Falling for the Wrong Twin (21 page)

He thrust.

Oh God, he split her wide open and she loved it.

She arched her back, she spread her arms and gave in to everything he wanted to do with her. And in case he wondered what she was thinking, she wrapped her legs around him and squeezed.

“You like that?” he asked.

“God, yes.”

“Good. Because I plan to be here a good long time.”

He began to move. A slow withdrawal and then the slam of impact. Out slow, in hard. It was a rhythm she loved even as she wished he would go faster, harder, more
now
.

“Take off your top,” he rasped.

She complied instantly, struggling as she pulled off her graphic tee and popped her bra. It was awkward, especially as he didn’t let up with what he was doing. But she was up to the challenge and the gleam in his eyes told her that he’d enjoyed watching her strip.

“Next time I’ll do it slower,” she promised. “Next time I’ll make you work for it.”

He flashed her a feral smile. “You’re assuming I’m going to let you get dressed ever again.”

She would have laughed. She might have even taunted him with a coy look, but she didn’t have the chance. Just when she was trying to think of something smart-assed to say, he leaned down over her and captured her left nipple in his mouth. And he wasn’t delicate about it.

He caught it, he sucked it, and when she was nearly insane from the feel, he nipped at the tip.

She tightened her legs, increasing his slam into her.

He didn’t so much as blink. He was in control, damn it, and she was so willing.

Then he did something wonderful. It started as a groan, deep and guttural. Next, he slid his hands to her hips, gripping her there. He held her pinned while his tempo increased. It felt so good, her eye rolled back with every impact.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Please.”

He grinned. “I love it when you beg.” He rewarded her by leaning harder. Every pound pushed her higher.

She’d never thought she’d love sex this much, never thought it could feel this good. Little had she realized that her previous lovers had just been crappy at it. Mike was a master, controlling his thrusts--the depth, the tempo, and especially the grind. How she loved that grind when he was fully embedded and rolling against her clit.

His hands tightened on her hips. His lips were pulled back in a fierce look. Then he rasped out his order.

“Touch yourself.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Do it. Now!”

She took her breasts in both hands, lifting them up for his inspection. She squeezed herself. While he pounded ever harder, ever faster, she pinched her nipples and came apart.

The orgasm hit her so hard and so unexpected that she screamed half in dismay. She’d wanted to wait longer. She’d wanted to appreciate it more.

But there was no stopping the waves of ecstasy that burst through her. Nor the way he thrust harder into her.

Slam.

Bam.

Yes!

She felt him release in her. She felt his body kick into hers and knew it when he soared right beside her.

Then she watched him grit his teeth and make it even better for her. He ground against her, sending more power to the waves of pleasure swamping her system.

Heaven!

Chapter 16

Mike collapsed on the bed beside Anna. He was still deeply embedded within her, and his body was slick with sweat. It was all he could do to pull the covers up over their bodies before letting the lethargy take him.

What a day. Perhaps the most glorious one of his life.

After their encounter upstairs, they had gone downstairs to join his family. Aunt Tilde’s birthday party was six months away, and his sister wanted to make some plans. They were going to do a big event and Chrissy needed the help. Anna hadn’t needed to join them, but she was a party planner and wanted to pitch in. And thanks to her organizational skills, the “secret birthday meeting” hadn’t taken more than a half hour. Then he had abducted her for an afternoon of car shopping. The road had been cleared such that he could drive her to the lots.

It was a single day spent together. One day, but in that time, his mind started explaining why his dick was so enthralled. First off, Anna was a party planning genius. He wasn’t sure how he’d ever thought her a flake because her organizational skills put him to shame. And he was as anal as it was possible for an engineer to get.

Second, she made car choices emotionally, but only after he’d walked her through the practicalities. When it came down to a choice between a practical Vibe and the sexier, but still practical MazdaSpeed3, she laughed and went for the hotter car. But she’d made sure to mention the Vibe frequently in her negotiation as she bargained the dealer down to a bottom basement price.

He was impressed, and he told her so.

She had waggled her eyebrows at him and wondered if he could help her christen her new car.

They hadn’t. In fact, as it was near closing, they had to return to get the car tomorrow. But he’d bought her dinner as celebration, and instead of taking her to another alley, he’d offered to get them a hotel room in St. Louis.

She’d shaken her head and whispered that she’d keep her door unlocked tonight if he wanted to slip inside. The way she’d purred the words “slip inside” had made his jeans distinctly uncomfortable. Which meant that as soon as his mother went to bed--early, thank God--he yawned, went upstairs, and aimed straight for Anna’s bedroom.

Then he’d proceeded to make love to her as he’d never done with anyone. Their earlier encounters had been about establishing dominance, about marking her as his and her submitting to the pleasure they both wanted. But that had been all under his control, his choice. Or mostly so.

This time it was about worshipping her. About showing her without words how amazing she was. Every time he kissed her skin, he was cherishing her. Every caress was an act of devotion. And when he’d finally allowed himself to sink into her, he felt like he was being welcomed home. Sweet, wet, glorious home.

But now that was done. Now she was spooning back into his arms and murmuring something about sleep. He pressed a last kiss onto her shoulder, and sank into slumber.

And a dream.

…

He was standing on the deck of a ship. A clipper ship, to be exact, with all its sails out but lying slack.

Mike turned slowly, seeing everything from the intricacies of the rigging to how the planks were joined in the quarterdeck. He let out a low whistle as he walked to the edge to run his hand along the wood, feeling the craftmanship in every line.

“This is so beautiful,” Anna said.

He looked up, a grin on his face. Of course she would be here, and of course she would echo his thoughts exactly. A moment later, he realized she was looking out over the water and not at the ship. His gaze followed hers, and he saw a pristine expanse of blue. Light blue of a sunny day, and the darker blue of a glassy sea. Flat, serene, and rather disturbing.

“Trim that riggin’ there!” commanded a strong male voice. “Can’t catch the wind with the sail flapping weak.”

The sail wasn’t flapping anywhere as the air was dead. Mike looked up to see a rugged man with curling brown hair and a bushy beard standing at the wheel. He frowned, trying to remember. Oh yes, the ghost. He’d been seeing pictures of the man all over the B&B.

“I don’t think she’s going anywhere,” he called up to the man. “There isn’t any wind.”

“And who’s fault is that?” snapped the man. “Now mind that rigging or I’ll be setting you to less pleasant work.”

Mike’s eyebrows rose as he turned to Anna. She pointed to the rope that dangled from a sail nearly ten feet up.

“I’d go do it,” she said, “but I’m not climbing anything in this dress.” Which is when he realized she was dressed in a Victorian era gown complete with corset and parasol which twirled over her shoulder. Her waist was tiny, her breasts plump, and she spun around in front of him, clearly pleased with her attire. “Like it?” she asked.

“Love it.” He reached out to take her hand for no other reason than that he liked touching her. But before he could connect, he heard a smart voice--his own voice--bellowing, “Aye, aye Captain!”

He frowned. He knew those words hadn’t come from his own mouth. In fact, the sound had originated behind him and way up in the sails. Again, he looked at Anna, but she had no explanation either. So they both turned to the voice to see…

Himself, scrambling through the rigging like a monkey. He wore nothing but a sailor’s breeches and damn, he looked good. Tanned, lithe, and…

And he was no longer looking at himself, but he was the man in the sails. That should have felt disorienting, but he had no problem with the abrupt shift to sailor boy in the rigging. Quick as a wink, he made his way to the dangling rope then tied it off with calm efficiency.

“Rick?” he heard Anna ask.

He looked down and grinned at her. “Nope. It’s me, Mike.”

She smiled at him, but then her gaze slid to the man beside her. The one in a gentleman’s pants and coat, complete with waistcoat, top hat, and even a pocketwatch.

Anna cocked her head at her companion. “So you’re Rick?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I’m Mike too.” And abruptly, he was. He felt the heavy weight of his clothes and the light touch of her hand. His shoes pinched, but the sun was lovely. And she was looking at him as if he’d just said something bizarre. Which, he supposed, he had. “Um, so that’s confusing,” he said. “I’m me here with you. And I’m also the sailor up there.” He simultaneously pointed up into the sails and waved down at her from above. “Oh crap, I’m freaking schizophrenic.”

And just like that, a burst of wind blew past them. It was short and abrupt, but it ruffled the sails and Anna’s honey brown hair. But then, it died off. Way off by the wheel, the Captain released a heavy sigh.

“Damned lazy, it is,” he bellowed. “Snap to it man and…” He dipped his chin in an elegant gesture to Anna. “Miss. Would you mind setting some wind to your sails so I can get on with my business?”

Anna bent her knees in a very pretty curtsey, but when she straightened, her smile appeared a little strained. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I know my line.”

“And isn’t that just the problem?” the Captain huffed. He sighed and tied off the wheel. A moment later, he was climbing down the ladder and stood right before them.

This close, Mike saw with surprise that the Captain was big but not nearly as tall as he’d thought. It was more the force of the ghost’s personality that was so huge. He had strength of command in every line, and Mike couldn’t help but respect it, even if he was a ghost.

“First, Mr. Smithson,” the Captain began, “be so good as to combine yourself back into one person. It’s confusing to have you split yourself like that.”

Mike blinked, then looked up at himself still perched in the sails. “I’m not sure I understand,” he said.

Surprisingly, it was Anna who figured it out. “Oh I get it. You’ve compartmentalized yourself. Right here with me is the charming you. Up there is the you that fixes things. The one who does your sister’s taxes and finds a car for me.” She squeezed his hand. “Is there also a Dom you below decks? One in leather with a whip?”

He shook his head, about to say, Of course not! But even as the words formed, he felt the sexual him hidden down deep in the bowels of the ship. The part of him who did indeed thrill to the idea of making a woman submit to his every dark desire.

Oh hell, was he really that fractured a personality? “Everyone has parts of themselves that are different,” he said. It wasn’t like he was going to show his Dom side to his family.

She touched his cheek. “But you’re worse than most. It’s like when you’re in one mode, the others don’t even get a voice. I half expect there to be a Secret Service you with an ear piece, sunglasses, and a pistol strapped to your hip. He’s the one who was certain I was a crazy stalker.”

Again, he was about to loudly disagree with her words, but then he felt that part of him appear just as she described, standing off to the side and watching everything that occurred with flat, steady eyes.

“I am not that fractured,” he said sternly. “They’re all me, all under control. I choose what I show to people when. That’s only normal.”

He said the words, and that seemed to work. Because all the disparate parts of him coalesced into one body. Gentleman him became sailor him and Secret Service him. The Dom slipped in too, though as usual, that aspect was locked down tight. And suddenly, it was just him in jeans and a tee, standing on the deck of a clipper ship.

“It’s me.”

The Captain grunted his approval, but his words sounded more like a warning. “Hard to sail straight when you got separate pieces of you harrying off in different directions.”

Mike folded his arms across his chest. He was not going to take advice from a ghost in a dream. He simply wasn’t, even though a part of him acknowledged the truth. His life did feel fractured lately, as though he could never be wholly him. Work him, family him, sexual him--all different pieces, all pulling him in separate directions.

Again, the Captain grunted as if in approval, but his attention shifted to Anna. “And what of you, miss? Have you found an answer yet?”

Anna blinked and her parasol twisted back and forth in her agitation. “I don’t understand.”

“Do you know what you want?”

She bit her lip, looking out to the sea, then to Mike, before landing back with the Captain. “I don’t know my line. I’m sorry. Is there a script girl?”

The ghost just shook his head. “This isn’t a movie, dahling,” he drawled in the exact tone of voice he’d used as the director back in the volcano dream. “Come on, dear. It can’t be a hard question to answer. What do you want?”

Anna’s expression was growing more distressed, and Mike instinctively took a step forward to shield her from this ghostly jerk. “Why do you care?”

The man raised his hands and gestured to the world around them. “Because we’re foundering man! Does it look like this ship is going anywhere?”

The man was right. “But what does the weather have to do--”