“We?”
“I meant me.” I stole a kiss, and not because she’d asked a question. “If I need to get out of town, a head start is helpful.”
My stomach curdled with something ugly, something like guilt, so I kissed her cheek and nuzzled her neck, taking a moment to enjoy her skin and heat, and allow the discomfort to pass.
But I refused to be sorry that I’d staked out Diane’s house last year. Now I knew her place was not an option for us. Despite what she thought, I had almost been caught coming and going a few times, simply due to the proximity between the Iron Wraith’s compound and Diane’s property. It was one of the main reasons I’d stopped checking in on her.
Or, more precisely, it was one of the main things I’d repeated like a chant in my head in order to force myself to stop. What was the point of following her to keep her safe from her ex and his mistress if my doing so just put her in danger from the Wraiths?
“I guess you make good points.” Diane angled her head, giving me better access to her neck and ear. “Plus, if I’m honest—and I am—I guess I like the idea of it.”
“The idea of what?” I whispered, nibbling on her earlobe.
“Of a new place, away from everyone, just you and—” Her breath hitched as my tongue swirled in her ear and the hand not holding her wine gripped my arm. “You need to stop that if you don’t want me spilling this red wine on your nice, new floors.”
Reluctantly, I pulled away and looked at her. “Then I’ll take that as a yes.”
“I wasn’t aware you asked a question,” she said, her voice breathless. She wasn’t meeting my eyes, and I noted she’d set down her wine glass.
“Fine. Will you come here to meet me, so we can spend time together?”
Her hand on my arm slid up my bicep, lingered. “Will we only spend time together here?” Diane lifted to her tiptoes and kissed my neck. “Or will we still go out sometimes?” Another kiss, this one placed on my collarbone as she tugged down my T-shirt.
My hand behind her on the counter moved to her waist, my fingers flexing as she continued her kiss assault. “We should do both, I think.”
“Do you care what I think?” She dragged her lips along my collar to my clavicle and I teetered on the edge of desire and reason.
“I always care what you think.”
“Do you?” Another kiss.
“More than you know.” She was barely touching me but my body didn’t seem to know the difference.
“Then why does everything you say sound like a command?” Kiss, kiss, kiss.
“Stop doing that unless you’re in the mood for a different kind of command.” I grabbed a fistful of her hair but didn’t pull her away.
I hoped she kept on doing what she was doing. And then I hoped she’d obey when I lifted her up on the counter, removed every single stitch of her clothes, and ate my first meal in this kitchen.
I felt her smile against my neck a moment before she stopped her kissing. Diane wrapped her arms around my torso and turned her cheek against my chest. Her chest rose and fell with a sigh. My hand relaxed in her hair.
She snuggled closer. “This is nice. I could get used to this.”
Even though I was too ravenous to respond, I conceded to myself that this was nice. I stroked the back of her head, neck, and upper back, my hand stopping at her shoulder blades. Rubbing a slow, tight circle there, I turned my cheek and rested it on top of her head. She sighed again.
“Thank you,” she said after a time.
My body had calmed enough for me to ask, “For what?”
“For doing all this work so we can see each other. For wanting to keep me safe from the things in your life that hurt you.”
“That won’t ever touch you.” I held her tighter, the ugly sensation in my stomach returning. “You never need to worry about that.”
I made a pan of chicken in rice. Diane didn’t seem to mind the simplicity of the supper. After watching the sun set on the deck while sitting cozy under a blanket, we wandered back inside. I got the sense she was looking for a reason to stay, so I showed her the DVDs I’d already purchased: Fried Green Tomatoes, Steel Magnolias, Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon, The Godfather Trilogy, and—as a joke—Easy Rider.
She rolled her eyes at Easy Rider and selected instead The Maltese Falcon. I ended up liking the movie. It sucked me right in.
But I didn’t like it enough to pay attention once Diane Donner’s ass was on my lap and her teeth were biting my neck.
One minute we were watching the movie, sitting close with a bowl of popcorn between us, and the next minute she’d set the bowl aside, climbed on my lap, straddled my hips, and said, “Hi.”
We hadn’t expressly talked about it, but I got the sense she wanted to take things slow. Why else would she leave me after our first date with a kiss on the cheek? Earlier, in the kitchen when I’d offered to boss her around, she’d stopped her kissing torture right there and then, like she was shy about taking it further.
Thus, presently, I told myself to sit back, fold my hands behind my head, and let her do whatever she wanted. But I wasn’t pushing her for more, not until she spelled out what was on her mind.
We just kissed at first. Her fingers danced around the fabric of my neckline but didn’t stray. That went on for a while, and I was surprised at how much I enjoyed simply that—just kissing this amazing woman.
Then her hands grew bolder, sliding down the front of my T-shirt to lift the hem an inch, the backs of her knuckles playing against the ridges of my stomach. She lifted her head, pressing her neck to my mouth. I took what she offered, sucking on her skin.
It wasn’t until she grumbled, “Why aren’t you touching me?” that I allowed my hands to wander as well.
I massaged her back over her silky, button-down shirt. I gripped her waist and hips, loved on her neck and jaw with hungry, biting kisses. Touching and pinching the clasp of her bra beneath her clothes at her mid-back, I released it.
Her hips shifted restlessly as I neglected her breasts and opted instead to hold her jaw still so I could capture her mouth again, tangling our tongues, stroking hers with mine, and reveling in the wet, intoxicating heat.
Without taking off her shirt, she somehow managed with jerky movements to remove her bra, flinging it somewhere behind me as we kept on kissing, on and on. But she yanked her mouth from mine, gasping for breath when I used the tip of my finger to trace a light circle around her nipple.
Shivering, she whimpered, the sound needy and greedy as she arched her back, trying to force more of her breast into my palm. Of course, I obliged, massaging each of the perfect weights with both hands. She moaned.
Emboldened, I moved to lift her shirt, but she shook her head, capturing my wrists. “No, no. Please, not yet. Not this time.”
Fire in my lungs, I bit her shoulder to keep from demanding more, a painful and pleasurable spike pounding into the base of my spine. I didn’t understand what this was.
Was I disappointed? Frustrated? Or did my body enjoy her refusal?
“Do you want me to convince you?” I slid my hands back to her perfect tits, rediscovering the pleasure of touching and arousing a woman—and becoming aroused—through layers of clothes, reacquainting myself with the exhilarating frustration of boundaries.