Duran, that was.
She and Duran had entered a strange kind of forever, sure as if all of time was a serene, temperate pond so perfectly calibrated to their body temperature and utterly, completely still that they had been unaware of all the wading steps they’d taken to this submersion. In fact, the illusion of infinity was so complete that even her brother’s reality had lost some of its sting. It wasn’t that she had forgotten Ahlan’s situation; it was more like that sense of urgency she’d been motivated by had run itself out on the racetrack of her fight-or-flight response and was taking a breather on a bench off to the side, gulping water and panting as it prepared for the next relay.
Her panic would be back the second it was safely dark outside.
And in its place, a different urge was consuming her.
Across the way, Duran’s body was giving off all kinds of arousal signals: Those dark spices, for one. For another, he was moving around a lot, his boots squeaking as he crossed and recrossed his legs, his throat clearing, his shoulder cracking as he stretched again. And again. And . . . again.
She knew exactly the kind of ants that were under his skin. The tingle in the spine. The flush of heat in the vein that flowed but did not ebb.
She had been hoping he would act on their sexual tension first, and that was some cowardly stuff right there. Such a lame move, as if she didn’t have to be responsible for her own choice if he was the one to cross over and kiss her first: Like if it happened that way, she didn’t have to feel guilty that her brother was suffering and she was getting off with a stranger.
Closing her eyes, she crossed her arms over her chest and resolved to cut the crap and go to sleep.
Two seconds later, she was sitting up. Putting her weight on her feet. Going to him.
Being the one who forged the trail across the vacant yet somehow utterly cluttered space between them. And just as time had become distorted, so, too, did distance—miles, she walked miles over the course of the fifteen or so feet that separated them.
Duran cursed in a low mutter as she stopped in front of him.
“You can tell me no,” she said, “but I’m not going to apologize.”
“I don’t know what that word means right now.”
“Which one?”
“The one that matters.”
Lowering herself down, she straddled his outstretched legs, staying on her knees. Her hands went to his shirt, finding the soft fabric, pressing into the hard chest underneath. When she leaned forward, she tilted her head to one side and hesitated.
He seemed frozen. Incapable of response. Shocked, as if he didn’t know what to expect. He wasn’t pushing her away, though. Far from it. And those dark spices were a roar in her nose now, a dense erotic scent that intoxicated her even further.
As his lips parted, he swallowed hard. “Please . . .” he whispered. “Do it.”
Ahmare lowered her mouth to his. With his level of arousal, she thought he’d grab her by the back of the neck and go hard-grind with the kiss. Instead, he closed his eyes as she brushed against him softly, and beneath her mouth, his lips trembled—until she captured them fully, that was. Then he responded, mirroring her motions, the caressing, the stroking, the plying.
When she entered him with her tongue, he gasped. Groaned. Jerked his hips.
Underneath her, his body was live-wire tight, his palms braced against the floor, his arms shaking as he held himself in place, his leg muscles contracting in a series of spasms. She appreciated the restraint, she truly did.
It meant he respected her in that old school way.
But it was not what she wanted.
Breaking from the kiss, she sat back on his knees and knew she had to do something to get him into gear. The kissing was nice, the kissing was great, but the prelude was not the purpose of this, and he seemed unwilling to be the one to take things to the next level.
Pulling the bottom of her shirt out from the waistband of her pants, she had a stupid thought about how Under Armour had made this thin, long-sleeved body upholstery to “wick sweat” and “cool as it covered” during workouts. Good attributes if you were in the gym or on a run.
Totally irrelevant in this particular hot-and-bothered situation.
Worse than irrelevant.
An impediment.
Duran’s eyes burned as she gripped the mesh, and he breathed like he had a car in each hand and was doing bicep curls. What she was about to show him seemed, given his rapt attention, like the kind of thing he needed to see more than he worried about oxygen.
Funny, how a male could tell you you were beautiful without saying a word.
Ahmare lifted the shirt slowly, not because she wanted to artificially delay things or was having second thoughts. She wanted to savor the moment of revelation.
Except the sports bra underneath was something she’d forgotten about.