I'm No Angel (15 page)

Angel sighed, letting go of the tension. The fear. Her fingers tightened in Tom's long, silky hair, and then she whispered against his lips, “I want you.”

M
oonlight poured through the open French doors and danced across Tom's body as he stretched out beside Angel in the massive Italian Renaissance bed. He was gorgeous and mesmerizing, and even now, as he slipped an arm beneath her neck and caressed her cheek with a callused palm, she couldn't believe he'd run after her. That he still wanted her.

His first kiss was tender. Cautious. He breathed deeply, his eyes open, watching her with a gentle smile, just as she watched him.

“How's that?” he whispered against her lips. “Too much?”

“I've got no problem with your kisses,” she said, curling into his body, slipping fingers into his hair, praying that this time she wouldn't fall apart when he got too close. “In all honesty, I could lie here all night doing nothing more than kissing.”

Tom skimmed the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip. “Kissing's fine for starters, but we're going all the way, sweetheart. All the way.”

And God how he wanted her now. This very instant. But he'd promised to go slow. Taking his time, he touched her neck, his fingers feathering over soft, warm skin. Slowly, ever so slowly, he caressed her side, listening to each breath she took, waiting for the hesitancy and fear to go away. Inch after precious inch he captured each curve, each little mole in his memory.

He rested his fingers on the flare of her hip and deepened his kiss. Her lips parted. Their tongues touched. Mingled. And then they danced—a waltz, sweet and smooth and rhythmic. All the while he could feel the tension easing where his fingers cradled her shoulder, could hear small sighs deep within her.

While her senses were caught in the magic of their kiss, he rolled her onto her back and swept his palm to her belly. She flinched. He could have stopped kissing her. Could have said, ‘It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you,' but he told her in actions what she might not believe in words.

His hand merely rested on her stomach. A light touch, nothing more. He could feel every breath she took and they came closer together, grew shorter, heavier, as his lips strayed from her mouth. He kissed her throat, drawing lazy circles with his tongue over her collarbone, her chest, at last arriving at her breast.

A sigh escaped him when he found her sweet, hardened nipple. God, that little nub tasted like manna from heaven, a feast he sorely doubted he could ever get enough of.

But now he wanted more.

Angel could feel every hard inch of Tom's body
pressed against her, could smell his heat, the scent of his aftershave, the chlorine that still lingered on his skin. He nibbled on her nipple, suckled her, and was driving her mad with a need she'd never felt before.

Slowly, tentatively, she reached out and threaded her fingers into his hair. He moaned when she touched him, and he looked up from her wet and swollen breast and smiled.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, a twinge of laughter in his eyes.

“I think I'm going to survive.”

“Then let's try this again.”

With his dark brown eyes sparkling as he watched her face, he slid his hand down her belly and between her legs.

“You're nice and warm,” he said. “And wet.”

“That's your doing.”

“Let's see what else I can do.”

One finger slipped inside her, moving in and out gently, and she couldn't believe the feeling, the way electricity skittered through her veins, how her heart thumped, how her stomach quivered.

A second finger joined the first and then he swirled his thumb over the most sensitive spot of all. She jumped as a spasm of sheer delight hit her.

“Too much?” he asked.

She shook her head bravely. “Not enough.”

“I was hoping you'd say that.”

Without another word, Tom moved over her. The muscles in his arms flexed as he nudged her legs apart with his knees and before she had any idea what he was doing, her legs were resting on
his shoulders and he was smiling at her from between her thighs.

Her body tensed. Her legs clamped around his neck.

“Relax, sweetheart,” Tom whispered. “Just relax.”

She felt the tip of his tongue against her sensitive flesh. Hot. Powerful. Cautious but in full command, leaving no doubt in her mind that he wanted to please her, wanted to send her over the edge and beyond without going too fast and scaring the living daylights out of her.

Did he know she'd never been touched that way before? Or did he only guess?

Tom's tongue swirled around and around and she throbbed down deep inside, wanting more. Needing more.

It had to have been instinct that made her hips thrust toward him when she was certain Tom was going to pull away.

“That's what I like,” he said. “A woman who knows what she wants.”

He kissed her softly and then with passion, right there between her legs, his tongue dancing over her flesh, setting her ablaze and stoking the flame when his fingers again found their way inside her.

Blood pulsed through her veins. Her heart beat fast and heavy. Her breathing was labored and with every skillful thrust of his fingers, every sweet stroke of his tongue, every kiss, a moan escaped her throat. A sigh. And then her entire body convulsed in blissful pleasure.

She felt a desperate urge to pull away, to keep
from screaming, but Tom captured her legs in his arms and held her close, keeping her against him, while he carried her into sweet, blissful ecstasy.

He sucked, he teased; she panted and cried out, “Stop, please stop.”

He rose above her, a powerful man. Chest heaving, eyes black with desire. He touched her face, his palms settling on her cheeks. “Please tell me that ‘Stop, please stop,' wasn't for real. That you really meant, ‘I'm having a hell of a good time and if you stop, I'll never speak to you again.'”

Angel reached up and cradled his beautiful face in her hands. “You do have a condom, don't you?”

“A few dozen, and I can have the first one on before you can say, ‘Make love to me.'”

“Take your time and get it on right,” she said, as he reached toward the far side of the bed, opened the drawer in the nightstand, and pulled out a little pouch. “This isn't a race, Tom. It's a pleasure trip. My very first one, and I want to enjoy all the sights and sounds and everything else.”

He rolled the condom on. “And I'm ready to depart.”

“Then make love to me.”

Tom smiled as he balanced the length of his body over hers with one muscle-bulging arm. He reached between them and she could feel him guiding his erection against her, sliding the head back and forth over slick skin. And then, ever so slowly, he pushed inside her.

It had been so long. So damn long. And he was so big that she was afraid she'd dry up from panic, from the initial pain of being stretched, but
he felt so right taking his time getting inside her, inch by inch by inch.

“You all right?” he asked, his breathing labored, as he buried what had to have been his entire length inside her.

“Couldn't be better.”

“We both could be better. I'll show you how.”

He thrust hard and fast and she was sure he'd touched her heart. And then he began to move in that same way he had played the piano, calmly one moment, then with all-consuming power. His wasn't the in-and-out, wham-bam, not-even-a-thank-you-ma'am kind of lovemaking—or just plain one-sided sex—that she'd had before.

Tom made love. His style was soulful, with a bit of jazz and rhythm and blues thrown in. There was a touch of rock and then the classics, played by a master, each stroke designed to evoke intense, fiery emotions.

This was what she'd fantasized about. This was what she imagined making love would be. And now that she'd experienced it, she had the feeling she'd never get enough, and ask for more whenever and wherever the mood struck.

As long as she was with Tom.

How simple it was to enjoy and take immense delight in all that she was feeling. It seemed crazy, but she laughed, and Tom's intense eyes focused on her face.

“You find my lovemaking funny?”

“Oh, God, no. It's the best thing I've ever experienced in my whole entire life.”

“It'll get even better.”

“I'm sure it will.”

Her hips rose to thrust against him. “Roll over and let me take charge.”

A grin eased across his face, and suddenly she was above him, kneeling over his body, her mouth lowering over his.

She kissed him deeply and lingered there, her tongue memorizing the contours of his mouth, the slick feel of his teeth, the pleasure of his tongue tangling with hers.

Rotating her hips, she clenched her muscles, and as her insides tightened she felt his erection throb. She kept him trapped inside her, wanting to keep him long and hard and hot and thick, and buried in the heart of her as long as she could.

“I like the feel of you inside me,” she whispered against his mouth.

“I kind of like being there.”

Her lips drifted lower to caress his jaw, and lower still, licking away the salty perspiration on his neck. She traced his collarbone with her tongue and slowly, steadily kissed her way to his small beaded nipples. She flicked first one and then the other, just as he had done to hers, all the while watching the smile on his face as he folded his arms beneath his head so he could gaze at her.

“You do that quite well.”

“This is a first for me.” She smiled back. “I listened intently and with great interest while my girlfriends read their romance novels out loud. There were so many things I wanted to do and try when I made love.”

“Feel free to use me as your testing ground.”

His hips thrust upward. He added a little bump
and grind, and a zillion shock waves zapped through her insides.

“Oh, God, Tom. Do that again. Please.”

And he did, bucking her, filling her completely, stroking every nerve ending.

It was amazing how good it felt to be on top of him. She wasn't in control, but she wasn't under his control, either. They were enjoying this together.

Together…because she wanted it to be that way, not because he had demanded it of her.

She rose above him, straddling his pelvis and holding on tight, like a woman riding a bronc gone wild.

His breathing grew hard and heavy and she moaned with each mounting thrust.

Shivers of need and want and desire and almost unbearable pleasure ripped through her, and then she was beneath him again, her ankles locking around his back, his hands clasping her bottom and holding her tight as the pounding beat of his lovemaking deepened and gained momentum.

“Stop, Tom, stop,” she cried, and with her very next breath beseeched him, “No, no, please. Don't ever stop.”

She threaded her fingers into his hair and drew his face close. His dark eyes were barely open, but she could see the intensity there. The passion.

And then his mouth slanted over hers. Hard. Needy. A cry for more and then…

Everything inside her and around her quaked. Her muscles tightened. Her fingernails nearly dug into his scalp. Tom groaned, his body stiffened and stilled, except for the tightness of his
hands holding her against him, as if he were afraid she'd want to pull away.

Deep within her she could feel him pulse. And when he laid down softly on top of her, when he kissed her tenderly, she could feel the beat of his heart.

He didn't move. He didn't get up and leave her. He stayed there, holding her, kissing her, showing her that even her wildest fantasies about what true lovemaking was like were not nearly as wild and wonderful as the real thing.

 

Tom watched Angel sleep. Mascara and eyeliner had darkened the hollows beneath her eyes and the long honey-blond hair trailing across his arm and over the black satin pillows was a mass of tangles.

They should have taken a shower at some point during the night. He should have washed her hair and brushed it out for her. But he hadn't wanted to get out of bed. Hell, he hadn't wanted to be anyplace but inside of her most of the night. And he had been.

How he'd managed to get it up so many times was a mystery. He only hoped they could do the same thing again and again.

Beneath her eyelids he could see the slight flicker of her eyes. Was she dreaming? About him, he hoped, and not about the bastard she'd been married to.

In all of his life he'd only wanted to wreak vengeance on one man—Holt Hudson. Now there was another man he despised—Dagger Zane. If the man got within spitting distance
again, Tom would make him regret that he'd ever been born.

Angel rolled onto her side, as if his thoughts had awakened her. Or maybe it could have been his fingers tracing the curve of her waist, the flair of her hips; or the sound of his breathing when he remembered the taste of her nipples, and the feel of her tongue when she'd teased his hard-as-granite erection.

He touched her lips with his middle finger. They were cool and plump and red, and she opened her mouth just the slightest bit and sucked his fingertip inside. She licked it, nibbled on it, then reached under the covers and touched his abs.

He sprang to life in an instant, and her hand wrapped around him, kneaded him, slid up and down, up and down, before she straddled his hips and, with eyes now open wide, lowered herself onto him.

“Sleep well?” she asked, rising to within a fraction of an inch of him slipping out of her, then lowering herself again in slow motion until their bodies melded together and became almost one.

“I don't remember you letting me sleep.”

Angel smiled slyly. “Want to sleep now?”

“I'd rather just lie here and watch your breasts while you do all sorts of nasty things to me.”

“You mean I don't get anything in return?”

“You get the benefit of me being hard as rock for the third time is as many hours. I don't know if I'm capable of anything else.”

“In that case…”