Going Under Page 11

  Just as she’d sucked him in.

  “You might be a temporary visitor here, but this is my home. Maybe I don’t want my neighbors pissed at me.”

  “Pff. Penny is fine. She sold more food than she would have otherwise and I’ll leave her an amazing tip—well, you will and I’ll pay you back.”

  “We’ll split the bill, plus I’ll pay for the waffles.”

  “Nope. My idea, my treat. When you invite me out, you can pay. Or you can make me dinner.”

  She shook her head in dismay, forking up more of the food. “I’m not going to...”

  He gave her the pause, but she didn’t fill in the rest. “What? Invite me out? Make me dinner?”

  Meeting his gaze with her cool silvery eyes, she looked for a moment totally without guile. “What are we doing, Fox? And don’t say having breakfast.”

  No, he understood what she asked. The trick would be to give her the right answer. Or, at least, the one that would work for her. Maybe the raw truth.

  He put down his fork and took her hand, lacing their fingers together. Her fingers felt delicate between his, like cool glass. “Can’t it be that we’re enjoying each other’s company? Doing what we want to do. It can be that simple.”

  She looked out at the rain. Would she confess to not being all that simple? To having a past? No. She came to some other decision. “You’re right. I’m making this more complicated than it needs to be.” With a little smile, she tugged her hand away, pretending she needed to pick up her napkin. More than ever, he wanted to convince her to let him tie her up, force her to stay still while he touched her to his heart’s content. The thought made him a bit hard and he smiled.

  “What’s that smile for?” She asked.

  “Thinking about what I’m going to do to you tonight.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks bloomed with a hint of color. Yes, her fair skin showed every blush, but he wondered more and more just how reclusive she’d been. She flustered easily. It spoke to, not sexual inexperience, but to a certain emotional freshness. In that sense, at least, they had complete honesty. He might be lying to her about who he was and his reasons for being on Lyra, and she thought she’d fooled him with her various prevarications, but the way they felt about each other, on every level, that was absolutely real. “Are we on for tonight then?” She looked up through her thick, dark lashes, like black lace over silver, her full mouth pursed over the question.

  “You tell me. Totally up to you.” He congratulated himself for sounding so mellow about it. Despite the increasing erection that made him shift in his chair. “I can wait, if you need more time,” he added, pretending to himself that would be fine.

  “No.” She smiled, that pretty curve of lips that made him wonder what images she had in her head. “I want to. And I won’t freak out and leave this time.”

  “If you do, it’s okay.” He held her gaze, willing her to understand that he meant it. “I understand. Just don’t bother telling me not to come after you, because I will.”

  She studied him. “Is this an attainability thing with you? Are you one of those guys who loves the chase? The harder to get, the more you want it?”

  “Guilty, your honor.” He didn’t even mind that she’d seen through him because at least she’d bothered to look. “Except I always enjoy having equally as much—if not more.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Deliberately he let his gaze fall to her sensuous mouth, then to the rise of breasts, firm and full even under the compressing jog bra. They rose and fell a little faster and, after a leisurely interval, he looked into her eyes again. “Tomorrow morning, you can give me your assessment—let me know if you think I enjoyed the having.”

  She responded so powerfully to those kinds of suggestions. Intelligence, imagination and a potent sexual nature. So much so that he wondered how she’d been able to stand the dry spell she’d referenced. Unless that, also, had been a lie.

  Somehow though, he thought that was truth.

  Possibly even at the heart of what was going on with her.

  They walked back in the rain, at a fast clip, but far too full to run. The soaked sweatshirt weighed on him like a bulletproof vest. It irked him no end, but he’d have to invest in some of the ubiquitous rain gear as Emily had taunted him he should. Might as well count it as another investment in the hunt for Phoenix.

  Despite the magazine’s investment, he’d paid quite a bit of his costs up front—sometimes a delicate balance to weigh against the likely bonus they’d give him, above Geek Crunch’s miserly idea of a salary. He had additional buyers who’d pay for syndication of the final article, additional side-stories and reveal on the near mythically secretive gamer. If he played it right, breaking this story would give him the cred to get in with the serious news agencies. Not to mention pwning the ultimate gamer and all the other wannabes who thought they could out Phoenix. He was the best and they’d know it.

  He walked Emily up onto her deck, after she turned Anansi loose to renew his scent marks in the fenced garden. A white cat sitting behind the glass door gave him a horrified look and disappeared.

  “Seriously,” she said, rummaging in her jacket pocket for her keys, “use the Kapsucks’ sauna and get warmed up.”

  “Do you have one?

  “No, a hot tub.”

  “Mmm.” He snagged her hand, tangling his fingers with hers and the keys, using the moment of surprise to back her against the door under the sheltering eave. He pressed against her and found the sweet spot right under her ear. She smelled of rain, salt and very faintly of orange blossoms. His cock, which had been well subdued by the chilly walk home, thickened and warmed with interest. “How about we have a nice afternoon soak?”

  She didn’t object immediately, to his surprise. The hot tub must be outside the house.

  “Don’t you have work to do—a novel to write?” But she lifted her chin, giving him access to the sweet line of her jaw and the fragile white skin there. With each press of his lips, she shivered, like the most delicate crystal singing to the lightest brush of silk. He lined up in his head all he wanted to try on her, the textures, the temperatures, levels of pleasure and maybe some pain, if she liked it.

  But she’d asked him a question. “I never write on Sundays.” Another rule to remember. Should be easy, since he loved a lazy Sunday.

  “The Lord’s day?” She asked with some amusement, her voice husky with arousal.

  “If the Lord is behind big brunches, hot tubs and sexy women, then yes.”

  She was thinking it over, the buzz of her deliberations, inches away but still obscure to him. “All right then. It’s over this way. You can give me your clothes and I’ll put them in the dryer while we soak.”

  The door still locked, she pocketed the keys and led him to the other end of the deck, down a few steps and to a gazebo with a covered hot tub beneath, entirely screened by the emerald foliage.

  “Very nice.”

  She smiled, a shy curve of her lips, and thumbed a switch under the rail. White lights flicked on, festive in the rainy gloom. A real insight into her here, the pretty lights and the total privacy. He helped her pull the cover off and set it to the side, then began wrestling off the sweatshirt again, beginning to hate the damn thing.

  “I’ll go put on a swimsuit and get us towels.”

  “I thought you wanted to put my clothes in the dryer?”

  She’d already started up the steps and looked back, uncertain. “Don’t you want to get in and then I’ll come get them?”

  “Then you’d have to make two trips. Besides—you want to watch, don’t you?”

  Her eyes darkened and she pressed her lips together.

  Saving her the decision, he propped his butt against the tub and lifted his foot to untie his shoe, watching her the whole time. She moved out of the rain a
nd leaned against the latticework post, folding her arms but body otherwise alight with interest. Protecting herself still, but as drawn to him as he was to her.

  He toed off both shoes and set the socks on top of the sodden sweatshirt. Not having to fake a struggle with the equally soaked T-shirt, he pulled that over his head, then took his time easing his arms out of it, making sure he compressed his pecs for her. Judging by her rapt expression and the flush on her transparent skin, he’d done it right.

  He stood to slide off his running pants. Before he’d been sorry not to be wearing the shorts she liked, but with the cold rain—no way. Using his thumbs to take the jock with them, he skimmed the fabric down his legs, keeping his eyes on her face and knowing that his cock had to be semi-erect and rapidly going for full attention under her avid gaze.

  Tossing the wet pants on the pile, he let her look him over.

  It gave her the power, which should help the trust issues, but he also didn’t lie to himself that he got a thrill from it too. Being naked for your clothed lover created a delicious sense of being desired.

  Judging by the look on her face, Emily desired him all right.

  He shoots. He scores.

  The crowd goes wild.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Want to touch?” he invited her in a throaty voice that matched her fogged senses.

  Without coming closer, he put his hands behind his neck, the movement making his hardening cock stretch up. For a guy who came across as fairly pushy and overbearing at times, he seemed vulnerable, at her mercy in some way that filled her with a thrill of lustful power. Something she’d never before experienced in the sexual arena. Really, any arena, without being Phoenix.

  “Are you—submitting to me?” She felt odd laying it out there, using a lingo that seemed to belong to an exclusive club of kinksters, but she wanted to know. Even saying the words to him made her feel in control.

  His brown eyes glittered, his cock high and flushed. “Do you want me to?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never... I don’t think I’ve ever met a guy into that.”

  He laughed, a soft, sensual sound that stroked across her nerves with the same arousing enticement as his mouth created on her skin. “My theory is that all men are into it—they just can’t all admit it. Women too. Everyone is, to a greater or lesser extent. Sex is about giving yourself up to your lover, after all. Who doesn’t want to be taken over by someone else’s desire, even for a little while?”

  “I don’t know if I would want that.” The idea made her nervous, even whispered of the anger she’d felt last night. She knotted her fingers together.

  “Only if you want to, Miss Emily.” He soothed her with his voice. “This is about you touching me. But I also enjoy having you look at me. It’s just you and me, and I like it all. Don’t worry about that part—what do you want to do?”

  Feeling as if it could be a dream, the dim afternoon, the fog from the hot tub, the rain drumming on the tin gazebo roof, the fairy lights twinkling around this leanly muscled man who looked as if he might have stepped out of the forest, she searched herself for what she wanted. The same as looking for that image in the mirror, the true one, not the mask she’d created.

  She definitely wanted him, this sexy man who looked like a satyr offering to pleasure her. Part of her tucked the image into a mental file folder of game ideas—which helped offset not actually working—even as she moved to him and wrapped her fingers around his hard length.

  His breath hissed out and his lids lowered, a shiver going through him. He didn’t move otherwise, but his muscles flexed—there in his chest, the twitch of biceps, his quads tightening.

  “Are you cold?” she whispered and his eyes flicked open, full of a heated intensity that rocked her.

  “Not at the moment. In fact, I might burst into flame.”

  She adjusted her grip, then gathered up his heavy balls with her other hand. Not only didn’t he resist in any way, but he showed her how much he enjoyed her touch, his face open and expressive, making quiet sounds of pleasure.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “I believe you are in the driver’s seat. Do what you wish with me, Miss Emily.”

  “I kind of like how you call me that.”

  “It does it for me too.” He gave her a naughty boy grin, full of wickedness that melted into a sigh when she rolled his balls and tightened her grip.

  She stroked his length, up to the tip where his semen pearled, and spread the slick liquid over the soft head. His breath came harder, and the effort to hold himself still became even more apparent as she toyed with him. Between her legs, her slickness mirrored his and she imagined telling him to kneel down and lick her there. Would he do it?

  He had closed his eyes again, jaw tight and throat ridged from tension. He swallowed and his Adam’s apple moved up and down. She let go of his balls and pressed her fingers to it. He groaned. Scratching him there lightly with her nails, doing the same to the tip of his cock, she teased him. A sound came out of him, part laugh, part moan of pleasure. “God, I knew you’d be good at this.”

  Pleased, she dragged her nails down his chest—she should make an effort to grow them longer—and circled one of his nipples. His cock flexed in her hand, moisture increasing.

  “I should make you come this way,” she told him, working his shaft again. “Like you did to me in the closet. Payback for that.”

  “Or don’t let me come,” he panted. “Whichever pleases you more, Miss Emily.”

  “What if I told you to jerk yourself off while I watch?”

  “I’m yours to command.”

  Something she’d always wanted to see, but not something you typically ask a guy to do. At least, not the kind of guys she’d slept with. “Do that then.”

  She let go and stood back. Fastening his blazing eyes on hers, he wrapped one hand around his cock. The copper hairs on his forearm glinted with beads of moisture from the hot tub’s steam, the tendons standing out. “How shall I do it?”

  “Do it the way you like it best—so I know, for future reference.”

  “I like it this way.” Holding her gaze, he tightened his grip and pumped, much harder and faster than she’d handled him. “But I won’t last long. If you’re going to withhold permission, I need to know immediately.” He said the last on a rush of breath, his whole body tightening, a carved sculpture of a man, his face a rictus as he stretched his neck back, almost holding it in place with the hand behind his neck. “Ech—too late.”

  With an incoherent shout, he pulled his fist back tight against his groin, holding it there as his semen shot out, body arcing with the orgasm. He held there, taut as a drawn bow, then unbent slightly. His hand still worked his cock, slower now, milking himself, his face gradually relaxing from the fierce expression. As his body softened, he glanced at the puddle on the redwood floor of the gazebo and gave her a rueful look, with a strong flavor of cocky male pride beneath.

  “Sorry about the mess.”

  She grabbed his shirt. “I’ll wipe it up with this and throw the lot in the laundry.”

  “Let me.” He took it from her and, with a sly smile, went down on his knees, slowly and carefully wiping it all up. As if he’d read her mind, he crawled over to her and pressed his forehead to the top of her running shoe. When she didn’t move, he set the shirt aside and wrapped his hands around her ankles, kissing her shins through the running pants. Working his way up her legs, he caressed the shape of her, stroking her thighs, his hands stopping just below the curve of her bottom.

  Then pressed a kiss right on her mound.

  She gasped, her vulva clenching and moisture squeezing out of her. Far more aroused than she’d realized, she swayed and had to grab onto his naked shoulders for support. His skin was clammy and a rush of guilt hit her.

  �
�Shit! You’re freezing. What was I thinking?”

  Sinking his grip into the backs of her thighs, he looked up at her. “If you were anywhere near the same headspace I was, you were more interested in how good we are together than something as boring as weather.”

  “Well, we can be good together without giving anyone hypothermia. Get in the tub. I’ll be right back with towels after I put this stuff in the washer.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He grinned, then nipped her on the full part of her thigh, making her jump. “You have no idea what that imperious tone does to me.”

  She rolled her eyes, swept up his clothes and headed up to the house, not letting herself look back. Never mind superstitions about pillars of salt, she didn’t want to get distracted by him again. Inside, Dinah gave her a betrayed look and slunk away from being petted.

  “Be like that then,” she called after the cat and turned on the coffeepot, feeling nearly giddy with all things Fox. Never had she met a guy so open about sex, and who treated both the intense and playful aspects with equal enthusiasm. No emotional baggage apparent at all—a good thing, since she packed around the equivalent of a steamer trunk’s worth. Really she should check in for messages from her team, but when was the last time she took a full day off?

  Not since becoming Phoenix, for sure. Maybe not for a while before that.

  Not counting those months after they fired her, when she did nothing at all.

  She put Fox’s clothes in the wash. Speaking of something she hadn’t done in a while. The last time she’d done a man’s laundry it had been Henry’s. Somehow all the domestic chores had become hers by some unspoken default after they married. She hadn’t wanted to make it something to fight about—she hadn’t liked confrontation back then—but she’d sometimes wondered snarkily to herself if it had been a part of the vows she’d missed. Do you promise to love him, keep him, fix all his meals, clean up his shit and make sure he never lacks for work shirts?