Читать книгу One Wild Wedding Night - Leslie Kelly - Страница 12

4

DEAN HAD REMEMBERED correctly—there were some clothes in a trunk in the small, remote cabin, which they reached about thirty minutes after leaving the store. But Bridget didn’t grab the neatly stacked sweatshirts or pants when they arrived. Nor did she go for any socks, though her feet were freezing. Dean had carried her through the snow from the SUV to the door, but her toes still felt numb.

Being in his arms had warmed at least the rest of her up, especially since steam had practically been rolling off the man ever since she’d flat-out said she planned to let him catch her. He’d barely said a word since and Bridget had been too busy wondering how to get caught to force him into any more conversation.

Now, however, they were alone, inside, with nothing between them but some cold stale air that smelled of pine and earth…and Dean’s own stubborn, protective nature.

Not for long. He would not be resisting her for long.

The cabin might be a half hour from the nearest telephone and lacking electricity, but it was no shack in the woods. Clean and comfortable, this was a wealthy man’s idea of roughing it. The pine floors sparkled, the butcher-block table gleamed, and the leather furniture looked like it’d stepped off the pages of an Ethan Allen catalog. She’d bet there was a generator and probably a portable heater. But she didn’t mention that to Dean.

She wanted low lighting and an excuse to demand body heat.

“I’ll get a fire going.” Dean lifted some logs from a pile by the hearth and put them in the woodstove. “You hanging in?”

“Yes.”

And she was. Remarkably, she really was. If anybody had told her twenty-four hours ago that she’d be spending the night in a rustic cabin in the middle of nowhere with Dean Willis, she’d have asked what they’d been smoking. But it was true, she was here…for the next thirty-six hours, at least.

The question returned: what shall we do to fill our time?

Those condoms were singing a siren’s song from her purse.

“Why don’t you just go to bed?” Dean asked, not looking up at her. “There’s a futon in the loft. I can take the sofa.”

Bridget shook her head. “I’m not leaving this woodstove.”

“Heat rises, it’ll be fine up there in a half hour.”

Lowering herself to the edge of the plush, dark leather sofa, she smiled sweetly. “Then I’ll wait a half hour.”

He mumbled something under his breath but she ignored him. Bridget watched his every move, knowing he had to feel her hot stare on him but not really giving a damn. The man was so powerful, the thick muscles in his arms and chest flexing and rippling beneath his long-sleeved black shirt as he worked. He was also so obviously uncomfortable around her. All because she’d made her intentions clear.

In Bridget’s opinion, it was about time someone did. Because Dean certainly hadn’t. Not when he’d been pretending to be Mr. Nice. And not tonight, when he’d grabbed her and bolted.

“So what is it you plan to do with me?” she asked, both because she wanted to know and because she liked the way the tips of his ears turned red when she said something outrageous. Asking him what he planned to do with her—with the emphasis on the word do—probably sounded outrageous to his strict FBI ears.

“I’m going to sit on you here until Monday morning, deliver you to the courthouse, watch you testify, then let you go.”

She knew what he meant but played dumb. Smiling as she leaned over from the couch, knowing her red gown gapped away from her chest, she murmured, “Sit on me? Sounds uncomfortable.”

Dean, who’d been squatting as he stuck bits of kindling into the woodstove, jerked his head up and stared at her. His eyes blazed with more intensity than the struggling flames and his mouth pulled taut. “Just what is it you’re trying to do here, Bridget?” he asked, sounding not only angry but intensely curious. As if he truly didn’t know.

How could he not know? Was he really ignorant to the fact that she was absolutely dying for him? Would give anything to have him, if only for a few hours?

Maybe. And if so, she really ought not to keep him in the dark any longer. So without another word, Bridget rose to her feet. She reached around to the back of her dress, slowly drawing the zipper down, letting the sleeves loosen and slip off her shoulders until the tops of her breasts were gradually revealed.

With a gulp of air for courage, she let the gown go, until it dropped to the floor at her feet.

“I’m trying,” she finally replied, “to finish what you started that day last August.”

THOUGH THE AIR hadn’t changed and he hadn’t moved a muscle, Dean began to sink down under an almost tangible weight on his entire body. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, could only sit in shocked silence while Bridget let her wicked red dress fall away. Beneath it she wore even more wicked lingerie. Skimpy, tiny panties, wickedly seductive stockings and a red demibra that, as she’d threatened in the car, plumped her luscious breasts up rather than making any effort to cover them.

His hands clenched into fists and his mouth went dry. The heat blasting every inch of him had nothing to do with the fire he’d just started in the woodstove. And everything to do with her. How she looked. How she smelled. How she stared down at him with pure hunger in her eyes.

How he’d felt around her since the day he’d met her. Off balance, breathless, confused.

Captivated.

“I know you’re doing your job,” she whispered, “and I know there’s nothing personal about it and after Monday, we go our separate ways again. But we’re adults, we’re alone. We’re here for the next day and a half…and you wanted me once.”

He shook his head, denying that last part. “I have always wanted you, Bridget.”

He could have said more. Could have told her that he’d been attracted to her since the first time he’d gone into the dealership last summer. Or that he’d become addicted to her smile, intoxicated by her laugh as every day had passed. That on the day he’d kissed her, he’d been so out of his mind with desire for her that he’d walked around with a hard-on for two days.

And more…that it had infuriated him when his colleagues had badgered her for hours after Marty’s arrest. That it had killed him to stay away from her since.

But none of that needed to be said now. Not while Bridget was watching him with glittering wide eyes and moist, parted lips. Offering herself. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” he murmured, watching her from below, sitting on the faux bearskin rug in front of the stove. He devoured her with his gaze, coveting the delicate curves of her breasts, dying for a taste of the dark nipples peeking through her bra.

She shook her head. “I’m not beautiful.”

He rose to his knees. Lowering his hands to her ankles, he fingered the straps of her high-heeled sandals, then moved his palms up her stocking-clad legs. “No, you’re stunning.”

She didn’t deny it this time, merely hissed in a breath as he reached the top hem of her sultry, thigh-high stockings. The breath was released with a tiny whimper when his fingertips transitioned from silky nylon to the silkier skin of her thighs.

“So soft,” he murmured. The skin was creamy and delicate, the limb slender and supple. He couldn’t wait to feel those legs wrapped around his hips as he finally plunged inside her the way he’d wanted to for so long. “I love the way you feel.”

She swayed on her feet. The movement brought her hip close to his mouth and Dean leaned forward to brush his lips against the lacy edge of her panties. “I’ll love the way you taste.”

“Oh, my,” she whispered, dropping her hands onto his shoulders, as if needing his support to stay up.

“I’ve got you,” he muttered, spreading his fingers around to grip her hips. Then he rocked her close to his mouth again until he was breathing directly onto the silky triangle of fabric covering that intoxicating spot between her legs.

“Dean…”

“Shh. Let me experience you. I’ve waited a long time and I want you in every way I can get you.”

She said nothing else, but sighed and lifted her fingers to tangle in his hair. Dean leaned into her again, brushing his lips over the elastic edge of her panties, then tugging at it with his teeth. Pushing them down to fall at her feet with the dress, he stared for a long moment, admiring her femininity, his mouth watering for more.

When he grazed his lips across her soft curls, he felt her quake in response. “I’ve still got you,” he whispered, seeing the way her skin quivered and flushed beneath the heat of his breath, the contrast from the cold air of the cabin.

“Good. I won’t be able to stay on my feet if you—”

He cut her off by opening his mouth on her, covering her mound and licking deep into her sweet, wet crevice. Fortunately, he had a good grip on the delectable curves of her ass because Bridget’s legs did give out. She cried out in stunned delight, collapsing back toward the sofa, Dean helping her down.

He remained on the floor. Kneeling between her spread legs.

“If this is how you start, I can’t imagine how you finish.”

He laughed softly. Staring at her soft body, cast in pools of light and shadow from the flames in the woodstove, he murmured, “Oh, Bridge, we started months ago.”

She glanced down at him and nodded. “I know.” Tangling her hands in his hair, she tugged him. “Come up here and kiss me.”

“I was kissing you,” he teased, dropping his mouth to the V of her thighs again. He flicked his tongue out to sample her pert clit, rewarded with her delighted gasp and the thrust of her hips toward his hungry mouth.

Dean devoured her, knowing there was so much more to be done but not ready to give up this particularly intimate pleasure until, hearing her frenzied cries and seeing the tensing of her muscles, he realized she was close to climaxing. “Come on, beautiful,” he murmured, wanting to take her there.

And suddenly he did. She arched hard, crying out in delight as tremors ran throughout her body.

Dean gradually worked his way up her body. Every taste whetted his appetite. Every brush of his lips sent fresh quivers through her. She was slender—not too curvaceous but so feminine she could illustrate the word. Soft everywhere. With smooth lines of creamy skin and delicate curves, every one of which he simply had to taste and stroke and adore.

Finally, when he thought Bridget was going to sob if he didn’t finish his leisurely journey northward, he moved over her and stared into her eyes. “I’m glad you let me catch you.”

“I think I caught you,” she murmured.

“You’re absolutely sure?” he asked, already past the point of no return but figuring he ought to pretend to be a gentleman.

She nodded. “Very sure.”

“Thank God. Because there’s no way I’m stopping.”

“I’d never forgive you if you did.” Tugging him close, she brushed her lips against his, then parted them and slid her tongue out to play with his.

Dean groaned, turned his head so he could get even closer, and explored her warm mouth. Their tongues danced wildly, as she began to push his clothes off him. He lifted himself away long enough to lose the shirt, but when she reached for his belt, he pushed her hand aside. “Better let me do that. I have about as much control as a horny kid where you’re concerned.”

Her eyes glittered, as if she liked that she drove him crazy. Hell, he liked that she drove him crazy. He went especially crazy when Bridget reached for the front clasp of her skimpy bra and flicked it open with her thumb. The lacy fabric fell away, revealing perfectly proportioned breasts.

She nibbled her bottom lip, as if uncertain of his reaction. “Not quite centerfold material…” she whispered. “I might have been, uh, exaggerating about the 34 C.”

“You are perfect, Bridget Donahue,” he said, his voice throaty as he studied the perfection of her, the soft skin, the dark puckered nipples that begged to be tasted.

He tasted.

“Dean!” she groaned when he covered one nipple and sucked it hard, while tweaking the other between his fingers.

“So sensitive,” he mumbled as he played with her breasts, moving back and forth to nibble and suck. As he did so, her silky, stocking-covered thighs lifted and encircled his hips. She arched against him, rubbing that hot, wet center against the rock-hard erection straining against his pants.

“I need to touch you.” She was reaching for his belt again, not to be denied this time. When her slender hands brushed against the front of his trousers, his cock lurched toward it. Dean waited for more of that touch, needing it desperately.

She rapidly unfastened his belt, tugging at his zipper, almost shaking in her want. She pushed them down just far enough to reach inside, then encircled as much of him as she could take with her cool hand. “Oh, heavens,” she whispered, sounding the tiniest bit intimidated for the first time all night. Clearing her throat, she added, “I want that. I want it now.”

Her demand for that suddenly made his whole body stiffen as much as his dick. “Oh, God, please tell me you’re on the pill.”

She shook her head and Dean’s stomach fell out of his body.

“But check my purse. I, uh, made a purchase from the vending machine at the service station.”

“So you were planning to seduce me.”

She licked her lips. “It didn’t take much.”

No, it hadn’t. But Dean simply didn’t care. He reached for her red bag, opened it and saw a half-dozen condom packets resting inside. “Ambitious.”

“But not slutty.”

As if. The woman had lady written all over her and had since the day they’d met, which was why he’d suspected from the beginning that she wasn’t involved in her boss’s dirty dealings.

He thrust that thought away, not wanting anything to interfere with what they were doing. Grabbing one of the square packets, he studied it doubtfully. “I wonder if these things have an expiration date.” The plastic was dry and crinkly, the label smeared.

She writhed up against him. “Just put it on!”

Dean almost chuckled at her desperation. But when he opened the condom and tried rolling it on, he stopped laughing. “Shit.”

She glanced down, then groaned. “No.”

“Yeah. It broke.” When he reached for the next the packet didn’t look to be in much better shape and his attempt to sheathe himself ended with the same result.

“Just shoot me now,” she mumbled when she saw yet another one break just as he began to unroll it over himself.

“Remind me to stop at that gas station Monday and throttle that guy. He’s a damned sadist.”

When he reached for the fourth and fifth and got the same dried up, useless condoms, he felt like throwing himself in front of a train. Anything to put himself out of the misery of having everything he wanted in his grasp…and being unable to reach out and take it.

Bridget looked on the verge of tears. “Can you put two of them on? Just double up? They can’t be torn in the same places.”

He choked out a laugh, almost desperate enough to do it. “I don’t think they’d hold up, even if I put all six on over top of each other and cut my circulation off completely.” Though, to be honest, at this moment, he believed the temporary release would be worth it, even if his dick fell off afterward.

She grabbed the remaining packet. “This one doesn’t look too bad.” The hopefulness in her voice was so damned adorable he had to bend down and kiss her again, slow and sweet.

But she wasn’t satisfied with that for long. She arched up again, spreading her legs wider, looking utterly wanton and irresistible. “Don’t you dare give up on me now.”

“I’m sure the last one is just as—”

“I need it, Dean. I have to feel you inside me or I’ll explode.” She arched toward him, rubbing her hot core against the length of his erection, wetting him with her body’s luscious juices. Inviting him to utter insanity.

“Bridget…”

“I’m healthy and I know you wouldn’t have gone even this far if you weren’t.”

That was true and, despite the gravity of the moment, he appreciated her faith in him.

She rubbed harder, wrapping her legs around him. The silkiness against his back drove him crazy and he knew it would be matched by the silky smoothness inside her. It would be amazing to dive into her with no impediment, skin to skin.

She seemed desperate for him to do it, arching her back so she could tease the tip of his cock, the creamy lips of her sex offering the ultimate pleasure. “Give me a taste,” she begged. “You can come all over me when it gets to be too much, but please, take me just a little.”

The please—and the tremble in her voice when she begged him to take her just a little—shattered the last remnants of his control. He didn’t want to take her just a little, he wanted to drive her into oblivion. So with one last curse at his own weakness, he thrust hard, driving home inside her.

She sobbed in relief. “Oh, yes.”

It was amazing, feeling her wrapped around him, her muscles tugging at him, gobbling him up with sensual greed.

“This is insane,” he muttered as his body wrested control from his mind. “Reckless.” But so incredibly good.

She clenched her arms around him, digging her nails into his back, thrusting up against him. “I don’t care.”

And honestly, at that moment, neither did he. Pregnancy wasn’t on his radar…but a future with Bridget most definitely was. The idea of having her and a child to come home to didn’t make him shrivel up and pull away, it only drove him to thrust harder into her, imprinting himself on her, deep inside.

She probably wouldn’t believe it, but he’d fallen in love with her long before this night. And there was nothing he’d like more than to claim her. Claim them. A future. All of it.

But it might not be what she wanted. So while they were being reckless, going all the way to the shattering climax he knew was waiting for him would be out of the question. While he wanted more than anything to explode inside her, he couldn’t force Bridget into something she wasn’t ready for.

The pressure grew exponentially, being unsheathed ratcheted up the intensity and he knew he wasn’t going to last for long. And while on one level it sounded sexy as hell, he didn’t want their first time to end with him coming all over her stomach like they were starring in some porn movie.

With almost frenzied desperation, he pulled out of her and grabbed for the final condom. As he tore it open, he made mental deals with whatever entity was listening to do all the nice-guy crap he knew he should do, if only the thing stayed intact.

It did.

“Please, Dean,” she begged, reaching for him the very second he’d unrolled the rubber to the base of his shaft.

He was back inside her a second later, mournful of the loss of that blissful skin-to-skin sensation, but quickly losing himself in the renewed pleasure of their connection.

Kissing her frantically, he gave himself over to it, to physical bliss and emotional satisfaction. Within moments, he allowed himself to reach his explosive climax. Her loud cries told him she was right there with him. Again.

The very second it was over, he scooped her in his arms and rolled her onto his chest, lying on the thick rug. And surrounded by a sea of broken condoms and all their clothes, they quickly fell asleep in front of the fire.