The Edge of Heaven (36 page)

With trembling hands, she undid the buttons on his shirt, wanting skin beneath her fingertips, against her palms, wanting to see him and taste him, wanting to love him.

It did seem much like a dream. She'd had so many of him over the years. The sureness of his touch, the feel of him, and the way his body just seemed to fit against hers. None of this closing her eyes and trying to pretend to feel something, when she really felt nothing. No more wondering what was wrong with her that she couldn't respond to anyone but him.

He was beautiful. Honestly, he got more attractive every year. His body, though still familiar, seemed even leaner and harder than ever, and it was wonderful to touch him, to have the freedom to indulge herself with him.

She got the last button of his shirt free and stroked a hand across his chest, all those intriguing dips and swells, those little golden hairs feeling slightly rough against her fingertips, and his nipples bunched in knots.

She tilted her head and covered one with her mouth, licking, sucking.

He groaned and his body bucked against hers.

Emma lifted her head, dazed and very, very happy.

She'd made him want her?

Or was she going to be like all those other women he brought here to this very bed? What had he said?
Just women. No one special.

Emma lifted her head, and he did, too. They stared at each other.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Change your mind?"

"No." No way she was giving up this night, this chance with him.

"Too fast?"

"No." It was perfect. Everything except when she couldn't shut her mind to traitorous thoughts like that.
No one special.

He took her face between both his hands, leaning down until they were eye to eye. "You can call this off anytime you want. Just say the word. That's all you have to do."

"I will not change my mind," she said, and she wasn't about to let him change his, either.

She took his mouth, took his tongue, and when she had it deep inside of her, she imagined him lying heavily on top of her, pushing his way inside, thrusting in and out, and her grabbing on to him and not letting go.

That's what she wanted.

Everything.

He groaned again, and he was hot to the touch. They'd slid down in the bed until they were lying face-to-face on their sides, and she let her hand slip between them, reaching for the hard ridge of his that pressed against her belly.

She found him, her fingers stretching over the length of him, and then pressing her palm against him.

He was so big. She'd never understood how this could work. She knew her own body. There was no space inside of her that was big enough to accommodate him, although the thought of trying was enough to set her blood throbbing.

She rubbed up and down with her hand. He went still, sucking in a ragged breath. "Like this?" she asked.

"Just like that."

His voice was low and strained. He went to work with his hands. Roaming over her body through the clothes he'd given her to wear and then slipping beneath the shirt, his hand covering her bare breast, cupping it, taking the weight of it in his palm. He flicked a thumb back and forth across her nipple, and she came up off the bed, forgetting everything else but that for a moment.

He rolled her over onto her back, took the other nipple into his mouth through her shirt. She slid her hand into his hair, holding him to her, not about to let him go. She ached. Just ached. If he didn't take her clothes off right this minute and come inside her...

"I can't wait any longer," she said. "I can't."

"You will, and you'll be glad you did."

"Rye—"

"Emma, believe me, if I can wait, you can, too."

"You don't want to, either?"

"No," he said raggedly.

"I've been waiting forever," she complained, her body practically humming with tension. It was like those funny purring sounds a contented cat made, like a little revving engine. Zoom, zoom, zoom, zoom, zoom. "I can't," she said. "I can't."

"You can." But he slipped his hands inside her sweatpants as he said it and pulled them down and off, throwing them into the corner. Her shirt came next, and then his, and then his jeans.

Her mouth went dry at the sight of him naked, that tight, well-muscled body, the curling, rippling muscles of his shoulders and his chest, the hard stomach, trim hips, and...

Oh, my. She wasn't sure how he'd kept that confined for so long is those snug jeans. It sprang free now, big and thick, from between his thighs. She followed the line down his chest and stomach, that fine dusting of hair that narrowed into a straight line, lower and lower, leading to this.

He'd stood up to yank off his jeans, and before he could climb back into bed, she reached for him, her hand touching him there. It felt oddly delicate and soft, while what was beneath was amazingly hard.

"Emma," he groaned, all the breath seeming to leave his body.

"What?" She rubbed her palm along his length, loving the texture of this skin, imagining him pushing inside of her with this. She throbbed just thinking about it, and it seemed he did, too.

She took him more firmly in her hand, wrapping her fingers around him, thinking she wanted a taste of his skin, that the texture was so amazing. She imagined having him in her mouth.

There were girls she'd known who thought nothing of doing this for a guy, guys who thought it was somehow their due for simply existing and being a male of the species. But she'd never felt like that.

She'd never wanted to, until now.

She caught him by the side of the bed, while he was still standing, and kissed his right thigh. Her hand closed around his hip, and she nudged him with her nose, finding that even the scent of this part of him was sexy.

He groaned, and she rubbed her nose along the entire length of him and placed a kiss on that soft skin just below his belly button and then moved lower, excited and uneasy at the same time.

She knew people had sex all the time. People everywhere. But really, there was no way that could fit inside of her. She went back down the length of him with her tongue stroking, finding the skin just as delicate as she thought.

"Emma, I don't think this is a good idea right now."

"Why not?" She wanted to taste him, wanted him inside of her like this, and then later... Later she'd have him lying on top of her and taking this and...

"Emma!"

She opened her mouth wide and took him inside. His entire body went tight, his hand in her hair latching on to a handful of it, and she wasn't sure at first if he was going to hold her there or tear her mouth off of him.

He held her there, little ripples pulsing through him.

She would never have believed this could turn her on so completely, but it did. Like when he'd put his tongue in her mouth, thrusting smoothly in and out. She'd latched on to it and taken up the rhythm herself. That's what it must be like to have this inside of her. Like that kiss and her taking him this way. She didn't see how it could possibly be better, because this...

She could feel the power in his body, the strength, all those lovely muscles bunched together and him holding himself rigidly under control and just melting for her. The sounds he was making, the hold he had on her, like he might come apart at any minute.

It excited her, had her thinking he just couldn't get enough of her as she picked up the subtle thrusting rhythm he made now with his hips, taking him in and out and thinking about having him there in that other place inside of her.

"Enough." He groaned, took her by the shoulders, and pushed her firmly away.

He pushed her back onto the bed and followed her down. He nudged her legs apart, settled himself between them, and with a few little adjustments of his body against hers, he was there, right at the heart of her. He pushed inside just a bit, pausing there at the entrance to her body.

He was wet from her mouth, and she was wet, too, from everything he'd done and the things she'd done to him. Embarrassingly so, she thought, not that she really cared at the moment.

He felt so good on top of her, overwhelming, overpowering, overheated, and this was a kind of intimacy she couldn't imagine sharing with anyone but him. She couldn't imagine trusting anyone else the way she trusted him.

"Rye," she whispered into his ear, "I'm so glad it's you."

He kissed her, slowly, sweetly, hotly. "Are you ready for this?"

"Yes."

He arched his back slightly, thrusting smoothly, slowly, stretching her, filling her. She wanted him all the way inside, struggled to find a way to take him there, squirming and wriggling her hips and lifting her body up and to his.

"Careful," he said. "I don't want to hurt you."

"It doesn't hurt. Not exactly. It... Rye!" She needed him. Now.

"I'll get there, Em. All the way. I promise."

And he did.

Ever so slowly, until she thought she would scream. As it was, she feared she'd left the imprint of her fingernails in his shoulder, she'd held on so tightly. He'd rocked, little by little, coming deeper with each thrust. She'd nearly wept in frustration, and then there it was.

The barrier in the end seemed like nothing. One minute they were both straining against it, and with the next subtle thrust of his hips, it was gone. He pushed his way so deeply inside of her, they both gasped and went still.

He dipped his forehead down to hers, nuzzled her ear with his mouth. "Told you I'd get there."

She groaned, thinking maybe she just wouldn't ever have to move again. Not wanting to ever let him leave this spot.

He was inside of her, a part of her. They were in that place where two people couldn't get any closer.

"You okay?"

"Yes," she said.

He eased back maybe an inch, and before she could protest, he came right back. "Hurt?"

"No."

Her body had a grip on his, and this sliding sensation... It was interesting. Better than interesting. He pulsed inside of her, throbbed. She could feel it. There was a rhythm to it, like the one beating inside of her.

"More," she said.

She could feel the grin come across his face, feel laughter rippling through his chest. He pulled back and came forward again. "Like that?"

"Yes. Like that."

Before it was done, she had her legs wrapped around his waist practically, at his urging, and her body was rocking back and forth against his. The rhythm built higher and higher. It was like someone else had taken over her body, her but not her. Like she'd become a madwoman, begging him to finish it, to take her harder and faster and higher. She held on to him as tightly as she could, until her arms ached, and her whole body ached, and tears seeped from her eyes.

He was a powerful man, and it was a beautiful thing, the way he moved against her, the way he seemed as out of control in the end as she did.

The way the waves rippled through her and her entire body went tight. The way she squeezed him in little waves, and the way he buried his face against her neck and his whole body shuddered as they strained to get one centimeter closer, because nothing could be close enough.

She felt him come inside of her, felt the pulsing heat, felt what it did to him when it happened. He shuddered and then collapsed on top of her.

It seemed like nothing in the world moved in that first instant afterward. Like the whole world had spun down to a grinding halt.

And then she became aware of the fact that her body still throbbed joyously, as did his, with him buried deep inside of her.

They were both gasping for breath, and he kissed the side of her face next to her ear, and then strung kisses along her cheek, her jaw, finally her mouth.

He kissed her eyes, her nose. "You okay?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"You're welcome." He laughed again. "I must be crushing you."

"No." She wrapped her arms around him when he started to lift himself off of her. This could not end. "Stay. Stay right here."

And he did.

* * *

She slept like the dead, or maybe like someone who wished she was dead by the time she slowly came awake.

Her head hurt. There was light coming from somewhere. When she dared open her eyes just for an instant, she realized the light hurt, too. Her stomach felt hollow, like it might have been pulled from her body and stomped on by a herd of wild horses and then put back inside her. She felt feverish and oddly cold at the same time.

Somewhere in the very back of her throat was a faint taste of alcohol, and then she remembered....

Emma groaned and rolled over, burying her face in her pillow.

No, not her pillow. Hers was big and thick. This one was flat, almost nothing. What was the point in having a pillow like this, like a pancake?

Then she remembered... She'd gotten drunk.

What a fool she'd been.

She'd gone to Brian's apartment.

She'd tried so hard to like it when he touched her, when he kissed her, which was so unlike the feeling of Rye touching her, Rye kissing her.