He placed his mouth over her, his tongue and fingers still working, as her body tensed like a coil being wound. He almost came himself when she began to spasm around his fingers, breath coming in raspy gasps until she cried out, “Yes!”
She was perfect. Slick and heated, her body still trembling with aftershocks. And he was equally aroused. “I need you, Mia. Need to be inside you now.”
Her eyes flew open, and a crease furrowed her brow. “Wait.” She’d said it so quietly, he almost wasn’t sure she’d said it at all. Then her body stilled. No more arching to meet his touch. No more soft sounds.
“Mia.” Her name meant “mine” and it was all he could come up with at the moment. Mine. And he hers, if she’d let him be.
“Wait. I’m sorry. I…”
But she wouldn’t let him. His chest constricted painfully as he realized she was going to push him away, even though she didn’t really want to.
“I should’ve had better self control,” she said, body still. “I’m so sorry.”
She’d built her own cage of self-denial and wouldn’t allow herself to open the door to which she had the only key: confidence and trust in herself.
He couldn’t bring himself to remove his fingers from her body as he put his forehead to hers, both of them still breathing hard. “Why?”
A small shudder shot through her—residual effects, or maybe her body reacting to his continued presence and begging him to continue.
“French fries,” she said.
“I’m not bad for you, Mia.”
“You are. You will be.”
“No. I’m not the problem.” He rolled his thumb over the front of her and slid his fingers out, then in again. She tightened around him and her back arched, so he did it again. “Does that feel good?”
“You know it does.”
“Let me make love to you, Mia.”
“Wait.”
He stilled and met her eyes. Her pupils had pushed the irises out to a thin cinnamon band around the edge. She wanted him, it was obvious, and still denied herself. “Wait for what? For me to tell you I won’t hurt you; or even better, that I’m your friend? I could say all kinds of things, Mia, but you wouldn’t believe me because you’re programmed to self-destruct.”
She took a shuddering breath as he slipped his fingers out and pulled her dress back in place. “I want you. I’ve never disguised that fact. I’m not the rose petals and romance kind of man you dream about, but I’m not bad for you, either.”
She sat up and ran her fingers through her hair, and he rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head, staring up at the apex of the triangular whitewashed ceiling while waiting for his erection to recede.
“I’m not programmed to self-destruct. Just the opposite.”
“Really? Why do all your friends act like you are one step short of hopeless?”
She crossed her arms over her ribs. “I am, sometimes.”
“We all are. You broadcast it for some reason and I think I know what the reason is.”
“Well, of course you do because you are so perfect and put together. Organized, successful, powerful, and all that crap. You are so in control of your emotions—or lack thereof—it’s maddening.”
He certainly didn’t feel in control of his emotions. It was taking everything in him to maintain his calm. “You’re deflecting.”
She stood and straightened her dress as she made a frustrated growling sound. “I’ll never win in a debate with you. I don’t stand a chance. Look at you! Even your clothes don’t wrinkle.”
Clancy raised his head when Michael sat up. “Deflecting again, and keep your voice down.” He pointed to the floor indicating the couple below.
“Yeah, we wouldn’t want my ex to know we weren’t up here banging like bunnies.”
He knew she was irritated, but the banging bunnies thing was too cute to not smile. To his delight, she smiled back. She never ceased to surprise him.
A glance at his watch while he washed his hands confirmed they were due downstairs. “You need to change.”
“Won’t what I’m wearing work?”
“No. They’ve all seen that already. For shopping and a pub, you should wear the jeans and leather jacket.”
“Oh, so you’re dressing me now, Michael Control-Freak Anderson?”
“I’d like to undress you, Hermia Lysander Argarapolis, and then ‘bang like bunnies,’ but that would involve your admission to liking french fries as a steady diet.”
“I love french fries. I just have great will power and self-preservation instincts.”
He arched an eyebrow. Then directed a pointed look at the rumpled sheets where he’d just brought her to climax.
She cleared her throat and glanced at the bed. “Most of the time.”
He kissed her forehead—something out of character that felt completely normal with her. “I’m nothing if not tenacious.” Then he grabbed her suitcase from the shower and set it on the bed. “Jeans and jacket.”
She popped the suitcase latch and unzipped it. “Yes, sir.”
Setting his suitcase on the bed next to hers, he winked when she shot him a sideways glance to check out his reaction. “I like that a lot better than ‘wait’.”