Envy(103)

“He’s a fool.”

She gave him a smile for the indirect compliment, but it turned rueful. “So am I. I’m a fool for not acknowledging sooner that our marriage wasn’t what I wanted it to be. Nor was Noah the man I wanted him to be. He wasn’t the hero of his book.”

“And now you think of Roark as a hero.”

Shaking her head, she said, “I’m not confusing fact with fiction, Parker. I’ve outgrown that. You’re real. I can touch you.” She reached for his hand, studying it as she traced the veins on the back of it with her fingertip. “My marriage, such as it was, is over. Behind me. I don’t want to talk about Noah anymore.”

“Fine by me.”

He gathered a handful of her hair, then wound it around his fist and drew her closer until their faces were inches apart. He hesitated for several heartbeats, then settled his lips against hers, tested the angle, readjusted. He was moderately controlled until he heard a small whimper from her. He backed off, looked down into her eyes, and recognized a desire that equaled his own.

Control was abandoned. He covered her face with wild, random, artless kisses and she was doing the same to him. Then mouths melded and tongues touched, and they kissed with carnal greed.

Eventually Parker pulled back and caught his breath, then proceeded with more temperance. His tongue stroked her lower lip; he raked it gently between his teeth. He laid light kisses at the corners of her lips before pressing his tongue into her mouth. He angled his head first to one side, then the other, but he never broke contact. Even when he withdrew, his lips remained against hers, making sipping motions as gentle as the rainfall.

Her lips barely moving against his, she whispered, “The night we met, when you kissed me…”

“Hmm?”

“I didn’t want you to stop.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Don’t you think I felt it, too, Maris?”

In reply, she threaded her fingers up through his hair and played sexy with her tongue. As they kissed, he unbuttoned the row of buttons, untied the knot at her waist, and pulled open her shirt.

Her breasts were proportionately small, beautifully round, and, now, sprinkled with rainwater. Heavier drops beaded on her skin. Some formed rivulets that trickled over the smooth curves, intersecting and crisscrossing in erotic patterns.

“Parker? You know it’s raining.”

“Yeah.” He cupped her breast and reshaped it with his hand. His thumb whisked a raindrop off the tip. He leaned down and rubbed his lips across it. “As you told me once, you won’t melt.”

Then he took her nipple into his mouth.

“I might,” she sighed.

Making his dream a reality, she folded her arms around his head and clutched him to her, repeating his name on ragged breaths.

His hand waded through what seemed like unfurled bolts of fabric until he found skin. He slid his hand between her thighs, all the way up, to her center. He touched her through her underpants. “Okay?”

She made a sound that he took for a yes. Her sex was pliant and very wet. He eased his fingers into her.

“Ohgod, Parker.”

His fingers stroked her from within while his thumb drew circles on the outside. Soon she was thrusting her hips up against his hand.

“Just let it happen, Maris.”

She relaxed and, although her breathing was still shallow and quick, she stopped working at trying to climax. He continued to nuzzle her breasts. Her nipples became small and hard against his flicking tongue. The stroking of his fingers intensified and the circles drawn by his thumb shrank to center on one spot.

Then he felt it, that unique tension that claimed her. Involuntary. Imperative. Impossible to bridle. Uncontainable. Her back arched. Her head fell back and she covered her eyes with her forearm. Her exposed neck begged to be kissed. He bent over it and pressed his lips against the hollow of her throat while sweet sounds vibrated from it. He remained there until the last of the aftershocks had rippled through her and she went limp.

He withdrew his hand from beneath her skirt and smoothed it back into place. He then gathered her close, securing her against his chest by resting his chin on the top of her head.

Weakly she laid her hand on his chest. “You buttoned your shirt.”

“For supper. One of my mom’s rules.”

She undid the buttons and rubbed her cheek against his chest hair, then laid her head against his heart. “Better.”

The rain continued to fall on them, soaking their hair and clothes, but neither noticed or cared. He stroked her back, his fingers stopping at each individual vertebra. “He hasn’t f*cked you worth a damn, has he?”

He felt her stiffen, and for a moment he feared that he’d gone too far, said too much, offended her with his blunt language. But it was an initial reaction that passed quickly. She relaxed against him again and said softly, “I thought so. Until a few minutes ago.”

“You were hungry for it.”

“I didn’t know that until you touched me. My sex life was another self-delusion.”

She must have felt his smile, because she raised her head and looked at him. “You must be feeling pretty good about yourself.”

His grin was unrepentantly cocky, but it turned into a soft smile. “I feel good.” He kissed her lips softly, growling against them, “But you feel better.”