No Strings Attached (29 page)

Aroused and anxious, she clutched his bare shoulders, needing stability. The hair on her nape and on her arms tingled as if she were about to be struck by lightening.

“Let me know if I’m hurting you.” His voice was strained. Hesitation creased his brow. The corners of his eyes and mouth were drawn with concern.

“You won’t,” she breathed against his mouth

Her words relaxed him. He managed to exhale.

He left her for only a moment, rolling over and scoring a condom from his sports bag. Once sheathed, he covered her with his body. He entwined their fingers and drew her arms over her head. Her entire body seemed stretched. Her breasts rose firm and high and her stomach flattened. Her hips came slightly off the mattress.

He appreciated her nudity. His gaze seared her.

He parted her with his knee and eased into her with one slow stroke. A heartbeat of pain made her stiffen; then it was over. Her body accepted him.

He pulsed inside her.

Her stomach quivered.

Dune went perfectly still. She sensed he wouldn’t continue without a sign from her. A sigh of longing broke on her lips. She was completely his.

His eyes dilated and his nostrils flared. “It only gets better,” he breathed near her ear.

The best came with a shift of his hips. He rocked gently, thrust slowly. He soon found a rhythm she could accept.

She inched toward an elusive sensation; an emotion that would fulfill her. Her heart warmed and her soul soared. She now understood what it meant to crave a man with her entire being.

Any loneliness she’d felt in her life disappeared. As if it never existed. She belonged to him.

She was close to coming and so was he.

Sharp pants of pleasure escaped her lips.

Dune’s own breathing was ragged and rose from his gut.

She surrendered.

And his control broke.

Color flushed in her cheeks and she cried out, a sound that came from her core.

The very air around them seemed to explode.

A hard, racking shudder convulsed her.

One last stroke and Dune gave himself up to his climax. He followed her to the end.

Spent, he collapsed on his side and held himself up on one elbow. He drew her to face him. Their heartbeats slowed. She felt in sync with him.

He stared down on her, gently brushing strands of damp hair off her face and neck. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Never been better,” she said, honestly.

Her words seemed to please him. One corner of his mouth curved. “We have great chemistry together.”

“Isn’t sex the same for you every time?” she had to ask. Dune was experienced. He’d been with other women. She needed a basis for comparison.

He cupped her chin, stroked her cheek. “I’ll quote Mac,” he said. “ ‘Sometimes it’s good, other times it’s bad. A few nights you wish you’d just stayed home.’ ”

“I’m satisfied.” She kissed his palm.

“You wore me out, woman.” He rose, then walked into the master bath and disposed of his condom. “Shower, Sophie?” he asked from the doorway.

She nodded. The warm water would soothe her soreness. She’d had an active day between the pedicab tours, her swim, and sex with Dune. Of the three, making love had strained her muscles the most and left her tender.

Bold in her nakedness, Sophie crossed to him. He drew her into the shower and tucked her close. He set the spray on hot and pulsing. He poured her Sweet Pea shower gel onto his palm and told her to relax.

Sophie leaned back against the tiles and smiled to herself. There was something to be said for a man with soapy hands who knew his way around a soft-bristle, long-handled bath brush.

Spectacular and orgasmic came to mind.

She was appreciative.

Seven-thirty a.m. and Sophie Saunders contemplated sex etiquette. The morning after seemed a bit awkward. Did she make Dune coffee? Fix him breakfast? Offer him privacy? This was all new to her.

She lay naked, sprawled across him, her breasts bared, her bottom covered only by a sheet. A slight turn of her head and she noticed how the satin caressed her ass. She blushed, remembering how Dune had cupped her bottom when she’d knelt astride his hips, cowgirl-style. She liked feeling in control. She’d held the power twice last night.

She wondered if she was able to walk. Sex with Dune was both thrilling and strenuous. Her lower body ached as if she’d exercised for a solid month.

She’d gotten up several times during the night, needing to stretch and move around. She’d returned the hamsters to their cage, then later risen to comb her hair and brush her teeth. Afterward, she’d walked around her bedroom in hopes of relieving her soreness. She felt bow-legged.

She wasn’t used to having a man in her bed, especially someone as big as Dune. While they fit together perfectly during lovemaking, they’d compromised in sleep. She smiled over their differences.

She liked fluffy pillows stacked behind her head, while he preferred only one, and a flat one at that.

He slept best with the room temperature below seventy; she liked it above.

She preferred the comforter pulled up to her chin. He wanted nothing on him, not even a sheet.

Classical music put her to sleep. She’d put Arthur Rubinstein’s Chopin Nocturnes into her DVD and closed her eyes. Dune turned it off the moment he thought she was asleep. Sneaky man.

She could live without her music.

She couldn’t live without the man.

His arms now wrapped her waist, securing her to him. His body radiated heat. He was far warmer than a blanket. She shifted slightly and encountered his erection. Morning sex would be amazing, she thought, just not at that moment. She hurt too much. If she had sex again, she would need a walker or a cane to get around today.

She cautiously wiggled her toes and tried to straighten her legs. Her first pedicab tour was at ten. She planned to stop by the mayor’s office later that afternoon. She was very interested in the curator position.

She didn’t know Dune’s schedule. He continued to sleep, which gave her the opportunity to study him. She held her breath, then lifted herself up on one elbow, afraid she would waken him. Her heart squeezed in appreciation of his male beauty. She understood why women mobbed him. The tag Beach Heat served him well. He was one hot volleyball player.

His blond hair was now mussed, his brow smooth. His eyelashes were light brown. He had a small scar at the corner of his left eye. She lightly traced it with the tip of one finger, then went on to cup his jaw. His morning scruff appealed to her. She didn’t care if he ever shaved again.

She found a second scar just under his chin. She softly kissed it. She then admired his suntanned shoulders and the strength of his chest. His upper arms were ripped. His abdomen was defined. She wanted to look lower, to peek beneath the sheet, but she knew her movement would disturb him.

He surprised her by clearing his throat and saying, “The scar by my eye happened when my brother Zane hit me with a rock. Scar under my chin was caused by Shaye. She took karate and kicked me.”

Sophie tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t help herself. “Your family is dangerous.”

“We took each other down as kids, but as adults we’re united. Barefoot William means everything to us.”

“Your town means a lot to me, too,” she said.

“We’re glad you’re a part of it.”

That was good to hear. She never wanted to impose on anyone, but she felt comfortable with the Cateses.

“Today will be a busy day on the beach,” she said. “A number of activities are scheduled for the tourists: stand-up paddleboard racing, sandcastle building, and kite flying.”

“It’s fun to watch the action from the boardwalk if you’re not participating,” he told her. “The unicyclists will be performing as well as the stilt walkers.”

She sighed. “I wanted to ride with the uni-troupe.”

“Backward?” he teased.

“I could’ve turned myself around.”

“Trust me, you’re better off at the museum. It’s safer. I want you protected.”

His concern pleased her. “I’m looking forward to speaking with the mayor.”

“You want me to join you for moral support?” he asked. “I could meet you on the boardwalk and drive you to the courthouse.”

“That works for me,” she agreed.

“Mac and I have volleyball practice at eleven. I should be done by three. I’ll meet you near the rickshaw hut.”

Dune shifted on the bed then. He pushed back against the headboard and sat up. He eased her across his groin.

She winced and he worried.

“You’re sore,” he said, reading her expression. “I’m sorry, Sophie.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him.

He held up his hands, wide palms and long fingers. “I give a good massage,” he said with a smile.

She lay on her stomach and let him work his magic. His hands were therapeutic. There was nothing sexual in his strokes, only healing. He kneaded the kinks from her neck to her toes. Her body went liquid under his touch.

He gave her a forty-minute rubdown. “Better?” he asked.

“Between you and an aspirin, I’ll recover.”

He stroked a finger down her spine, his gaze hot on her bare skin. “More sex means less soreness. You’ll get used to me.”

She rose on her knees. “You’ll prove your theory to me later?”

He trailed a finger down her cheek and his gaze roamed over her appreciatively. “I’ll give you lots of proof.”

She hesitated, uncertain. “What’s the best way to start our day?”

“You cook a gourmet breakfast and serve me in bed.”

She went wide eyed until one corner of his mouth twitched. She poked him in the chest. “It’s toast and coffee.”

She slid off the bed and went in search of her bathrobe. She found it on a hanger behind her bathroom door. She secured the tie, then backed into Dune as he came in. He wore black boxer briefs and carried a shaving kit. He walked a little stiffly himself; the bulge in his briefs was evident. She couldn’t help but do a double take at the sight of his muscular chest. She loved his strength and size.

He looked down on her and blocked her from leaving. He was suddenly serious. “My stubble scraped your chin. I’ll shave more often when we’re together.”

She didn’t mind. The raspberry marks would fade with her face cream. “I’m going to feed the hamsters first, then I’ll fix your toast,” she told him.

“Glinda and Scarlett come before me?”

“Priorities.” She grinned. “They’re little and helpless and you’re self-sufficient.”

He swatted her on the bottom before she left.

Seeds and thin slices of apple went to the Dwarfs. The hamsters scurried around in excitement.

She returned to the kitchen and started the coffee. Breakfast for Dune soon grew into a tall stack of burned toast.

“I’m not that hungry, Sophie,” he said when he entered the kitchen. He’d taken a shower and his hair was finger-combed. He wore a
Spike It
white T-shirt and khaki shorts. He was barefoot.

“I was going for the perfect piece of toast,” she said over her shoulder.

“You’ve gone through an entire loaf.”

“I’ll get it right yet.”

He came to stand behind her. His arms curved around her waist and he pulled her back against him. He kissed the top of her head. “You’re wasting bread.”

He stepped to the side and tossed the bread wrapper into the trash can. He looked the stack over and selected two slices from the middle. The least burned of the bunch. “Butter?” he asked.

“In the refrigerator,” she said.

Dune swung open the door. He chose peanut butter and jelly, too. He took out a pitcher of orange juice, then set the table for her. He moved around the kitchen without difficulty, as if he’d lived with her forever.

In those moments, Sophie realized how easily he fit into her life. She was shy where he was secure. Somehow his assuredness was rubbing off on her. She was slowly coming into her own. She liked the new, emerging Sophie. Liked her a lot.

They’d just settled at the table when her mother arrived. She knocked on the glass, then shoved back the sliders as though the house belonged to her and not to Sophie.

Maya’s timing couldn’t have been worse. The sight of Dune and her daughter having breakfast together stopped her mother cold. Maya was impeccably attired, as always, in a charcoal gray suit and matching pumps.

Her outfit was the exact color of Scarlett’s fur, Sophie thought.

Maya’s face pinched. “I see you have a visitor.”

“Sophie invited me to breakfast,” Dune said. “I just arrived.”

Sophie was grateful for his white lie.

Maya looked skeptical. After all, Dune had blurted out that he was moving in with Sophie, though Sophie doubted her mother had believed him. This was different.

There was no mistaking Sophie’s tousled hair. Whisker burn marred her chin. The tie on her robe had loosened and the top and bottom satin panels lay open, exposing her cleavage and thighs. She quickly covered herself.

Dead silence was followed by a long-suffering sigh from her mother. “Be sure to make your bed,” she said.

Maya still told her what to do. Sophie felt like she was five years old again.

“What can I do for you, Mother?” she asked.

Maya stood stiffly. “I asked you a month ago what you wanted for your birthday and you never responded,” she said. “Your birthday is on Saturday. What have you decided?”

Dune nudged her, then suggested, “How about a pool party?”

Maya shook her head. “Sophie’s afraid of water. She doesn’t swim.”

“I do now,” Sophie said. “Dune taught me.”

Her mother surprised her. Instead of a caustic remark, her face relaxed. She nodded. “How nice of him. Your grandmother always hoped you’d learn. She tried to teach you, but you cried so hard you vomited in the pool.”

Dune poked her. “You puked?”

The memory had stuck with Sophie. “I was six and I’d just eaten breakfast. Waffles and maple syrup. It wasn’t a pretty sight.”

Dune rubbed her back. “You were a kid. You got scared. No big deal. A nervous stomach can be nasty. I’ve seen professional volleyball players let nerves get the better of them before a tournament. It happens.”