Scared of him once again and scared of her own reactions to him, Helena took another step back and hugged herself. "Why are you like this?"
If looks could melt glass… "You were on the stoop with me. Answer yourself."
Helena paced back and forth in front of the sliding glass door, chanting her inner mantra, Dang, oh dang, oh dang.
Since the first moment she'd laid eyes on him, she'd wanted him, and that was the truth of the matter. He didn't hide his desire, he was clear in his intentions. That was the difference between them. He told the truth while she waffled and flirted and lied and called the cops when things got too intense. So who wasn't playing fair?
Let him in.
He'd probably talk to her though the door all night, but she didn't know if she could do it. She couldn't think. Hell, she could barely stand. Either she had to take him up on his offer or go lock herself in the closet.
She'd been thinking of him as caught on the deck, behind glass, but she was the one who was trapped. He had all the world behind him.
I'm tired of being afraid.
Faustin leaned against the door while he waited for her answer, head down, palms flat against the glass as if he was thinking about pushing the door off its tracks. "I need you," he said, almost too low to be heard.
Her breath caught in her throat. Frightened, she wrapped her arms around herself. That gentle pressure made her breasts ache and tingle. Her skin was oversensitive, stimulated by the soft knit of her sweater dress. She'd never been so aroused. Part of it was knowing a man wanted her that much. Another part was knowing that she'd have to risk her life to find out if her instincts were right. The instincts that told her to open the door.
Trust yourself.
He's a public radio fan, for crap's sake.
Do it.
In the end she decided that if she couldn't trust her instincts, if she was going spend all her life being afraid anyway, then what business did she have being alive?
She threw the door open wide and he strode in, caught her up in his arms and kissed her. He was freezing cold, but his kiss could melt Antarctica. He tasted like heaven. As good as she remembered.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, but let him take the lead. This time she'd be careful. She wouldn't lose control and scare him away. Not this time. Not like with Jeff. Or Rob. Or David.
Faustin drove her backward across the living room, until her heels hit the staircase and she fell to the stairs. He followed her down, claiming her mouth with a probing, insistent kiss.
And then he just stopped. Stopped and stared at her. Helena groaned to herself. She recognized that look.
"What's wrong?" he said.
"Nothing."
"You okay with this?"
"Yes."
"You scared?"
"No."
He frowned. "You're not a virgin?"
"What? Of course not."
"Thank God." He blew out a breath. "So what's the deal? You weren't like this last night."
"I don't know what happened last night. What am I doing wrong?"
"You're not doing anything wrong. You just seem unenthused."
"I'm enthused. Believe me. I can hardly restrain myself."
He rolled off her, coming to rest on his elbow beside her. "Yeah, and now you're sarcastic. Helena, if you don't like what I'm doing you have to tell me."
"I'm not being sarcastic." Tentatively, she reached out and brushed his hair from his eyes. "I swear, I want you so bad that I have to control myself."
He relaxed a little, to her relief, and began to slide his hand up her hip. He watched her reaction from under lowered eyelashes. "Why should you control yourself?"
"Because it's not…" She lost her train of thought when his hand reached her breast. "Because I get a little out of control sometimes. Because…there's been complaints. About me."
"Complaints?"
"I bite."
His eyes widened and he laughed. But not in a mean way. "Seriously?"
"Bite, scratch, claw. I don't even know what I'm doing, but if I stay mellow it doesn't start. So don't worry. I won't hurt you."
His eyes took on a wicked sparkle. Pulling her on top of him so that she straddled his hips, he said, "What if I like being bitten, scratched and clawed?"
"You're just saying that." Sure, some people were into pain, but most people honestly didn't want to be mauled in bed. That was normal. Her former fiancé, Jeff, had a zero tolerance policy regarding her aggression. Bed wasn't a battleground, he said, and a man liked to set the pace anyway. And before him Rob was so freaked out by the scratches she left on him one wild night that they broke up shortly afterward.
Alex's hands crept under the hem of her dress. The twinkle faded from his eyes as something more intense moved in. "I want you to do your worst. Believe me, I can take whatever you dish out. But I'll pay you back in kind." Putting his mouth next to her ear, as if they weren't all alone, he whispered, "I'm going to fuck you senseless. That's a promise."
Helena couldn't repress a shiver of anticipation.
"Now give me some tongue."
She bent over and brushed his lips with hers. Dry. Teasing. Coming in for another pass, she flicked her tongue across his lips. He smiled and she brought her mouth down over his. Their lips parted. He caught her head and sent his tongue sweeping through her mouth, challenging her. She met it, caught it, sucked it deep. At the same time, she eased herself backward until her clit met the hard ridge of his cock, and she started a slow grind.
"That's more like it," he said with a grin as soon as she gave him back his tongue. He nibbled at her lower lip. She offered him her tongue and he caught the end between his teeth. Just before she panicked he released it in exchange for a long, lush kiss. If there was such a thing as oral literacy, Alex had it in spades.
"Take off your dress."
She tugged it over her head, bringing her slip with it. That left her in her bra and thong. Her best black lace bra and matching thong that she'd put on that morning while fantasizing about him, truth be told. It wasn't that she'd been planning this, it was just that thinking about him made her feel sexy. All day she'd been hyperaware of her underwear and high heels.
He took in the new view with a slow, lazy, devastating smile. "Very nice," he murmured. "Now get upstairs before I fuck you right here."
Feeling spectacularly naughty, Helena said, "What's wrong with right here?"
"I hate doing it on the stairs."
"You're experienced?"
"One person gets a tread jammed in their back, the other ruins their knees. Carpet burn, chipped teeth…" He trailed off, as if he'd forgotten he was talking, then sighed. "God I love your breasts."
Helena laughed. He said, "You have a three second head start. I'm taking you where I catch you. You better hope it's not on the stairs." She stared at him, not sure if he was joking or not. "Go!"
She took off, scampering up the steps, her high-heeled boots slipped on the carpet. He caught her ankle right away, but she kicked free and cleared the landing. She was fast, but there wasn't anywhere to run. He shoved her up against a wall. Shrieking, she ducked under his arm and made it through her bedroom door. He caught her around the waist and threw her on the bed. With a shrug he threw off his overcoat and stripped off his sweater. Under it he was bare, and so beautiful, smoothly muscled, his skin winter white and flawless, his nipples rose red. No tats, no scars, just a thin line of black hair bisecting his lean stomach.
Hungry to touch him, she caught him by the waistband and yanked him to the bedside. Praying he was serious about the aggression thing, she ripped open the buttons on his fly. He wore no underwear. The head of his erection sprang out, flushed the same rosy red as his nipples. Oh lord, it's so beautiful. Her breath went shallow with excitement as she peeled his jeans off his hips and took him in both hands.