Emma Holly (32 page)

She had mixed feelings about commitment herself, her mother having spent way too much energy chasing her increasingly inappropriate "soul mates."

So what if she and Eric—and B.G., for that matter—were ships passing in the night? Maybe being really excellent ships was nothing to sneeze at.

Eric and B.G. were one-in-a-million guys. Charity had dated enough of the others to know that for sure.

If she'd met them under different circumstances, if they'd been pursuing more traditional romantic goals, Eric could have counted on her to keep her hands off B.G. What she couldn't have promised was that a daydream or two featuring the handsome physicist would never have crossed her mind. Though she'd come to know B.G. better, he was still a deep, dark, sexy mystery.

Her reality being what it was, it seemed silly to waste the chance to investigate.

"I've noticed something," she said, slipping her fingers between his on the lacy cloth. "You haven't approached me alone since you set aside the rules."

In a heartbeat, B.G.'s gaze turned from mild to keen. The full force of his attention prickled her skin like an electric buzz. It took a moment before he spoke. "I thought you enjoyed the three of us together."

"I do. I'm just wondering if the question you once asked me still stands."

She knew he'd remember what she meant. A mind like his held on to everything. What she hadn't guessed was that when he answered, his voice would be rough and shy.

"You implied you wouldn't be intimate with me until I was desperate."

"Maybe I don't want desperation. Maybe I want you."

He blinked at her as if his brain was temporarily stuck, his fingers withdrawing an inch from hers. "You want me for now, you mean."

Again that roughness brushed the nerves of her ear.

"Isn't now enough?"

At her question, his head jerked slightly back. She felt like a fencer scoring a touch, knowing she'd caught him out even though she couldn't say how.

"Yes," he said slowly, standing as he did. "I suppose now couldn't hurt."

B.G.
knew what he was doing was dangerous. Every move he'd made lately seemed not to accomplish what he was aiming for. The last thing he'd expected when he dropped the rules was that Eric and Charity would want to spend time with him. Mind you, he wasn't complaining. These last few weeks had been quite rewarding. He had laughed more and relaxed more and certainly been pleasured more than he could remember happening before. With them, a simple evening before the fire became an angel's boon.

Their company was addictive, and therein lay the rub.

He had to prepare himself to let them go. Without being caught interfering, he had to coax Eric to pursue what B.G. knew he wanted: to commit himself, as Charity put it, and claim his personal happy ending.

Accepting Charity's offer seemed unlikely to bring this about, unless a childish thing like jealousy could get Eric off his sticking point.

More likely, if Charity had sex with him on her own, without their threesome's inherent charm, she'd see once and for all whom she preferred.

"Here?" he said.

She smiled at his question, the expression softening her already feminine face. "Anywhere is good, cowboy, as long as you're comfortable."

He
liked the endearment. She could tell by the way he ducked his head and smiled to himself. She didn't have long to wait before he moved. He knelt before her chair, initiating a seduction as unique as he was.

A bright-yellow pleated skirt covered her thighs, a flippy, cheery thing that suited her mood. B.G.'s hands warmed her knees, then slid under the cloth. His fingers drew teasing circles on her inner thighs. "That tickles," she said.

He smiled but couldn't resist giving an order. "Don't talk," he said, kissing one knee to soften the words.

"I want you to listen through the silence."

She listened as he disrobed her: to the rustle and slide of the skirt, the pop of her shirt buttons, the snap of her bra, the soft thunk her shoes made on the carpet as he set them carefully aside. His deliberation fascinated her, especially when he turned it on himself. She knew how lovely he looked naked. She hadn't known how lovely he'd look stripping. She especially loved that under all that calmness, his cock was high and ready.

She didn't try to touch him, just let him sweep her up in his arms and carry her to an overstuffed pink loveseat. Springs creaked beneath her as he set her down. When he took the seat beside her, his knee bumped hers. His hand slid down the curve of her side. The caress was so polite she wanted to laugh.

Apart from being naked, they could have been Victorians in a scented bower. Just so, the lovers of days gone by might have listened for the sounds of quickened respiration or sought the evidence of a deepened blush. B.G. leaned forward and gave her both, his breath rushing soft as butterflies across her cheek.

Thus he began his Kiss.

It deserved a capital letter, at least in her mind, demonstrating as nothing else could how much he'd adjusted his natural style for her and Eric. This kiss was gentleness itself, a blind man's exploration of the planes and curves of her face. Her brows were praised, then her temples, then the tingling tip of her nose.

Long minutes of enchantment passed before he settled his mouth over hers, and even then it spoke subtly. Desire was there, and tenderness, and a selfless patience she wasn't sure she'd ever understand.

Bit by bit, his kiss erased her awkwardness, arousing her in slow motion until each soft pulse of feeling shook her body.

He
knew
her, as old-fashioned people liked to say, without their flesh becoming one.

Hoping to bring that part of the process closer, she swung onto his lap. Even with her eagerness, she found herself moving slower than normal.

The sensation was worth savoring. As she slid to him, one knee to either side of his hips, his erection brushed her belly, as strong and heated as his kiss was soft. She dragged her nails along his scalp until his head fell back. When it came up again, his dark eyes glowed.

"Candy dish," he said, the only words he'd spoken since they'd begun.

The dish sat on the table to her left. She removed its flowery ceramic lid to find a selection of wrapped condoms.
Candy, indeed
. Grinning, she opened one. The silence increased her anticipation as she rolled the sheath down his stiffened shaft. His tip was already sticky. She pinched the latex lightly against it for the pleasure of making him gasp.

She almost had him. He drew a breath as if to speak but then held back.

She rose onto her shins, impatient to have him inside her once and for all. B.G. stopped her before they engaged, gripping her waist and lifting her even as he came to his feet. He was stronger than she expected. Hitching her up against him seemed effortless.

She clung to him, watching his gleaming eyes for some hint of what would come next.

He looked at her lips and licked his own. He carried her past the tea table and a tufted pink footstool.

She clutched his shoulders and tried not to hyperventilate, her efforts obvious enough to make the corners of his mouth turn up.

When he thunked her back against the wall beside the gilt-framed portrait of some bewigged Regency rake, she knew they'd reached his goal.

If they hadn't, she doubted he'd have used any force at all.

Pinned by his weight, she trembled just like a romantic heroine. His gaze dropped to her breasts, then to the place where her pubis rolled against the muscles of his waist. She was squeezing him so tightly, it wasn't easy for him to pull his hips back. That done, he widened her thighs, pressed his cock down with his thumb, and eased himself into her cleft.

She moaned at the slow, thick entry, at the lengthy withdrawal and return. Now that he was taking her, he held her trapped to the wall, the velvet flocking on the paper soft behind her back. She would have added her strength to his if she'd been able, but his hold on her hips prevented her from taking any more

than he gave.
He
moved her.
He
chose his penetration and angle. It was a bondage of the simplest sort, that of superior male force. It was also a kind bondage, nothing he did remotely capable of causing hurt.

She wanted it to last forever, but even the great B.G. had his limits.

She knew when he reached them. The change in his breathing would have been another man's curse of pleasure; the tightening of his buttocks, someone else's groan.

As she struggled to stay silent, she sank her teeth into her lower lip. Finally, she gave up.

"Please," she whispered, needing the end as much as she needed breath.

The word went through him like a slap, but even then he didn't speak. He thrust a little higher inside her, a little stronger, his hands hard on her softness. Another minute passed at this pace, during which he held her an aching fraction from orgasm, until she was literally panting for it. His eyes squeezed shut at the sound, and his jaw clenched hard enough to click. He sped up the one bit more she needed. Her body tightened and reached. Then, as if a huge quantum hand had gripped them both, the climax burst like heat lightning, flashing over them at the same instant, triggering one rolling burst of feeling after another.

At the end, a single sound broke low in his throat.

She thought it might have been her name, but she wasn't in any condition to say. Her own voice had been stolen by pleasure, her ears nearly deafened by the rushing of her blood. She came until her bones felt limp.

When her tremors stopped, he touched his lips to hers again.

For no reason she could explain, his kiss felt like an apology.

B.G.
rested his chin atop her head, his arms still locked beneath her hips. Her weight was a burden he felt strangely comforted to support.

This isn't good
, he thought, his mind having trouble constructing more than these simple words. Yes, joining one's body to another's tended to affect one emotionally, but his chest was almost too tight to breathe. He wanted to weep the way he had the night she spanked him—which seemed a less than appropriate reaction.

He couldn't be falling in love with her. That would be perverse.

"You're all right," he said, unintentionally making it more order than question.

"Yes," she said, noticeably disconcerted by his tone.

He uncoupled them as gently as he could and set her on her feet. The prophylactic took only a moment to strip and toss in the trash. Chanty touched his subsiding shaft as if to soothe him while he fell. One fingertip traced a heavy vein, the gesture intimate enough to unsettle him.

"Well," he said. Truly naked now, he patted her bare shoulder. She was so warm, so soft… A flush as