Desire's Edge (7 page)
She felt helpless beneath him as he began to pump into her. Beautifully so.
His thrusting cock was a solid shaft of flesh. Exactly what she needed. And as he had the night before, he set a hard, driving pace, pummeling into her.
Their hips crashed. The pleasure of his body on hers was almost as great as his cock driving sensation deeper, deeper. Until she felt herself begin to clench once more, another climax rippling through her.
“Jesus, girl . . . you are so beautiful. So damn good . . . Ah!” He shuddered, his mouth latching onto her throat as he came. And she held on, her arms around his neck.
She tried to think of what they’d talked about. About how his command of her affected her, made the sex so intense. But she was too worn out, too spent. She closed her eyes, and with him softening inside her, she drifted off.
four
Dante opened his eyes, peering at the clock on his nightstand. They’d slept for a while. It was early afternoon now. And he was starving.
“Kara.”
She didn’t stir.
He watched her sleep, as he’d done earlier. Why was he so fascinated with this woman?
She was gorgeous. He loved her lean, toned body, her endlessly long legs. The flawless curve of her ass. Her pale, smooth skin. He loved her long, silky hair, how the light made it look like it was woven with gold and bronze.
Jesus, he was a poet suddenly. What the hell was up with him?
He ran a hand over his beard stubble, thinking. Or trying not to think, maybe. He needed to shut his brain down and enjoy her being there. In his house. In his bed. It was Saturday. Maybe he could keep her there all weekend. Fuck her again. Spank her . . . maybe more.
His cock rose, but he was too hungry to give in to it. Food first. Then sex. If she was up for it.
He’d make sure she was.
“Kara, hey.” He touched her cheek, and her lids fluttered, then closed. “Time to wake up.”
“Hmm, what?”
She looked up at him, her hazel eyes still half-lidded. Something sweet about her, all sleepy like this. Vulnerable. As vulnerable as she was when he was spanking her.
“I need to eat. You’ve used up all my reserves,” he teased her.
“I’m pretty sure you used most of it yourself.” She yawned, stretched her arms over her head, the sheet falling away from her superb breasts. Her nipples were hardening, going dark, he couldn’t help but notice.
Food
.
.
“Either way, I’m about ready to pass out,” he said. “Up with you.” He rolled her onto her side and smacked her ass, making her laugh.
“If we’re going somewhere, I could really use a shower, if that’s okay,” she said, sitting upright on the edge of the bed.
“I’m cooking.”
“Really?” She looked at him over her shoulder.
God, her eyelashes were the longest he’d ever seen.
Stop it. Get yourself under control, buddy
.
.
“Yes, really. What, you don’t think I can cook?”
“You do seem awfully used to people waiting on you.”
“I am.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “But I also make the best pancakes you’ve ever had.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
“Try me.”
She grinned at him. He didn’t want to think about why that made him so damn happy. Okay, maybe not happy. Cheerful.
Something
. . .
. . .
Something he was not going to think about right now.
He stood up, facing away from her to distract himself. He got a pair of pajama pants out of his dresser and pulled them on. “We can shower later. Are you hungry?”
Oh yeah, to have her in the shower . . .
He had a thing for the shower. Seeing a woman wet, the water running over her skin. The steam rising around him while he bent her over and slid into her . . . He had a great shower for sex. It was big enough to throw a party in. All smooth, pale granite with a bench seat, three showerheads, a vertical row of body jets. He was getting hard again thinking about Kara in his shower, her wet body . . .
“I’m glad you’re planning to feed me,” she said, bringing him out of his shower fantasy. “I could eat a horse.”
“Pancakes will have to do. Here, this will be more comfortable than your dress.”
He handed her the top to his pajamas, which he never wore. She slipped the navy blue flannel over her head. It was enormous on her, the hem brushing her thighs, the front opening in a deep vee between her breasts. She looked a hell of a lot better in it than he did. She looked amazing. Sexy as hell.
“Warm enough?” he asked her, trying to remember that they had to eat.
“Yes. Fine.” She came up beside him. She was still tall, even without her heels on. Her bare legs looked especially naked to him from under the hem of the pajama top.
“To the kitchen, wench. You’re going to help me.”
“Bossy, aren’t you?”
He looked down at her, locking his gaze with hers. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
She smiled. But he saw her features go a little soft at this small reminder of the nature of their relationship.
Not that it was a
relationship
. No, he just meant the dynamics of the sex. Yes, that was it. That was all it ever was for him. It was better that way.
relationship
. No, he just meant the dynamics of the sex. Yes, that was it. That was all it ever was for him. It was better that way.
“I hope you like real Vermont maple syrup. Come on.”
He led the way across the apartment, the dark wood floors cool beneath his bare feet. The afternoon light shone through the tall windows that opened up an entire wall to the city, and another to a view of Elliott Bay.
“What an incredible view,” Kara said, following him.
“That’s why I bought the place. Mostly, anyway.” He would show her the shower later, when they were done eating. “I like to see the water during the day. And the city at night.”
“You get it all here, it being a corner unit. Wow, your kitchen is amazing.”
They moved behind the tall bar, and Kara ran her hand over the black and gray granite counter. The sleek black cabinets and brushed steel appliances were nice, he supposed, but he’d always wanted something a little warmer.
“I’ve been thinking about remodeling, actually,” he told her.
“I don’t know why you would. This is gorgeous.”
He shrugged, loading up the coffeemaker and switching it on. “It’s not really my taste. It’s a little cold, don’t you think?”
“It’s beautiful. But I can see what you mean, I suppose. It’s all very slick. What’s your dream kitchen, Dante?” she asked while he pulled ingredients from the cupboard and the refrigerator, a big mixing bowl and his hand blender.
“I like wood. Something more organic. I like the modern aesthetic, too, but it has to be balanced.”
He measured the flour, broke eggs into the bowl, added vanilla and the last few ingredients. He handed her the bowl. “Here, go ahead and mix this while I heat the griddle.”
She took the bowl from him and turned on the mixer. They were quiet while it ran, the kitchen filled with the low hum of the implement and the warm scents of the vanilla and the coffee. With some warm sense of familiarity.
He was so comfortable with her. Not that he was ever really uncomfortable with anyone. That wasn’t in him. But there was some extra degree of comfort with her.
He shook his head, pulled the syrup from the cabinet, putting it in a pan of hot water to warm. He got plates out, flatware, mugs, pulled a pair of linen place mats from a drawer. “You can set us up on the counter,” he said, trying to get some sense of control back. Trying not to be so damn distracted by her long legs, the way her hair was a little wild, swinging around her high cheekbones as she moved.
He poured the batter onto the griddle and watched them bubble, flipping the pancakes onto a plate when they were ready and pouring coffee into the mugs.
“You really seem to know what you’re doing,” Kara commented, picking the mug up and sipping.
“I told you I like to cook. And I
always
know what I’m doing.”
always
know what I’m doing.”
He looked up at her and she grinned. She was sitting on one of the barstools, her elbows on the counter. She was a little disheveled, her cheeks flushed. He liked her like this. And he liked that she wasn’t the kind of woman who got all tongue-tied after sex. Made it more important than it needed to be. She was relaxed with him.
Fucking perfect
.
.
He really had to stop thinking that. No one was perfect. He wasn’t looking for perfect.
He wasn’t looking for anything. Never had been. His experience with Erin had taught him well years ago. He wasn’t capable of being responsible for someone else. Not like that. No, all he wanted was the temporary responsibility that came with the BDSM play. And when the evening or weekend or even a few months was over, everyone would pack up and go home. But he could enjoy this while it was happening. He intended to.
He finished the batch of pancakes and loaded up their plates, sat down next to Kara at the bar. She dug in right away. He liked that, too, that she wasn’t one of those girls who ate like a bird—or pretended to. He liked even the lushness of her mouth as she ate.
“This is so good, Dante. I don’t know when the last time was I had pancakes. I never had them as a kid, so it doesn’t occur to me very often.”
“You never had pancakes as a kid?”
She shrugged, taking another bite and chewing for a few moments. “I just . . . My parents weren’t very . . . They weren’t into being parents. My mom didn’t really cook or . . . I had a strange childhood.”
“You seemed pretty normal in high school.”
“Did I? That’s good, I suppose. My parents weren’t weirdos or anything. They were just absorbed in their work. Focused. Maybe to the exclusion of anything else. I just think . . . Their minds work at an amazing pace, and they don’t know how to slow down. They’re brilliant, both of them.”
“That’s where you get it from, then.”
Her cheeks flushed. “No, I didn’t. They really are geniuses, my mother and my father. I didn’t inherit the genius IQ. A huge disappointment for them.” She put her fork down, wiped her mouth very carefully.
“That must have been a difficult environment to grow up in.” She looked at him. Looking to see if he pitied her, he thought. He didn’t. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.”
“No. It’s okay. I don’t mind telling. Not like I usually do. I mean, this is not stuff I normally talk about . . . God, I don’t know what I mean.”
He put down his fork. “Kara, last night was your first experience with pain play. Sometimes that can open a person up. It happens a lot. You might feel more vulnerable today. It can make you connect with old issues. Some people even cry.”
She shook her head. “It’s not like that for me. I don’t feel bad or scared. I just feel . . . relieved. Released. As if I’ve let something go. That opening up, I guess. It’s making me feel lighter. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah. It does. I’m glad you’re feeling good about it. Because that means you’ll probably want to do it again.” He grinned at her, and she smiled back. Gorgeous smile. “But let me know if that changes.”
“I will.”
Kara still didn’t know why she’d started to tell Dante about her parents, her childhood. It wasn’t like her. Not with a guy. And especially not after Jake. Opening up with him had chased him away. Of course, the very thing that Jake had judged her for, Dante was obviously into. Still, the emotional stuff was different. That was the kind of thing she’d talk to Lucie—her best friend—about, but not to a man.
“Dante . . . I’m sorry.”
He set his coffee mug down. “For what?”
“For going on about my history with my parents. My issues with them. I’m sure it’s the last thing you want to hear. I’m sorry I’m being such a girl.”
He grinned. His dimples were back, making her want to reach out and touch them. “I like that you’re a girl.”
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