“Yes.”
He slid off the jeans, unhooking them from around her feet. She heard his sharp intake of breath. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He stroked and caressed her calves and upward, gently parting her legs. “And so wet.” His finger traced the line of her panties. She jerked, her body shuddering as if on the verge of climax. “We have two tastes left. Let’s get you a little something to wash it down with.”
She whimpered at the loss of his touch. A cabinet slammed. The sound of liquid poured into a glass echoed in her ears. “Take a tiny sip of this. Let me know what you think.”
He cupped her chin and tipped the glass to her lips. The wine trickled down her throat, heavy and ripe, the scent of blackberries drifting to her nostrils and soaking her mouth. A complete sensual treat, she reveled in the intense tannins and boldness. “Red wine. Berries? Fig?”
“Blackberries. Nice. Have a little more.”
She took another sip at the same time his palm cupped her sex.
Her hips shot up, the wine slid down her throat, and she almost fell apart right then. His thumb coaxed the hard nub of clit to come out and play, and his fingers danced and massaged over her core, until the fabric was wet and full of her scent. “Magnificent,” he murmured, as if she was one of his scientific experiments. “Every time you try something you love, your body responds. You could probably orgasm from the right flavors alone.”
A choked laugh spilled from her throat. She was crazy. He was crazy. Hell, they were crazy to be acting out a foodie sex scene, yet she couldn’t stop, needed him to finish where he’d taken her. Why wasn’t she feeling embarrassed or horribly vulnerable? She was naked, he was fully clothed, and yet she felt completely safe with him in a way she’d never experienced before. He’d take care of her, at the expense of himself. And right here, right now, she only craved more. “Stop teasing me,” she moaned. “I need—”
“I know what you need, baby. Lift up.”
Her panties came off.
She waited for his hands or his mouth, but there was only cold air and emptiness. “Nate?”
“One last taste.” She may die. She squeezed her legs together for relief. “Legs apart. No cheating.”
She obeyed, completely helpless under his spell. He caressed her cheeks, traced the line of her lips. “Open for me, Ken. Wider. More. Yes, just like that.”
Her heart pounded like a pack of Thoroughbreds nearing the finish line. Every muscle locked with tension, awaiting the final spoonful.
His fingers pushed past her lips, her teeth, and lay the object on her tongue.
Chocolate.
Bittersweet, rich, and creamy, the chocolate coated her tongue, melted in her mouth, and took her over the edge.
“Oh, God!”
The blindfold was ripped off and his mouth took hers in a rough kiss, his tongue thrusting in and out of her mouth while his fingers delved between her legs and buried deep.
She came hard, bucking against the chair, a dozen sensations pulling her in different directions. He muttered something against her, hiked her up so her legs wrapped around his hips, and stumbled to the bedroom. In minutes, he tumbled her on the bed, shucked off his clothes, and fit himself with the condom.
She was still shaking from the aftereffects of the first orgasm, when he pushed her knees back and took her in one full, deep thrust.
Her body milked him, welcomed him deep, and clamped hard around his dick. He took her savagely, and she loved every moment, raking her nails down his back as she shattered for the second time. He called out her name with his lips merged to hers, jerking his hips against her as he came.
She tried to move, tried to speak, but it was too much and she was too far gone. A strange tightness in her chest smothered her. A sob caught in her throat.
Oh, no. Why did she feel like she was suddenly going to burst into tears?
He tucked her against his chest, and gently took the pins out of her hair. He smoothed the strands over her shoulders and pressed a kiss by her temple. He didn’t say a word, just seemed to wait for some kind of response. As if he knew she was about to tell him something important.
She was so good at keeping secrets, even from herself, it took her a while to realize she ached to give him something on a deeper level. At this moment, in the dark, with a man who made her feel completely safe, she wanted to tell him the truth.
The words spilled from her mouth unchecked.
“I wasn’t just fat. I was smart. Really smart. I loved math and science and history. It was as if those were the things I could control, the things that made sense. I was in a bunch of geeky clubs. The day they attacked me, I remember seeing all those books spread out on the ground. And I realized the books, the subjects that I loved, had done nothing to protect me. They had actually made things a lot worse. Being smart really didn’t get a woman anywhere; being beautiful and perfect was the key. I went home and ditched all my books, quit the clubs, started screwing up in school. I became obsessed with things that looked good. I switched my interests to fashion design, apparel, anything that made the world prettier. I became my own Frankenstein. My mother was thrilled—she hated having a smart, fat daughter, and once I began losing the weight, she kept encouraging me. Started to take me to charity events and seemed proud. My father was the one who put me in therapy when he realized I was killing myself. My mother said I looked fine.”
She relaxed her viselike grip on his arm and finished. “I had a great therapist. One day, I realized I didn’t want to die. I wanted a life, a real life, not the shadowy dark place I’d been living in, where food was the enemy and mirrors were to be avoided. I had lost myself, so I decided to put the pieces back together. My parents ended up divorcing, and my father remarried. We rarely speak. Mom moved away years ago with her new husband. I was alone, but I think it was better that way. Kate and Arilyn helped, and I found I really was great at design and running social functions. I concentrated on building those talents and tried to forget the past. But sometimes it sneaks up on me.”
She fell silent and the emptiness hit. Suddenly, all the buildup of secrets and fear let loose and floated away. The only thing left to take its place was a deep sadness . . . for that vulnerable girl she once was, and what she’d given up because she didn’t believe she was worth it.
Kennedy tried to roll away, needing the distance, but his arms held her tight. His warmth and scent wrapped around her and provided comfort. Slowly, she gave up the fight and took what he offered.