The Bakery Sisters (16 page)

They were on the rug in front of the coffee table, his leg between hers, kissing, with him pressing his thigh against her center. He braced himself with his hands so he was on top of her, but not crushing her. They were both being swept away. At least that's what she tried to believe.

Claire did her best to give herself over to the experience. This was everything she'd wanted—at least that's what she told herself. But the truth was, she'd hoped for more than the floor in the family room. She wasn't exactly comfortable and she felt kind of exposed, as if anyone could walk in on them. Besides, now that he'd stopped kissing her breasts, she was able to think and that couldn't be good.

Not sure how to explain she was uncomfortable without giving away the truth, she didn't say anything. When Wyatt unfastened her jeans and tugged them off, she was okay with that. Somewhere along the way, she'd lost her shoes, which was also fine. Then he bent over her and drew her nipple into his mouth again. At the same time, he slipped his fingers between her legs and began to explore her.

While she liked what he was doing, she had the sense that everything was going too fast. The sensations were good, but she couldn't seem to get lost in them. Her stupid brain kept asking questions. Did she really want to do this right now? Here? With him drunk? They barely knew each other and—

He brushed against one spot between her thighs. A single cluster of sensation that, had she been standing, would have brought her to her knees. Her brain went totally blank.

It was as if he'd found the feel-good switch and turned it on.

He touched that place again and she groaned. The third time she wanted to know exactly what she had to promise so that he would never ever stop.

She breathed his name. She closed her eyes and felt herself sinking into the floor. It was perfect, the way he circled and brushed and rubbed.

Teasing at first, getting close, then moving away. A single stroke, then more, deeper, faster, over and over again. Her muscles tensed. She pushed toward something…anything. She desperately wanted to get what all the fuss was about.

Her breathing quickened. She parted her legs, offering herself to him. Closer, she thought, pushing and tensing and hoping that—

He stopped. He actually stopped. She opened her eyes, assuming something horrible had happened to distract him. Maybe the house was on fire or something.

He gave her a quick kiss. “Can you finish with me inside of you?”

“I, ah, don't know.” She wasn't sure what he was asking. When he started undressing, she got the basic idea of the question.

Oh, no. This wasn't right. She wasn't ready and it would probably be better if she just told him the truth. But how, exactly?

In the few seconds it took her to consider her options, he managed to get naked. She had a brief impression of lean muscles and broad shoulders, then he was kneeling between her legs.

“Wyatt? We have to talk.”

He mumbled something, then settled on top of her. Really on top of her. Apparently with all his weight. She couldn't breathe. Mercifully, he stopped moving. After a moment, she realized he pretty much stopped doing anything.

“Wyatt?” She shoved at his shoulder. He didn't move. “Wyatt?”

He rolled off her, onto his back. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply.

“Wyatt?”

Nothing, except a soft snore.

Her gaze slipped from his face down his amazing body to his erection. Or what was left of it. As she watched, it got smaller and smaller, fully illustrating how she felt inside.

He'd passed out in the middle of almost sex. Just like that. She tried to tell herself that it was because he'd been drinking, but what if it wasn't? What if it was her? Was if she was so unexciting that he'd actually preferred sleep to making love with her?

Depressed beyond anything she'd ever felt, she collected her clothes and pulled them on. While she desperately wanted to leave, to go home and hurt in private, she was worried about leaving him alone. What if he needed medical attention?

Confident the evening couldn't get any worse, she threw a blanket over him and then curled up on the sofa and wondered what was wrong with her. Why did she have to be such a freak? And was she really going to die the oldest non-nun virgin in the history of the universe? If she did, it would be just her luck.

C
LAIRE WOKE
the next morning to find herself fully dressed, in an unfamiliar bed. She had a moment of wondering if she'd been abducted by aliens, only to recall the humiliating events of the previous evening. Abduction sounded a whole lot better than facing Wyatt. She could only hope he'd been drunk enough that he didn't remember anything. Of course her place in what she would guess was his guest room meant he'd awakened to find himself naked, on the family room floor, with her curled up on the sofa. She had a feeling he was going to have some questions.

She walked into the attached bathroom and found a new toothbrush and toothpaste in the medicine cabinet. After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen where Wyatt, wearing only jeans, stood leaning against the counter.

They stared at each other, neither speaking. Claire didn't know if she was supposed to apologize or not.

“I didn't imagine you here,” he said at last. “I'd wondered.”

“I was here.”

“Want to tell me why?”

She didn't know what he was thinking and couldn't read him well enough to know if he was mad. She supposed she could fake some reason but why not go with the truth?

“Nicole told me about your night of drinking and self-recrimination. I came over to take advantage of that.”

“To make me feel worse about myself?”

“No, to seduce you.”

One eyebrow lifted. “You think you have to wait until I'm drunk to get me into bed with you?”

She stared at her bare feet. Hmm, it seemed it was time for a pedicure. “Not exactly. I just thought it would help.”

“Why was help needed?”

“You said on our first date that you wanted to sleep with me, but then you didn't do anything about it. I thought maybe you'd changed your mind.”

“So you decided to play your hand, so to speak?”

“I guess.” She raised her gaze to his. “Are you mad?”

“Because you came here and tried to seduce me? No.”

She exhaled. That was something.

“For the record, I was taking my time,” he told her. “I knew you had a lot going on with Nicole and Jesse and everything else. I didn't want to push you. I was waiting for you to hint that you were ready.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “When you hint, you do it in a big way.”

He'd been waiting for her? Wasn't that just her life? Because not only hadn't she figured that out, she wouldn't begin to know how to give that kind of a hint.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Okay. Thanks for telling me that.”

“You're welcome.” He walked toward her. “While I distinctly remember some very hot kisses and a pink bra, I don't remember us actually getting past the preliminaries.”

She felt herself flush. “We sort of, um, stalled.”

“Too much Scotch really kills a good time.”

“Apparently.”

He touched her cheek with his fingers. “Want to give me another chance?”

Her stomach tightened. “Yes. When?”

“Now.”

Now? As in the morning? Did people do that sort of thing?

Questions piled on each other, but then Wyatt kissed her and she found herself not caring about the time of day.

He tasted of mint and coffee and he kissed her slowly, thoroughly, as if he'd been thinking about doing this for weeks. He moved his mouth against hers, exploring her, teasing, making her strain toward him.

She'd never been much of a morning person, which could either be biology or the fact that she'd stayed up late every night since she was six. But despite the relatively early hour, her body managed to catch on fire pretty easily. She remembered the feel of his hands on her skin, that one place he'd touched the night before, until the giant hiccup of him passing out, and she wanted to feel all that again.

But first there was the kiss, she thought dreamily, as he pulled back slightly and kissed her chin. He licked along her jaw, to a sensitive spot just below her ear. He paused there, nipped the skin, which made her gasp, then moved down her neck.

Her body erupted in goose bumps. Her breasts got all swollen and heavy feeling. She raised her hands to his shoulders to both feel his strength and to hang on, because his nibbling kisses went lower and lower until he teased at the vee of her sweater.

He tugged at the hem of it, then pulled it up over her head. He studied the pink bra she wore underneath.

“This,” he murmured, “I remember.”

He wrapped both arms around her and drew her close. She went willingly, wanting to feel his body against hers.

His skin was warm, his muscles hard. Even as he moved his hands up and down her back, he put his mouth on hers.

She parted for him and he swept inside. He explored, tongue on tongue, the erotic movement heating her from the inside. One of his hands slipped to her rear, cupping her. She arched against him and felt his hardness, which made her remember him naked. Her insides clenched.

Suddenly her bra was loose. He tossed it away, then pressed her close again so her breasts came in contact with his chest.

She squirmed to get closer. She wanted him to touch her there and lick her nipples the way he had before. She wanted to feel those hot, fiery sensations flickering through her. She wanted to melt.

When he stepped back, she nearly screamed. He wasn't stopping
again,
was he?

But instead of passing out, he grabbed her hand and led her upstairs. They paused on the landing to kiss. He slid his hands up the front of her body and cupped her breasts. Using his thumb and forefingers, he brushed her nipples over and over until her breath came in gasps. He returned his attention to her mouth, kissing her deeply, tugging her along, as they made their way to his bedroom.

When they were by the bed, he reached for the button at her waistband and unfastened it. He pushed down the denim, along with her panties and she stepped out of her clothes.

She was excited and nervous at the same time. She wanted him to keep touching her, because that made everything easier. The bed was a good idea, she thought. Better than the floor.

He eased her onto the bed and knelt over her.

“You're so beautiful,” he murmured as he bent down and took her right nipple in his mouth.

She wanted to thank him for the compliment, but what he was doing felt too good. The way he sucked and licked, sending darting jolts of need down her stomach to that place between her legs. She stirred restlessly, wanting more of what he'd done before. She wanted that magic touch of his.

But Wyatt seemed in no hurry to move things along. He shifted to her other breast, licking and nipping until she found it difficult to breathe. Everything felt so good. She told herself to be patient, but in truth, she wanted
more.

When he kissed his way along her belly, she got confused. When he knelt between her thighs and gently parted her, she had a vague idea about what he was going to do and wasn't sure how she felt about it. When he gave her an openmouthed kiss on that most sensitive, erotic part of her, she knew she was going to die right there, but it would be worth it.

Nerve endings screamed in delight, then shattered. Heat pulsed through her, burning down to the soles of her feet. She'd read plenty of books that had sex in them, had seen a few X-rated movies, had told lies with a few semifriends, but she'd never in her wildest dreams imagined anything could feel like this.

He explored her, making her gasp as he brushed across that one, special place. He circled her, eased across her again, then slipped away. He moved slowly, as if figuring out what she liked, or the fifteen easiest ways to make her crazy. Then he stretched out on the bed and flicked her with the tip of his tongue.

It was better than anything she could have imagined, she thought as she lost herself in the sensation. Better and totally beyond her control. She couldn't stop herself from responding, not that she wanted to, and she couldn't seem to hold in the gasp and sighs.

She clutched at the sheets with her fingers. Tension flowed through her, making her press and push toward a yet-unseen goal. She wanted to beg him not to stop. She wanted to scream. She wanted…something.

Over and over, he touched her. Muscles clenched with each brush of his tongue. She arched her back, quickened her breathing, lost herself in the sensation of—

Something changed. Pressure built deep inside her body. A sense of the inevitable. It grew, rushing through her, making her cry out, making her strain. Her breath came in pants. She shuddered and pushed and—

There was a moment of nothing, almost as if she were free-falling. Then her body shuddered with the most delicious, hot, liquid sensation she'd ever experienced in her life. It was pure pleasure, rushing through her, over her, filling her until she wanted to scream. More and more, then gradually easing and ebbing. It was perfection. Better than chocolate. Better than music.

She resurfaced a few minutes later and opened her eyes. Wyatt grinned at her.

“What?” she asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Had she done it wrong?

“You're amazing.”

Okay. That sounded nice. “Um, why?”

“You're perfectly responsive. I knew exactly what you liked. There wasn't any guessing. Thanks for that. There's nothing worse than working in silence.”

She didn't have a clue as to what he was talking about. “I really liked that.”

“Good. Me, too.” He pushed into a kneeling position. “Touching you like that, listening to you, made me crazy. I was afraid I was going to lose it.” He shifted closer and pressed against her. “That's still a possibility.”

Lose what? She hated being an idiot.

She felt him pushing against her, the way he had last night. Only now the prospect didn't seem scary at all. She wanted him inside of her, showing her everything.

Tentatively, she put her hands on his shoulders and smiled. “Do whatever makes you feel good.”

Not an invitation that guaranteed control, Wyatt thought, trying to distract himself while he still could. He didn't usually have a timing problem, but there had been something about pleasing Claire that had gotten to him.

It was that damn chemistry, he reminded himself. He couldn't think straight when she was dressed. Now that he'd seen her naked and touched her all over, he was a total goner.

He pushed in slowly, giving her time to adjust to him. She was wet and swollen and still quivering from her orgasm. It was all he could do not to come right then, but he was determined to make up for his piss-poor performance from the previous night. Besides, he wanted to make it last.

He pulled back, then filled her again, waiting for her to move against him. When she didn't, he glanced down at her, trying to figure out what was wrong.

Her eyes were closed. “Claire? Are you all right?”

She opened her eyes. “Yes. I'm fine.”

“Any preferences?”

She shook her head and smiled at him.

Something was wrong. He could feel it, but he couldn't figure out what “it” was. He knew she'd climaxed before. He'd felt it, heard it and seen it. She'd flushed all over, had trembled in his embrace. He'd felt her contractions.

He pushed in again and she wrapped her arms around him.

“This,” she breathed. “I want this.”

It was the encouragement he'd been waiting for. He filled her over and over again, going faster, yet holding back, hoping to feel her tensing along with him, crying out her release. It wasn't there, which bothered him, but before he could stop, the pressure built until it was too much and he drove into her for the last time.

Afterward, he lay on his back, her curled up against him. He played with her hair as she rested her hand on his chest.

“That was great,” she told him happily. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

While he appreciated the compliment, something nagged at him. Something he couldn't get his mind around.

Was it possible Claire wasn't that experienced?

Given her fame and lifestyle, he would have assumed she had lovers all over the world. But maybe she was too busy. Or something. It had to be circumstances, because she was sexy as hell. But how to find out?

“I wanted to make it good for you,” he began, not sure what to say next.

She laughed. “Good doesn't come close. Trust me. I've never felt anything like that in my life.”

As soon as the words came out, she stiffened. He wasn't feeling too relaxed, either.

He wanted to believe she meant she'd never climaxed before, but how was that possible? She certainly hadn't been difficult to push over the edge. Women who had trouble with that usually mentioned the fact ahead of time. If Claire was up-front enough to come to his house to seduce him, she would be comfortable telling him the road home could be bumpy. But she hadn't said a word. Why?