She sat back on her heels and surveyed his torso. His skin was deep bronze in the low light. A few glossy ebony hairs curled at his chest, made a line down between the striated muscles of his stomach, disappearing into his trousers. His arms, though they lay palms up at his sides, were tense, and she took her time admiring the definition of the muscles that lay below the surface of his smooth, slightly damp skin.
“Hmmm,” she said. “You still don’t look all that comfortable. Perhaps…” She allowed her gaze to linger at his trousers. His arousal strained against the fabric and she knew how he must be suffering. “It seems almost cruel to leave you like this. Shall I give you some relief?”
“Yes,” Rafi croaked. “Please.”
She smiled to herself in satisfaction, and deftly unbuttoned his trousers, easing them and his cotton boxers down just enough to free his engorged shaft, which seemed to swell even more. Lauren licked her lips in anticipation, then tore herself away. She bent over him, carefully straddling his body, allowing the tips of her breasts to brush once or twice against him, but otherwise not touching him. Rafi’s hands went to her sides, and while his touch at her waist pooled heat deep within her, she moved away from him.
“You’ve had your warning,” she scolded. “Now we’ll have to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
She took her time crossing her room and opening her black overnight case, sifting through the contents. She found the pair of silk scarves she was looking for, unrolled them slowly, their gorgeous filmy colors unfolding in the light of a Tiffany table lamp.
She turned back to Rafi. “What do you suppose I plan to do with these?”
“Lauren, I suggest you use them to strangle me, as I believe I am about to perish anyway.”
Lauren laughed delightedly. She busied herself at his wrists. He didn’t even try to resist as she knotted the scarves to the iron grillwork at the head of the bed. The knots weren’t tight, and the fabric was delicate; Rafi could set himself free with one insistent wrench of his hands.
She knew he wouldn’t try.
Satisfied with her work, she returned to straddle him again. This time he just looked up at her hungrily.
“Lauren, I shall return this torture at my first opportunity, I promise.”
Lauren licked her lips, considered his threat. “I’ll hold you to your promise.”
She bent, finally kissing him for the first time since they’d parted weeks before. She went slowly. His lips tasted of the scotch and of pure heat, and she tongued them greedily before parting them and taking her kiss deeper.
He followed her lead, matching her explorations with his own, but going no further. She pulled away and drank in his heavy-lidded gaze.
She kissed his throat, drinking in his complex scent. She kissed his jaw, allowing her teeth to scrape the sharp angles of the bone.
Then she kissed her way down.
When she paused at his nipples, circling her fingertips in the soft chest hair, he groaned and arched against her, straining his bonds. She tongued circles around each nipple, remembering how he had laved her to frantic pleasure so many times before in the same way, and then could not wait to continue her explorations.
The taut skin of his stomach was hot and salty, and she lapped at it, then buried her face in it and rubbed, the sensation inexplicably satisfying. The dense hair at his groin tickled her chin, and she let her fingertips trail down to play at the juncture of his thighs and the swell of him below.
Rafi’s moans grew more pained. Lauren played at the base of his shaft, making sure not to touch him directly, until he spoke her name with the urgency she was waiting for. “Lauren, my God, you must touch me now, or— or—”
Lauren did not wait to find out what would happen. She slowly closed her fingers around the length of him, took her pace from his own rocking against her. Rafi closed his eyes and arched to meet her touch, and for a moment she enjoyed the sight of her lover’s beautiful face arranged in erotic hunger.
Then she bent to discover for herself the taste of him.
Lauren had little experience, but she allowed herself to be guided by Rafi’s own rhythm, and by a hunger she’d never felt. His cries of pleasure stirred the longing in her belly, and she felt herself swell with the heat of her desire.
Just as he had teased her in the borrowed car, she pulled back when she sensed he was too close, and when his moans grew anguished she pulled back from him and re-positioned herself so she straddled but did not touch him.
“Are you enjoying this, Lauren?” Rafi asked his eyes boring into hers. “I must compliment you on your…technique.”
Lauren laughed throatily. “Yes, but now it’s time for you to do a little something for me. Tell me, do you enjoy looking at me?” She cupped her breasts, cradling them in her palms, and lifted them to show them off to him. She bent lower, so her swollen nipples were mere inches from his face, and kneaded her flesh gently. Her own touch did nothing to satisfy her sensual cravings — but the expression on his face did.
“Yes—I enjoy looking at you,” he repeated softly.
“Perhaps you might enjoy kissing me,” Lauren suggested, and lowered herself just a little further.
Rafi strained at his silken restraints, and lifted himself to her breasts. Greedily he seized one swollen nipple in his mouth and suckled.
The sensation tore through Lauren with an intensity that was almost like pain. Almost, yet not nearly. She lowered herself to allow Rafi access to all of her breast, and he laved her tight-budded nipple with his tongue, then swirled luxuriant circles around. He tilted his chin and seized the other, and Lauren did not protest. The sounds she heard, she knew, were her own, deep thrumming moans that blended with his sounds.
It was too much. The rest of Lauren’s careful plan dissolved into nothing as she blindly found his shaft with greedy hands, and guided him inside her in a smooth motion. The sensation was incredible, silken heat and an aching pleasure at being filled completely. She eased back, cried out as she felt him buried even further when she balanced herself upright on top of him.
She closed her eyes as she began to ride him, finding ways to plunge him ever further inside before sliding slowly away, quickening and slowing in response to the dictates of some wild script within.
“Yes,” she heard Rafi whisper. She forced her eyes open and gazed down at his face as she moved. When she saw the heat in his eyes she realized that perhaps she was no longer the one in control.
“That’s right, Lauren,” Rafi murmured. “Take me within you, ride me. Come for me. I want to feel you tremble around me. I want to watch your beautiful face.”
Lauren did not even hesitate as she allowed her lids to drift shut again, and she drank in Rafi’s commands and surged against him until it was pure sensation, her own hunger and the sound of his words, and then she was nearly there, nearly there, the exquisite torture giving way to a ripping incredible explosion of pleasure as she rocked against him over and over, drawing heat and energy and life itself from their union.
As the first wave of pleasure waned, Lauren was faintly aware that it was Rafi now who bucked against her, and it was the sound of his cries that sent her over for the second time.
After their ragged breath had slowly returned, when their skin had cooled and they’d covered themselves with the lofty bedcovers, Lauren slowly fluttered her eyes open and looked at him.
“You escaped,” she accused, gathering a handful of shredded filmy silk, the remains of her scarves.
Rafi shrugged, pulled her tighter against him. “I’m sorry. Evidently I do not know my own strength.”
Her slow smile let him know that she didn’t mind a bit. “I could get used to this,” Lauren sighed. Rafi felt a satisfaction that went far beyond physical satiety. He knew without asking that she was back in his life.
Back for good.
“Perhaps you’ll allow me out of my shackles next time?” he inquired.
Her giggle was not the least bit dainty. “We’ll take turns,” she promised.
Rafi thought about her note, decided there would be no better time than now. Still, the words came with difficulty to his lips. He knew fear, the fear of losing her, of losing everything, and he had to turn away from her as he spoke. “Lauren—in your letter to me, you wrote of—”
Lauren stopped him with a gentle kiss, and cupped his face in her cool hand. She turned him back and claimed his gaze. “I know what is important to you. I don’t want to tell you how to live. I will not ask for a commitment today—I will wait while you meet your goal—but I will be faithful. I’m yours when the time is right.”
Slow comprehension turned to joy in his heart. “Lauren—”
He was at a loss for words. She had given him more than he’d ever dared to ask, and now she smiled at him with the kind of pleasure that only comes from deep satisfaction.
“Rafi, this is not negotiable.”
Rafi returned her grin, and nodded. “You are quite the businesswoman, Lauren. I believe you have made a proposal that I cannot refuse.”
Lauren’s smile erupted into a grin, and Rafi’s heart soared at the thought that he was responsible for her happiness. “Lauren, there is something that I must tell you. I am not going to be a limousine driver forever. I was trained to be an engineer and someday I will be one again.”
Lauren’s quirked eyebrow revealed only the mildest surprise. She shrugged her shoulders, then gave him a mock frown. “All right, if you insist. On one condition.”
“Yes, of course.”
“You must promise that we can make love in the car now and then.”
Rafi’s laughed and circled Lauren in his arms, his heart full. “Whenever you wish to go for a ride.”
The End
***
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…or keep reading to enjoy an excerpt from
A Man for the Summer.
PLEASE ENJOY THIS EXCERPT OF
A MAN FOR THE SUMMER
By Ruby Laska
CHAPTER ONE
If this was Junior Atkinson’s office, then he was in more trouble than he thought.
Griff Ross shook his head in disgust, then abruptly stopped when a fresh explosion of pain rocketed its way around his jaw.
“Dag nab it!”
Griff bit the words off in self-reproach. Bad enough that he’d spent the last three months voluntarily slogging through the moldy back roads of rural Missouri—but now he was beginning to mutter like one of the dimwits that lived there.
The dentist’s office looked like Southern Living meets Car & Driver, with a little Antiques Roadshow thrown in for good measure. An abomination—but Griff had vowed to quit being surprised by what passed for décor in the backwoods of this state. After all, his readers loved “offbeat” and “quirky.” Mirthlessly, Griff wondered if he shouldn’t take a few notes; this shack could easily provide material for an entire chapter.
The building was only slightly larger than the service station whose parking lot it shared. In fact, it looked as though it might have once
been
the original service station, a no-nonsense gray-shingled square box of a building with two big wood-framed windows. A moat a mere couple of feet in width separated the building from the parking lot, but this strip of dirt had been planted, seemingly, with every species of flowering plant that could survive a Midwestern summer.
A giant carved wooden sign in the shape of a tooth swung gently inches overhead. Wind chimes hung from every corner, the discordant notes contradicting each other with every push of breeze. Ducking into the shade, Griff noticed some sort of filmy, sparkling curtains swinging lazily in the open windows.
Gingerly clutching his jaw with one shaking hand, Griff raised the iron heart-shaped doorknocker and let it fall, the sound a fresh assault on his tight-strung senses.
“C’mon in!”
The muffled shout was cheerful enough. Griff pushed open the door and felt a rush of cool air on his sweating face. He blinked a few times to adjust to the cool, dappled light inside.
“Hot enough for ya?”
The inside of the room was an even crazier patchwork than the outside. Yard sale furniture shared floor space with pots overflowing with greenery; the floral-papered walls bore a mish-mash of amateurish paintings and photos, dozens of them, and kids’ drawings.
A woman stood beside a tall filing cabinet, a forty-something woman who Griff had to admit, even through the haze of pain, would be rather lovely, if she hadn’t wrapped most of her hair into a purple silk turban and run a silver hoop through her eyebrow.
“I have an appointment with Dr. Atkinson,” Griff managed through his clenched jaw, speaking each syllable with the greatest care he could manage. The pain had somehow managed to escape the left side of his mouth and now sort of rolled around his entire head.