Zenith Rising (23 page)

Erica stared, but he didn’t answer. He didn’t
deny it or try to contradict her. She put her hands out. “Give me
my keys please.”

He waited and didn’t move a muscle. Finally,
he said, “I can’t.”

“You can’t what? Give me my keys?”

“I can’t go back to how things were
before.”

She paused. He said it. Those few words that
obliterated everything else he said and did towards her. Then he
turned, and looked out the sliding door, even though it was so
dark, there was nothing to see.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know what it means, okay? I don’t
know. It’s all new for me.” She bit her tongue. His tone was surly,
almost rude. But then… she had to listen to the words and read
between them. He didn’t like admitting that he wanted her. But he
could not deny it.

“I’m not one of those girls you were with at
the bar. I’m not a little girl who gets flattered that a guy as hot
as you wants to have sex, or someone who’ll accept however you want
to treat me. I’m not that young, or that simple. But if that’s what
you want, please tell me now, so I don’t make a fool of myself any
longer than necessary.”

Quiet. Silence. Then, “You’re not making a
fool of yourself.”

She nodded her satisfaction at his back. His
neck was scrunched up with tension. She almost reached out to
massage some of the knots from his shoulders that she was sure this
conversation was giving him. But she knew better than to touch him.
He could not talk and touch her. Like when he was touching her he
could barely talk. He was not an easy man. “I will not accept being
treated the way you treated me at the bar. If that’s what I have to
look forward to, tell me now, and I’ll go home. I mean it, I am not
doing this like that.”

He nodded and turned just his head towards
her.

“Well?” she snapped.

“Okay. But I don’t know what to do with
this.”

She bit her lip. Was he for real? He was that
stressed about having to… what? Not be a rude bastard to her? “You
could say, ‘Hi Erica. How are you today?’ Start there.”

His lips quirked up. “That’s it? That’s all
you want me to say?”

She shook her head. “Yes, that’s enough.”

He stared at her. When she smiled at him, he
blinked.

“What are you so surprised about?”

“That you’re here.”

“Erica. That you’re here, Erica.”

His lips twitched into an almost smile, then
he said, “That you’re here, Erica.”

She looked into his eyes. “Why don’t you show
me to your room?”

“That’s it?”

“What? For talking? Yes, for now, that’s
it.”

He stepped forward. “All I had to do was say
your name?”

She smiled. “I told you that. You make things
way harder than they need to be.”

He turned, and she followed. He took her
straight to what she assumed was his bedroom. It was large, and
must have been the master bedroom judging by the bathroom attached
to it. As with everything associated with Spencer, it was cold,
plain, simple, and obsessively clean. No personality. No junk. No
more feeling beyond what you might find in a military barracks.

But it was clean. His bed was even made.

“It’s not much.”

She snapped her head around. “Is that what
you thought I was thinking?”

He shrugged. “Just comparisons, your life and
mine, kind of pathetic.”

His gaze was not on her and he was avoiding
hers. She realized how seeing his things was one way to explain
him. He didn’t want her to see him or anything about him: not his
car, his house, or even his piano. He didn’t want her to see
anything of his that would give her the chance to judge him, and
see him as lacking so much, which, he felt confident, she would do.
“I’ve never once suggested you were less than me. You did. Not I.
Keep that in mind about me.”

She put her hand onto his forearm and wrapped
her fingertips around it, the tendons and muscles warming under her
hand. Tugging on his arm, which was in his pocket, she brought it
to her waist as she moved to close the gap between them. Her other
hand went up his arm to his shoulder, until her fingers gently
caressed his neck muscles. She moved slowly, tenderly with only her
fingertips brushing over his skin. She moved against him and felt
him breathing deeply, almost shuddering under her soft
ministrations. Somehow, she knew there wasn’t a lot of gentleness
and caring in Spencer’s history.

She turned them, and pushed him gently toward
the bed. She stood between his legs and took his face into her
hands, cupping his cheek. She brushed her fingers over the strong
line of his jaw, all the while, looking into his dark eyes. God, he
was so damn beautiful for a man. With him sitting down, she was
just barely taller than he. She bent closer until her lips touched
his in a soft whisper of motion. Moving her lips over his upper
lip, and then down to his lower lip, she touched him gently,
slowly, and softly. Her hands moved from his face and slid into his
silky hair. She kissed his mouth, his cheeks, and his eyelids. His
eyes remained shut, and although he would not look at her, he was
there, with her, all the same. Way more than any other time. He was
letting her kiss him as slowly and gently as she chose.

Opening his eyes, he pinned his gaze on her.
She looked back and smiled. His breath hitched and he suddenly
pulled her towards him, burying his face between her breasts. She
could feel the warm moistness of his breath through her tank top
and bra. He ran his hands up and down her back, holding her tightly
against him as if she were his last, dying breath. She knew there
was more to him than she understood and far more than she could
guess. His need and desire for her seemed like too much, and he
didn’t know how to handle it.

She stood up straight and lifted off her top,
dropping it to the floor. His dark eyes stared at her. Although she
wished she were pounds lighter, and years younger, he didn’t seem
to notice. She always wore a plain bra, tan or white, without any
lace. The bra she wore today was quadruply hooked, made of thick
cotton, and had an underwire. Being a double D cup, there was
nothing small or wispy about any of her bras. She couldn’t help
that. At least, she felt comfortable; and no way in hell was she
willing to be uncomfortable.

His huge hands came up, with long, graceful
fingers that were dark and tanned. He slid his hands to the front
of her bra, and over her breasts. She closed her eyes and sighed
with pleasure. He touched her almost reverently. It was far more
tender than his blank-eyed stares suggested he could be. He slid
his fingers under her bra straps and slipped them off before his
hands addressed the back clasp. He undid it and her bra slid down
her arms to the floor. His mouth was instantly on her. His hands
wrapped around her waist, holding her, and his lips latched onto
one erect nipple, which was already aching for his hot tongue.

He took over then, sliding his hands into her
jeans and lower, down between her legs. He undid the jeans and
pulled them off, slipping them down her legs. She was naked before
him. His eyes traced the long line of her legs, the curve of her
waist, her ample breasts, and right up to her face. His observation
was slow, long and thorough. Not a muscle in his face twitched and
his expression didn’t change.

For a woman who had lived for thirty-two
years fairly comfortable in her own skin, leading her own life, now
that Erica was suddenly under his scrutiny, she felt shy, and
awkward. The thought of not being good enough, or pretty enough, as
the young girls, Spencer was previously entertaining crossed her
mind, although Erica hated to admit it.

But when she looked into his eyes, and saw
his unmasked need for her, she knew there was something more here.
He didn’t just like her. Or just think she was hot. He didn’t just
want her either. It was… a lot more. He felt it. She felt it. He
had become a master at hiding it. But at rare times, when he
couldn’t, the depths of what she saw in his eyes nearly caused her
to sink to her knees. There was terrible pain, terrible
self-loathing, and terrible rage. Yet, for reasons she could never
quite fathom, he seemed to find some form of comfort, or peace,
something he needed, and seemed to receive from being near her. His
feelings for her were more than she was pretty sure any man had
ever felt for her.

She caught his face between her hands and
brought her mouth down to his. She kissed his lips gently: his
upper lip, then his lower lip before sucking on his mouth until he
opened it to let her tongue inside. Finally, he was really kissing
her. She groaned at the unexpected tugging she felt deep inside
her. Her blood seemed like it went up several degrees as it rushed
through her veins. She straddled him, wrapping her legs around his
middle.

He moved back, taking her with him, and
laying her down on top of his bedspread. He moved away and
discarded his shirt, jeans, socks and underwear, returning
alongside her in moments. His hands felt her waist, and went back
to her breasts. She shivered, his warm hands felt so good on her
skin. Warm, smooth as silk, and practically igniting everywhere he
touched.

He was undeniably gorgeous. She knew that
already. But naked? He was long and lean, his well-toned muscles
clearly defined under his coffee-colored skin. Her hands slid to
his abdomen, and his muscles flexed at her fingers grazing his
chest, and sliding down to his thick erection. He tensed, as one
hand wrapped around him, and sighed at her tenderness. His eyes
were still closed, but he suddenly turned towards her, and pushed
his hand into her. It was so quick, hot, and instantaneous.
Startled, she pulled back. Okay, so he didn’t like her touching
him. She withdrew her hand, surprised at the invisible boundaries
he established. Very odd. But it told her a whole lot about
him.

Reaching over her and opening his nightstand
drawer, he grabbed a condom. He put one on as he turned his back
towards her; then, facing each other on their sides, he pulled one
of her legs over his. The tip of him burning hot, and stiff,
throbbing outside her opening was irresistible and she moved
herself along it, hot and wet, and so ready.

“Oh God,” she moaned and shuddered when she
felt him on top of her. So close to penetration, nearly there, but
not yet. The anticipation made her body swell, and her blood rush.
He was very good at this.

Then he pushed inside her and she withered
beneath him, moaning, excited, blissful. She was in ecstasy.

She looked at his face, which was next to
hers and his eyes were closed. His body moved inside her, but he
wasn’t there. Not with her anymore. She knew he’d withdrawn from
her now. Physical pleasure he could happily give her. But anything
more? Then he always withdrew.

“Spencer,” she said softly. Her tone was so
soft, it seemed at odds with the deep, hot thrusts of his body
inside hers. His eyes blinked open with surprise, but he looked at
a spot over her shoulder.

“Look at me.”

His head turned and his deep, dark eyes
pinned hers. He held her gaze for several moments. Staring at her
face, he was watching each sigh of ecstasy and rush of feelings. He
suddenly shifted his body, and she groaned at the deep, hot, stroke
of pleasure it created. His eyes moved over hers and he leaned
down, kissing her lips, and silencing her, perhaps just so he
didn’t have to keep looking at her. She let him. It was better than
nothing. For a few moments, he wasn’t just having sex; he was
making love
to her
.

He kept reaming her until she finally came.
It was so hard, and so intense she felt shaken, shocked, and
confused. Again. It was like that again. He finally pushed into her
hard, almost brutally, and came inside her. Without a word. Or a
groan. And with his eyes closed.

Then… he moved off her and rolled over onto
his stomach. He flung his hands out, and pulled the pillow down
under his head.

Erica stared at his back, and lay there,
stunned. It was so good. Exhilarating, exhausting, truly an
emotional experience, and not just a physical act. It was like
being connected to someone as deeply, or as pleasurably as you
could… And now? This. Withdrawal in more ways than one. She didn’t
know what to do about it. Should she simply leave now? Gather her
clothes and leave? His attitude suggested that… Only, there seemed
to be so much more to Spencer than what his icy, abrasive exterior
indicated.

She rolled onto her side, and slid closer to
him, until she was right alongside him, with half her body nearly
propped on top of his. She splayed one leg over his and rested her
head on the crook of his shoulder. His head was turned away from
her, with only his ear, cheek, and curls of hair before her. She
kissed him on his cheek, then along his neck with little, butterfly
kisses.

His entire body tensed under hers as he
seemed to be trying to keep himself still. She, on the other hand,
was nearly limp as a rag, comfortably draped, and snuggled.
Although physically exhausted, she was relaxed. Even if he didn’t
want her to be, she was.

“Spencer?” she finally asked.

“What?” his voice came out muffled, slightly
sleepy, and a tinge annoyed.

“Your bed smells like fabric softener.”

He shifted and caught her eye. His expression
was completely puzzled. “That’s what you have to say? My bed smells
clean? What did you expect? The last girl’s perfume?”

“Well, it isn’t exactly what I pictured. I
appreciate it. Love it, in fact. Speaking of which, when was the
last girl here?”

“You want me to answer that? Need I remind
you that you tried to go home with someone else tonight?”

“But I didn’t. I was mad at you. I was
punishing you. And you tried not to notice.”

“I noticed.”

“You sat far away without even glancing at
me.”