“It’s all right,” he muttered. “I’ve got you.”
He paused, his cock high and throbbing in her ass. She felt him work his hand between her hip and the pillow. Then he was rubbing her clit in that masterful, Everett way, and she was keening and bucking her hips against his spearing cock. He gave a wild growl and began to pump his hips in short, hard movements, fucking her even as he was making her come.
“Oh, God,” she cried as orgasm shuddered through her. She ground down against his hand and then bobbed her ass, stroking him, lost in a crazed blur of pounding pleasure and release. After a moment, he firmed his hold on her ass and began to fuck her with long, thorough strokes, holding nothing back, slamming into her again and again. Joy screamed and gripped the wrist restraints like she was flailing for her survival. Her brain seemed to short-circuit. She couldn’t hold on to reason, or fear, or anxiety. Instead, she hung on to the vibrant energy pulsing and pounding in her flesh. It was the only thing that was real.
The only thing that mattered.
* * *
Afterward, Everett released her from the restraints and took her hand. Joy followed him into the bathroom, where he turned on the shower. This time, she entered the large stall with him, all of her awkwardness and discomfort about doing the same thing the previous night having vanished. They didn’t speak, but they didn’t need to. Everett’s bluish green eyes gleamed with emotion as he gently washed her body, taking his time. While he was busy lathering her belly, Joy slipped her hand into his. He looked up, moisture beading on his lips and brow. She took the soap from him, and he returned her small smile.
She smoothed the lather over dense muscle and soft skin, wondering at his beauty, the differences between her body and his own. Men really were a different race—not just a different sex. How could his biceps be so steely, his chest so wide, the oblique muscles like a plate of ridged armor?
She recalled how Everett had been so lackadaisical about shaving, seeming to consider his appearance almost as a tool of his trade, nothing more, nothing less. He took care of his body as a carpenter might keep his tools well maintained. As Joy washed him, however, she sensed the nerves just beneath the surface, felt the patches of skin that sent ripples of pleasure through him, knew on some deep level that her touch moved him—Everett, the man beneath the body and face of a careless god.
Is that what he’d been trying to tell her all this time? That she held this power over him, and that it wasn’t a common, everyday thing?
She looked up at him, awe tingeing her expression. He watched her with a tight focus, and then leaned down, covering her mouth with his. Joy stood there beneath the steaming, jetting water, surrounded by all his heat and hardness, and experienced his kiss like an affirmation . . .
. . . a benediction.
The bedroom felt blessedly cool when they walked back into it. They lay down on the bed, both of them on their sides, her back to his front. Everett spooned her and stroked her body with long, languorous caresses. Desire mingled with drowsy comfort. There was no moment of clear delineation between cuddling and making love.
When he lifted her leg and entered her, Joy closed her eyes, inundated with the sweet sublimity of the moment.
* * *
“That’s my cell phone. It’s probably Katie, wondering if we’re coming for supper.”
She opened her eyes. Much to her surprise, she’d drifted into a warm cocoon of sleep after they’d finished making love. Everett stroked her hip. She turned and looked at him. His smile made something flutter in her chest.
“Did you fall asleep?”
“Yes.”
His smile faded as his gaze ran over her face. “You’re tired. I’ll call Katie and tell her not to expect us. I’d rather stay here with you anyway.”
“No,” Joy said, swiping her hand over her face as if she could remove the cobwebby tendrils of sleepiness that draped her consciousness. “Seth will worry about me. More than he probably already is, I mean. He seemed concerned when I left the house so abruptly earlier.”
“I’m sorry again about that.”
She blinked and brought him into focus. It seemed like weeks ago instead of hours that she’d grown so discombobulated by Everett’s talking to Jennifer for so long.
“No,” she said softly. She cupped his jaw and stroked his newly shaven chin. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I can’t even imagine all the stunning women you interact with on your job, day in and day out.”
He grunted. “It couldn’t have helped that you probably were aware that I’d dated Jennifer before. You knew that?”
She nodded.
He sighed and sprawled back on the pillows. Joy turned on her other side to face him. “Jennifer’s one in a million when it comes to the Hollywood crowd. She’s genuinely a nice lady—a class act.” Joy stilled. He met her stare. “But she and I both knew our relationship was doomed to go only so far. That’s just the kind of thing you know in your bones. It was sad to break things off with her, but I know it was the right thing to do. Now I know it for a fact. So does she,” Everett murmured. “She’s met the love of her life—a guy by the name of John Corcoran. That’s what she was telling me about on the front porch this afternoon.”
“Oh. I see,” Joy said, glancing away abashedly.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Everett murmured, stroking her arm. He really could read her mind. “I’d rather inspire a little jealousy than nothing at all. Are you sure you want to go up to the big house for dinner?”
Joy nodded earnestly. She really wanted to make sure Seth knew she was all right after she’d behaved so erratically earlier.