Chapter 10
As Ace stared into Stephanie’s chestnut gaze he was still trying to convince himself that this was real and not a dream. That she really had shown up on his porch, come inside, and told him that she wanted to have sex. With him. And now she was staring at him with the look he’d told her made him want to do things he couldn’t, except now he could.
So why was he hesitating? Probably for the same reason he’d walked out her door earlier, because he was leaving tomorrow. Even though she’d made it clear that this was what she wanted, there was still a niggling feeling that this was too much, too soon. But he also wanted this more than he ever knew it was possible to want something.
This wasn’t a situation he’d ever been in before. Conflict had never been a factor when it came to sex. He’d always been upfront and open with his partners. They’d always been on the same page. That wasn’t the case with Stephanie. She was asking for them to have sex and he wanted more. He wanted to date her, to see where whatever was happening between them could lead. If her less than enthusiastic response to having dinner with him was any indication, she didn’t. He wanted to push the issue and make sure it was clear that this was special to him, that she was special to him, but he didn’t want to scare her off.
Before he was able to resolve the tug of war his hormones and heart were having over what the right thing to do was, Stephanie enticed him over the “this is happening” line. His hands dropped to his side as she lifted her T-shirt up and over her head, letting it drop to the ground beside her. Beneath her shirt she wore a simple white lace bra. The outline of her rosy nipple was visible through the delicate material and the erotic sight stole his breath away.
When she reached for her sweats he noticed that her hands were shaking. He stopped her, covering her hands with his. She trembled beneath his touch.
“You’re shaking.” He knew he was pointing out the obvious, but for some reason those were the words that came out of his mouth.
“I know.” Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
If she was having second thoughts, he needed her to know that nothing had to happen tonight. “We don’t have to—”
“No, yes,” she didn’t let him finish his thought, blurting out, “I’m just…I’m fine. I want to.”
He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face at her eagerness.
“I mean, but if you don’t want to—”
“I want to,” he gritted out.
She nodded, but didn’t look convinced.
Any reluctance that he’d had vanished when faced with her uncertainty. A sense of urgency swelled in him to erase any doubt she could possibly have. This was a show-not-tell situation.
Moving her still trembling hands to her sides he finished what she’d started. Slowly he slid her sweats down, letting the back of his knuckles brush against her soft skin as he did. Her hand rested on his shoulder as she stepped out with first her right, then her left foot. His eyes were drawn to her creamy skin. Her legs were smooth, and to him they looked as if they glowed with a light of their own. They didn’t even look real—it was as if he was suddenly inside of a fantasy. He had to touch them to make sure this wasn’t just an incredible wet dream.
He placed his palms to the outside of her thighs and moved them slowly and deliberately down the sexy, soft slope of her leg. A moan rumbled low in his throat. She was definitely real. This was real. He wasn’t imagining it. He knew that for sure, because touching her was so much better than he’d ever imagined. He was a smart guy, but never in a million years would his brain have been able to dream up something as perfect as Stephanie’s legs.
When his hands reached her knees, he slid one of his arms behind them and the other behind her back. He swooped her up into his arms in one smooth, quick motion. Her eyes widened and her arms snaked around his neck. The expression on her face was pure delight. Pride welled up in his chest at having put that expression there, and it was a feeling that was foreign to him. He wasn’t used to feeling territorial when it came to women. The only thought he’d ever had on the topic of making them smile was that it was better than making them pissed. He’d never had this testosterone-fueled kind of pride at putting a smile on the face of this woman, his woman.
Yeah. That’s how he thought of her. Not consciously, of course. He wasn’t delusional. He realized that, in the real world, in no sense of the word was she his—unless you counted her being his neighbor. She wasn’t his girlfriend, or even his date…yet. She certainly wasn’t his woman. But that’s how it felt in his heart, and in the deepest recesses of his caveman brain. He thought of her as his.
Carrying her perfect form, he stepped over to the couch and set her gently down on it.
“Don’t you want to go to the bedroom?” she asked, her brows knit together.
“I can’t wait that long,” he said, his voice strangled. His eyes raked up and down her body, devouring every angle and curve of her. The soft and heavy red waves that fell over her delicate neck and shoulders, the full, round curve of her breasts, the smooth, flat expanse of her belly, the feminine curve of her hips where the hem of her delicate lace panties rested. Every single bit of it perfection.
Lowering his head he took one of her stiff pink nipples in his mouth. Swirling his tongue in hot circles, he reveled in the rough friction of the lace against it. He used the texture of the fabric as he licked her, manipulating it to rub against her sensitive peaks and intensify the sensations he was giving her. He felt her muscles bunching and tensing under his palms as his hands roamed the exposed skin of her torso and he heard her desperate moans. He felt her hands clench and bunch up in the hair at the back of his head, urging him further south.
The pleasure she was feeling—that he was making her feel—was evident in every tiny movement of her body, every small noise that escaped her, every micro expression that flashed across her face.
“Don’t stop,” she instructed breathlessly.
Again, thundering pride rushed through him. Carnal need flooded his body. He’d never felt this primal, this savage.
He moved his head further down and pressed his lips to her belly, kissing the tender flesh there. She moaned and fisted her fingers in his hair. The sting shot straight to his dick making it throb with need.
As much as he wanted to ravage her, to mark every inch of her as his, he made himself go slow. Taking his time, he continued his sensual journey even lower. His lips brushed over each of her hipbones as he used his hands to spread her legs farther apart. He could see that she was already wet from the way that the lace in between her legs was a little darker than the lace on the rest of her panties. He smiled. He liked that. But he could do even better. He was going to make sure that she got even wetter before he touched her there.
He started by running his hands gently up and down her outer thighs, so softly, as if he were trailing his fingers through the surface of a still pond and trying to make as few ripples as possible. He cared about showing her that he was making love to her—another thing that was new to him. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about giving the women he was with pleasure, he did. But, by the same token, he also didn’t usually care about the rhythm of the encounter, the buildup, the emotion or about creating an unforgettable experience.
With Stephanie, that was all he cared about.