I Run to You (14 page)

Rafe passed the kitchen and went into the
mini hall, leading to her bedroom door. His hand pushed the
half-opened door wider.

Brook whirled from looking out the back
window, holding a cold washcloth in her hand. Her eyes were a
little swollen

The clothing she’d had on in town lay in a
pile by the lavender covered bed. She wore only a thinly strapped,
rib high, camisole with matching sheer lace panties.

He slowly closed the door and walked to a
corner chair, sitting, taking off his shoes and socks. Standing
again, Rafe held her gaze and unbuttoned his shirt, removing it,
before he went to her, took the cloth, and tossed it in the
corner.

Cupping her face, he tilted it up, his stare
deep, giving her a heartbeat to see his emotions, reject him,
before he brought their mouths together.

Laving his tongue over hers, he felt her
hands touch him, grasp him, felt her body mold itself to his. With
a small sound from her throat, hunger flared like a fanned
flame.

He lowered his hands, grasping her firm ass,
to lift her, his own hungry sound issuing from his throat, echoing
hers while she kissed him passionately in return.

Rafe half turned, lifting her, feeling her
tremble, feeling his own shudder when her legs wrapped around
him.

He made it to the bed and set her on it.

Their breathing tumultuous, he peeled off the
camisole, then leaned her back, kissing lightly over her face,
touching her lithe body, cupping, caressing, and molding it, while
his lips moved from her face to her sleek neck.

Brook arched, moved sensually, and sighed.
Her short nails dug into the muscles of his shoulders.

After kissing her throat and shoulders, he
dipped down, capturing her nipple—one then the other—lips wrapped
around them, suckling hard, then licking, petting, raking his teeth
over them until her rough whisper of his name urged Rafe somewhere
beyond caution.

His fingers hooked into the panties. He
backed enough away to peel them off. For a brief moment he simply
admired her, lying there, heavy eyed, damp mouthed, flushed faced.
Her nipples like luscious pale berries against the creamy mounds—
the curve of her hips and waist, gorgeous, that nest of russet
curls between her long shapely legs trimmed to a teasing strip.

Rafe glided his palms down then up her
shapely thighs before he parted them. He peeked up to find her
half-mast violet eyes moving from his torso to his face. Her lips
were swollen, her face sensual and wanting—violet eyes liquid and
darker.

Nudging her back slightly, he began to plant
supple kisses over her ribs, then down her stomach. The little
naval stud, he flicked with his tongue, played there, progressed,
making a line down to the moist curls. Her scent aroused him,
hardening his sex fully—so rigid the skin inside his thighs tensed.
He parted the curls with his fingers, tasted her, and then soothed
her as she jerked and trembled.

“Rafe….”

She was flushed there, sexually swollen,
glistening and slick.

His thumbs widened the lips. He tasted every
inch then softly licking, supping, moaning when her thighs flexed
in and quivered against his shoulders. Suckling her, drinking her,
breathing her, Rafe shifted and dipped his tongue in her sex,
hearing her gasp and moan.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please, I want
you.”

He wanted to stay there, finish. At the same
time, he needed her beyond thought. Rafe straightened.

Instantly, she sat up and came closer, her
hands smoothing over his ribs, his pecs, and sides. Her touch set
his blood raging through his veins. When she leaned in and flicked
with her tongue, then suckled, his nipples, Rafe’s dusky fingers
splayed in her hair, watching her mouth and tongue sensually bathe
him, watching her tongue lick his hard nipple.

Brook looked up through her lashes— and Rafe
was lost. With a sexual hold on her hair, he tugged and titled her
head back, then kissed her, raw, explicit, carnal.

Floating backwards, her fingers between them
unlatching his pants, Brook skimmed them over his ass until it was
barred. Rafe raised his torso, his cock full and thick. He felt
blindly in the slot of his wallet for a condom, extracted it, then
pushed the trousers down his legs, off, and shifted her further
onto the bed. He opened the placket and sheathed himself.

~*~

Brook sighed as Rafe’s muscle and dark skin
came against her. Her nails raked his back, legs parting, inner
thighs quivering against his hard hips. Senses open,
magnified—breaths, flavors, scents, were like erotic waves
wrapping, and cocooning them together. She was so thirsty, so
hungry for his kiss, his touch, his scent, her nerve endings felt
like live wires.

The smooth head of his sex nudged hot and
smooth against hers. Brook shifted her hips subtly, inviting. She
arched her head back to see his intense mien; velvet lashes closed,
face holding a sexual, ultra sensual, expression.

His thigh muscles bunched, flexed.

Rafe entered her.

She was so hot, so good, Rafe felt his balls
contract.

He lifted his lashes the merest inch, seeing
her through a haze of blended intensity. Her white teeth bore down
on her lip. Ecstasy rolled over him while he pushed deeper,
groaning, shuddering. Silken muscles fisted around his sex,
contracting, robbing his lungs of air.

Unrestrained then, he thrust in fully,
whispering he knew not what—when felt her body jerk and she made a
mewling sound.

Brook held him, clutched him, her legs
clamping his muscled hips, her breath bathing his skin in short
pants.

After a shuddering second catching his
breath, his graceful body undulated, moving into flowing thrusts,
leading a primal, erotic, dance.

Nothing existed for that time. Nothing
mattered.

Not the dull sting of losing her virginity or
the moments it took to adjust to the fullness. Brook wanted this,
wanted him, and when he arched his body to whisper in her ear—soft,
husky love words, she wanted to meld him into her body forever.

He came half way out, circled his hips, and
then gave her inch by inch again. Her long moan told him she liked
that. His hands seized hers, holding them in his above her head. He
slanted his frame and thrust with sensual slowness so his cock
teased between the folds of her sex on his down stroke.

Her climax was different from the first he
had given her, rippling and racing from those inner nerves,
squeezing him through the short but intense duration.

Rafe let his own erupt then. A welcomed
blanket of fire, blinding, it burned through his body from the
soles of his feet up, outward until his skin flushed…every atom he
possessed felt an exquisite release.

~*~

Making use of some of Renee’s aromatic oils,
Brook lounged in a full tub of water, scenting, soothing her skin.
Her head rested against the cool green tile, eyes closed—

She heard Rafe enter.

Lifting her lashes, she skimmed from his
troubled dark eyes, finger combed hair, down over his torso. Doing
it with awareness that his body had been in her. Having an intimate
sort of knowing she hadn’t before.

She accepted the iced wine he handed her.

Sipping, she tasted something delicious he
had added to the wine and crushed iced. She let the glass rest on
the ledge. Observing, as he took a long drink from his own and then
sat on his haunches, placing the glass on the floor before reaching
out to trace the beads of water at her throat.

His eyes were ebon, shiny, and emotional. The
acoustics in the room gave his voice a hushed. He locked their
gazes and uttered, “I was your first?”

Her lips curved, body stirring anew. “Yes.
Are you upset?”

“Yes.” He did not quite make a smile. Turning
his head, he scanned her body under the surface of the water, and
then brought his gaze back to her face. “You should have told me. I
would have taken more time.”

“It wasn’t bad,” She laughed softly. “It
stung, felt a bit—crowded. But I was completely, utterly, turned
on.”

Rafe lifted her glass to her lips, letting
her sip and then set it down again. His damp finger went down her
cheek; eyes on her slicked back wet hair and then lingering her
mouth. He sighed, arose, and picked up his glass, reached for the
knob, and opened the door.

She sat up, the water moving, shifting, as
she wrapped her arms around her up drawn knees. “Rafe?”

He turned, hand on the knob.

“I’m sorry…. About earlier.”

He shook his head, his dark eyes going over
her face. “I don’t even remember it, Cariño. I’m….sorry…” He looked
well—emotional, resting his temple against the edge of the door a
moment, before rasping, “You gave yourself to me…I shouldn’t have…I
can’t even think straight yet.” He straightened and shook his
head.

Brook watched him move out the door, closing
it softly behind him. She finished her bath and drained the water,
wrapping in a towel and then padding to her room. She could hear
him in the kitchen.

It was early. Yet it felt as if it shouldn’t
be, considering. She smoothed on lotion and perfume, pulling a
violet summer dress on that buttoned up the front and fell to
mid-thigh. She styled her hair, applied just a bit of makeup, and
then searched around in boxes until she had unearthed sandals to
put on.

When she carried her glass to the kitchen,
Rafe said, “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

“Okay.” She eyed him, but he said nothing
more.

Brook walked over to the glass doors. She
glanced over her shoulder to find he hadn’t moved.

He was just looking at her with his thoughts
seemingly far away.

Brook felt her stomach hollow a bit. She was
too mature now to not know that everything was—wrong.

He finally turned down the hall.

Brook stepped out, onto the deck, for second
basking in the mild sun, feeling sexual still, and aware of her
body like never before— aware of the simplest caress, the flared
hem of the dress as it teased her thighs when the warm breeze
rippled it. But what she should have been savoring, she
couldn’t.

She replayed the scene at the restaurant,
hating herself for that insecure and impulsive allegation. The look
on his face, the words he had uttered, made clear her mistake even
before she had gotten the explanation out.

There was no excuse. Not with Rafe.

She was ashamed, horrified, at how quickly
she had been provoked. She had been selfishly thinking only of
herself. Not thinking of the “relationship” they had, in a real
sense—not thinking of Rafe—or that he had been patiently waiting,
wanting to build that intimate part, man, woman, lovers, into the
existing friendship, as grown adults. The trust he’d thought they
had.

He had his own secrets and fears. As everyone
did. She had always sensed they were serious secrets.

He should have been able to trust her, tell
her everything.

She had screwed up….

Really—messed up.

His showing up, the lovemaking was hot,
passionate, and intensely emotional, everything a woman would want
a first time to be. He had been skilled, sensual, and so good. So
perfect. But, because of her earlier impulse, the giving, intimacy,
and all the things he could have savored—was not what it should
have been.

God. Brook. You are so stupid. So damned
stupid.

Elbows on the rail, she dropped her forehead
into her hands.

To him, it looks like You’re still hung up on
Coy.

It probably seemed like you just discounted
everything you knew of him and accused him of screwing Karla—

Yeah, you had.

Brook turned, walking back into the
house.

She sat at the corner of the sectional, in
the shaded living room, staring at the walls, waiting for him to
finish his shower. Ashamed that she had handled her encounter with
Karla so damned awful

~*~

His swarthy body soap slickened in the
steaming shower; Rafe closed his eyes, able to still breathe the
scent of her. Joder! She had been a virgin. He hadn’t imagined
that. How could he assume after all her travels, her experiences?
He never imagined…He had not come here to take her to bed—He had
meant to apologize, slip into his friend role.

It happened…

He was semi aroused, even now. He moved to
let the rain head rinse him. His hands brushed water out of his
eyes, sleuthing the rest of the soap off his flesh. Flashes of
their bodies in that sun lit room warped through his head.

Back, away from the stream, Rafe held his
swarthy hands up, looking at them, the lighter nails, and the
natural color of his skin in any season. The first time he had seen
his hand on Brook’s creamy white flesh, he had gotten that
undeniable rush. He looked down over his tight pecs, bronzed
nipples and ridged ribs—down to the black curls around his semi
erection. The hard muscles in his stomach quivered with the memory
of sinking himself inside her.

It happened. It was real.

Whispering a half curse, he shut off the
water.

Rafe braced his hand on the tiled wall, head
bowed, eyes closed, and steam curling around him. His black hair
dripped wet beads that tumbled over his sensitive skin.

Rolling his lips to smooth the water off
them, he listened to his dense, rigid, breaths.

He knew, with that instinct he had been born
with, survived by —it had happened too soon.

Before there was a boyfriend/girlfriend
relationship, the intimacy and laughter— getting to know each other
again as adults—he had bedded her.

Fuck,

He turned and stepped out, reaching for a
towel.

While he dried, he felt a knot settle in his
stomach.

How many one-night stands, sexual encounters,
had he had? Letting himself get picked up by women. The car, the
parking lot, some back seat screwing and leaving with no
formalities, nothing but releasing—sometimes release from his
fantasies.