Sunday's Child(23)
She grasped his coat lapels and dragged him down to her. “You promised me a thousand,” she said and nibbled at his lower lip, gratified by the deep groan her caress elicited. “Don’t be stingy.”
The memory of intimacy had dulled over time. Claire hadn’t slept with anyone since her divorce from Lucas. Grief over her failed marriage, fear of being a single parent to a special needs child, moving to a different house, all the other smaller, but equally stressful details that had nearly overwhelmed her, pretty much killed her interest in pursuing a relationship, casual or otherwise.
Andor had changed all that, and the desire coursing through her now made her quick, clumsy and eager. He was as enthusiastic as she. Clothes were pulled away, regardless of snapped buttons or stretched seams, and thrown into the corner.
Andor kept his promise, kissing Claire until her head spun, his tongue slick and hot in her mouth; his teeth gentle as he nipped a path from her neck and across the top of her shoulder. His hands skimmed her body, cupping her breasts, learning the curves and slopes revealed when he’d peeled the dress off her, his eyes darkening at every inch of skin revealed until they were nearly black.
Claire returned his passion, muttering words of admiration between soft moans as she mapped him with her touch, beguiled by all that he was—sleek muscle and winter pine scent, his obvious affection for her and acceptance of Jake. She wished she’d met him sooner; she was profoundly grateful she knew him now.
They stumbled to the bed, unwilling to let each other go for a second. Andor made love to her amidst a tangle of sheets and the caress of shadows. Claire’s soft moan echoed his deeper groan when he slid inside her. The thrust of hips, the bite of a harsher kiss, the grip of her knees on his sides as he rode her deep and hard: Claire reveled in all of it. Her climax skated the edge of her senses, sparking every nerve ending until she bucked against Andor and cried out his name in a carnal prayer. He followed her, his hands clenching the sheets on either side of her head as he groaned his pleasure into her neck.
Their post-coital torpor didn’t last long, and this time it was Claire who clenched the sheets in white-knuckled hands.
They lay entwined afterwards, sweaty and replete. The sheets had been kicked to the end of the bed, the comforter shoved to the floor. Claire outlined the slopes and valleys of Andor’s face with a fingertip, tripping lightly over the high bridge of his nose before tracing the arch of his eyebrows. His beautiful mouth was swollen from her enthusiastic kisses, and he nipped at her when she ran her thumb across his lower lip.
She was tired and wonderfully achy, as if caught in a kind of carnal hangover. For all practical purposes, she should be ready to pass out. Her emotions had other ideas. Claire considered herself a woman possessed of a healthy sexual appetite, but she’d never been able to separate her emotions from physical intimacy. Sex never was, and never would be, casual for her. She gave her heart and her affection as well her body to her lover, and with this lover, she feared she’d just given her soul. The thought terrified her, and she batted it back to the corner of her mind. She refused to regret this night, or any other that might come after it. If it all ended in a broken heart, she would consider it worth the tears shed. Comfortably numb was no way to live.
Unaware of her inner turmoil, Andor slid a hand down the curve of her waist and swell of her hip, returning to her waist to repeat the same stroke over and over. His eyes were heavy-lidded and still more black than blue. “What do you want for Christmas?”
His question, asked while she struggled with her darker musings, made Claire stumble a moment. “Christmas?”
“Yes. Christmas. You know, that day of gift giving and such? It’s a week away.”
Except for the gift cards she exchanged with Dee each year, Claire didn’t receive Christmas gifts. She bought a few for Jake—toys with textures that might appeal to his sense of touch, puzzles to help him remember colors and letters, an app for his tablet that made funny noises he’d listen to over and over and laugh at with every repetition.
You in my home; you in our lives. She wanted to say it but opted instead for the safer, more lighthearted answer. She grinned and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Didn’t I just get it?”
Andor didn’t share her amusement. His face darkened, turned pensive. Claire reared back a little, suddenly frightened. She hadn’t answered the way he hoped. That was obvious, but she didn’t know what answer he wanted from her. She asked a question of her own. “What do you want for Christmas?”
He stared at her for so long, she wondered if he planned to ignore the question altogether. “I want you to love me, Claire. To share your life, and Jake’s, with me. Not just this Christmas, but for every Christmas afterwards. For a lifetime.”
The fact that she didn’t physically shatter into a million tiny pieces at his words made Claire an instant believer in miracles. She blinked away the sudden burn in her eyes easily enough, but it took three tries to clear the tightness from her throat so she could speak.
She twirled a lock of his hair around her finger. “Is that it? I thought you were going to ask for something a lot more difficult to give—like a real shrunken head from the Aguaruna tribe or El Cid’s Tizona sword.”
She squeaked when his arms tightened around her hard enough to thin her breathing. Andor loosened his hold only a little. “I’m serious, Claire.”