Chapter Twenty-Six
When Ross’ inner alarm brought him to wide awake at five-forty-five a.m. he’d been confused at first, finding the small form tucked against his side, the wild tangle of blonde dreadlocks half on his chest, half draped over his face.
But within seconds, a satisfied contentment had suffused his entire being, reminding him of how the night had ended. He pulled her closer, burying his nose in her hair and getting a whiff of her shampoo. The subtle floral-like lavender with a slight tinge of sweat reminded him of home, his real home, where women always did go a bit more au naturel than they did here in the good ol’ US of A. She mumbled something, threw her arm over his chest and hiked her knee higher on his thigh.
He hadn’t willingly slept with a woman post-sex since Evelyn. As he stroked her arm absently, he mused on this fact and how great it felt right now, waking this way, piled together like puppies. The sun was already lightening the edges of the sky, promising another lovely Michigan early summer day.
Perfect.
That was a good word for how he felt right now. As he poked around that emotion, searching for its edges, its limitations, as was his tendency, he found none. It was Sunday and she’d not scheduled either of them for time at the brewery, although, knowing them both they’d end up there at some point. But for now, he was here, his body and heart fully sated after a night of love with this exotic, beautiful creature. She still lay in his arms and that sensation had to be one of the most satisfying ones he’d ever experienced.
Love?
Possibly.
The fact that she’d shown up, eager for him, willing to set aside her earlier tantrum over his nosiness was, to say the least, a good sign. Ross shook his head at himself. Feelings. Since when did he give two shits about how a woman felt about him? Only once, he thought. And he’d known Evelyn’s complex emotions over him and Austin could and would only end one way. A way he’d machinated himself, even though it cost him months of anguish.
Elisa’s fingers twitched on his chest. She muttered against his skin. He kissed her hair again, and placed his hand on her arm—the one he’d bestowed so much attention to last night, driving her crazy with his kisses and teasing up that long line of admittedly attractive ink.
The line of stars he would stop, by God. No more running was necessary. He was here. And he would protect her.
That thought brought it all back—all the confessions and his first glimpse at her sweet body. Frankly, he’d barely paid attention to her litany of abuse, he’d been so utterly fascinated by her naked torso. She was petite—more so than any woman he’d been with. But her physical strength was obvious in the lean musculature of her arms, her back, her legs and ass. Her figure was not at all boyish, once he got a good look at her. Her waist was tiny, and her hips flared out from there, balanced by her breasts which, while more than a mouthful were not much more so. And to him, they were amazing. Him, a long-avowed tits man who’d claimed to like them C-cup or higher, or not worth bothering with.
She quivered against him and made a funny yelping noise, obviously in the throes of a dream. He stroked her arm and made shushing noises, loving the softness of her skin under his palm. Everything about her, up to and including her smart mouth with its snooty Berlin city accent pleased him. Even all the bizarre ways she’d hurt herself repeatedly—the complex tattoos and the many piercings. Even that protective shell she’d thrown up at the last minute when he’d more or less ruined their nice dinner with his questions made him smile.
My Elisa, he thought as she continued to tremble, then calm, as he drifted, allowing himself a rare sleeping-in morning. He wanted all his energy so they could spend the day learning each other’s bodies, eating great food, then diving back into the sheets. His dick had hardened while he’d been recalling her, ripping off that scrap of dress and standing there, in nothing but that pair of hot pink panties, glaring at him. He put a hand on his erection and stroked as his nose and brain filled with her scent—the lavender mixed with sweat, mixed with the tang of sex that hovered over the room.
His finger must have grazed the leg she had draped over him, which, he noted, positioned her pussy nicely against his upper thigh. He felt its warmth, smelled her spiciness, which made him get serious with the stroking, figuring he might as well rub one out, which would leave him less inclined to blow like a rookie within seconds of getting inside her again.
He focused on the ultra-sensitive area around the head of his cock and made short, tugging motions. Plenty of practice in this area had proven him an expert at the fast and silent jerk off. His familiar friction caused the orgasm to roll up his spine, landing in his brain, which yelped ships ahoy! and allowed him to release with a quick exhale and loud sigh, coating his fingers with cum. At the split second that his brain shut down and with his hand still around his pulsing dick, Elisa cried out, pulled away from him and scrambled to the far side of the king-sized bed.
Gasping in the aftermath of his quickie climax, Ross propped on his elbows, trying to wrap his befuddled mind around what he saw. She dragged the sheet with both hands to cover her nakedness. Then she balled herself up as she’d done the night before on the futon, wrapping both arms around her legs that were bent against her torso. She wouldn’t meet his eyes and her teeth chattered as if she were freezing.
A small pinprick of anxiety hit his brain. What would trigger this, he wondered as he got up, grabbed a towel to wipe his belly, washed his hands then pulled on his shorts before approaching her. She was like that rabbit he’d first thought of when pondering her body language—cowering, frozen in place, waiting for the killing blow from the hawk above her.
He sat facing her, one hand on resting on her knees. Instinct told him not to move too fast, or do anything rash, but to wait and let her come fully awake. She kept her face pressed to his hand, but didn’t try to move further away from him. He waited, remaining patient, as those odd protective hackles he’d developed rose, making his pulse race and his hands itch to wrap around the neck of the asshole who’d done anything to her, much less the level of abuse she’d sustained.
She raised her face. Her eyes were dry, her jaw clenched. He stroked her cheek with a fingertip until she relaxed. But her arms stayed tight around her, protecting herself, he understood, from whatever threat she’d imagined. He waited a few more minutes until she let go of herself and crawled into his lap where she belonged.
He held her close, rocking her like a child, making the crooning noises that one of his many nannies used to make when he’d awake from some night terror or another. He held her until she stopped shaking. “What happened?” he asked, resting his chin on the top of her head.
“You startled me when you…um…” She pulled back and gazed at him in the early morning light. “The smell of your spunk,” she said, matter-of-factly. “It woke me and scared me.”
“Scared you,” he said, unable to resist the urge to kiss her flushed cheeks, her forehead, then her pursed lips. She allowed it, opening her mouth to him in a way that caused an odd, gooey feeling in his chest.
Love?
Probably.
Worth it?
That remained to be seen.
This woman was a bundle of nerves, anxieties and phobias, and while he wanted it all—the full package of her—he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it without some help. She wrapped her arms around his neck and shifted so she was straddling him again. Ross’ cock, so recently active, surprised him by hardening the second that cold metal bar in her hood touched it. In silence, he slid his hands up her back, then leaned forward and licked her nipple, the deformed one, with the scar where some freak show of an excuse for a man had bitten her, on purpose. He licked and teased it to a lovely, firm peak, then did the same with the other.
She made that soft, repetitive noise she’d made the night before, deep in her throat and breathy, as he sensed her lust increase, curling around them like the world’s sexiest fog cover. Keeping his attention focused on her breasts, as she was obviously highly sensitive there, he forced all misgivings and thoughts of her crouching like a doomed rodent out of his head.
He would drive that from her with his love and attention. He would gain her trust back, prove to her that he was worth it. Slowly but surely.
“Slowly,” his inner smart ass intoned, distracting him for a moment. “Since when do you go slowly? Even Evelyn wanted you fast and hard, then faster and harder and you loved that about her. This chick…” The smart ass that passed for his better self made a tsk-tsking sound in his head. Ross responded by shifting his hips so the length of his dick was pressed fully against her warm and now wet, pussy. He kept up his attention to her nipples as she ground down on him, using the head of his dick to gain friction. “This chick is trouble, Hoffman. The capital-T kind of trouble.”
“I don’t care,” he responded in his head, frowning against the soft skin of Elisa’s neck as she moved faster against him, making him ache to be inside her but knowing this was what she needed right now. The hard bite of the curved bar even felt good to him, in a painful sort of way.
“Oh you will care, Mister,” the jerk in his head intoned. “Mark my words. She’s gonna fuck you up six ways to Sunday. Worse than Evelyn ever did.”
“Shut up,” he muttered, making her pause and look down at him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, her hair a crazy halo around her face.
“Good to know someone else has to put their conscience in its place every now and then,” she said, before pressing her lips to his. Groaning, he dropped back to the bed and let her do whatever she wanted to him, biting his lower lip, his nipple, lifting his arms up and over his head as she kissed and licked her way down his neck and shoulders.
He felt like one giant, exposed nerve, centered deep in his gut, and at the tip of his cock. She roamed down his body, lapping around the edges of his head in a way that made him thrust up, needing more. He closed his eyes and let her set the pace, dipping her tongue in and out of the slit, before sliding her lips down over him, going as far as she could, before releasing him, and doing it again.
The white noise descended, his preface to a monster climax. He wrapped some of the ropes of her hair around his fists, not pulling, just wanting that connection as she drew him closer and closer to the edge. She cupped his balls then used her finger to stroke beneath, making him shudder in anticipation.
He grabbed a pillow so he could prop his head up, wanting to watch her working him over. She was looking up at him, her lips spread wide around his glistening dick, her hand clutching the base, her other hand tickling the smooth skin between his balls and ass. His hips jerked up, he closed his eyes and shot down her throat, coming so much he thought he might pass out from it, gripping her hair and shoving further into her mouth with every spasm.
As he lay gasping and spent, staring at the bland hotel ceiling, that warm, happy feeling he’d woken with filled him once again. He tugged her up and against him, kissing her and tasting himself on her lips.
He was still hard as a rock, against all laws of biology, and he wanted to taste her again. Ross had always been a huge fan of providing pleasure with his lips and tongue. His first instructor in this had been insistent that even women who claimed not to like it would fall at his feet and beg for it as long as he did it the correct way—focusing on the clit, and nothing else, until it plumped up, went erect in his mouth, at which time, he was to use two, or maybe three, fingers and slide them inside, angle up and toward her pubic bone.
Sometimes he felt something there. Sometimes not. But regardless, it was, truly the elusive G-spot for most women that he’d stroke, along with sucking her clit which would always provide the sort of mind-shattering orgasm most women had never experienced.
He tugged her around so she was on top of him, barely a weight he registered. “My turn,” he said, his voice croaky. “Or, better yet, yours.” He pushed her back so she was sitting, then pulled her hips forward. “Grab the headboard, Mein Shatz,” he crooned as the smell of her, and of him, and of them, roiled around in his head, driving him mad with need. “Hold on tight.”
He got to work. When she came it was with a surprising gush of fluid that coated his lips and filled his mouth with a strange but entirely pleasant taste. She was gasping and moaning and moving her lips as she came down from the climax. He looked up at her from between her legs. Her face was coated in a sheen of sweat, her eyes closed. He waited, content to watch her and smell her and still taste her until she calmed and opened those incredible, somehow fairy-like eyes.
“A unicorn,” he said, as he moved up her body and flopped bedside her with a contented sigh.
“A what?” She stroked his beard with one hand and pressed her lips to his chest.
“Unicorn.” He took her hand and kissed her palm, then her wrist, wondering if he would or could ever get enough of her.
“What is that supposed to mean? Should I be insulted?”
He held her close with both arms and began to drift. It was so completely unlike him to be sleeping at this hour, it felt almost as sexy as giving her head in return for his. “No, my darling. You’re the thing everyone looks for but never finds. The woman who will ejaculate.”
She raised her head and stared at him. “I did no such thing.”
He grinned and touched her nose, amused at her alarm. “You did. You came in my mouth and it was delicious. From what I understand, it’s something very few women do and they don’t always. Only when aroused to their full potential.”
“Well.” She snuggled into his side again, bringing on that warm covering of unfamiliar happiness once more. “You did that to be sure. Arousing me to my full potential, and then some.”
“No more mouth-breather insults, then, eh?”
She looked up at him again, frowning. “Hmm. No promises there, sorry. You turn into a bit of a bossy caveman in the brewery, you know.”
“Well, I am the boss caveman there.”
“Can we sleep some more? I feel so…so very right here, in your arms. And I never thought I’d feel that, much less say it, ever again.”
“Sleep, my darling,” he said softly. “I will watch over you.” But before she could make fun of this particularly alarming and sappy comment of his, she was dozing. Ross smiled, and drifted to sleep again, his mind blessedly blank, his body—pent up even after Holly’s little stunt—completely sated for the first time in months.