Tangled Up in Love (14 page)

If that was one, Ronnie wasn’t sure she’d survive orgasms two through twelve. And, dear God, she’d insisted on a baker’s dozen!

No, she definitely wouldn’t survive thirteen. She hardly had enough energy now to breathe, let alone work up to another climax.

Nope, she was done for. Dylan was on his own for the rest.

She was pretty sure she told him all that. It sounded
good in her head, anyway, and she thought her lips were moving.

But then he began kissing her, and she figured that either she hadn’t said it out loud, or he was choosing to ignore her.

It would be just like him to disregard her wishes and go straight to pleasing himself.

Except she had to admit that what he’d just done for her—
to her
—hadn’t been selfish at all. Far from it.

Then he deepened the kiss, and she tasted herself on his tongue, felt the press of his steel-hard erection between her legs.

Oh, boy. She’d been wrong. Very, very wrong. Already, her juices were flowing once again, her body turning warm and loose in preparation of another earth-shattering race to completion.

“Ready for number two?” he pulled back far enough to ask.

She slid a hand between their bodies to cup his stiff cock. It gave a little twitch, and she grinned. “What do you think?”

He thought he’d been damn lucky to have lasted this long. He couldn’t remember ever being this hard, this swollen and aching for release.

Being with Ronnie was like fulfilling every erotic fantasy he’d ever imagined. She was lush and gorgeous, filling his hands and stretching out along his body like she’d been made for him.

From the top of her head to the curl of her toes, she tasted both hot and cool, sweet and spicy. He could have remained between her thighs, lapping at her sweet folds forever. Kissing both her mouth and sex reminded him of relishing a particularly delectable
dessert . . . something rich and exotic that you wish would never end.

She was also amazingly responsive. He touched her, and she went off like a box of Chinese firecrackers. She pressed herself close, writhed in pleasure, took everything he gave and begged for more.

It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed eating a woman out quite that much. Usually it was something he did just to prime the pump . . . a little obligatory foreplay so the gal would be more than ready when it was his turn to race to the finish line.

But with Ronnie, he wasn’t thinking about the shortest route between Point A and Point B, the quickest way to get what he wanted so he could get dressed and go home. If anything, he was busy pondering methods of giving her what he’d promised while drawing out the pleasure for himself.

A dozen orgasms in one night. Yeah, he’d been blowing smoke when he threw that one out there, just trying to get a rise out of her. But she’d called him on it, and now he had no choice but to go through with it or be proven a liar.

And he wasn’t going to let that happen. This was Ronnie he was talking about; she’d never let him live it down. He’d spend the rest of his life listening to her up on her soapbox, crowing to her friends and chapping his ass about how he’d claimed he could bring a woman to orgasm twelve times in one night, no problem. And that he’d failed.

No way was he going to give her that satisfaction.

So he’d give her the other kind—a dozen times in a row—if it killed him.

Shouldn’t be too difficult, provided he could keep from coming in his pants before she hit her second one.

And at the moment, that was a real possibility.

Her legs were wrapped around him like a vise, bringing his cock flush with her crotch. It didn’t matter that he was still fully encased in jeans and cotton briefs, he could still feel her moist heat as though they were skin-to-skin. Which was exactly how he wanted it.

Without taking his mouth from hers, he lifted his hips, shrugging out of his pants and shorts and kicking them aside.

Everything in him screamed to connect with her. To just slip inside,
now,
and give them both what they were panting for.

Thankfully, he still had enough cylinders firing to know better than to get any closer until he’d donned a raincoat. Of course, the only rubber he had with him was in his wallet, in his jeans, which were now somewhere on the floor.

“Shit,” he swore, tearing his mouth away from her ever-ravenous kiss.

She opened her eyes to study him, her chest, with those firm, round, marvelous breasts, rising and falling with great, gulping breaths. “What?”

“Condom.”

Confusion clouded her eyes for a second, and then understanding dawned. Her lips rounded in a small O of dismay. “Do you have one?”

“Yeah, I’ve just got to . . .”

Moving was about the last thing he wanted to do, and damned if it wasn’t painful, to boot. But he shifted away from her, going up on one knee on the sofa and
reaching for his pants, which had landed farther away than he’d thought.

With a grunt, he pulled them back and dug in the rear pocket, extracting his wallet and then the lone condom packet that resided there. Tossing the jeans aside once more, he tore the little plastic square open with his teeth and removed the circle of latex.

“After this, we’re in trouble,” he warned her, rolling the rubber down the full length of his straining erection. “This is the only condom I’ve got with me.”

Sitting up, Ronnie got to her own knees in the center of the couch and ran a hand over his shoulder just as he finished covering himself. “That’s all right. I think I’ve got some more in the bathroom.”

The relief that washed over him made him want to weep. He hadn’t made love to her a first time yet, and already he was anticipating rounds two, three, four . . .

“Thank God.”

His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her tight. Her breasts flattened against his chest. Her soft curls and the slight convex curve of her abdomen trapped his penis, sending it even higher than it already was.

He kissed her lightly, letting his palms glide over the expanse of her slim back, feeling the smooth skin, the long lines of sleek feminine muscle. He cupped her delectable rear end triumphantly, finally having his hands on the world-class ass he’d been all but slavering over for months.

One after another, a Kama Sutra of positions ran through his head. Did he want her on her back? On her knees? Straddling him?

He wasn’t sure; all he knew was that he wanted inside her. Badly. Now.

To that end, he leaned back, lifting her a few inches off the sofa. With a hand on the back of her thigh, he raised one leg up and over his hipbone.

She caught on quickly, raising her other leg so that he was supporting her entire weight. The tip of his penis was poised at her opening and he had to breathe carefully through his teeth to keep himself under control. To keep from plunging forward and slaking his lust, to keep from going off too soon and ruining it for both of them.

Sitting back on his heels, he braced himself in the center of the sofa, one arm wrapped firmly around Ronnie’s back. Then slowly, heart pounding in his chest to the same beat as the throbbing in his cock and balls, he brought her down.

She felt like heaven, like a hundred thousand feather strokes to the most sensitive part of his anatomy. Air hissed through his teeth and his eyes screwed shut before he was halfway inside. At this rate, he might not make it all the way in.

“Christ, you’re tight,” he bit out.

He could feel her breath in his ear as she clutched his shoulders, raked her mouth across his ear, the column of his neck where his muscles stood out in stark relief.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” she said brokenly. “It’s been a while.”

A streak of possessiveness gripped his gut at her admission, making him grasp her even tighter and bring her down another inch. They both groaned at the frisson of sensation the action created.

Call him a Neanderthal, but he liked knowing she hadn’t been with another man recently. That while he’d
been fantasizing about her incredible ass and having her use her mouth for something other than slicing him to ribbons, she hadn’t been sharing the benefits of those gifts with some other guy.

“Wrap your arms around my neck,” he told her.

They were already close, draped haphazardly over his shoulders, upper arms, upper back. But she followed his instructions, bringing them up just a bit higher to circle his neck and hug him tight. Her breasts pressed into his chest, the rigid diamond peaks cutting into his pecs and making him glad he’d been born a man so he could enjoy the many wonders of a woman’s body.

“Now hang on,” he warned. “This may not take long.”

Either she didn’t mind or she wasn’t paying attention, because she simply tightened her hold on his neck and started kissing him—hot, openmouthed, voracious.

He cupped her buttocks, his fingers flexing and releasing the soft, fleshy globes. With a single yank, he drew her the rest of the way down his rigid length until he was fully engulfed, surrounded by her slick warmth.

Her muscles contracted, gripping him like a vise, and he groaned. The sound poured into her mouth and rolled through both of them.

Rather than thrust, he brought her up and then down. Slow, short strokes at first, drawing out the pleasure. Then longer. Faster. Harder.

It didn’t take long for the pressure to build, for the need to become almost unbearable. No matter how fast he moved her over him, it wasn’t fast enough. No matter how hard he pounded, it wasn’t hard enough.

Even through the fog of lust clouding his brain, he had the presence of mind to slip a hand between their bodies and find her clit. She may not have needed it—
she was bouncing and moaning enough to come all on her own—but if she didn’t, he’d be one behind.

His fingers slipped easily in her slick juices, and he scissored his fingertips over and around the swollen bud of her desire. She stiffened almost immediately, her mouth breaking away from his to cry out. Her nails dug into his back. Her internal muscles clamped down hard enough to make him dizzy while she convulsed in his arms.

That was all it took to send him over the edge. He brought her down on top of him one last time as fire shot through his veins and out his dick. His hands flexed on her buttocks and he gave a shout as the most powerful orgasm of his life rocked through him.

Seconds and then minutes ticked by. The room was silent except for the sounds of their mingled, labored breathing.

Dylan remained perfectly still, holding Ronnie slightly above him while he waited for the feeling to seep back into his bones. He was empty, wrung out. After what he’d just experienced, he wasn’t sure he’d ever walk again.

Lifting her head from his shoulder, Ronnie gazed down at him through glazed, sleepy eyes. A fine sheen of perspiration covered her skin, keeping her pressed to him like plastic wrap. Her glorious mane of mahogany hair spilled down her back and framed her face in long, tousled ringlets. A few stray curls clung damply to her hairline, and he somehow found the strength to reach up and brush them aside.

“That was two,” she murmured, her lips pink and swollen from his kisses. If he’d ever wondered at the term
bee-stung,
he now had his answer.

Sounding almost despondent, she added, “I don’t think I can handle ten more.”

“Eleven,” he corrected. “You wanted a baker’s dozen, remember?”

Pressing a light kiss to her mouth, Dylan ran his tongue lightly along the seam. Some dark, primitive instinct was driving him to make those lips pinker, puffier. Never mind that he was exhausted, drained, running on empty. He already wanted her again, or at the very least wanted to possess her again, mark her as his.

“Oh, God,” she nearly whimpered.

“Sorry, sweetheart, even He can’t help you now.”

Ronnie was conked out on the sofa, as close to unconsciousness as it was possible to be without actually drifting off. He’d sexed the temper right out of her.

Which would be a lot easier to strut about if she hadn’t pretty much done the same to him. He was lucky he was still breathing, let alone able to walk to the john.

He made his way across the soft carpeting stark naked, leaving Ronnie half curled up, half sprawled, with her head resting on the arm of the couch.

After disposing of the used condom and cleaning up, he decided to see if he could find those extra rubbers she’d mentioned. He wasn’t quite up to round two yet—literally—but he’d been a Boy Scout as a kid and still liked to be prepared whenever possible.

As long as Ronnie was lying prone and acquiescent in the other room, it seemed like a good time to snoop a bit, too. He may have spent the last year being a low-level, insignificant, small-town columnist instead of doing the hard-hitting stories and interviews he’d always pictured himself writing, but that didn’t mean his reporter’s instincts had dried up entirely.

There was nothing of consequence on the shelves
over the commode, just towels and washcloths in colors that matched the room’s English rose garden decor, and a small bowl of potpourri.

The medicine cabinet didn’t reveal much more, except that she seemed to buy a lot of generic items. A toothbrush and tube of toothpaste, some Band-Aids, a bottle of pain reliever, a few tubes of mystery ointment, and some feminine hygiene products he preferred not to investigate too closely. Not all of them were no-brand, but a lot of them were.

Next he checked the cabinet under the sink and found extra rolls of toilet paper, a bottle of mouthwash, a set of hot curlers. What caught his attention, though, was the personal manicure set and boxes of hair dye.

Ronnie was a fashion plate, no doubt about it. Gorgeous and more put together than any other woman he knew—never a hair out of place . . . well, except when she’d been fucked within an inch of her life, he amended . . . never a thread out of style, never a chip in her perfectly shaped, painted nails.

And he—as well as everyone else who’d had the pleasure of looking at her, he’d be willing to bet—had simply assumed she attained that perfection at a professional salon. He never would have guessed she colored her own hair and manicured her own nails so flawlessly.