Just for You (15 page)

He hit hard, hip and shoulder, she uttered a sharp cry as she banged down with him, and they were sliding,
thump thump thump
, his legs and back slamming painfully against each riser in turn.

They were at the bottom, rolling a bit, and then she was wrenching herself away, her breath coming in sobbing pants.

“Are you all right?” He reached desperately for her. She had to be all right. She had to. “Baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. “

“Bad…bad time?” she got out.

He laughed out of pure shock. Only Reka. “Nah.” He sat, pulling her up with him, the pain forgotten. “Nah. Perfect time.”

“Got…some way of…showing it, haven’t you?”

He could feel her shaking despite her words. He ran his hands down her arms, trying to check, but it was too dark to really tell. “You hurt?” he insisted. “How bad?”

“Shaken,” she said, sounding better. “What about you?”

“A few bumps to add to the tally. No worries. Sore tomorrow anyway.”

“This how you always greet visitors?” She was feeling behind her now, patting at her hair. She really was all right, then, and the relief made him sag for a moment.

“Thought you were a stalker,” he tried to explain, “or a photographer, maybe, staking out my house. I’ve had that kind of thing before, and I haven’t had…the best night. I texted to see if maybe it was you, no answer.”

“Oh.” She reached into her pocket and pulled it out. “Out of juice. Huh. I forgot.”

He wasn’t listening, because she’d been wearing a long, belted coat, her hair in its knot, which was why he hadn’t recognized her in the shadows. Now, her hair was falling down a bit, and the coat…

His hand slid inside, where the thing had loosened, because it hadn’t been buttoned, closed over the warm, firm skin at her waist, his favorite spot. Well, one of his favorites.

“Baby,” he managed. “You’ve come out without your clothes on.”

Her voice had a hitch in it, a little gasp, and it thrilled him, just like always. “That’s because…I meant to surprise you. And I did.”

“Mmm.” He had his other hand at the formerly-tidy knot at the back of her head, was pulling pins out and dropping them, heedless, to the pavement, tugging at her hair so it spilled down her back. His hand was in her hair, then, and he had her face lifted to his, was sitting on the pavement with her half in his lap, eating her up.

She was making some little noises into his mouth, surprise and eagerness and wanting, because Reka couldn’t hold back a thing, because she gave up everything, and everything was what he wanted. His hand was moving, there inside her coat, sliding up
her side, reveling in the smoothness of her. Tracing over the curve of a breast, feeling her suck in a breath against his mouth as his hand slid inside the bra that was all she had on under her coat, that and a pair of undies, the white lace catching the moonlight, glowing against her dark skin.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders as his own hand continued to stroke, as his thumb flicked a hardened point, because she was so sensitive, so responsive. He remembered that, and he wanted so badly to be reminded some more. His tongue was in her mouth, and hers was playing too, his hand was wrapped in her hair, and in another moment, she was going to be on her back.

“All right there?”

He heard the voice behind him. It wasn’t the first time it had spoken, either, but then, he’d been a bit preoccupied.

He turned halfway, not letting go of Reka, keeping her behind him, and it was the fella with the dog. The labradoodle was wagging its curly tail, coming forward on its leash, sticking a curious black nose out to sniff at Hemi.

“I heard some noise,” the man said. “Some shouting. Saw somebody jump the fence earlier. All right?” he repeated. “Miss?” he added, trying to get a look at Reka.

He thought Hemi was attacking her, Hemi realized with a cross between astonishment and amusement.

“Yeh.” Reka cleared her throat, grabbed the edges of her coat, shifted herself off Hemi, on her knees now and into the man’s view. “All good. Just…a little accident. But all good now,” she repeated.

“Ah. Well.” His neighbor looked between the two of them, and Hemi gave the labradoodle a pat, since it seemed to think that a person on the ground was a person who wanted to play. “This is a quiet neighborhood,” the man went on. “You may want to go inside now.”

“Ah. Yeh. Good idea.” Hemi got to his feet, took Reka by the hand and pulled her up to join him. Her coat wasn’t quite closed, and she snatched her hand from his and pulled the edges together, and Hemi stepped in front of her again. “Just going,” he told the other man. “Goodnight.”

His neighbor nodded and walked on, and Hemi turned and looked at Reka. She was leaning against the pillar at the bottom of the steps, beginning to shake with nearly-silent laughter. It caught him unawares, and he found himself laughing too, because she was infectious, and that spurred her on, until they were both lost.

He looked at her, leaning and laughing and gasping, hugging herself, her hair streaming around her, the lacy bra flashing white in the shadow of that coat, and he forgot to be quiet, the bubble of it rising, swelling, all the way from his belly until he was gasping, leaning against the pillar and laughing just as hard as she was, and a whole lot louder.

“Shh,” she said, and giggled, and that was funny too, and made him laugh a little more. “You bad neighbor.”

“Can’t help it.” He pulled her towards him, and she came to him willingly, eagerly, wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him, and he smiled back. “If naked girls are going to turn up at my house in the middle of the night, these things are going to happen.”

“Maybe they could start happening now,” she said. “Keep a girl waiting, don’t you?”

“Nah,” he said, still smiling. “Nah.”

He was up the stairs with her just like that, pulling her through the door. No more waiting. Time to go.

H
e kicked off his shoes even as he was giving the door a single hard shove, and then he had her against it and was kissing her again. His mouth was on hers, invading, demanding, and she was doing nothing but welcoming him inside.

He stayed there as long as he could stand it, then kissed his way across her cheek to the spot under her ear that she loved. He remembered how she’d moaned the first time he kissed her there, and he was right, because she moaned again now. She sagged a little against the door, her pulse was racing under his mouth, and his own heart was hammering just that hard.

And then his hands had fisted on the lapels of the coat, pulled it wide. He’d have looked at her, but he couldn’t look at her and kiss her at the same time, and he couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of using his teeth gently on her neck, feeling her head turn, her hands pulling him closer, clutching at his shoulders, trying to get more.

She was pressed against the wood of the door, making some noise now as his hand roamed inside the lace edging of her bra, the other hand coming around from behind to cup her luscious backside, trace over the lace border that didn’t reach all the way to her thigh, because those undies were cut high, leaving all that gorgeous bare skin for his hand to explore. Lace bordering silk in both directions, fabric and smooth warm flesh. All she was managing to do was hang on, and he loved it.

He pulled her away from the door, shoved the coat down her arms to fall in a heap on the floor, and then he did look.

She was worth looking at. The bra didn’t really do a good enough job of covering her, because there was a bit of brown visible against one white edge, and he was on fire. The undies dipped so close too, there in the center, tracing a path, and he had to take that path. Right now.

He reached around her back, flicked the clasp and undid the bra, pulled it over her arms, and tossed it on top of the coat.

“Aw, sweetheart,” he breathed. “That’s my girl.” He had the perfect round weight of a breast in each hand, and he had to pause a while there, caressing, teasing, playing with
her, because his memory hadn’t steered him wrong there either. She was exactly that responsive, exactly that deliciously sensitive. Her eyes were closed, her head was back against the door, she was breathing hard already, and they’d barely started.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he told her, and if it came out a little ragged, who could blame him? “I’m going to do it all to you tonight. We’re going to do it until you can’t take any more, and then you’re going to take it anyway.”

“Hemi,” she moaned, and he’d never heard anything better. He was going to have to come back to this later, because her back was arching, her lips had parted, and he needed his mouth there as much as she needed him to be there. But he needed something else even more, and he couldn’t wait another minute. He ramped up the pressure a little, was getting that little bit rougher that he knew she needed, was pinching a nipple, taking it right up to that knife-edge, that exquisite point just before pleasure became pain, and she was definitely moaning now.

He sent the other hand down, stroking over the velvet skin of her side, the little swell of her belly, and there she was. There was the heart of her, where he had to be.

“So wet,” he said, his voice raw in his ears. “So good.” He was yanking, and the undies were coming off, down her legs, and she kicked out of them. She was naked, and he still had all his clothes on, because she hadn’t been able to do anything more than hang on.

She wasn’t going to be able to do anything anytime soon, either. He was dropping to his knees, because he had to have this now. Right now.

“Hemi,” she said again, protest or invitation, he couldn’t tell, but he had a hand on either thigh, was parting her legs, and she shifted in her heels, still pressed against the door, and let him do it.

He kept a hand on a thigh, held her there while the other began a slow, stealthy journey, exploring, parting, finding his way, in no hurry at all, feeling the way she began to urge him closer with her body, trying to get him where she needed him, making little protesting sounds at his refusal to touch her where she wanted him most. By the time he’d finished teasing her, she was gasping, and when he finally set his mouth to her, she cried out loud.

It didn’t take long after that, and that was a pity, because he loved it. She was trembling, jerking against him from the start, going up fast. She started out moaning, and when he sped up, she was calling out, and if his hands hadn’t been holding her there, her legs wouldn’t have been able to support her, because he could feel them shaking.

And when he got his fingers inside her and began to thrust, she screamed. And she shattered, with so much force, he could hardly hold her. Both her hands fisted in his hair, and she was wailing, shuddering, her back slamming into the door, over and over and over.

He kept on until her shudders had become trembles, until her cries had become little moans again, until he could feel her legs shaking so hard he knew she was about to fall. He pulled her down with him, then. Gently, because she wasn’t falling again tonight.

“Hemi,” she sighed, lying back against his supporting arm, opening her lustrous brown eyes, trying to smile, but her mouth was still trembling. “I can’t…I can’t…”

“Yeh,” he told her. “You can. You just need me inside you. Then you can.”

“Please,” she said, and she was begging, and he needed to hear her beg.

“Condom,” he realized. “Come on. Bedroom.” He pulled her up with him, waited for her to kick off her shoes, took her by the hand, and led the way through the darkened house, up the stairs to the bedroom. So carefully cleaned, the bed neatly made, the bed he’d hoped he’d have her in tomorrow.

Neat no longer. He switched a light on at the bedside with his right hand, his left still clutching hers, yanked the bedclothes back, and pulled her down with him.

Reka, dark against the white sheets, naked and abandoned to her pleasure, all that shining dark hair streaming behind her, around her, wanting him as much as he wanted her. Almost as much, because surely it wasn’t possible to want anyone, to crave anyone, to need to be inside anyone as much as he needed to be inside her.

He reached into the bedside table, scrabbled for the packet with fingers that weren’t entirely steady, tossed it onto the bed next to her, but she was up now, pulling his jacket off, then on her knees, yanking his shirt up over his head, her hands following it, stroking him, caressing him, so eager to touch him.

She was bending now to kiss his shoulder, her hands still exploring, awakening sensation everywhere they touched, and however much she had needed his hands and mouth on her, he needed hers more.

She seemed to know it, because she was stroking down over his sides, his belly while her mouth followed, and he was the one on his back. She was over him, pulling off his warmup pants, his briefs, and his clothes were on the floor.

She was on top of him, avid, eager, her mouth tracing the whorls of his moko, licking over a nipple and pulling it into her mouth, her tongue working, and he knew why it had felt so good to her, because his hands were the ones tangled in her hair now, and all his attention was there. Right there. There, and on the hand that was sliding down his chest, his ribs, his abdomen, lower and lower, until all he could think of was that mouth, and that hand, and where that hand was going.