Perfect for the Beach Page 3

  “Oh. Yeah.” He stepped to the side of her, hoisted himself out, then reached in for her. Catching her wrists, he pulled her up and against him. She fit him perfectly, her head at just the right height for his shoulder.

  As naturally as if they’d been a couple forever, he put his arm around her waist and walked her around the pool to her towel. She didn’t dry off with it. Instead, she wrapped it around herself, hiding her body from him.

  Okay, he could deal with that. For right now. He gathered up his clothes and shoes, then reached out a hand, and after a long moment of hesitation, she took it.

  Cary led her to the middle of her covered patio. Wet and shaded, he felt cooler on the outside, but no less hot on the inside. He set his clothes and shoes down. They stared at each other. With one finger, he touched her mouth. “Chocolate tastes better to me—just as you taste better.”

  Her lashes lowered and new color stained her cheeks.

  He coasted that same finger down her shoulder to the swell of her breasts, visible above the tightly wrapped towel. “Boxers,” he murmured while tugging the towel free of its knot, “are more comfortable.” He dropped the towel on the concrete patio. Everything about her, from her hesitation to her sweet little body, turned him on.

  “You’re saying I’m comfortable?”

  “Yeah. Being with you feels right.”

  She wet her lips.

  After a leisurely, heated review of her body, Cary met her gaze, his expression as intent as he could make it so that she’d understand. “Flashy cars don’t appeal to me anymore.” He caught her waist and drew her close again. “They’re just for fun, but these days I’m more interested in the long haul.”

  Her lips parted, but just before Cary could kiss her, she drew back. Frustration rose up—at himself for rushing her again. Damn it, around her it seemed that his dick wanted to call all the shots, never mind what his brain had to say about it. “I’m sorry.”

  Shaking her head, Nora said, “I have to explain.”

  “All right.”

  She kept her gaze on his chest while visibly working up her nerve. In a voice so small, Cary could barely hear her, she confessed, “I was a virgin when I married.”

  Her husband must have had one hell of a wedding night. Bending his knees, Cary tried to see her face, but she only tucked her chin in a little more.

  “My husband was a virgin, too. What we knew, we learned together.”

  Cary released her, turned his back on her, and took three deep breaths, then a forth and a fifth. Jealousy raged inside him, though he doubted that was her intent. “I can’t miraculously become a virgin, Nora.”

  Her startled, nervous laugh had him turning back around again with bemused curiosity at her reaction. One hand covered her mouth, but her eyes were still smiling. Cary smiled, too. “Want me to pretend to be?”

  Another laugh bubbled out. “No.” She swatted at him playfully. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Good.” The sound of her laughter filled him up when he hadn’t really known he was empty. “I doubt I could have pulled it off anyway.”

  She swallowed, cleared her throat, and tried to be serious again. Rushing to get it all out, she blurted, “I haven’t been with anyone in two years.”

  “I know.” His cock throbbed in renewed interest. Two long years. Damn. Talking about it only made it more real. “I heard you tell Liza that,” he reminded her.

  “Not even a kiss.”

  His brain went blank. Not even …

  “Not even … holding hands.”

  “Jesus, Nora, why?” Cary could hardly credit such a thing. “You’re beautiful and sexy. I know damn good and well guys have been asking. Hell, I’ve been asking.” If she told him she was still in love with her husband, after all this time, he’d howl.

  She half turned away from him, giving him her profile. “At first, I didn’t want anyone else because I missed my husband too much.”

  There it was, the one thing he couldn’t fight—a dead man. “I can understand that, but it’s been two years.”

  She rubbed her forehead, readjusted her glasses. “I was always really shy with men.”

  The small voice was back, proving to Cary that this was a difficult topic for her. He moved closer, giving her silent support.

  “Dating didn’t come easy to me.” She flashed him a quick look to see if he understood. “We dated for eighteen months before we married.”

  Eighteen months of celibate dating? Wow.

  “Even after we married, I felt awkward sleeping with my husband.” She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t …” She gestured toward him with a hand. “Anything I know about sex I learned with my husband.”

  Cary was starting to understand. Two virgins fumbling in the dark added up to a lack of confidence in the sack. “And it wasn’t all that much that you learned?”

  “Exactly.” Eyes still closed, she said, “But it wasn’t his fault. He loved me and we were both innocent, but I just—”

  He stepped behind her, put her hands on her waist. “Did you ever have an orgasm?”

  She trembled.

  “Nora?”

  In a barely there whisper, she said, “No.” Then in a rush, “But I loved him, Cary. A lot.”

  “Shhh. It’s all right. I understand.” He understood that her husband had been cheated out of a lot of pleasure by dying too young. And Nora had been cheated, too. In a big way.

  So what the hell should he do now?

  She was a nurse for an OB-GYN. She dealt with pregnant ladies—the result of sex, no two ways about that—every damn day. His brain churned, trying to muddle out the situation. “Do you believe that I care about you, Nora?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Well, there was honesty for you. “I do. I wouldn’t lie to you.” He was caressing her waist without realizing it. Her skin was so silky soft he couldn’t wait to feel all of it against him while they made love. “How did your husband die?”

  “Massive heart attack. I … I woke up one morning and he was … he was gone. I didn’t hear anything, didn’t know he’d had a problem in the night.”

  Woke up? “He was beside you? In bed?”

  She nodded.

  Damn. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to rush into any other man’s bed. Cary turned her, hauled her into his arms, and kissed her. Not a gentle kiss this time, but one of hunger and need and possession. He hurt for her and wished for some way to erase those memories from her mind, even while he sought a way to claim her.

  She wasn’t really kissing him back, but her hands clutched his shoulders and he could feel her fast breaths. “Give me your tongue.”

  She parted her lips, shyly did as he ordered—and Cary was lost. He drew her soft pink tongue into his mouth, sucked gently, teased with his own and followed her tongue back into her mouth, licking, tasting. Hot. Damn, she was hot.

  The kiss went on and on, sharing, taking, giving. It required all his concentration to keep his hands on her waist and not lift them to her breasts, or drop them to her bottom. It was enough that he could feel her skin, wet from her swim, warm from the summer day.

  Slowly, before he pushed too far too fast, he pulled back. She struggled to get her heavy eyelids lifted, then her gaze locked with his and her tongue flicked out, tasting her lips. “I liked that.”

  She wasn’t helping his self-control, saying things like that. He cupped her face. “You’ll like everything I do to you, I swear. We’ll be incredible together, Nora.”

  Her mouth twitched into a small, nervous smile. “Great sex, that’s what you’re offering?”

  “No.”

  She looked confused. “No?”

  Cary groaned. What the hell was he saying? “I mean, yeah, but more than that, okay?”

  He wanted her to ask him how much more, but she didn’t. With her thoughts clear on her expressive face, she considered everything he said, touched one hot little palm to his chest, and whispered, “Okay.”

 
; Such a rush of triumph, expectation, and tenderness rolled through him, it was almost like coming, almost as sweet. But not quite. “Now?” Please let her mean now.

  Her big brown eyes looked up at him from behind her glasses. She gave a tiny nod, smiled tremulously, and said, “Okay.” And then to confirm it, “Now.”

  Chapter Three

  Cary wasn’t a gallant man or a guy prone to melodrama. Never in his life had he carried a woman to bed. Hell, he was more likely to race her there, laughing with every step. But now, with Nora, he felt like a cross between Tarzan and a groom on his wedding day. He felt like the Initiator of Virgins and it was such a turn-on, he could barely draw breath.

  He lifted her up high against his chest, caught her small sound of exclamation, and kissed her. He could kiss her forever, every day, every hour even. “You won’t be sorry, I swear. I’ll make this so good for you.”

  “I know.”

  When he reached the French doors, she pulled them open and Cary swept inside, a romantic figure to the core. “Which way?”

  Appearing a tad overwhelmed, Nora said, “Um, down the hall, last door on the right.”

  It wasn’t easy, but he accomplished a sedate walk rather than a run. He even kissed her twice again without getting carried away. He didn’t stop and take her against the wall, or on the floor, as was his basic inclination, given the level of his need.

  Her bedroom door stood open, her bed unmade and rumpled. “Wet suits,” Cary told her, forcing himself to logic. This was almost like her first time, close enough that he wanted it to be special, so close he was the one trembling like a virgin—with anticipation. Sopping sheets would add nothing to the ambiance for either of them. He stood her on her feet to strip her.

  She shied away—but he drew her right back. “I want to see you, Nora. All of you. And I want you to see me.”

  “You do?”

  Trying to curb the drumming of lust, he said, “Of course I do. I’ve dreamed of seeing you naked.”

  Heat flared in her cheeks. “But you want me to see you, too?”

  See me, touch me, lick me … He groaned. “Yeah.”

  “Oh.”

  He cleared his throat. “I want you to want me.”

  “I do.”

  Thank God. He angled closer, reached behind her, and slowly unhooked her bra top. The cups loosened from her breasts. He untied the string around her neck and the bathing suit top fell between them. Cary pulled it away and dropped it to the carpet. He couldn’t breathe. Her breasts were …well, they were Nora’s breasts, soft and pale, her nipples puckered tight. He bent and drew one into his mouth, sucking gently.

  With pleasure as much as embarrassment, Nora gasped. Her hands settled in his hair, tangled there, held him tight. Cary spread his hands wide over her back to keep her close. Her skin was cool in the air-conditioned interior, soft and sleek. He spanned her waist, her hips. Gliding his fingers into her trunks, he pushed them off her rounded bottom, then went to one knee and tugged them the rest of the way down her legs.

  Bad move.

  He was now eye level with her belly, or more importantly, her soft pubic curls. She was still damp from the swim. Her scent was delicious, making him want so much more, far too soon.

  She pressed her thighs tight together and covered herself with her hands.

  Hoarse, Cary said, “Step out of your bottoms.”

  She did, awkwardly, her limbs stiff, her hands still shielding her from his gaze. Seeing her hands there just brought about a ton of sexual fantasies. He should have stood back up at that point, but he couldn’t. He cupped her bare, plump bottom, kneaded her for a moment while he argued with himself—and lost.

  He leaned forward and kissed her knuckles.

  “Cary.”

  Holding her close, he used his tongue to trace between her fingers, down, back up, flicking just a bit over the middle knuckle of her right hand. He wished she’d part her fingers just a bit, maybe let him …

  She stumbled back against the mattress.

  In a red haze of lust, Cary stood and looked at her. She now had one hand covering her left breast, the other hand over her sex, and he was so hard he could have been lethal. Holding her gaze, he shoved his clinging wet boxers down and off, then kicked them away. He straightened, letting her look her fill.

  She nearly went cross-eyed as she stared fixedly at his face.

  “Look at me, Nora.”

  After a few breaths to shore her up, her gaze darted to his erection for a two-second peek. But apparently that didn’t suffice, because her attention shot downward again, where it lingered and warmed. Her lips parted.

  Hoarse, Cary murmured, “Let me feel you.” He removed her glasses and set them on the nightstand, then carried her trembling hands to his shoulders. This time when he pulled her into his arms, there were no barriers. Flesh to flesh, heartbeat to heartbeat. Her nipples rubbed his ribs, her thighs shifted against his. His swollen cock nudged against her silky belly.

  He felt cocooned in her softness, her musky female scent, her timidity and sex appeal. He closed his eyes and pressed his face into her throat, overcome with emotions he’d never dealt with before. He wanted to ravish her. He wanted to absorb her into himself.

  He had to keep his head to ensure she enjoyed this. He wanted her to see how wonderful their lovemaking would be. He wanted her to crave more, of him and the pleasure he’d give her.

  Taking her mouth with premeditated tenderness, Cary lowered them both to the bed. For long minutes, he just kissed her, sometimes rolling on top of her so she could become accustomed to his weight, sometimes turning so she was atop him, letting her move as she pleased. He kissed her gently, not so gently, deep and slow, wild and wet. But he kept his hands on safe ground—her shoulders, her waist. He held her face, smoothed her hair, teased her nape. And when she was quivering, filling his head with small gasps and making him nuts with the way she writhed against him, he laid her on her back and cupped her breasts.

  She arched, firming his hold, giving him more. She was firm, round, and so damn soft. Cary kissed his way down her throat, her chest, until his mouth again closed over one taut nipple.

  “Oh God.”

  Her fingers held his skull, drawing him closer, encouraging him. With leisurely intent, he suckled one nipple while plying the other with his thumb. He shook worse than she did. Restraint, he discovered, was not an easy thing. In fact, it was pure hell. Especially now, because he’d never suffered this level of burning lust before. And here he’d thought he knew all about it. Damn, but it was different with Nora. Hotter and sweeter, so intense. His whole body strained to be closer, to be inside her.

  He knew he wouldn’t be able to wait much longer, and he needed to know if she was ready. He pressed his hand between their bodies, low on her belly, his fingers splayed. She didn’t freeze up on him. In fact, she squirmed, trying to get his fingers where she wanted them. Cary lifted up and looked at her face. Eyes closed, head tilted back, she appeared wanton and ready. Utterly beautiful.

  “You’ll like this,” he told her. With the heel of his palm pressed to the top of her mound, he petted her with his fingertips, slow, easy, gentle. Just stroking.

  She moaned and lifted her hips.

  With his middle finger, he parted her—and felt her distended clitoris, ripe and ready, so sensitive. She was creamy wet, swollen, very near the edge. Heat raged through him. He locked his jaw, tensed his shoulders against the driving need, and stroked with just one fingertip, teasing, easing her deeper into the moment.

  “Cary,” she whispered on a thin breath of sound, then her back arched hard and she gave a long, raw moan.

  Like a wire pulled too tight, Cary snapped. Two fingers sank deep into her, pulled out, and thrust again, preparing her, widening her. She was so tight, her inner muscles clasping at his fingers, that he knew he’d die when he got inside her.

  Before he even knew what he was doing, he was over her, catching her knees, pulling her legs apart. He c
ouldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—hell, he couldn’t even see straight. But he felt her small frantic hands, dragging him down so she could kiss and lick his mouth, her silken thighs wrapping tight around him.

  Blindly, he positioned himself and thrust hard.

  She bowed beneath him, crying out but clinging to him, adding to the urgency. Cary pressed, retreated, pressed until he was buried deep, as deep as he could go. He rode her hard, no rubber, no soft sex words, just savage, pounding need. Less than a shameful minute later he was coming, so hard and long that he shouted at his release, his head thrown back like a wild man, his hands knotted tight into the sheets beneath her, every muscle straining.

  When the spasms finally left him long moments later, he fell heavily onto her, incoherent, damn near unconscious. He thought he might have been breathing, but he wasn’t sure. Little sparks of pleasure continued to snap inside him, making him twitchy.

  An indeterminable amount of time passed before he became aware of Nora’s nose touching his shoulder, her deep inhalations, the restless way she moved beneath him.

  Oh shit!

  He’d just mauled her.

  Ravaged her.

  She hadn’t come at all, at least not that he’d noticed amid all his shouting and groaning and straining. He had, though. Hell, he’d blown like Mt. Vesuvius after an extended dry spell.

  And he hadn’t worn a rubber. Oh shit, oh shit.

  Cary swallowed. Sit up, he told himself, but he didn’t move. He wasn’t sure he could move yet.

  And then Nora whispered, “You smell so good,” and she nuzzled her nose against his sweaty shoulder again.

  With Herculean effort, Cary rolled to the side of her. Or maybe it was more that he flopped like a half-dead fish. Nora didn’t follow. She didn’t move at all. She just stared at the ceiling—and the damn silence suffocated him.

  Cary waited for his heart to slow just a bit more, then he choked down his embarrassment and said, “Yeah, uh, that didn’t go quite like I planned.”