Glass Houses (22 page)

“Never.” She pushed her hair back. “No one ever kissed me like that.”

“You kissed me back.”

“You made it easy.” The pulsing became almost unbearable. “I’m sorry I've upset you.”

“Do I frighten you?”

“No,” she lied.

“Then your instincts aren’t real good.” He turned aside and threw everything on the recliner to the floor. “Don’t say another word. Don’t make another sound.”

He extinguished the lantern.

Olivia listened to him settling into the chair. Her heart beat painfully, and every breath caught in her throat.

The comforter ruck
ed beneath her and there was no pillow under her head. The sweat pants, several sizes too large, twisted around and made her too hot.

Very cautiously, she pushed the pants down until they were around her ankles.

“Don’t move,” Aiden snapped. “Try anything again, and
might not be able to stop myself.”

“Stop yourself from what?” she murmured.

The sound he made was terrifying. An animal noise in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “The sweats are hot in here.”

She heard him rise from the chair. Then he was over her again, tearing off the sweatpants, then pulling her up and dragging the sweatshirt over her head. Olivia’s hands flew out and met his naked chest.

He fell on top of her, his face beside her head, his mouth against her ear. “You should have done as I told you. I warned
you not to make any noise. You don’t seem to sense trouble when it’s coming your way.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Don’t you?” He took one of her hands and pressed it between his legs. “Does that mean anything to you? Do you know about men and danger, and the effect it can have on them? I want you, Olivia. I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.”

“We only met a couple of days ago.” He was on top of her, and she gripped his shoulders. “You mean you want to have sex with me to punish me for disobeying you, or for doing what you didn’t expect me to do?”

“You don’t know when to stop analyzing, do you?”

His skin smelled clean, and when he pressed his cheek to her mouth the taste was faintly salty. “I’m trying to understand,” she whispered. Her breasts strained against him. She felt him all over her, even in places he wasn’t touching.

“Tell me to stop. Slap me.” He raised his head, held her arms down, and looked into her face. All she saw was the glint of his narrowed eyes. “Hit me. Go on, hit me.”

Even if she wanted to, he was restraining her.

But he released his hold on her right arm, and at the same time fastened his mouth on one of her nipples through the thin silk nightie.

Olivia let out a small cry and raised her hips from the bed.

He pulled harder on her flesh, then opened his mouth wide and sucked as much of her as he could pull inside.

Olivia writhed.

“Hit me,” he said, pulling the gown off her shoulder and baring her breast. He gathered the flesh into his hand and pushed it against his face, all the time groaning. Her legs were locked between his.

She should stop this. This was a carnal reaction and nothing to do with Olivia FitzDurham, a quiet woman for whom passion was a mystery.

Her hand connected with his face. She drew back, and hit him again. The fingers felt burned. She didn’t know she cried
until she tasted her tears and heard sobbing that could only come from her. “I’m sorry, Aiden. I’m sorry. No, I didn’t want to do that, you made me.”

“Oh, no, sweetheart, you don’t blame me for what
you want. Why are you sorry?”

“I’ve never struck anyone. The last person I should hurt is you. You’re the best man I’ve ever met.”

“Even if I am taking you apart?”

“Don’t talk,” she said. “Please.
”

If he knew her for a lifetime, he’d never understand this part of her. Sex drove her now, sexual need, repression freed and demanding. “Don’t talk?” he whispered. “I think I’m going to have to. For God’s sake, don’t cry. I can’t stand to hear you cry.” He couldn’t hold back much longer, not unless he walked out into the cold early morning and found a lake to jump in.

“Okay,” she choked out. “I won’t cry.” But he kissed her, kissed her while their bodies strained together.

He undid his pants and rolled away enough to get rid of them. Her nightgown was easy to skim over her head and toss aside. She had the kind of body wet dreams were made of, only he was going to have his wet dream between those lovely legs. She hid herself under those dumpy clothes. Someone ought to figure that one out. The underwear was easier. In the bathroom he’d carefully set the expensive, flimsy, rose-colored bra, panties and garter belt, and pale stockings with lace tops aside. He’d put them where he could see them through the clear glass of the shower. Thinking of her in them had almost made him come right there, only he’d known, even then, that he wasn’t having moments like that all on his own. He believed the real Olivia was the woman in the rosy silk, not the one in shapeless linen.

Soft, yes, she was soft, but she was also supple in just the way Aiden liked—or did now he’d given the matter some thought.

She wound her body around him. Their sweat mingled. He reached to knead and kiss every part of her until she fell back,
still sobbing quietly but only with the desperation of what she
felt.

Aiden left her, and the lantern light came on again, just the tiniest bit, enough for her to see him, and for him to see her.

He didn’t smile. His face was set in rigid lines and his eyes swept her body again and again, just as hers swept his.

“This is too much,” she told him.

He lifted her hips, draped her legs over his shoulders, and said, “Some things only get better,” before he buried his face in the hair that covered the entrance to her vagina, and used his tongue and teeth until her a
r
ms fell from him, helpless. He reached to cover and play with her breasts, and she rose on the searing tide of the climax she both wanted and resented. He could do whatever he wanted, and she was helpless to resist. She didn’t want to resist.

Aiden took her, and Olivia gave herself up to him.

Pushing his head away, she tried to reach his penis, but he was still in control. “Can I come into you?” he said, and she stared up at him. “Olivia?”

“Casual sex,” she murmured, alarmed even while she wanted him.

Aiden leaned over her, pushed her hair away from her face. “I can’t make you believe it, but this isn’t casual for me. Yes or no, Olivia?”

She nodded and he entered, at first with some restraint, but very quickly with enough violence to drive her up the bed. They moved together, but not for long before he burst the dam within her again and joined his shout with hers.

He’d been too far gone to last long enough to give her real pleasure. Next time.

Aiden fell away from her. There had been other times almost like this, but never when he’d been sober and with a woman like Olivia. She didn't move. He raised his head to look at her, but her eyes were closed. Her body showed signs of the roughness of his lovemaking, and he felt shamed by the red beard bu
rn
s. He also felt triumphant. She couldn’t have initiated what had just happened, but she’d become a willing participant.

Or was that his excuse?

They were in a world apart, together, and probably racing for their lives. But they’d just been as alive as a man and a woman could ever be together.

“Olivia?” he whispered. “Are you okay?”

She was asleep. He felt the leaden weight of sexual lethargy overtake him. He pulled her into his arms, managed to pull up the quilt, and allowed his eyes to drift shut. Satisfied, pleasured, he felt the world spin away.

Olivia wasn’t asleep.

T
he sound of water awakened Aiden.

He rolled to his back, slowly recalling the previous hours, so few hours ago. Rubbing his face and pushing his fingers through his hair, he looked toward the louvered bathroom doors. Steam drifted through the slats.

She probably hoped to be dressed before he got up.

A glance at his watch brought him to a sitting position. After eight. They should have been on the road at least an hour ago. He buried his head in his hands. He could smell her fragrance. Something subtle but memorable. What he’d done was to make sure they could never again look at each other without remembering being together, a scene of urgent sex— no, sex was heavy in what they’d done, but he couldn’t shut out the conviction that they had made love as well as sex.

Aiden got out of bed, not without noting that Olivia had made certain he was well covered by the quilt when she left him. Boss whined at the door and he let him out. “Be quick,” he ordered.

He gathered his shirt and pants and pulled the toiletry kit out of “His” box once more before knocking on the bathroom door and going in. “Okay if I get started?” he asked, not looking into the shower. The water had been turned off.

“Yes.”

Naked, he stood before the sink, ran cold water over his head, and washed his face. He considered shaving but thought
better of it. As soon as they hit a town large enough, he’d go shopping for a new look. It was time to cultivate a different face. Keeping his eyes down, he brushed his teeth and toweled his face.

The shower door opened. “Are you going in?”

“Yep,” he said. “Won’t take me a couple of minutes.”

Wearing the pink bra and panties, she was standing back to let him pass. Aiden’s gut hit his spine. Other parts of him ought to be covered, if not for his dignity, then for her comfort.

Olivia stood her ground. If he thought she would run at the sight of him with no clothes, he was mistaken. She liked looking at him that way, even if he did make her tremble.

“Last night,” he said. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. It happened. It’s over. We’re not kids.”

He pressed a forefinger to her mouth and said, “It’s not over, Olivia. You know it and I know it.”

“It’s over.” It had to be, or when this incredible interlude was behind them, she’d be left in little pieces—if she wasn’t already in little pieces.

He moved too fast for her. With one hand behind her back and the other cupping her bottom, he pulled her against him. Her toes barely touched the ground. The stark expression she’d seen on his face early that morning returned.

She breathed hard. “Aren’t we running late?”

“Yeah. Would you rather we didn’t do this?”

He would taunt her into encouraging him, Olivia thought, if that was what it took. She ran her hands over his shoulders and up his neck.

“When I figure out exactly what’s going on, and if we get through alive, I’d like to buy underwear for you. Lots of it. Anything you fall in love with. It’s a passion with you, isn’t it?”

She blushed, but nodded.

“
I may also want to keep you in the rest of the stuff you wear.”

“You mean my ugly clothes? You don’t have to pretend.
You think they’re awful, right? I don’t have much idea about those things—or maybe I don’t care.”

The expression in his eyes let her know he’d stopped listening. He used her mound to push his penis from side to side and gritted his teeth. He carried her into the shower and turned on the water.

Olivia yelled. “I’ve got to wear these. They weren’t dry, but they were better than nothing.”

“Matter of opinion. Live dangerously. Go without. You’ll only be with me.”

And that was supposed to make her feel better? He placed her directly under the pounding water while he soaped himself all over and scrubbed his hair. Suds streamed down his body. His legs were very well developed. Everything about him was well developed.

She considered trying to slip around him while his eyes were shut, but didn’t. Aiden Flynn had opened something up in her this morning, a certainty that she hadn’t known an accomplished lover before.

“Now you,” he said, swiping at his face.

Despite her efforts to stop him, he soaped her, too—without removing her bra and panties. Olivia grasped his wrists and looked at him askance, at his white grin, and followed his narrowed gaze to soapy, transparent underwear that acted only as a stimulant. From Aiden’s face, and his penis, he thought so, too.

He kissed her, held their slippery bodies together, and kissed her until she clung to his neck. Pulling her panties down enough, he pushed himself inside and against her throbbing flesh. He anchored her by spreading his thighs on either side of her hips. The cups of her bra slid beneath her breasts easily enough. His thumbs working back and forth over her nipples drove her wild, and she took him by the waist, used all of her strength to force him to bend his knees, then guided him into her.

“Olivia,” he said, and managed to unhook the bra. “That’s what I want, to feel you against me.”

This time he’d take longer, he’d hold back longer—if he could.

The desperation was the same as the first time, the helpless abandon even more irresistible.