Picture Me Sexy (14 page)

“Get busy,” she instructed.

His lids drifted to half-mast and he caught his full bottom lip with his teeth and slowly released it. Sexual heat rolled off him, burning her up from the inside out. “Wouldn't my time be better spent
surprising
you?”

Mercy. That was certainly a tempting scenario. Still… “You can do that right now,” Delaney told him. “Surprise me now.”

A frustrated sigh blew past his lips, even as they curled with the promise of untold pleasure. “Put that camera down, come here, and I'll surprise you until your eyes roll back in your head,” he said heatedly. “I swear.”

Her knees quaked. “Make me,” Delaney taunted.

“How?” he all but wailed.

She lowered her voice. “The same way I made you.”

His eyes rounded and then a deep, wicked chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Oh, you are so…”

“Bad?” she supplied helpfully.

“No. Mean,” he said.

She cocked her head. “You didn't seem to think it was mean when you were on the other side of the camera,” she told him. “In fact, you seemed to be enjoying yourself tremendously.”

“I did,” he admitted, his gaze instantly hot once more. “More than you can—”

“So what's the problem?” She lifted the camera. “Which of
your
parts needs
my
attention?”

With a strangled laugh, he grasped his rod. “This one.”

She snapped the picture a mere nanosecond before his shocked expression could ruin the frame. “Delaney!” he gasped, clearly horrified.

She burst into unrepressed laughter. “What? You knew the deal when we made the bet.”

His mouth gaped. “I didn't real—”

“Stroke it again, baby,” she told him. She lowered her voice to a husky rasp. “I want to watch you get hard. It's very…arousing. Makes me all hot and wet.”

He swallowed, once, twice, then with a groan of helpless defeat, took himself back in hand. That steely gaze slammed into hers, refused to waver. Delaney's tongue darted out and touched the middle of her upper lip as the intensity, the sheer eroticism of
what she was seeing developed fully in her lust-ridden mind.

Six and one-half feet of naked, dark—aroused—male.

He absently stroked himself, yet she knew it was her own hand he felt there, knew that he was imagining her palm gliding up and down the smooth, hard length of him. She was ready to make that vision a reality. Delaney's breath came short and sharp and her skin prickled with want. Her breasts grew impossibly heavy and a heady weight settled in her achy womb.

She snapped a couple more frames, just to save face, then set the camera aside and scaled his body until she settled her weeping sex along the long hard ridge of him. His engorged head bumped her swollen clit, eliciting a broken sigh of need. Heat lashed through her, parched her mouth, then made it water.

Sam's hands bracketed her hips and a wicked smile coupled with the depraved gleam in his eyes made warmth flutter below her navel. He rocked against her folds, sliding up and down her swollen nether lips. His lids fluttered shut and his neck arched. “God, you feel good.”

Delaney rocked against him, bit her lip, too, in an effort to stem the flow of pleasure, but she might as well try to bottle wind. It was no use. He felt too good between her legs, too intense. “So do you,” she told him.

Unable to stand the emptiness any longer, she re
positioned her hips and slowly sank down on top of him. He filled her so completely, it pushed the very air from her lungs, seemingly deflating her. She clamped her muscles around him, then lifted up, dragging the silken skin along with her, then slowly impaled herself on him once more.

“Christ,” Sam said through clenched teeth. “You're killing me.”

She did it again and again, and remarkably, he let her, didn't try to change her pace, or take over completely. He let her set the rhythm and take him along for the ride.

Smiling with lazy sensuality, he reached up and tweaked her breasts, then when that wasn't enough, he leaned forward and latched his greedy mouth around one aching peak, then the other. Pleasure barbed through her as he fed on her nipples, landed a direct hit against her center. Her muscles tightened, and her body bent against the tight bow of beginning release.

Recognizing the impulse, Sam sucked hard once, then reclined once more. He anchored one hand on her hip and the other moved to where their bodies joined. Her blond curls mingled with his darker ones, an incredibly arousing sight, then his fingers moved into the midst of those curls and gently massaged her clit.

Her mouth opened in a silent
O
as an altogether intense sensation commenced deep inside her. Her muscles clenched and quickened, and her hips began
to move with frantic precision—up, down, up, down. With every thrust, she could feel the heavy heat flooding her womb, could feel it filling up. Broken sounds tore from her throat and she closed her eyes and whimpered his name. A fever built inside her, hotter and hotter, until finally—blessedly—her womb filled beyond capacity, and the resulting spill broke like a dam through her, bathing her in the tingling rain of release. A long, silent scream issued from her throat and her back bowed tight. Her muscles clenched around his hard length, the contractions harder, more intense than anything she'd ever experienced before.

Before she could revel over it any longer, Sam rolled her off him onto her belly, then hauled her hips up from the mattress and plunged into her from behind. The shock of sensation forced the breath from her lungs as he nudged deep. He plowed into her, his fingers biting into the tender skin of her hips. He plunged repeatedly, powered himself in and out of her, his testicles slapping against her aching flesh.

Impossibly, she felt herself falling toward release again, felt the spiral of heat dragging her further and further down. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sensation, whimpered. She didn't know if she could take any more, then said as much. “Please!” she cried. “Sam, please!”

He pumped hard, smooth controlled thrusts. She heard the change in his breathing, felt his tight rein on control snap and a thrill raced through her. He
hammered into her, harder and harder, faster and faster. She automatically stiffened, bracing herself for the impending climax. With a roar of satisfaction, Sam buried himself to the hilt, bent forward and lightly bit her shoulder.

Lights burst behind her lids and she screamed as she came hard. She felt his hot seed bathe the back of her womb, reveled in the feel of him pulsing deep inside of her.

With a sigh of satisfaction, he rolled to the side, taking her with him and making sure that the bulk of his weight landed on the mattress.

“How…was that…for a…surprise?” he asked brokenly as his chest heaved.

Delaney buried her face in the pillow, then turned to look at him. Delight shimmered in every cell. “Most admirable. I look forward to an encore.” She winced as he slowly pulled out of her. “Later.”

Concern knitted his brow. “Poor baby. Have I worn you out?”

She nodded, still trying to catch her breath. “I wouldn't be opposed to a quick power nap.”

Sam smoothed her hair over the pillow and tucked her more firmly against him. A sweet, tender gesture that melted her heart. The combined sensation of his heat at her back and his big, reassuring presence beside her quickly weighted her lids. Pleasure saturated every pore, warmth and happiness cocooned her and a feeling of rightness settled in her limbs.

She could spend the rest of her life nestled in the comfort of his arms, Delaney thought as she drifted off to sleep. Curiously—frighteningly—no mental admonition accompanied the thought.

“I
'LL BE BACK
,”
Sam said, then pressed a hungry, lingering kiss to her lips.

Her eyes sparkled with warmth. “I'll be waiting. Naked,” she added with a saucy wink.

With a shake of his head and a sigh of regret, Sam slowly made his way downstairs. They'd been on the other two tours he'd wanted to share with her, the behind-the-scenes and the rooftop tour, and had strolled through the gardens as well.

Despite little or no sleep, they had still awoken early this morning, ready to spend the day together. Sam had promised her the morning and early afternoon and he'd delivered. They'd had an amazing time. Had talked about everything from sibling rivalry to eighteenth-century antiques. He'd made many discoveries that only confirmed that she was most definitely the one for him.

Not only was she smart, sexy and tenderhearted, she possessed a keen sense of wit and could make him hard with one sexy arch of her brow, she was an incredible listener and, to his unending surprise, had become an instant friend.

He grimly suspected he was in love with her already.

Which wouldn't be such a bad thing if he knew that he could make her love him in return.

Regrettably, he didn't.

And to make matters worse, it would be several hours before he could get back to her and try to make her love him. The idea made his skin itch, made his stomach clench with dread.

He didn't want to wait hours to be with her—he wanted to be with her
every
hour.

He'd made a tremendous amount of progress with her the last couple of days, could feel her drawing closer and closer to him, and he didn't want to give her the time to backslide, to put those substantial defenses back up. He didn't want to give her time to analyze and evaluate what was happening between them. Didn't want to give her the time to take apart their every minute together and dissect it into a meaningless weekend romp. Sam sincerely hoped that she wouldn't do that.

Last night she'd sloughed off her old insecurities, had blossomed for him like an exotic night-blooming rose. With every second that they spent together, he could feel her confidence strengthening, could feel the power of her femininity taking effect. There was a perpetual wicked twinkle in her bright green gaze, a bold gleam that inspired equal parts anticipation and fear. What in God's name would she think of
next? he wondered and prayed he would be up for it.

Sam's cheeks blazed with remembered heat as his late-night photo session leapt graphically to mind. All she'd had to do was tell him that she wanted to watch him get hard, and he'd laid there and stroked himself like a cheap porn star. Let her make pictures of him while he did it, for pity's sake.

She'd calmly pocketed that roll of film this morning, had shot him an I-dare-you look that promised retribution if the film came up missing. He couldn't deny that the whole concept petrified him. He'd asked her to let him develop the film and she'd maddeningly shook her head. She didn't want to run the risk of having them overdeveloped, or inadvertently ruined, she'd told him, the perceptive wench. Sam's lips curled.

That had been precisely what he'd been thinking.

In the event that they were as embarrassing as he thought they would be, he would have cheerfully had a little accident in the darkroom. She'd deftly foiled that plan, Sam thought, unreasonably impressed.

Still, it had occurred to him that she hadn't been the only one testing their limits and stretching their boundaries last night. She'd made him broaden his scope as well. The pictures had only been the tip of the iceberg. She'd made him lose control so many times, had made him completely forget everything in his bag of sexual tricks and act totally on instinct.
He'd lost it repeatedly—hence how she ended up winning the bet and taking the damned pictures.

Were that not disturbing enough, he'd forgotten to protect them that last time. She'd set that camera aside, climbed up his body, then she'd settled that wet part of her against him and every practical thought had fragmented. The singularly intense sensation had been too much for him to handle. Gooseflesh had peppered his skin, every hair on his body had stood on end, and the next thing he'd felt was her hot velvety channel slowly enveloping his inflamed rod. Then he'd ceased thinking at all and had simply felt. The intimate skin-to-skin contact had ripped the breath from his lungs, had made him all but come right that second.

Sam had never had unprotected sex.

Ever.

His parents had pounded the risks and repercussions into his head from the moment he'd been old enough to get an erection, and he'd been suitably wary enough not to disobey them.

He'd always, without hesitation, protected himself and his partner.

The fact that he'd been so caught up in the fever of desire and he hadn't thought to pause and sheath himself in a condom was somehow more telling than any amount of gooseflesh and curious tingling behind his navel. More telling than any Martelli “quickening.” This woman had some sort of power over him, had the ability to hold him enthralled. For all intents
and purposes—whether she wanted it or not—she had his heart.

He sincerely hoped she didn't break it.

 

D
ELANEY SANK INTO A HOT
bubble bath and sighed with satisfaction as the warm fragrant water worked its magic and soothed her tender muscles. She and Sam had showered together this morning and, while she'd certainly been soaped up and washed clean, the slippery bath gel had been more of an erotic tool than anything else. Delaney smiled with remembered pleasure, shivered as she mentally relived the frantic slide of his skin against hers, relived the sensation of him embedded deep inside her.

She'd drawn this bath to relax and to think and, just like she'd assumed, her musings were X-rated and all centered on one darkly handsome, tall sexy Italian.

Sam Martelli.

His very name made something clench deep inside her, evoked a strong feeling of contentedness. She longed for a pad and pencil, wanted to doodle his name like some ponytailed grade-school girl under the influence of her first real crush. Her lips curled.

And why not? Delaney wondered. This had certainly been a week for firsts, particularly this weekend. She felt new, fresh. Like a mythological phoenix she felt like she'd been reborn this week and had come out all the better for it.

Delaney didn't have any idea what had happened
exactly, didn't know whether her feelings were a result of her new attitude, of her revenge therapy, or the result of a weekend spent lolling around in hedonistic splendor with a man that secret fantasies were made of.

Probably a combination of all three, but she figured that most of the credit was due to Sam. She couldn't have done this with any other man, she knew. Couldn't have simply let go of old issues and embraced her sensuality. For reasons which escaped her now, he held the key. The feelings he engendered couldn't be reproduced or manufactured with any other man.

Just him.

She knew it as well as she knew her own name. Knew it like she knew the sun would come up in the east and set in the west. She'd denied it every step of the way, had dug her heels in and refused to let emotion play any part of this weekend. Had told herself repeatedly that she wouldn't allow herself to become emotionally invested and, even for a while, she'd managed to make herself believe it.

But regardless of how well she thought she'd protected her heart, she obviously hadn't because she grimly suspected she'd inadvertently—recklessly—pinned it on her sleeve.

His for the plucking, should he be so inclined.

Delaney tried to muster the requisite self-disgust and loathing this monumentally stupid realization
should have sparked, but found herself curiously unable to work up any of those feelings.

She was too damned happy.

Yes, she was 0 for 2 in the game of love. Yes, she'd always been a loser magnet and yes, when it came to picking a man who was able to keep his pecker in his pants, show her even a modicum of respect and who didn't have any ulterior motive, she hadn't been very successful. Hadn't been lucky.

But she instinctively knew her luck had just changed.

None of those men were Sam Martelli.

Sam was simply a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy. She hadn't detected even the smallest hint of dishonesty in his character, not a single red flag had gone up. In her previous relationships, those warnings had sounded and she'd ignored them because she'd been so desperate to be wanted, so afraid of being alone. She'd been harboring the honey-I'm-home dream so long that she'd looked at every man who showed even the slightest bit of potential and cast him in the role of husband. Sad, but true.

Furthermore, she'd met every ex-fiancé through work and each one had been initially interested in her as a result of business-related issues. What her company could do for them. Vince had installed her computer network and Roger had wanted her business account.

In the end, neither one of them had wanted to be her husband.

Curiously, the one man who sparked a blaze of interest was the one man whom she hadn't considered for the role. And she wouldn't consider him now either, she decided firmly. Delaney had jumped to conclusions in the past, had lead with her heart and blindly followed.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder what sort of partner he would make, couldn't help imagining them plundering estate sales together and cuddling in front of the TV on cold winter nights. Couldn't help but fantasize about the rowdy family he clearly loved. Would that she could be a part of something like that, Delaney thought wistfully. Furthermore, despite mental warnings to the contrary, she couldn't help but wonder what sort of parent he'd be. Couldn't help imagining waking up to him every morning…as she had this morning.

Delaney loaded her sponge with moisturizing bath gel and quietly considered that perfect moment. There'd been something altogether different about waking up in his arms this morning, she decided.

Aside from the fact that she was naked—a biggie for her because she'd never slept in the buff in her life, much less with a man beside her—there had still been an intangible, metaphysical something that had kindled between them. She'd awoken with a hard wall of warm male flesh at her back, a hairy leg pressed intimately between her thighs, and a hot hand upon her breast. Warmth eddied through her and sheer delight bloomed in her chest.

Sam, for all intents and purposes, appeared to just want
her,
didn't seem to be remotely interested in anything she or her company might be able to do for him. Dare she consider anything more permanent with him? Dare she see him again beyond this weekend?

Delaney bit her lip and pondered the weighty question. She'd planned to give herself this weekend with him, then cut all ties once they returned to Memphis. The mere idea pricked her heart with regret. She'd planned to essentially use him to help herself rise above her insecurities, had planned to forget him, but remember everything he'd done to her.

Was that even possible? she wondered now. The two were so hopelessly intertwined, she didn't know where the one began and other ended.

Just like her tangled feelings. A part of her wanted to keep things on a safe, unemotional level, enjoy her newfound sensuality without any sticky, complicated hang-ups. Fun, sex, more fun, more sex. Did she mention more sex?

But another part desperately wanted something more permanent. For instance, she wanted exclusive rights to that magnificent body. Didn't want him to think about any woman but herself, much less touch one. She wanted him to keep looking at her the way he did now when he thought she wasn't paying attention—like she was the next best thing since sliced bread. Like he adored her. She swallowed tightly.

Like…he loved her.

Delaney shook herself, angrily soaped her body. Clearly her imagination had run amok again, imagining affection where none existed. He couldn't be in love with her, no more than she could be in love with him. It was ludicrous. They'd known each other less than a week, for pity's sake. They couldn't possibly be in love. They were in serious like, serious lust.

But love?

The vaguest wriggle of…something…shifted significantly in her chest, but she squelched the sentiment determinedly. She knew this road well—it lead directly to Heartache Boulevard, a one-way, dead-end street.

And it was sheer hell getting turned around.

That's why she'd sworn off men. That's why she'd decided they all sucked.

Delaney recognized the futility of that mental tirade and sagged back against the tub. She could not swear off Sam Martelli—she was hopelessly addicted to him—and regrettably, while the rest of his gender might suck, he didn't. Her lips quirked. At least in the derogatory sense, anyway.

Basically, he was all she'd ever wanted and considering no one else would ever suffice, she might as well stick with him and see what happened. Her lips curled wryly. As if she had a choice? As if falling for him hadn't been a foregone conclusion?

Delaney gasped at the thought.
Falling for him?
Realization settled firmly in her heart, alternately weighting then lightening the traitorous organ.

Oh, hell. She'd fallen for him.

With a wail of frustrated regret and happiness, she sank under the water.
Oh, Lord,
she prayed.
Please let him be the genuine article. Don't let him break my heart.

 

“T
HAT IS POSITIVELY
wicked,” Sam breathed as Delaney strolled back into the bedroom.
That
being the hot-pink gauzy teddy, matching thong and marabou slippers she currently pirouetted in. Spaghetti straps held up the barely-there sheer baby-doll gown and a single bow tie centered provocatively between her breasts was the only thing that held the racy garment closed.