Kate Hoffmann - Ian

Ian stared at the front windows, thinking back to the sculptures that had first brought him here, to that first day he’d met Marisol. It had only been two weeks, yet his life had been completely changed.

Ian sighed and closed his eyes, raking his hand through his hair. He knew the sound of her voice and the taste of her mouth, the way her hands felt on his skin and the scent of her hair. He knew what made her laugh and what made her moan with pleasure. And just that was more than he’d ever known about a woman in the past.

How had so much changed in such a short time? Two weeks ago, he’d bet his brothers he could avoid women for three months. And almost immediately, he’d found himself caught up in a wildly satisfying sexual whirlwind, unable to control his desire-or perhaps unwilling.

There were times when he wished he could go back and do it all again, to stick to the plan and stay away from Marisol. Maybe then he might have been able to master his impulses. Still, it would have only been a matter of time before he found himself drawn into her orbit.

He walked to the front door of the gallery and peered inside, but the lights were off. Resisting the urge to ring the bell, Ian turned from the door and retreated back to the sidewalk.

For all intents and purposes, it was over between him and Marisol. He’d given her a choice, honesty or him, and she’d chosen to keep her secrets. The need would fade with each day that passed, and in a month or two, he’d be able to pass an hour or even a full day without thinking of her.

For now, Marisol Arantes was no more than a citizen of Bonnett Harbor. If she caused trouble, he would be forced to involve himself in her life again. But if she kept to herself and didn’t break the law, then he had no excuse to see her.

Ian continued his walk home, his mind replaying images of Marisol, dressed and undressed, awake and asleep, aroused and sated, like an erotic movie in his head. Did he really believe he could do without her? He’d always achieved anything he set his mind to, so why was he suddenly doubting himself? She was a woman and women came and went in his life without much fanfare.

Cursing softly, he picked up his pace, his walk turning to a jog and then to a run. He ran until his chest burned and his breath came in ragged gasps. He ran until he reached his house, then ran around the block a few more times. When he was finally exhausted, Ian returned to his house, threw the back door open and stumbled inside.

The house was quiet and cool and Ian moved comfortably in the darkness. He grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and cracked it open, then took a long drink. But his mind immediately returned to the last night they’d spent together, in his bed.

He wondered if she’d come again that night and a twinge of anticipation twisted at his gut. “Damn her,” he muttered. Ian turned to walk to the front of the house, but froze when he saw a figure outlined in the doorway.

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, then opened them again. She was still there. Slowly, she walked toward him and Ian held his breath, waiting for her to simply evaporate before his eyes. But when she touched him, he knew she wasn’t a mirage.

Marisol nuzzled his chest, gently pushing him back against the counter. The water bottle fell to the floor and Ian braced his hands behind him as she slowly worked at the buttons of his shirt. Her lips traced a path, lower and lower, with each button she opened. And when she reached the bottom, she undid the button on his jeans.

His gaze fixed on her, his head down, and in the corner of his mind, he knew he ought to resist. But her forbidden seduction teased at his imagination, making every sensation more intense. Her fingers grasped the waistband of his jeans and she pulled them down around his hips, along with his boxers. An instant later, her lips surrounded him, gently drawing his cock into her mouth.

Desire slammed through his body, feelings so powerful his head began to buzz. Ian tried to think, to put what was happening to him into perspective, to find a way to rationalize his surrender. But instinct had overwhelmed lucid thought and Ian gave himself over to the extraordinary damp and warmth of her lips and tongue.

She knew him so well, knew every little thing that spiked his desire and left him aching for more. It was so easy to want her, to know that every time they were together it would be perfectly satisfying. Would another woman ever know his body so well?

Ian sucked in a sharp breath as she ran her tongue along his shaft, from tip to base. Like delicious torture, she began to move faster, picking up her pace until he could no longer delay. Desperate to be closer, Ian reached down and pulled her to her feet.

His hands tore at her clothes, caressing each bit of skin that he revealed. It only took a few moments and she was naked, her body outlined by soft moonlight coming through the window above the sink. He quickly shed the rest of his clothes, then began a gentle exploration of her body, smoothing his hands over every curve, every tempting bit of flesh.

Marisol did the same, her fingers dancing lightly over his naked skin, teasing and caressing, continuing the seduction she’d begun with her mouth. Every time he was with Marisol, her body seemed to reveal something new and intriguing, a soft spot of skin he hadn’t yet discovered, a place where his touch made her breath quicken and her need increase.

It became a tantalizing game, a battle to see who knew the other better, who would ultimately surrender to the perfect caress. How would he ever let her go? Why would he? Ian couldn’t imagine ever tiring of her or ever wanting another woman more. Marisol was his and his alone.

He grabbed her waist and spun her around, then lifted her up to sit on the edge of the counter. Slowly, Ian spread her legs, then guided himself inside her. Inch by inch, she surrounded him with her heat, until he was buried to the hilt.

He captured her face with his hands and kissed her deeply, thirsting for the sweet taste of her mouth. No matter how close he was, how deep he was, it didn’t seem to be enough anymore. There had to be more-words, whispers, proof that she felt the same as he did, that there was meaning behind what they shared.

“I can’t breathe without wanting you,” he murmured, biting at her lower lip. “What have you done to me, Marisol? How am I supposed to live without this?”

She wrapped her legs around his hips and Ian carried her into the living room. But when they reached the stairs, he realized he couldn’t go on any longer, the shift of her body against him bringing him close to the edge. He gently laid her down on the stairs, then braced his hands on either side of her.

Slowly, he pulled out, the simple movement causing a flood of desire to course through his body. When he didn’t slide back inside her, Marisol moaned, moving beneath him, her hands grasping at his hips.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Tell me you want me.”

She pulled against him, but he drew back. “I do,” she breathed. “I do want you.”

“Forever,” he said. “Tell me it will be forever.” He needed to hear the words, even though they might not be true. He had to believe, somewhere, in some corner of her heart, she felt the same connection he did.

Her eyes stared up at him, clear and sober. “Forever,” she repeated. “I will want you forever.”

With that Ian plunged back inside, feverishly driving into her as she writhed against him. And when she finally cried out, her orgasm racking her body with pleasure, Ian pulled her hips tight against his and allowed himself to yield. Caught in the midst of a shattering orgasm, he felt as if he could almost touch heaven.

They slid down along the steps, their limbs tangled, bodies moist with perspiration. Ian smoothed the hair from her damp brow and took in the beauty of her face. There was no use denying it any longer. Maybe he’d known it all along. He was falling in love with Marisol Arantes. And even if he could stop himself, Ian didn’t want to.