Читать книгу High Heels & Bicycle Wheels - Jane Linfoot - Страница 15

‘What are you doing?’

Stuffing the last crumbs of a muffin into her mouth, knees up, feet on the sofa, Bryony looked up from her phone in response to Jackson’s question.

‘Tweeting. Why? I always tweet before bed, if I don’t my friends will wonder what’s happened.’ Her defensive tone was no doubt a reaction to his eyebrows hitting the ceiling at that piece of news. ‘And answering the text from my brother, who expends way too much energy trying to make sure I don’t spend evenings like this with guys like you.’

Jackson grimaced. ‘That’s a bit crap. So what are you putting in your tweet?’ He stifled a grin. ‘Just had crazy terrace-sex with guess who? It was well worth the wait by the way. The wild, crazy sex, I mean.’

Not that he’d had a four minute table-ender on a terrace before, though he’d keep that bit to himself. Neither had he encountered anyone who insisted on fast-forward, then came apart twice in as many seconds. Polar bear feet not only coming in from the cold but getting super-heated on the way came as one big surprise – and fast as it was, the orgasm had blasted him out of this world. Wow to that one. Put it down to the sexual desert of the previous year.

‘Fab moonlight on the sea hashtag east-coast-joys.’ That’ll cover it.’ Looking up, she sent a flash of a smile over the top of her phone. ‘Crazy’s one way of describing it. I couldn’t help noticing you had a condom at the ready out there.’

Nice tweet, then straight onto him. Nothing he wasn’t prepared for though. Apology at the ready.

‘Old habits. Nothing to do with my expectations about tonight, I promise.’ Added hurriedly, in the vain hope she’d buy the truth, even if it did sound unlikely. ‘With guys in cycling, carrying condoms is one way you look out for each other. That way no one’s ever disappointed, and everyone stays healthy.’

‘Hmmmm. Sounding a lot like an ad for an STD charity there. I believe you, thousands wouldn’t.’ She tapped her phone on her lip, thoughtfully. ‘It was crazy, wasn’t it? Why was it so wild?’

Good question. He’d never had sex that feral.

‘No idea.’ Shrugging, feigning ignorance, because he had an idea the blame lay entirely with her, but no way could he say that. ‘Maybe it was the adrenalin hanging round from the ride or after running to beat the tide on the beach. Who knows? Maybe it’s that basic human survival instinct that kicks in when there’s danger around. The same way people shag like rabbits when there’s a war on, and everyone bonks after funerals.’

‘Like a celebration of being alive, you mean?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Maybe you should commemorate your survival by having a muffin. I brought them in from the car. No one should die before they’ve tasted one of these.’ Sucking a finger of one hand, she shoved an open cake box towards him with the other. ‘No arguments, I insist.’

Firm. Bossy. Or just plain domineering? He took a moment to adjust to the railroading.

‘Diets are the norm for a pro-cyclist. You learn to live with the hunger. It’s a way of life that takes a lot of sacrifice.’

‘So for a pro it really is like it says in the books?’

‘Depends on the books you read.’ He jumped at the opportunity to derail her efforts to force feed him, and fill her in on his life instead. God knows, there was so much to say about it he could keep her quiet all evening. ‘You get to travel, you train with the team for months on end in warm places, cycling hundreds of miles a week. It’s usually somewhere in the mountain. Think hairpin bends and zigzag roads, heat beating off the tarmac, deep blue skies, Italy, France, Spain, Portugal or somewhere. You race with the team on races that last weeks at a time, and then when it’s winter you do it all over again in the southern hemisphere. Your body is in an extreme and heightened state of fitness, you’re at risk of injury from crashes every day of your life, your whole life is carefully controlled, from pretty much every calorie you eat to how long you sleep, and the more successful you get, the more the control. The team thing is incredible. Sometimes you’re working for guys in the team, sometimes they’re working for you, you’re supporting each other, but at the same time it’s hugely competitive. If you’re successful, the pay is phenomenal, it’s the roughest, toughest thing in the world to do, some days you love it, some you hate it, but the adrenalin rushes and the endorphin highs are totally addictive, so you never want to stop. And with all that at stake does it sound like I’d reach for the cookie jar?’

The life of a pro-cyclist in a nutshell. Missing out the bit about adoring women hurling themselves at him, obviously. And how much he’d missed it all since he’d been away from it since the accident. And how he didn’t know what the hell he was going to replace it with if his damned knee didn’t get the thumbs up from the surgeons and the physios soon. And what the crap he was going to do if the unthinkable happened and he had to give up. Given her gaping mouth, opening and closing, it had surely stopped her in her tracks. Hadn’t it?

‘Calorie-wise you have to have earned it today.’ She shot him a wicked grin. ‘One way or another. Can’t the Prince of Darkness come over to the nutritional dark side just this once?’

Seemed like she was unstoppable. Nice reference to half an hour ago when his claim to be the Prince of Darkness had got him straight into her pants. After a whole lifetime of deprivation one way and another, suddenly the novelty of submitting overcame his natural instinct to refuse.

‘Go on then.’ He plucked a muffin from the box, threw himself down on the sofa beside her. ‘On one condition.’

‘Which is?’

Loving the way her eyes, narrowing in suspicion, sent an unexpected shiver whistling down his spine as he slowly teased the paper away from the cake.

‘You come to the dark side again too, when I’ve finished this.’ Stretching across, he slid a finger under her top, traced a line across her side under the elastic of her waistband. Felt her squirm against him. Running his finger over the bumps of her ribs, slipping over the silky cup of her bra. A rush of blood hit his groin as he found her nipple already quivering on high alert. Sinking his teeth deep into the muffin, he let the raspberry sweetness zing his taste buds.

‘I’ll take that as a yes, then.’

The sugar-high hit him instantaneously, sent his pulse into overdrive, and his erection too – although that was already well established. No one could be immune, sitting next to nipples like those. Her workplace must have more hard-ons per square foot than most. Pity any red-blooded male who had to spend their days being tantalised by that view. And this time sex was going to be different. Long, and very slow.

Easing to his feet, he grasped her hand, spun her a smile. ‘Coming?’

‘Where?’ The tension in her hand flashed up her resistance.

‘I thought we might take advantage of the king-size bed?’

Or maybe not, judging from her appalled frown.

‘Definitely not bed.’

Jumpy as hell then, and massive back-pedalling called for.

‘Fine by me.’ He let out a mental whistle of relief for the fact she hadn’t ruled out the sex. ‘You know what? I’m going to sit right on here, and we’ll take it from there, okay? Anything goes, apart from bed.’

Easing down next to her. No sudden movements in case she ran. Happy to play it her way. Raising his arms, he stretched back on the sofa, feeling her gaze already locked onto the bulge of his erection. Leaving it up to her, the bang of his heart reverberating through the sofa. Waiting. Knowing, from the dark dilation of her pupils behind her faltering eyelashes, she wouldn’t be resisting for long.

Too right.

One hand, inching across the sofa, winding under his t-shirt, sending his pulse rate off the scale in anticipation. One finger, achingly slow, tracing the line of hair down from his navel. Then the full-blown twang of her palm hitting his shaft, almost making him lift off.

Shifting a little, he snatched his breath at the agonising pleasure hit.

‘All ready then…’ More of a statement than a question, her voice all husky now.

His mouth was dry with anticipation. ‘Whenever you are…’

His fingertips closed on the condom in his pocket. Taking his mind off the excruciating wait. Thinking slow, thinking moody, thinking maybe they should lower the lights to go with the smoulder.

So wrong.

Wham. One leap, she jumped to standing. A bob, and a kick, her joggers hit the coffee table, and he was staring at thighs, lush, tanned, taut. And the teensiest triangle of a thong. Midnight-blue silk. Made his mouth water. Those perfect russet nails feathering on the hem of her top. He swallowed. Bit his lip to stop himself grabbing hold of her, dragged in a breath to get control. Wham again.

One twist, and she was out of her top. Aware of his jaw hitting the floor as he locked onto her breasts, bursting over the silky balcony of her bra cups. He closed his sweating fingers around the edge of the sofa cushions, preparing for the white-knuckle ride of his life.

She flicked her hair out of her eyes, accidentally brushing his knee as she strode across him, to plant one leg either side of his calves. The deepening of her cleavage cranked his already bursting erection up another notch, as she bent to grasp his slouch pants. One excruciating tug from her, he was kicking his pants away and free to rise. His sudden view of the incredible size of what he had to offer knocked his arousal further into orbit.

‘Oh, my.’ Her breathy gasp of appreciation was low against the roaring of his blood through his ears.

Bryony, fist covering the sensuous pucker of her mouth, chest heaving, hesitated. Legs wide, eyes bleary, no doubt working on her next move. Shifting his pelvis, he tightened his grip on the cushions. Dying to touch her, exploding for her to touch him, he watched the hairs escaping where the thong cut into the delicious crease between her legs. Counting to ten. He got as far as eight. In one fluid movement she whipped off her thong, and snapped it around the end of him. Heaven. Sliding, teasing, tugging. Aching amazing heaven.

‘Stop.’ Releasing his fingers, he grasped her wrist.

‘Not good?

He shook his head. ‘Too good, too much.’ Stone chips in his throat. ‘I won’t last if you do that.’

Lasting? That just went out the window. He watched her tongue slide over her lips.

‘You could try sitting on me?’ Just an idea, he tossed out.

‘Maybe I will.’ The trembling of her torso the only giveaway that she wasn’t completely in control.

Climbing onto the sofa, placing one foot either side of him, the scent of hot sex engulfing him as she lowered herself to crouch over him. Natural blonde too. His stomach gyrated as her legs opened.

One moment to sheathe himself, then reaching up, he slipped her bra cups down, to leave her breasts jutting gloriously above his head.

‘Hands away!’ Shooting him a blurry half-smile, she pushed his wrist, pinned his hand back onto the sofa. ‘No touching. It’s more fun. Just this once.’

Not even minding she was bossing him around, as she nudged down onto the tip of him. One high-voltage zap. Wet, slick, sticky. Plunging deep, he groaned, as she impaled herself on his length. Then, as she dipped forward, her breast grazed his cheek. Opening his mouth, he captured the nipple she offered. Clamped it between his lips, ravaging with his tongue as she weakened against him, mewing. The throb of his penis excruciating as her muscles clamped onto him. Gently placing a hand each side of her hips to slide her up and down the tower of his erection.

Slowly at first. Aching to hang on here, vibrating to burst into her. Then building as she took over. Riding him, tearing at his shoulders, pounding as she thrashed above him, moaning as she writhed. Grinding him, milking him, extracting her pleasure, her eyes half closed, her half-smile merged onto a moan that sent him into orbit.

‘Coming…’

One sharp cry as she rose, threw back her head, and screwed her pelvis hard down on him. The view of her breasts jutting above him, disintegrated as his final thrust came. One huge surge of ecstatic acceleration propelled him, and his world shattered as he shot into her with the force of a tidal wave.