Maybe her libido though she owed him, or could tempt him into a better
plea deal.
Or maybe it was
just him. Maybe she’d wanted him since the moment she saw his photo in the book
at the Barre Birth and Reproductive Center.
“Have you ever had
anyone take care of you, Moon?”
“My sister took
care of me,” she whispered.
“Any man?”
She shook her
head. Findley groaned. His fingertips traced indecipherable patterns higher and
higher on her thighs. Weslyn could have sworn she felt the brush of his lips
over her hip.
His hands kept
rising. Soft and smooth, a drag of his palm over her waist, a stroke of his
fingers around her belly button. Unable to help herself, Weslyn opened her eyes
just as Findley drew back and swung his leg over her.
She’d refused to
look at him when they’d arrived at the motel, while mild anxiety held her stiff
on her bed, when he’d undressed to lie down. His clothes had been crumpled from
their travel, but he’d taken them off and hung them over a chair before
climbing into his own bed, two feet from hers.
Now, with him
straddling her, Weslyn had an excellent view of Findley’s boxers, and the
gapped opening gave a shadowed impression of what was beneath. She sucked in
oxygen.
“Relax, Moon. Let
me take care of you.”
She lifted her
eyes to his. Silver, with bright flecks of green rimming the edges. She nodded,
wondering what the hell she was getting herself into, yet she obeyed the
instincts begging her to let him do whatever he wanted. She dropped her gaze to
evaluate him. Findley’s lips were curved in a gentle smile, his pulse made
itself known in his neck. His shoulders were broad, his chest well-formed and
the dark hair sprinkled down the front of him looked soft and tempting.
And his touch made
her feel beautiful, wanted and treasured.
Weslyn wondered if
she’d lost her mind. But she still said, “Yes.”
9
Findley leaned
over her body and kissed her on the mouth.
Weslyn fell into
the caress in small degrees, still too cautious to fully open, yet curious and
thoroughly enticed by the unhurried, smooth slide of his lips over hers. He
licked into her mouth, softly, slowly, shallowly. He didn’t ravage or conquer,
but neither did he give her a choice. He took what he wanted, but also gave her
so much in return—a sense of safety, trust and pleasure. Weslyn relaxed.
“Good, Moon. I
want you just like this, looking sleepy-eyed and ready for more.”
She didn’t bother
to answer as he dipped his head and kissed her jaw. He kept his weight off her
as he licked down her neck, then dropped nipping kisses along her collarbone.
His knees dug into the mattress at her hips and his one elbow was braced near
her shoulder, until he drew back to remove her shirt.
Again, as he’d
been doing all along, Findley made the exposing of Weslyn’s stomach a sensuous
diversion. He had a habit of sweeping the fabric up her torso with short slides
of his hand, but this time Weslyn felt the difference in his touch. Before,
he’d been aloof, but now he was invested, and her skin prickled with
anticipation under his palms.
“You are so damned
beautiful,” he murmured. “From the first time I saw you on camera at the
Reproductive Center, I—”
He didn’t finish
his statement. Instead, he leaned down and kissed Weslyn’s navel, then licked a
hot path due north. The sleek velvet of his tongue was a delicious contrast to
the scratchy cotton he shoved above her breasts, and Weslyn twisted impatiently
to get the shirt off. It tangled around the handcuff confining her, muting the
sound of the metal against the headboard.
Findley unhooked
her bra and removed it in less than a heartbeat. It, too, caught on the
handcuff, but neither of them paid any attention. Findley stared at her, the
silver in his eyes dimming under a wash of green, then resurging like molten
mercury on a hot day. He breathed out roughly and cupped her breast with
exquisite gentleness.
“Have you
plea deal.
Or maybe it was
just him. Maybe she’d wanted him since the moment she saw his photo in the book
at the Barre Birth and Reproductive Center.
“Have you ever had
anyone take care of you, Moon?”
“My sister took
care of me,” she whispered.
“Any man?”
She shook her
head. Findley groaned. His fingertips traced indecipherable patterns higher and
higher on her thighs. Weslyn could have sworn she felt the brush of his lips
over her hip.
His hands kept
rising. Soft and smooth, a drag of his palm over her waist, a stroke of his
fingers around her belly button. Unable to help herself, Weslyn opened her eyes
just as Findley drew back and swung his leg over her.
She’d refused to
look at him when they’d arrived at the motel, while mild anxiety held her stiff
on her bed, when he’d undressed to lie down. His clothes had been crumpled from
their travel, but he’d taken them off and hung them over a chair before
climbing into his own bed, two feet from hers.
Now, with him
straddling her, Weslyn had an excellent view of Findley’s boxers, and the
gapped opening gave a shadowed impression of what was beneath. She sucked in
oxygen.
“Relax, Moon. Let
me take care of you.”
She lifted her
eyes to his. Silver, with bright flecks of green rimming the edges. She nodded,
wondering what the hell she was getting herself into, yet she obeyed the
instincts begging her to let him do whatever he wanted. She dropped her gaze to
evaluate him. Findley’s lips were curved in a gentle smile, his pulse made
itself known in his neck. His shoulders were broad, his chest well-formed and
the dark hair sprinkled down the front of him looked soft and tempting.
And his touch made
her feel beautiful, wanted and treasured.
Weslyn wondered if
she’d lost her mind. But she still said, “Yes.”
9
Findley leaned
over her body and kissed her on the mouth.
Weslyn fell into
the caress in small degrees, still too cautious to fully open, yet curious and
thoroughly enticed by the unhurried, smooth slide of his lips over hers. He
licked into her mouth, softly, slowly, shallowly. He didn’t ravage or conquer,
but neither did he give her a choice. He took what he wanted, but also gave her
so much in return—a sense of safety, trust and pleasure. Weslyn relaxed.
“Good, Moon. I
want you just like this, looking sleepy-eyed and ready for more.”
She didn’t bother
to answer as he dipped his head and kissed her jaw. He kept his weight off her
as he licked down her neck, then dropped nipping kisses along her collarbone.
His knees dug into the mattress at her hips and his one elbow was braced near
her shoulder, until he drew back to remove her shirt.
Again, as he’d
been doing all along, Findley made the exposing of Weslyn’s stomach a sensuous
diversion. He had a habit of sweeping the fabric up her torso with short slides
of his hand, but this time Weslyn felt the difference in his touch. Before,
he’d been aloof, but now he was invested, and her skin prickled with
anticipation under his palms.
“You are so damned
beautiful,” he murmured. “From the first time I saw you on camera at the
Reproductive Center, I—”
He didn’t finish
his statement. Instead, he leaned down and kissed Weslyn’s navel, then licked a
hot path due north. The sleek velvet of his tongue was a delicious contrast to
the scratchy cotton he shoved above her breasts, and Weslyn twisted impatiently
to get the shirt off. It tangled around the handcuff confining her, muting the
sound of the metal against the headboard.
Findley unhooked
her bra and removed it in less than a heartbeat. It, too, caught on the
handcuff, but neither of them paid any attention. Findley stared at her, the
silver in his eyes dimming under a wash of green, then resurging like molten
mercury on a hot day. He breathed out roughly and cupped her breast with
exquisite gentleness.
“Have you
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