No Holds Barred (2 page)

Chapter Two

Eyes closed, Jake’s focus drifted from the gentle breeze fluttering the crown of his cock to the memory of Ella’s lush body writhing beneath him, sweat-soaked and panting, arching into his thrusts as if her life depended on it.

The morning sun striking the back patio of his secluded hideaway warmed his naked body as he shifted from downward dog, upward to salute the sun, stretching muscles as he stretched his thoughts toward the woman whose rental car was winding up his narrow gravel drive. She was early, a good sign. He smiled again at the image of them naked and writhing, anticipation making his cock strain and his balls pull tight. The same reaction he’d had the first time he saw her.

Something had happened that September night a year ago, something he’d never expected. He’d fallen hard and he’d been positive that she had too. Ella had run like the hounds of hell were nipping at her ankles. And it had taken him six months to figure out why. It hadn’t been too much wine, rebounding from a bad relationship, or the ten-year age difference that separated them. Ella would share her body. Her heart was another matter. This week was the culmination of the last six months of careful planning. He’d bet the outrageous commission on his next mural that she hadn’t had sex with anyone else this past year and neither had he.

Ella was the challenge he’d been looking for his entire life. From her dark expressive eyes to her wide generous mouth she was an artist’s dream, all sharp angles and soft flowing curves, perfectly balanced, perfectly proportioned. She was smart and funny and he could have listened to her voice every day but he’d figured out early that he didn’t want to end up a footnote in her very busy schedule. He wanted more. He wanted Ella, body and soul.

The sound of her car door shutting shushed through the quiet morning raising the pulse he’d just gotten under control. The promise of an entire week of unbridled no-fantasy-left-unturned lust had kept him half-hard since she’d agreed.

He raised to warrior pose, arms flung wide, totally exposed as he heard over the slight rustle of late summer leaves, her breath catch in the little half-moan that made him crazy. He opened his eyes slowly, savoring each moment until he saw her again.

Her thick chestnut hair was piled into a loose topknot, wisps of lighter hair clinging to the sides of her elegant neck. His fingers itched to burrow through the silky strands. He wanted to gaze into her dark expressive eyes and kiss her luscious crazy mouth, a mouth that had haunted his dreams.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he said, not bothering to cover the hitch in his own voice. A white poet’s blouse flowed, all gauze and lace and ribbon ties over her curvy breasts and swirled around her jean-clad hips.

She dropped a camel-colored knapsack he’d barely noticed. “I didn’t think clothing would be optional on my drive here,” she said, more than a little out of breath, a flicker of excitement shining in her eyes. “Then again, I didn’t think I’d find you naked, doing yoga.”

He relaxed his posture and smiled. “If I only get a week with you, it starts now, Ella.”

The corner of her mouth crooked and she started untying the ribbons holding her blouse together as she walked toward him. He could hear the small chuckle building in her
throat,
feel the air reverberate when she stopped, close enough to touch him. She let the white filmy fabric slide over her arms and he could almost hear it hiss as it fluttered over her fingertips. Those same elegant fingertips slipped under her lacy bra straps then hesitated. He could see her panic in the fluttery pulse at the base of her throat.

Nervous anticipation gripped Ella. “I was going to take this off before I got here but I was afraid if I stopped I might start thinking about what we’re doing.”
And run.

She’d forgotten how beautiful he was, brutally elegant, naked and alive. He was the book cover version of a Viking with his classic Nordic features, blue-gray eyes and tall muscular build. Her blood felt like it was bubbling inside her and whatever else happened she wanted to remember this moment for the rest of her life. No one had ever looked at her like she was the center of their world before and it scared the hell out of her because she wasn’t stupid enough to think it wouldn’t be addictive.

He was only supposed to have been her fortieth birthday present to herself, a guilty pleasure she shared with no one else. She’d never been the kind of woman men pursued but Jake
Truhorn
stood in front of her now, smiling that Viking marauder
you’re mine
smile that still made her wet and crazy.

“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” he whispered, his warm breath fanning across her cheek as his lips traced a path to her mouth. “I see your mouth in my dreams Ella. If I close my eyes I can still taste you.” She opened her mouth and breathed him in, welcoming his tongue, his mouth, his instant fervor.

His clever hands unhooked her bra and in a deft move he lifted her breasts, tested their weight against his palms, teased her nipples with a flick of his fingertips before he bent his head and sucked first one and then the other into his warm, wet mouth. She arched into him, reaching for his mouth, his hands, the mind-drugging essence of the man himself.

This was what she’d missed.
The freedom of letting go, of just enjoying Jake
Truhorn
and his immense talent for embracing life.
He held her up as if she’d been made of air, strong hands cupping her ribs, her back. The rasp of her zipper sent a delicious shiver down her spine and back up it when he drew her jeans down over her bare hips.

“When…did you start shaving?”

She chuckled at his wonder. “I thought that I might enjoy the sensation of silk rubbing against my bare lips. It was this year’s birthday present to
myself
.”

She smiled at his sharp intake of breath and the first swipe of his tongue against the smooth lips of her pussy. “Did you do it—or did you have it done?”

“Two margaritas, a very serious Brazilian technician and some lovely hot wax that smelled like mangoes were my recipe of choice.” Her jeans were
puddled
around her ankles and a beautiful naked man was lapping at her pussy as if it was the finest delicacy offered in this marvelous outdoor café full of sunshine and the smell of warm meadows and sex. She moaned, already wet, greedy for more.

She toed off her canvas sneakers, felt him slide her jeans over her feet, taking her socks with the heavy denim, dropping them onto the pile of her already discarded blouse and bra.

And then he was back at her mouth, kissing her, devouring her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, mindless, wondering where the nearest bed was when he bent his knees, grabbed her ass with both hands and lifted her against him.

“Not concerned about your back or conserving your strength?” Her voice shook and she didn’t care.

He narrowed his eyes. “Stop fishing—I don’t think you’re too tall, too fat, or too curvy. I want all of you. Now, tell me you want me. Tell me this week is mine. Nothing is off-limits.”

She nodded and he tightened his hold, his fingers digging into her. “Say it!”

“I want you—nothing is off-limits for this week,” she whispered breathily, shaking.

His smile was predatory and for the first time she felt a little tremor of fear slide up her spine.
He wants more than a week.
Now was not the time to argue. Her body had never been so tight, so needy,
so
very desperate for someone else’s touch.
Not someone else’s—his.

Where did a naked man get a condom? She barely had time to register the bowl full of packets on the small table beside them before he ripped one open and covered himself.

She felt him probe her, slide inside, inch by delicious inch until she was filled. And then he began to thrust and she wanted to scream at him to hurry, to not let this feeling get away. He held her still, his grip as possessive as his icy gray-blue gaze.

Sweat slicked the corded muscles of his neck and powerful arms and she gripped him tighter, sipped a drop of perspiration from his cheek. He shuddered but he didn’t speed the slow, steady thrust of his cock, torturing her inner muscles with every rolling, rhythmic push of his hips.

She whimpered and arched, stretching, undulating, anything to increase the tempo but he only raised her against his mouth and laved her nipples, one after the other, drawing lazy circles with the tip of his tongue, flicking the hard little beads until she thought she would go mad.

“Jake, please….”

A triumphant grin crooked the corner of his mouth but instead of thrusting harder he gripped her waist and ground himself against her, swiveling her pussy around his cock in a slow circular motion that hit every quivering, sensitive nerve until she was panting, moaning, cursing as the pressure built.

“This is only the beginning Ella,” he whispered, sending a shiver through her as her muscles clenched drawing her tighter and the first fluttering of her orgasm sank its tiny hooks into her middle. He growled, slid his arms completely around her, bent forward and started fucking her hard. All she could do was hold on, grinding against him every time his cock hit the underside of her clit. She screamed as her orgasm ripped through her, shuddering until she hung limp, suspended in his grip.

“Neither one of us will survive five days of this,” she groaned against his shoulder, nipping at the sweat-slicked muscle. “We won’t be able to walk.” His arms shifted until he cradled her head in his hands.

“Seven. There are seven days in a week, Ella. And if I can’t walk, I’ll crawl.” The velvet threat sent the second shiver of the morning through her.

“Seven days—if there’s food and a shower in this paradise.” She laughed, exhausted, euphoric. “And I thought I’d surprise
you
when I arrived early.” He slipped out of her, holding her while she tried to find her footing.

“What will it be first, food or a shower?” He stripped off the condom, disposing of it in the small waste basket that she also hadn’t noticed.

She was standing naked on his wooden deck, shaking and sweat-slicked and she felt like laughing out loud. “Shower,” was all she managed.

He gathered her clothes and hefted the large designer knapsack. “This is packing light?”

She shrugged and shook her head, marveling that he wasn’t even breathing hard. “It takes a lot to make me look this good.”

“You looked good when you showed up,” he snorted. “Orgasms make everyone look better.”

She did laugh then because she knew what she must look like. “Can I list that as a beauty secret in my memoirs?”

“Trust me, you’ll be able to list this whole week in your memoirs,” he said in a dark voice that held a hint of the velvet threat.

“And what’s title of this particular chapter?”

“Sex Makes You Beautiful 101.” She spared him a sidelong glance when he tucked her under his other arm and let his hand drift over the top of her breast. He kissed her, open-mouthed, hungry, while leading her into the rambling, weathered cedar, shingled two-story house and the promise of pleasure.
A week of unbridled-no-holds-barred-anything-goes sex.

Chapter Three

The interior of the house was full of light from the tall windows that surrounded it, illuminating the spacious, open floor plan. The living-dining area was carpeted in different sized, soft, sand-colored wool rugs over bleached wooden floors. A cushy fawn-colored man-sized couch and a sleek, black-lacquered Japanese-inspired coffee table that looked large enough to dine on and the perfect height for propping feet, faced the stacked stone fireplace. The see-through galley kitchen was Spartan, functional and definitely male. A set of carpeted wooden stairs led to a loft bedroom.

The bathroom was about the size of her apartment’s master bedroom, very Zen functional and aesthetically pleasing with its pale sand-washed walls, dark oriental rugs that would chase away the chill of the flagstone floor on winter mornings and porcelain fixtures. Small bamboo wind chimes hung from one of the cedar ceiling beams. Candles sat in wall niches around the room and would provide added light when the sun stopped illuminating the room through the glass doors that led to a walled garden complete with a waterfall and pond. The shower was separate from the large round sunken tub in the center of the room but you could see a glimpse of each in the cheval glass angled opposite them.

Her stomach growled and she grabbed a fluffy white towel and the bottle of shampoo-body wash she’d pulled from her knapsack. Jake
Truhorn
might think everyone looked great after an orgasm but she suspected he had a warped sense of humor. The three styling products it took to keep her curly hair manageable had melded her hair into a sticky mess, her makeup had dissolved and she had raccoon eyes. It was all coming off.

It was time he faced the reality of what forty-one really looked like. She hung her fluffy white bath sheet on a peg outside the shower, stepped into the pale stone enclosure and adjusted the water coming out of the sunflower shaped head. She squirted gel into her palm and started
sudsing
from her hair down and blessed the day she’d found the all-in-one product years ago while backpacking through Europe. Jake would have been a kid.

Well, he wasn’t a kid now and she wasn’t twenty. But her body ached like she was every time she imagined sex with him. And that hadn’t happened in a long time. Jake hadn’t forgotten an important part of sex.
How to play.
He hadn’t lost his passion for life or what he did. That was part of his allure. Of course, the fact that he was dead sexy didn’t hurt.

She toweled off in the shower and walked naked to the mirror over the sink, giving it a good swipe with the towel. Her hair was already waving around her face, caramel highlights disguising the few gray hairs she did have. She had a Sicilian grandmother to thank for both her hair and her strong bone structure. Hell, her entire structure including her generous breasts and hips. Not to mention the little rounded belly that no amount of exercise had ever flattened.