Page 61 of True Confessions

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Dylan reached for her waist and grasped the edge of her tank top. “Raise your arms,” he said and slowly pulled the shirt up her stomach. The soft cotton snagged under her breasts and he gathered the material in his hands and drew it over her head. The cool ends of her hair fell about her shoulders, and she dropped her hands to her sides. Dylan tossed her shirt with his, and Hope stood before him in her black stretch bra and khaki skirt.

Suddenly she didn’t know if she could go through with it. Not like this. Not in the bright kitchen light where all of her flaws would be magnified. When she took off her panties, he’d see the thin silvery scar on her lower belly. He’d see her scar and he’d ask about it.

She looked up at him, up past the perfection of his corrugated stomach and broad chest with its swirls of fine hair and hard muscle. Up past the strong column of his throat and chin and the finely etched lines of his sensual lips. He was perfect, standing there beneath the bright light, wearing nothing but h

is jeans and boots. Absolutely perfect, while she had an old scar.

He reached for the button on her skirt and she grabbed his wrist. Maybe he wouldn’t notice the scar, but he would notice she wasn’t wearing pink silky panties. For a few seconds she couldn’t remember if she was wearing her good underwear or getting-close to-laundry-day underwear. Then she did remember and relaxed a bit. White. Plain white bikini panties. They were new, but they didn’t match her bra. She should have planned better. She should have worn something silky. She should have worn something to knock him off his feet, but she hadn’t even known he was in town. “Maybe we should turn off the lights,” she suggested.

“Why?”

He was going to find out soon enough. “My panties don’t match.”

He looked at her as if she weren’t speaking a language he understood. “Don’t match what?”

“My bra.”

He blinked once and his brows lowered. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, my panties are white and…”

Dylan lowered his mouth to hers. “I don’t give a goddamn about your underwear,” he whispered against her lips. “I’m more interested in what’s inside.” He kissed a warm trail across her cheek to her ear. “Inside where you’re soft and warm.” The wet tip of his tongue touched the side of her throat, and he slid his fingers between her breasts to the black rose holding the cups together. “But I’ll tell you what I’ll do.” With a twist of his wrist the closure sprang free and he pushed the straps from her shoulders. The bra fell to the floor. “Problem solved.” His hot hands closed over her bare breasts as his mouth once again closed over hers. And suddenly Hope forgot about everything but the touch of his rough palms sliding back and forth across her hard, sensitive nipples. She drove her tongue into his mouth as he walked backward, driving her against the kitchen counter. Lust coiled low in her abdomen, pooled between her thighs, and tightened her breasts. The feelings were almost painful, they were so intense. Wonderful and overwhelming. She moaned deep, deep in her throat and ran her hands over him. His hair, the sides of his face, down his neck to his shoulders. She touched everywhere she could reach, his back, his sides, and his belly.

His hungry mouth slanted hard across her lips, and he gave her hot feeding kisses. He tasted like excited man. Like sex. She arched into him, into the warm wall of his chest and kneading hands, into his erection. Against her lower belly he was fully aroused, hard as stone, and she craved more, needing closer contact. Wanting the one thing he had, the one thing that only he could give her, she moved her hands to the front of his pants. She unsnapped the waistband, and when she pulled down the zipper, she found him naked beneath his jeans. His flesh jutted forward into her palm, and she closed her fist around the hot circumference of his erection.

A groan tore at Dylan’s chest, and Hoped pulled back to look into his face. His eyes were slits of green and his breath was uneven. She lowered her gaze to her hand, to the dark pubic curls visible between the edges of his zipper and his large penis. She slipped her palm up the smooth shaft and slid her thumb over the velvet head. She spread a bead of clear moisture over the plump cleft, learning the weight and texture of him.

“Hope,” he whispered, his voice rough as if she were torturing him. He took her hand from his body and set it on his shoulder. Then he grasped the backs of her thighs and lifted her until she sat on the counter. He took a step back and within less than a minute he stood before her completely naked. She would have preferred a moment or two to look him over, to appreciate the beauty of his body, the solid muscles and impressive proportions, but he didn’t give her the chance. He stepped between her legs and placed a soft kiss on the side of her neck.

“I want you, Hope,” he said as he kissed a trail along her collarbone. “You’ve driven me crazy wanting you.” He kissed the inside slope of her breast. She arched her back and he said, “Crazy thinking about this.”

He kissed the very tip of her nipple, then rolled it beneath his tongue. Hope’s eyes closed as a shudder ran up her spine. Dylan licked her like the ice cream he’d talked about earlier; then he sucked her taut flesh into his hot, moist mouth. He drew on her as his hand moved beneath her skirt and between her thighs. He cupped her there, pushed his palm into her crotch, and softly squeezed. He moved to her other breast and popped her nipple into his mouth. His hand slid to the inside of her thigh, and he slipped his fingers beneath the edge of her panties.

“You’re wet,” he whispered as he touched between her legs, feeling her where she wanted it most, where she was slick and where his touch made her greedy for more. “I want inside you.” With each caress, each stroke of his hand, he brought her close to orgasm. He pulled her panties down her legs, and said, “You’re wet, and I’m extremely hard.” He dropped the twisted cotton on the floor. “I think it’s time.”

As Hope wiggled out of her skirt, Dylan grabbed a condom from the box on the counter behind her. She kicked the skirt free of her feet and watched him roll the thin latex down the length of his thick shaft.

“Come here,” he said and she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He slid her off the counter and onto the warm head of his penis. He glided himself to her opening and shoved up as he pushed down on her thighs. He didn’t get far before a stitch of pain penetrated Hope’s lustful haze and she cried out in distress.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he whispered, and with her held tight against him, he moved to the kitchen table. “I’ll make it all right. I’ll make it good for you.” He laid her on the cool wooden top and her hand landed in the white cake. The cake skidded to the far side of the table, but neither cared. He leaned over her and kissed her neck and breast while he put her feet on the table and pushed her thighs wide. He rocked his hips, slowly thrusting into her, easing his way further and further until he was buried to the hilt. His groan was a deep rumble that came from the pit of his soul.

“Goddamn,” he swore and he tangled his fingers in her hair. “Are you okay?”

Hope could honestly say she didn’t know. She’d never experienced anything quite like Dylan Taber, and then he moved and it was like white-hot lightning danced across her skin. Her gasp turned into a moan as he pulled back and thrust deep. The heat gathered between her legs and spread across her belly and breasts like a flash fire. He filled her completely, touching her so deeply that she felt utterly consumed by him.

She raised her hands to the sides of his head, getting frosting on his jaw and in his hair. She lowered his face to hers. “I’m better than okay,” she said and kissed his lips.

He kissed her long and deep as he moved over her, slipping in and out with a slow, even rhythm that built up and up until neither could hardly breathe at all. He pulled back far enough to look into her eyes, and his breath became ragged with the punctuating thrust of his hips. Every nerve ending in her body was alive and tingling with warm liquid pleasure, pushing her up, up, up toward release. It built tighter, hotter, the pleasure curling her toes. And then it pulled her completely under. Wave after wave seared her from her head to the bottom of her feet and she cried his name.

She grasped his bare shoulders and clung to him as the walls of her body pulsed around him. It went on and on like nothing she’d ever experienced in her life. He moved faster, harder, pumping into her again and again until the air whooshed from his lungs as if he’d been smashed in the chest and his muscles beneath her hands turned to stone.

In the aftermath, the only sound was that of heavy, spent breathing. Their skin was glued together and neither seemed to have the energy to lift themselves off the table. Dylan’s forehead rested next to Hope’s right ear and his fingers were still tangled in her hair. A warm, fluttery afterglow settled on her flesh and she turned her head and kissed his temple.

“My God,” he moaned. “That was amazing.”

Hope smiled. She thought so, too. He’d just given her the most amazing sex of her life. It wasn’t love. Hope knew the difference between sex and making love. What he’d given her was the most incredible orgasm of her life. No, it wasn’t love, but it had been wonderful. He was wonderful, too.

Chapter Eleven


Tags: Rachel Gibson Fiction