Hilary Fields - Bliss

He put his scarred jeweler’s hands exactly where the tension resided, where her shoulders met her neck, kneading with a gentleness that only made her want to cry more. Sera shrugged away, refusing to look at him.

“She means well, Bliss.”

“Stop calling me that,” she mumbled.

“What, ‘Bliss’? But why?”

“Because I don’t know the meaning of the word!” she wailed, half-angry, half-despairing. She flung herself around, grabbing a dishtowel and wringing it between her hands as if it were her aunt’s meddling neck.

Asher didn’t understand. “Of course you do,” he chided. His hand rose to push back the errant lock of hair that teased her cheek, then fell away as she flinched from the gesture. He’d removed his hat and left it on the tile-topped island in the center of the kitchen. Sera could see the faint indentation the band had left along his hairline, and she had the absurd urge to smooth it. His long, lean frame edged closer, subtly crowding Sera against the counter by the sink as he took the towel from her hands and set it aside. “You’re here, aren’t you?” he pointed out. “Pursuing your dreams. Opening that bakery is all about bliss. One taste of your confections, and that’s all a man needs to know about satisfaction…”

For some reason, his kindness set off her anger. “ Satisfaction? Ha! You don’t get it, Asher Wolf,” she interrupted. “Just like I don’t get it. There’s no such thing as satisfaction with me. You wanna know why? Because I can’t have an orgasm. ”

“You can’t…” Asher looked disbelieving. Or perhaps aghast was more like it.

In for a penny, in for a pound. Serafina had totally lost her cool. And though she knew she was dooming any chance of ever hooking up with this delectable guy, she plowed on. It felt good to get the source of her shame off her chest. Liberating. “That’s right. I’m goddamn frigid. Never had a climax. Don’t know what all the fuss is about. My hoo-ha is broken, get it?”

Asher appeared to be mouthing the word “hoo-ha” to himself. Perhaps they didn’t have it in Hebrew.

“You know, my vagi—”

“Yes, I get it, Serafina,” he said quellingly. “I simply don’t believe it.”

And with one whirlwind swoop, he grabbed her up and set her bodily on the counter. His body followed hers, lean hips crowding into the space between her jeans-clad legs, one arm clasping her back to hold her steady and keep her as close as two people could get. Sera could hear the furious beating of his heart—or was she feeling it? She smelled again that wonderful Asher smell—earth and fire, pure intensity. His breath was hot against her face, a vein pulsing in his neck where she could almost reach it with her lips. His eyes, green lightened almost to gold now with emotion, searched her startled gray ones.

Searching for what?

Permission? If so, he had it. Sera couldn’t deny him, even if she must ultimately disappoint him. Her lips opened, trembling, but she couldn’t seem to speak.

Still he sensed the moment she surrendered, and he took full advantage of it.

The hand Asher buried in her hair was gentle. The kiss he slanted across her mouth was anything but.

Oh, fu…

And suddenly, Sera was someone else: a sexually charged woman in the arms of a man so hot he seemed to singe her straight through her clothes. She was not awkward. Not a failure. Not frigid. Asher wouldn’t allow it. In his grip she was bliss, indeed; swept with sensation that left no room for second thoughts, hang-ups, or hesitation. His knowing hands guided her, molded her body to his. His stubble scraped her cheeks, her ear, her throat, while his lips, tongue, and teeth branded her skin with delicious sensation. Sera found herself clutching him to her, vaguely aware of the cool tiles against her backside, the cabinet behind her shoulders, a patch of sunlight illuminating the gold in his hair. Her hands, used to kneading malleable dough, found his shoulders and their unyielding musculature, reveling in his heat, his solidity. He’d yanked her forward so the apex of her thighs was pressed directly against the heat of his loins. Wow, she thought faintly. When Asher went from cool, debonair landlord to passionate lover, he really didn’t hold back. As a man, he was gentle; full of humor and wit and a kindness that wouldn’t quit.

As a lover, he was a hurricane.

No second-guessing, no insecurity. Asher was all primal male, demanding and eliciting a feminine response from Sera she hadn’t known she was capable of. With quick, expert strokes of his tongue, he claimed her mouth. With firm, possessive sweeps of his hands, he delineated her curves, bringing her nerve endings to life like Times Square lights. When he molded the contours of her breast, even through her bra and shirt, Sera felt the streak of sensation zinging directly to her core. And when he pressed against her there, her mind froze.

She wasn’t thinking about Blake, or her failures in his bed. Sera wasn’t thinking, period. Her body had taken on a life of its own under Asher’s expert tutelage. And right there in her aunt’s cozy kitchen, she was galloping rapidly, heedlessly toward that moment she’d dreamed of, and believed was beyond her reach…

Until Asher pulled back on the reins.

“Bliss.”

It took Sera a moment to register that he’d pushed back from her. Was, in fact, holding her at arms’ length. Her body missed the heat of his, as if he’d stolen her clothing on a cold winter night. Her brain couldn’t comprehend why he was over there, when her need was here. She reached for him, but he caught her hand in both of his and kissed it gently.

“Bliss,” he said again.

Her eyes began to focus, and she noticed his had returned to their normal moss green, though his chest was still rising and falling fast with his labored breathing. “Um, yeah?” she said a bit dreamily. She brought his fingers to her mouth and began nibbling one, running her tongue along its length in a way that was both wanton and totally unlike her.

Asher snatched it back, gasping slightly. “Bliss… we have to stop.”

“We do?” she asked foggily.

“Yes,” he said, and Sera got the gratifying impression that he’d rather have said no. He made a gesture of frustration, pleading for her understanding, then stretched out his hand to stroke her cheek. “Beautiful Bliss, you deserve more than this. Your satisfaction is something I want to give you with every fiber of my body. But not”—he gestured about the kitchen, and they could both hear, outside, the sound of Pauline singing off-key as she bashed about in her garden—“like this. Not for your first time.”

“It’s not my first time,” Sera objected, reaching for him again. What a time to play gentleman, her aching body groaned. “I’m a grown woman, Ash, and I’ve got plenty of experience.”

Asher took her cheek in one callused hand, drew close, and kissed her with heat tempered by gentlemanly consideration. His lips left hers reluctantly. “Neither of us have this experience,” he contradicted. “And I want us to experience each other properly, so you’ll understand how much this means to me, and so that I may have the honor of showing you just how satisfying I find you.”

Sera let him go. The fire he’d ignited was cooling, her thoughts coalescing once more.

“So what are you saying?” she asked.

Asher ran his hand through his hair in that agitated way she was beginning to love. “What I’m saying is this: You are the most passionate woman I have ever met, Serafina Wilde. You’re fiery, you’re gutsy, and you’re more alive inside than most women even dream of being. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. I don’t know who has convinced you otherwise, but we are going to sort this out, you and I. When I return, I intend to take you out on a real date—a proper, old-fashioned date—and then…” He paused. “Then we’ll see where the night takes us. Do you understand?”