“Who’s Nikolai?” John asked with a frown.
“The Russian composer I told you about. His first name was Nikolai.”
“Oh, that Nikolai.”
Meg laughed out loud then turned in his arms, leaving her trapped between the mandolin and his hard body. It took her only a moment to notice there was a part of him that was suddenly particularly hard, and she caught her breath. Hesitantly, she reached up to gently touch his face.
“Do you want me, John?” she whispered.
He closed his eyes tightly then stepped away from her just long enough to lay his mandolin back in its case. When he turned back to her, Meg saw his golden eyes darken. Then she was in his arms, and he had his hands fisted in her long, silky hair.
“I’ve wanted you since you first walked in last night,” he told her, his voice tight with emotion. “I think I’ve wanted you my whole life.”
“Then take me. Now. Please.”
“Are you sure? ’Cause once we get started, darlin’, I won’t be able to stop anytime soon.”
She smiled. “I certainly hope not.”
With a growl reminiscent of his uncle’s last night, John laid his lips on hers and lifted her effortlessly, wrapping her long legs around his waist so she could hold on tight for the ride into his bedroom. The furniture there was still as sparse as that in the rest of the unfinished apartment, but when he laid her down and came over her, she felt the mattress’ firm support and decided he had at least managed to buy a new bed. Then she couldn’t think about anything but John, as his big hands roamed her body, inflaming every place he touched.
“Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.” It was a chant in her head as well as on her lips, but he didn’t seem to be swayed by it.
“We have all afternoon, darlin’,” he told her, only slowly unbuttoning her blouse.
“I can’t wait that long,” she gasped when she felt his mouth close over her breast. She felt his tongue working her nipple through the satin of her bra and arched her back, begging for more.
She felt as much as heard his chuckle and reached for the front of his jeans in retaliation.
“Hang on, darlin’,” he said.
Shifting away from her touch, he grabbed both her wrists in one hand and pulled them up over her head, leaving her open to his ministrations but unable to reach for him.
“I can’t,” she cried, moving restlessly in frustration.
“Sure you can.”
“No. No. No.”
He silenced her with his mouth, and their kiss went deep as he used his free hand to finish undressing her. When he finally released her wrists, she frantically struggled with her own clothing, suddenly desperate to get it off. She used her toes to kick off her shoes, one at a time, then opened the top of her jeans so he could slide them and her panties down and away. The front clasp of her bra made it easy to open, and he pulled her to a sitting position just long enough to pull both her blouse and bra off.
“Too many clothes,” she panted, tearing at his t-shirt, now, struggling to pull it free of his tight jeans.
“I got it,” he said, pulling it out and over his head.
“Oh, my,” she whispered, spearing her fingers through the thick, dark curls covering his chest. He was unlike any man she had ever seen. All the others had been mere shadows of this man: men too civilized, sculpted by exercise machines, coiffed unnaturally by five-hundred-dollar-a-cut hairdressers, stripped bare by wax treatments, and dressed in silk. She had never before cared one way or the other whether or not the lights were on, but now she was pleased beyond measure that the noonday sun was streaming in through the windows so she could see all of him.
Meg pushed on his shoulders and knew satisfaction when he allowed her to tumble him onto his back. She straddled his thighs and ran her hands over his abs and chest, feeling the hard strength of him beneath the soft curls and knowing there was nothing the least bit artificial about him.
“You are so beautiful,” she whispered, awed as she explored him and felt his muscles contract with each light touch of her fingertips.
His chuckle sounded pained and it turned to a growl when she reached for the button on his jeans.
“Careful, darlin’,” he said, blocking her hands.
“What’s the matter, big guy?” she asked, playfully teasing the furry line that disappeared beneath his waistband.
“Just a little concerned about zipper burn,” he managed to gasp as she slowly slid the fastener down.
She giggled. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
He was sweating, now, and once she had lowered the zipper all the way, she saw why.
“Oh, my,” she said again, swallowing hard. He wasn’t wearing shorts, and he sprang into her hands, filling them completely.
“I’m not sure this is going to work, John,” she said, sounding worried even to her own ears.