Stone Kissed (15 page)

“That’s your solution for everything, isn’t it?”

“Not everything. I do have other skills.”

She opened her eyes then to see him standing over her, smiling. The hem of his faded shirt hung over a sliver of shadow above the hips of his jeans. She felt the urge to slide her fingers up into that dark crevice and feel the warmth of his belly, the line of dark hair that ran to and below his button fly. Delia gave into the urge, and felt the flat pane of his corrugated belly jerk under her fingertips. She looked up, and his smile was gone.

“Prove it.”

“You’ve had a bit much.” He reached for her hands, but she opened her palms and slid her hands around his waist. The last two fingers on either hand wedged themselves somehow in the tight waist of his jeans. He loomed over her, a dark monolith, blue eyes glittering down from a distant height. She licked her lips and pressed her fingers into his flesh.

“I haven’t had enough.” She was proud of herself. She’d made it a statement, not a plea. He didn’t move, so she slid her hands forward and unbuttoned the top button of his jeans. “It was only two glasses.”

“On an empty stomach,” he protested, but as the last button popped open and his erection pushed forth from between the open flaps of his jeans, she wrapped her hand around it. After that, all he said was her name.

She wasn’t an absolute oral sex virgin, but she might as well have been. The time she’d tried it in college on…Aaron? Aaron. He’d been appreciative enough, but Delia knew there was an art to this—one she obviously still hadn’t mastered.

She flicked her tongue over the salty wet tip. Grant jerked, so she did it again. Opening her lips, she slid her mouth down over the dusky bulb, popping gently as her lips sealed over the cap. She pulled her mouth away, and his penis bobbed gently. He stood statue still, and she felt ridiculous. If she were really determined to go through with it, she would have to, well, bite the bullet. She stifled the giggle because she was afraid that if she let it bubble up, she would be unable to stop, and damn it, that would ruin it. Grasping his shaft in one, then both hands in order to cover the length of him, she dipped her head forward and back as she slid her wet lips over the tip of his penis, licking away the salty drops.

She felt him expand in her palms. She was thrilled at the hot tautness, at the way when she glanced up she could see his jaws clench and then hear her name flow out of his mouth on a breath. “God, Delia. Good God.”

Perhaps Grant wasn’t the largest man she’d ever had sex with—no, forget that. He absolutely was the largest man. Size did matter, she acknowledged, as she squeezed his shaft in the rhythm of her sliding mouth. His size was positively alarming.

Delia closed her eyes—she couldn’t watch what she was doing. Besides, with her eyes closed she could smell him, taste him. “Relax,” Frankie sang from the oldies station (though not
her
Frank, of course—oh, damn. Giggles again). She willed her throat open. Plunging her head forward, Delia jerked his jeans down around his thighs at the same time, felt the disorienting shuffle as he brought his hands down to help her remove them. Before she could settle back into a rhythm, however, his hands slid under her shoulders. She pulled her head back and dropped her chin, and he raised her up to standing. She couldn’t look him in the face.

“Sorry.” She kept her eyes on his flexing biceps. Her residual buzz had drained away. She shivered in embarrassment and disappointment. “I’m not very good at this.”

“The hell you aren’t,” he growled. “Come on.”

The room spun as he lifted her and carried through the archway to the bed. He laid her down and reached for the nightstand drawer.

“No.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No, I don’t mean that, I just…aw, hell.” Delia pushed at his chest with both palms and he didn’t move. “I mean, on your back.”

His stilled above her, his breath ragged. She saw him become cool, saw him regain his self-control and her stomach dropped. And then he smiled, slid down onto one elbow and said, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nodded, then lay back and folded his hands across the rippling planes of his belly. The dark line of hair trailed from his navel down to his groin, where his erection rose hot and fierce under her gaze. “What are you going to do next, Delia?”

She glared at him, at the way his lip curled slightly. He was mocking her, the jerk. Very well. Let him. She’d give him something to laugh at.

“This.” She planted her palm in the hollow above his pubis, wrapped the other tightly around his shaft, bent forward and plunged her head down. Her throat, which had been tight with humiliation or anticipation or both, opened. Her tongue relaxed and she took him in. She started off hard, feeling him buck gently under palm, her lips slipping open to smile when he muttered curses at her. But her mouth and throat tired easily, so adding plenty of saliva for extra lubrication, she allowed her hand to do the heavy work, squeezing and sliding the silky skin over the core of the shaft, while her lips, tongue and teeth swirled and nipped at his tip.

She felt the tremor begin low in his belly, a core-deep vibration under her palm.

“Delia,” he warned. She was intrigued by the idea of making him come in her mouth, of drinking every last drop of him. But deep within her she ached for more, and she wanted it now.

She pulled her hand and mouth away and slapped his thigh lightly. “Not yet. You have work to do.”

Grant slid a palm over his face, wiping away sweat. “Yes, ma’am.” He chuckled, though his teeth were still clenched.

Delia rose off the bed, feeling tall and powerful as he gazed up at her, his eyes glittering with appreciation and desire. She felt her breasts grow heavy, the white lace of her bra scraping her nipples, her breasts swelling out the top. She slid one strap of her blue tank off one shoulder and then the other—and found herself stuck. Grant, to his credit, continued to watch her
strip-teasus interruptus
as if nothing were amiss. Delia blew an errant curl out of her eye, and then sat on the side of the bed.

“Undress me.” With her back to him, she let her face relax into a momentary grimace. She sucked at seduction, absolutely sucked at it. The mattress shifted slightly and she felt his lips on the side of her neck.

Then he bit her, his teeth sinking into a nerve bundle she’d never known she had and Delia convulsed, arching back into him even as a flood of moisture drenched her already wet panties. She gripped the bedspread with both hands and heard a loud, effusive moan. It had come from her own throat.

Still he didn’t stop, licking his tongue over the hot, sensitive place on her shoulder as if to soothe it, which had the opposite effect. Her thighs clenched together, and when she leaned back against his rock-solid chest for support, he gave way gently, lowering her onto the mattress. She knew this position. She’d been here with him before, and Delia gave a small mewl of protest, even as he peeled off her top and removed her jeans. His hand slid into the cup of her bra and plucked at her nipple.

“Please,” she breathed, not able to focus on what she was asking for.
Please more,
she thought.
Please wait,
she thought.

Grant’s fingers rolled and pinched her nipple in a heartbeat rhythm. He slid his arm under her, lifting her legs onto the bed and lying beside her, where they panted together, not speaking. Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. He brushed one away with his thumb. “Shh,” he soothed. “Tell me what you want. Whatever, whatever you want, Delia.”

She could feel his erection, still hard and hot, pressing into her lower thigh, but she turned her head away. “Come into me, Grant.” She made her voice firm.

“That’s not what you want.”

He tried not to sound arrogant, she knew, but he was who he was. And, damn him, he was absolutely right. She was angry with him and his patronizing tone. She was angry with herself and her ineptitude. The heat of her anger washed over her hotter than shame, hotter than embarrassment, and she rolled to face him.

“Stop telling me what I want. I know what I want. You don’t know what I want.”

Grant cocked an eyebrow at her and she gritted her teeth.

“I mean, at this moment. At this very moment, Grant, I intend to finish what I started.” Delia gave up all pretense at seduction. She unsnapped her bra, wadded it up and tossed it in his face. He laughed, and she fought to keep her face stern. She slithered out of her white cotton panties, and threw them in his face as well.

He gave them an exaggerated sniff. “Nice.”

She slapped her palm onto his chest. “Shut up, you pervert.” She laughed, crawling over him on all fours. Planting her arms on either side of his face, she shifted and leaned down until her nipple brushed the rough stubble on his chin. “Suck.”

He flashed a wicked grin and took her in. His tongue swirled over her turgid nipple and she clenched against the answering flow of moisture and the unbearable desire to plunge down and take him in. His teeth grazed her gently and he sucked her in deep. Delia collapsed, her knees splaying open, her swollen, wet mound landing in the rough strip of hair at the base of his belly. Convulsively she ground into him, feeling his cock slide up between the cheeks of her ass. Her back arched as he continued to lick, to suck, to pleasure her. She panted and pressed into him, small moans of pleasure bursting from her throat like bubbles of champagne.

Finally he released her, but she rolled to her side, tugging on his shoulder to bring him up onto his side too. “The other one,” she gasped.

But it wasn’t what she really wanted. She pulsed with the need to have him deep inside her. If she kept touching him she would claw away skin. So she clenched her fists into the sheets instead, closed her eyes and waited. And waited.

Delia opened her eyes. He was leaning on his shoulder, smiling above her. He was so breathtakingly handsome.

“You’re amazing,” he said.

To her dismay, his voice went right to her core. Delia felt the ripples begin and was powerless to stop them. Holy Mother of God, she was coming, right now, and because he’d said two damn little words. She did claw him then, digging her ragged nails into his back, and he plunged into her with such force it knocked the breath out of her. Gasping with lust, Delia folded her legs up the sides of his torso and dug her heels into the hard, flexed muscles of his ass, pulling him open even as he peeled her away, again and again.

Her pelvis beat him, thrust after thrust, every drop of anger, of anguish, of lust pounding out of her, pounding into him. And he took it, reveled in it, his face above her glowing with triumph, exultation and ecstasy.

He pinned her with his gaze as he came, his pupils dilating, his nostrils flaring, then his eyelids fluttering shut, only to pop open and stare into hers.
What does he see?
The waves of her own orgasm faded into intermittent aftershocks, each of them surprising her out of her languor. What did he see when he looked at her?

Two little words.

God only knew what she would do if he said three.

Delia turned her face away, dismayed and embarrassed by the sudden upswell of tears.

Delia kept him there for the night and the better part of the next morning. She used his body over and over to teach herself how to pleasure him. He was patient with her when she was awkward. She came to believe that maybe she wasn’t awkward at all. Maybe she was quite good at the having of sex.

In the quieter times, however, when he held her back to his belly, his arm wrapped over her from behind, cupping a breast or stroking her gently between the thighs while she writhed slowly, Delia knew that sex with him was something deeper for her than a chance to live out a decade of watercolor fantasies or to develop her bedroom skills. Delia was more deeply in love with Grant Wolverton than she’d ever been. She was a bigger fool now than she’d ever been.

She brushed his hand away.

“Time to get up?” he mumbled, his voice dark, low and sleepy.

“I have to get to the job site. Boss frowns on it when I’m late.”

“Delia, it doesn’t have to be this way. You don’t have to run.”

“But I do, Grant. This is how it works.” Her mouth tasted of iron. She placed her fingers over her lips.

“Delia. I want you to stay.”

Her back to the bed, she paused in gathering her clothes from the floor and straightened. Still not looking at him, she took a deep breath and in a flat voice asked, “And then what?”

“And then we make love again. Or don’t.”

A lump rose in her throat. “And then what?”

“And then we’ll eat breakfast. I make a mean batch of pancakes. Chocolate chip.”

“And then what?” She heard—and hated—the plea in her own voice.

“And then I’d like to read the paper. I’ll let you have the funnies first, of course.”

She dragged her feet backwards—one step, two—until the backs of her knees bumped the mattress. She sat gingerly, no longer daring to make too deep of an impression on the bed. “After that?”

“We’ll go over to the house. Talk about furniture. Change our mind about the paint for the master bath. Eat lunch at the Apple Tree.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m tired of Myrna’s attention. She’s a pit bull, and I’m going to break.”

“Bowling’s not so hard.” Delia attempted to smile. “You’d be good in orange polyester.”

“I’m better in you, Delia.”

She felt the mattress shift as he sat up behind her. The skin on her neck prickled as he moved in to her back and slid his arm around her waist.

“And after that?”

“We go visit your father.”

“I don’t know if you should come.”

“I should.” He pulled her up and folded her naked body into his own.

Her cheek rested against the roughness of his chest, and in the morning light, she saw something—an anomaly, just above his nipple. She rubbed it with her fingertip. “Did you have a mole removed?”

“Something like that.” His voice was grim, and his jaw tapped the top of her head. “Let’s take a shower and I’ll get you over there.” He climbed out of the bed naked and unselfconscious and she hissed in her breath. No one, not even Michelangelo’s David himself, could be as beautiful as Grant backlit in the sunlight. She wrapped the sheet around herself and followed him to the bathroom door. He smiled at her and shook his head, and then turned on the water and reached for her hand.

“And then what?”

“We’ll go tell Brogan and the others you’re all right, and then we’ll come back here.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Delia pulled the sheet up higher over her breasts and turned slightly away. “You don’t have to pretend you believe me.”

He reached for the soap, his face expressionless. “I believe you,” he said, but he took a moment too long.

Delia felt her heart stop, felt it harden and become cold. She took comfort in the coldness, comfort in knowing where she stood with Grant, even if he was willing to lie to her.

So be it. She let the sheet fall and stepped into the shower. She wrapped her arms around Grant’s waist and leaned her head on his chest so he couldn’t see her face.

Her day would be exactly as he said, because she wanted it that way too.

She did.

***

Cecily kept her expression pleasant and her voice vanilla ice-cream cool, even though she was seething. They’d called off the search yesterday, for Pete’s sake, and Special Agent Cardinal should have been long gone. He had no business sitting here in Carl’s old chair asking her questions, even if she was the only one who knew the answers. He was making chit-chat, gossiping like the biddies in the church basement, and she couldn’t figure out what he wanted. But she put on her game face.

“I’ve known her daddy and her most of my life.” Cecily sniffed, dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief that matched the cream clutch from which she’d pulled it. Griffin, damn him, was sitting in the office with her and Cardinal, his knee bouncing from nerves. “We’re practically family.” Cardinal, unlike Griffin, was plenty handsome—a tall, brawny redhead. And unlike Griffin he sat as still as stone. Cecily found herself babbling to fill the empty space. “I thought he loved Steward House, but…you know, the fire.” Out the corner of her eye she saw Griffin nodding encouragingly and she stifled a smile.

“What about Russ Ailey?”

She’d forgotten all about Russ, hadn’t thought of him since…oh, hell.

She was so depleted. The burn from killing Carl had petered out in only days, and the energy it had taken to divert Griffin was more than he’d given back to her. She’d made him shred the papers while she wiped the files off of Benson’s old laptop. Together they had wiped her prints away from the station doorknobs, desk and chairs. She’d even let him fuck her for two minutes, which served to bind his loyalty and went a long way toward wiping his memory. But still, somehow, this agent had linked her to Russ.

“Have we been treating you well, Agent Cardinal?” She leaned in, layering caramel and cream. This was risky—she’d never tried to play two men at once. The challenge thrilled her, and she let some of that exultation into her voice. “Stewardsville is a most hospitable town.”

He swallowed, uncrossed his leg and sat up. “Russ Ailey.”

“How long has it been since you’ve had a home-cooked meal?”

“Miss Johnson, I asked you a question.”

“He was a drifter. I employed him for awhile. And then he drifted.”

“Were you the last person to see him alive?”

Clever, clever question. “I’m sure I don’t know, Mr. Cardinal. I hadn’t heard that he passed.”

She glanced at Griffin. He was pale and staring at his hands, but sweat beaded on his forehead. She could feel answering moisture under her arms. Ick.

“When was the last time you saw Mr. Ailey?”

“I don’t remember.”

“When was the last time you saw Carl Benson?”

Griffin shifted in his seat. The agent frowned at him.

“I saw Sheriff Benson the day before his car was found. Everybody did. Stewardsville is a very, very small town, Mr. Cardinal.”

“Your name has come up in relation to two missing persons, Miss Johnson.”

“Russ and Chief Benson both enjoyed eating at the Apple Tree. They both shopped at the county mall.” She let the anger into her voice, because, really, she had every right to be offended. He had no viable reason to suspect her. “No doubt they’ve been to the gas station and the grocery. Any number of people have had contact with them.”

She was breathing fast, could feel her breasts rising and falling. She lifted a little further and sure enough, both men honed in on her chest. Cardinal caught himself, however, and he settled back. His face became solemn and still.

She broke eye contact first. Griffin mopped his brow and the agent sighed. “Thank you for your time, Miss Johnson. I may need to speak with you again.”

She couldn’t help herself, she really couldn’t. Her mother had told her time and again that real ladies didn’t insist on the last word. “I’d like that,” she answered, pouring a river of tequila and honey into her words. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

He leaned in, his nostrils flaring and his lips spreading in a flirtatious smile. “I do believe I would, Miss Johnson.”

Cecily was disappointed in him. The agent wasn’t so special, after all.