinking about what she could wear today. If she looked back at the bed, where he still lay sleeping, she wasn’t sure she could be responsible for the consequences. She would climb back under the covers, meld herself to his warm body, wake him up, ride him until she screamed …