Unwrapped Read online

  He took the key out of his pocket—an actual key, not a card. It had been a while since he’d stayed in a place that had keys. He shoved it into the lock, turning it and pushing the door open.

  “It’s pretty nice,” he said, holding the door while Sarah made her way into the living area.

  The bed was upstairs, on a loft floor that offered great views of the lake. Maybe he could use the views as a selling point to get her up the stairs quickly. Of course, it was dark. And if Sarah was really after what she claimed to be after, he shouldn’t need a line.

  “Not at all.” She sucked in a deep breath, her petite shoulders rising and falling with the motion. Then she turned to face him. “Is there any point in making conversation or will it just compound the awkward?”

  “What’s your theory?”

  “I find it all less awkward when you kiss me. Which means maybe we should head that direction rather than conversing.”

  He wasn’t going to turn down a request like that. Because she had the pinkest, ripest lips he’d ever seen, and they tasted like a little bit of heaven. Funny, since the thoughts they gave him most certainly put him on a downward slide to hell.

  He leaned in and tasted her, tracing the outline of her perfect mouth with his tongue. He felt her shiver beneath him, a little sound escaping. Shock. Arousal.

  When he pulled away, she was looking at him, eyes glittering and round. Yes, shock was definitely a part of the sound she’d made. And right now, her eyes were telegraphing a hell of a lot of emotion. Emotion he wasn’t ready or able to deal with.

  He didn’t want to talk. The only way he wanted to connect was physically.

  He was an asshole, and he knew it. But he was way too tired to have anything more than this. And this—this felt like a lot to him. Two damn years without sex. And in the years before the total sex ban, he and his ex hadn’t exactly been burning up the sheets. She would humor him on occasion, and some of the time . . . he was just doing the same for her.

  Sometimes making an effort to touch someone you didn’t like anymore was worse than having no sex at all. More disconnected than a one-night stand and about a million times more depressing.

  This at least felt fresh and new. Didn’t feel stained by the same kind of ugliness that had tarred his marriage.

  As long as he looked at her mouth and not her eyes, everything would be okay.

  He kissed her again, deeper this time, pulling her into his embrace, against his chest, running his hands down over her curves, down to her ass. Round, perfect. The dress was a crime against humanity. It didn’t even give him a hint that her butt would be this nice.

  He wondered what lies it was telling about her breasts. And he decided to find out. This was a one-night stand, after all, which meant it was about one thing. It was about getting what they wanted, what turned them on. It was about getting off.

  And he was so ready to get off.

  He slid his hand down her leg, to the hem of her dress, and gripped the fabric, bunching it upward and tugging it up over her head in one smooth motion.

  She stepped back, eyes bigger now, cheeks flushed. Her red hair was tumbled around her, her breathing ragged, full, creamy breasts, breasts that hideous dress had done a good job at concealing, rising with the motion.

  She was soft. Curvy. Her stomach was slightly rounded, her hips generous. But those panties had to go. Black, plain, and hitting just below her belly button. They were, to the part of her he wanted most, what the dress had been to the rest of her body.

  “Take your bra off, baby,” he said, his voice rough. The bra first—there was an order to this. Like saving the very best bite of a rich dessert for last.

  She flushed a deeper shade of red, one that nearly matched her hair, and wrapped her arms around her waist. “That’s weird,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Baby. No one has ever called me . . . baby.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “No, I . . . I do. It makes me feel . . . like not me. I like that. You make me feel like I’m not me.”

  She still didn’t make a move toward taking off the bra. “Do you want me to do it?”

  She bit her lip and nodded. “Everything is better when you touch me.”

  So he did. He bent and kissed her, cupping her chin in his hand as he reached around behind her and undid the clasp on her bra, letting it all loose.

  “Let me see you,” he said, releasing his hold on her and pushing the garment down her arms and to the floor.

  Ms. Sarah-Just-Sarah slowly lowered her arms and stood before him, blushing like an innocent. And it was the sexiest damn thing he’d ever seen. Pale, soft skin, tight raspberry nipples. Two years since he’d seen a pair of bare breasts in person.

  It had been worth the wait.

  “Do you need me to do your panties too?”

  She nodded, silent, her eyes on him, big and bright and unblinking. As if she was afraid she might miss something. He’d never had a woman look at him like that. Like he was a foreign entity. Fascinating and maybe a little terrifying.

  For some reason, it stoked the fire burning in his gut. Made the flames go higher.

  ***

  Sarah’s heart was beating so fast she thought she was in potential danger of some kind of medical episode. She was topless in front of a man she’d just met a half hour ago. And she was about to be naked in front of him.

  Walker advanced on her again, his big hands moving around her, pulling her into his embrace, fingers sliding beneath the waistband of her underwear, cupping her bottom as he pushed the cotton down her legs and to the ground.

  They were the sexiest pair of underwear she had. And mainly they were sexy because they weren’t white or didn’t have pink rosebuds on them. She was suddenly very conscious of how unsexy everything she’d been wearing was, as if blinders had been torn violently from her eyes. And she had to face the reality of what she was presenting to him: a modest black dress and panties cut to match.

  But Walker didn’t seem to have a problem with her. In fact, he was staring at her, his dark eyes intent on her breasts and now . . . lower. Oh gosh. Oh gosh.

  Now she really wanted to cover up. But at the same time, she never, ever wanted him to stop looking at her. Because the way he was looking at her . . . it was the strangest thing. She felt different. She felt beautiful.

  She felt wanted. Not tolerated. Wanted.

  So she didn’t cover up. Instead, she looked right in his eyes. “Your turn.”

  He smiled. Oh, Lord, that was a wicked smile. Just one side of his mouth quirked upward, a dark brow mimicking the motion. The man was walking, half-smiling temptation.

  And he obliged.

  He tugged his tight black shirt up over his head, his muscles shifting with the motion. And there were lots of muscles. Lots and lots.

  His chest, his stomach. It all rippled.

  She’d never given much thought to chest hair. She’d never considered herself for or against. But looking at Walker’s lean physique of muscles dusted with dark hair, she was now firmly in favor.

  His jeans sat so low on his hips it was indecent, showing lines that led down to a part of his body she was getting increasingly nervous about. She could see the bulge in his jeans, see clear signs of his arousal.

  She took a deep, shaking breath. It was for her. The arousal was for her. That realization helped to offset any nerves.

  And heck, not only was the arousal for her—this whole night was for her. He was for her. Merry Christmas to Sarah. A bit in advance, but it was kind of fun getting a package early.

  She nearly laughed at her own double entendre. She never made jokes like that. Her friend Lucy was starting to influence her in quite a few ways. Without Lucy, and her edict that they deserved more out of life than “just okay,” she wouldn’t be standing here now.

  He put his hands on his big belt buckle and she forgot how to breathe. That was most certainly a big, big . . . belt buckle.

  She co
uldn’t take her eyes off of those hands, so large and masculine. He undid the buckle, then the snap on his jeans, and slowly drew the zipper down. She’d never seen a naked man before. She’d seen diagrams. Drawings. Not of erect men, though.

  She was so innocent it was horrible.

  But then, this was why the virginity had to be lost.

  And then he was pushing his jeans and underwear down, his body on display for her, his arousal on display for her.

  And she forgot to be nervous. She forgot to be afraid at all. Because this man, this man who was more beautiful than any other man she’d ever seen, was hard for her.

  “Now let’s go to bed,” he said.

  Chapter Three

  Sarah took a deep breath and started up the stairs that led to the loft bedroom. She was very aware of Walker’s eyes on her, on her naked body as she climbed the stairs.

  She was suddenly wishing she had less pie in her life and more sit-ups. Because Walker clearly had the sit-ups. She had a little layer where marionberry tarts went to stay and insulate her for the harsh Silver Creek winters.

  Practical, but not sexy.

  Still, she persevered.

  She could hear his steps behind hers, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. When she made it to the bed, she put her knee in the center of it and climbed on, then slowly turned to face him, propped up on her knees.

  He was advancing toward her now, a predator, his dark eyes locked on hers.

  And for the first time she seriously questioned her sanity.

  “Condoms,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I have them down in my purse. I left them downstairs. Unless . . . do you have them?” He must. He was a paragon of male sexuality—surely he did the condom-in-his-wallet thing. Even she knew men did that.

  “I don’t have any. I’m damn glad you do,” he said. He shook his head and turned, moving quickly down the stairs.

  And she watched the view. Acclimated to seeing a man naked. This man.

  He returned with her purse in hand, and the sight of this muscular, very masculine man carrying her little black purse out in front of him like it might bite him forced a giggle up her throat and through her lips.

  She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”

  “What?”

  “For laughing.”

  “Laughing during sex is half the fun.” He put her purse on the bed and she approached it, digging for the little makeup case she’d stuffed four condoms into earlier.

  “Oh. I didn’t know,” she said, spreading them out on the blanket.

  “You’ve been having the wrong kind of sex,” he said. “Clearly. No laughing. And only four condoms?”

  “Only four?” she sputtered.

  “Baby, if we only have one night, it’s gonna be a good night.” He climbed onto the bed, kissing her lips, and she followed his lead, lying back against the pillows.

  His body was over hers, his hands roaming over her bare curves, his erection hot and hard against her hip. She put her hands up over her head and let them lie there while he kept kissing her. Her lips, her neck, lower . . . lower.

  Oh.

  He sucked one nipple deep in his mouth, then traced a line around it with his tongue. “Touch me,” he said, his tone commanding.

  And she obeyed. She laced her fingers through his hair while the other hand roamed over his back, following the lines of those hard, amazing muscles.

  He moved, shifting his attention to her other breast, the sensations rocking her, from point of contact to down between her legs. She could feel herself getting damp, an ache building deep inside her.

  She stretched her toes, wiggled beneath him, trying to find some way to release the building tension deep inside of her.

  Then he abandoned her breasts and kissed her mouth, slow and deep, his tongue sliding against hers, the friction sending a shiver through her, a bolt of pleasure so intense it sent a flash of white light streaking behind her eyelids.

  He kept kissing her, his hands exploring her body, the touch not overly intimate. And yet, that in and of itself made it seem more intense.

  He put his hands on her lower back and pulled her tightly against him so that her naked body was flush with his, so that every inch of her was touching every inch of him. Every. Impressive. Inch.

  She kissed him back, and she didn’t care if she was clumsy, or that she didn’t know what she was doing. She felt hot all over, her face burning, but not with embarrassment. And she ached. Like nothing she’d ever felt before. She felt empty, like she was desperate to be filled by something.

  By him.

  He gripped her harder and tugged her gently, rolling onto his back so that she was partly on top of him, her legs draped over his, the position opening her to him. His thigh came into contact with the part of her most desperate for his touch, and lightning streaked through her, along with a surge of embarrassment. Because of course he could feel how . . . how wet she was. How much she wanted him. Wanted this.

  It was wanton and wicked and a whole bunch of other things she’d always tried her best not to be.

  Be them tonight. Just tonight.

  She closed her eyes tighter and kept on kissing him. Shut out the shame, chased the pleasure.

  He shifted his hands to her hips and she was suddenly being tugged upward.

  “What—”

  He had repositioned her so that her . . . that her . . . that she was right above his mouth, her thighs bracketing his face. “Hang on to the headboard, baby.”

  She obeyed, her hands shaking, her whole body shaking. She looked down at him, at their position, and closed her eyes. And tried to suck in her stomach.

  “Damn,” he said, fingertips sliding up her inner thigh, to the heart of her, brushing against her clitoris. She arched her back, clinging to the headboard, trying to hold position with her legs shaking.

  He gripped her hard, pulled her forward, his tongue traversing the path his fingers had just taken and then delving deeper.

  A shocked cry escaped her lips, and she warred with the urge to jump up and run in horror, and cling to the headboard and push herself closer to his wicked, wicked lips. She’d known that mouth was wicked. Even she, the world’s most sheltered virgin, had known.

  But she’d had no idea just how wicked.

  And she’d had no idea just how much she would like it.

  Her indecision had her frozen, which meant she was just submitting to the pleasure. To him. To his lips, his tongue, so good. So wrong. So right. He held her bottom with one hand, the other moving up to cup her breast and tease her nipple as he continued to taste her.

  And suddenly the earth moved and she found herself on her back with him over her, dark eyes intense on hers.

  “You have no idea,” he said, his words coming in sharp bursts of breath, “how much I needed that.”

  “You?” she asked, completely breathless, shaking, and unsatisfied. She was very unsatisfied, considering how good all of that had felt.

  And she knew why. She wasn’t stupid. More than once, she’d very quickly and quietly given herself an orgasm to help herself get to sleep. She’d always felt vaguely ashamed, but she’d at least felt sleepy and able to drift off.

  And she knew she hadn’t had one with him. But at the same time, what he’d done had felt better than anything she’d accomplished with her own hand.

  He put his hand between her thighs and kept stroking her, pushing one finger deep inside of her. She bit her lip, trying to hold back the cry of pleasure, unsuccessful the moment he started to slide his finger in and out of her while brushing his thumb over that needy bundle of nerves.

  A little ripple ran through her, the beginning of release, so sharp, so intense. The rest of this might kill her.

  He left her for a moment, sitting on the edge of the bed, a condom packet in hand. He tore it open quickly and rolled it onto his length before joining her again, his lips crashing down on hers, something about his actions chan
ging.

  He seemed desperate now. Less controlled, less smooth.

  And she liked it. She liked that he was coming undone, because she was. She liked that she made him swear, because he made her want to. He made her want things she’d never wanted. Made her hungry deep inside for things she’d never known would matter to her.

  She parted her thighs for him, and he settled between them, the blunt head of his arousal pushing against the entrance to her body. She was wet, and she was grateful for it now, because it seemed like it would help everything go smoother.

  Still, she should have bought condoms with lubrication. Or brought a bottle of it. Anything to make this easier. Her planning had fallen short on that end.

  But he lowered his head, his tongue sliding over the line of her collarbone and down to her breast, sucking her nipples while he pushed home, and she couldn’t think.

  She was torn between the pleasure brought about by his mouth and the sharp, wrenching pain as he entered her body. She pressed her face into his shoulder and clung to him, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to get used to the feeling, to the intense sensation of being filled and stretched.

  It didn’t hurt so much now, but it didn’t feel good either.

  “Sarah?”

  She shook her head against his skin. “Baby works.” She didn’t want to be Sarah again yet.

  “What’s wrong, baby?”

  “You know.”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Please. Just please.”

  He didn’t need a lot of encouragement. A harsh groan escaping, he pushed deep inside of her, and waited. Slowly, the discomfort began to recede.

  She moved against him, the action producing some pleasurable results. So she did it again. And again. And a little moan worked its way up her throat.

  “Good?” he asked.

  “Yes. Yes,” she said, “it really is.”

  He flexed his hips at the same time as she arched against him and her mouth dropped open, pleasure shooting through her like a star, leaving a trail of sparks in her bloodstream. He moved again, harder, then again.