40-Love - Olivia Dade Page 0,75

fear.

“Just yours,” he told her, each word firm. Decisive.

“Good.” Her palm cupped his cheek and urged him down for a kiss, which he gladly gave her. “Good.”

The next morning, she went down on him as he fisted his hands in her soft hair and called her name like an invocation. A plea and prayer of gratitude both, wrenched from a heart fit to burst from everything she was doing, everything she was.

After they’d both washed up and she took care of tampon business by herself in the bathroom, he produced the new vibrator with a courtly flourish that made her snicker. When he eased her down onto her back in bed, though, making certain her neck was supported by a pillow, she stopped laughing.

He stretched out along her side and settled down to play.

The right side of her clit, he discovered, was more sensitive than the left, and she liked little circles in that area, her hips rocking against the insistent buzz. Her hand clutched at his arm, his shoulder, the sheets, while her sex grew swollen and flushed. When she got close, a rosy stain spread across her face and chest as her knees drew up high.

Her head tossed on the pillow, and he cupped her hot cheek. Kissed her softly.

When he raised his head, she was panting. Squirming. “Lucas…”

“Higher intensity?” he murmured.

At her nod, he twisted the base of the vibrator, and the buzz grew louder. She moaned.

Her dazed hazel eyes squeezed shut, but he coaxed them open again, willing her to see him. See them. Associate the sight of him with her pleasure.

The orgasm shuddered through her as she gasped and made rough little sounds. He noted every twitch, every whimper, with satisfaction sharp enough to cut, even as he tenderly stroked the soft, damp skin of her belly with his free hand and gentled the pressure of the vibrator.

You’ll miss this. You’ll miss me. Before you leave, I’ll make sure of that.

In that moment, he felt almost savage in his desperation. But he kissed her sweetly, lightly, as she lay trembling beside him, and he held her carefully as they both recovered.

When her breath steadied again, she eased away from him, sat up, and heaved a dramatic sigh. “Now I’m all sweaty and need another shower. Your insistence on giving me really intense orgasms is probably causing water shortages all along the Florida coastline.”

Her hair was sticking up around her head, rumpled by the pillow and his hands. She was, in fact, a bit sweaty and red-faced, as if she’d just completed an epic tennis match.

She was a mess. His mess, and he loved it.

She patted his chest. “Lucas Karlsson: One-Man Environmental Catastrophe.”

Offering a gracious bow from a prone position wasn’t easy, but he tried. “At your service, milady.”

She grinned at him. Then, smile fading, she turned toward the lone window in his bedroom. Normally, it offered a better-than-average view of a few palms, some sand, and a small wedge of blue ocean. This morning, the blinds were still shut, so he had no clue why she kept blinking in that direction.

“I guess…” After a hesitation, she looked down at him again. “I guess last night wasn’t typical for you.”

Landmines. In her voice, he could almost hear her edging closer to them, reluctant but determined to know whether she could survive the blast. Whether they could survive.

He sat up. “What do you mean?”

Her lips compressed before she spoke again, each word careful. “You must have gone to a lot of social events when you played on the Tour. And I get the sense you visit the mainland a lot now, for parties or dinners or…whatever.”

The wall behind his back was cool from the air conditioning, slightly damp from the humidity. He pressed himself tighter against it, forcing himself to stay silent and let her say whatever she needed to say.

“During the school year—” Abruptly, she raised her knees toward her chest, resting her unsteady hands on them. “At work, I spend all day surrounded by people, kids and teachers and administrators and parents. When I leave school, I don’t…”

Her gaze lowered to those clasped hands. “I don’t want to go to bars or parties, really. Last night was more typical of how I like to spend my free time, even when I don’t have my period. I eat. I watch movies or TV. I chat with Belle. I might get together with a friend for dinner, but it’s usually one-on-one, and most nights I don’t want