Josie had no words. She couldn’t even try to speak.
“And then we’ll work on the rest of the getting to know each other stuff, like your cat’s name, and—”
Sweetly, with an exquisite motion that took time and broke it into little slivers of awareness, she rose up in his lap, wrapping her legs about his waist on the chair, the rasp of cloth against cloth a friction that set her entire body abuzz. With one finger, she traced a lazy path from his eyebrow down his face, the aroma of his cologne infusing her as she let all her senses come forth and accept this as it blossomed, time changing in the air between them. The look of her skin against his, how his eyebrow raised with a questioning look, how his eyes told her more in an unspoken language than every word she’d heard in her lifetime could possibly have communicated.
The brush of her fingertips against his freshly shaven chin and the taste of his jawline as she leaned down to kiss it mingled with the sounds of kids and parents cheering across the street, blending with blues that poured out of the speakers in her bedroom. What had felt like a nervous rush since the second she’d met him in the hospital last week turned on a dime. His strong, smooth hands now caressing the nape of her neck, his abs brushing against hers, their bodies seeking to fit into each other just right as their tongues found each other, a savored entwining that she deliberately drew out, as if to tell him in tender flesh that this now was not measured in seconds or minutes or hours.
It had its own timeline.
“Cats,” she said slowly against his mouth. “I have two. One hides nonstop, but the one you’ve met is Dotty.”
“Dotty,” he murmured.
“Yes. Dotty and Crackhead.”
“Crackhead?” he sputtered, wiggling his h*ps almost enough that she could have dry humped him and walked away with one of the best orgasms ever. It was, however, in her best interests to stick around and go for the more mature climactic approach. The way he moved juuuust enough to set her right on top of his erection told her he was thinking the same thought. Her lust twin.
How convenient.
“Now that you know their names,” she whispered against his mouth, “are we done with all the ‘not sex’ parts, and can we move to the ‘sex parts’?”
“I like your sex parts,” Alex sighed, sliding one hand up to cup her breast, the nipple responding to his touch.
Her hand found his erection easily, though it was blocked by clothing. “I’d like yours more if I could see them,” she teased.
“At your service, Ms. Josephine.” Nearly falling to the ground as he stood, Josie found herself the only customer at a private striptease as Alex unceremoniously unbuttoned his shirt, his fingers precise and efficient. As the shirt hung open at the chest, she realized she’d only caught glimpses of his nakedness in the handful of romps they’d had, illicit moments stolen in an on-call room, an outdoor trail, an elevator.
Time for the big unveiling.
Big.
Alex couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun getting na**d for a woman. Toppling Josie out of his lap had been tough, but necessary, if it meant he could take the lead and show her what “sex parts” really meant.
You want ’em? You got ’em.
The cat—was that Dotty? Or did she say this was Crackhead?—sniffed with pretentious condescension and headed for the living room.
Good. The only audience he wanted was Josie.
As he slid his shirt off and slung it over the back of a kitchen chair, she joined him, to his delight.. She reached down with both hands and pulled her knit top off in one intensely erotic motion, throwing the light piece of cloth onto a little bench behind her. The silken lilac bra underneath was so feminine, so achingly delicate, that he wanted to take it off her with a savage grace. Holding himself back, he took her in with his eyes while she returned the favor.
They both seemed to like what they saw.
He nodded. “Go ahead.”
She frowned, hands on h*ps now. “Go ahead what?”
“The bra.” He stood before her, shirtless, filled with a thrumming that blocked out the rest of the world.
“What about the bra?” she asked, looking down at it.
“You need to take it off or I’ll rip it off with my teeth.”
“You can’t!”
“I have very strong teeth.”
She lowered her eyelashes as if thinking of a retort, but after a moment, her arms slowly reached behind her, for the clasp. And then, before his mind could process what she was doing, Josie spun and darted down the hall, screaming,“Only if you can catch me!”
God, she was fast.
Running, his legs constrained by all-too-tight pants, he chased her. He reached the door of her bedroom as she was laughingly turning back to it, her elbows still winged out as she wiggled the hooks free. “I beat you,” she was gleefully crowing, but before she quite finished the taunt, he caught her, caught the loose strap as it began its slide down her left shoulder, and pulled the bra from her grasp.
Her laugh cut out as she caught her breath; she panted a few quick breaths as their eyes locked again. He slid the bra off entirely and momentarily looked away for a place to toss it.
The bedroom was nicely decorated, homey, with rather large bedside tables and a multicolored silk scarf suspended from the ceiling, covering a light fixture. The last of the day’s light poured in from the windows, but soon dusk would make it too dark. He planned to be here through the stillness of the summer night.
And into the bright light of the sun’s wake-up rays.
Her gaze pulled his eyes back to her and he let the bra fall to the floor.
He said, “I will always catch you.”
Why did he have to be so damn hot? she wondered, standing next to her bed, stripped down to her panties and trying to play off at least a little of how much he overwhelmed her. As if she routinely played tag with men with washboard abs and faces like models, routinely ending the game in her bedroom half naked.
Like that happened every Tuesday.
Maybe it can, a voice whispered in her head.
Roadhouse blues floated through the air, the smoky tones of scratched vinyl mixed with saxophone foreplay adding to the perfection in the room. Dusk settled the edges of the window’s harsh daylight glare into a more modest tone, but still she felt illuminated and on display as Alex’s eyes hungrily ate her up.
She returned the favor as he revealed himself, stripping down to boxer briefs, the fluid lines of his powerful thighs making her even wetter and more ready—as if that were possible. Naturally olive-toned skin peppered with curly hair where it ought to be, thickening right where she remembered. The boxer briefs clung to his upper thighs, ass, and manhood exactly the way they should, as if female appreciation was woven into the contours of the cloth, directing the fibers to hug his body exactly as Josie wished.