Big Love Abroad Page 5

  "Yes, you do," I cut in, turning around. "You totally do have expectations."

  Ian scrubbed his hand through his sandy blond hair, messing it up, then smoothing it back down again. I kind of liked it messy, but I didn't say that. "Okay, yeah, I do. I thought we'd sort of--I dunno--established an understanding. But if that's changed, for you, it's okay. No pressure, is all I'm saying."

  "You're being very tactful about this," I said, keeping my place a few feet away from him.

  "You say that like it might be a bad thing," Ian pointed out, slumping further down the couch and stretching his legs out, crossing his arms behind his head.

  I shrugged. "Not bad, no. But I suppose maybe I'd like to know precisely what understanding you thought we'd come to."

  Ian laughed, one short bark of amusement. "Put it all out there, is that it? All right, then. I thought, what with all the talk of X-rated thoughts and all, and due to the fact that I came right out and said, in so many words, that I'd like to bring you back here and do dirty things to you, that my expectation, or maybe my desire might be the better word, was to have sex with you." He sat up, on the edge of the couch now, long legs coiled beneath him, as if about to pounce. His sandy hair and suddenly heated blue eyes made him seem predatory, somehow. "Does that make it clear enough for you, Nina? I'd like very, very much to get you naked and have lots and lots of hot, and possibly rather kinky sex with you. This is a spacious flat. I can think of at least a half-dozen places I'd like to fuck you up against, and that's just what I can see from where I'm sitting. I've got a rather nice buzz going, and I've spent just about every moment of the last--what, almost twelve hours with you?--and I've had a rather painful hard-on for most of that time. When we left the pub, and even when we left GBK, I'd sort of thought you wanted the same thing. You were giving off all the right signals, or so I thought. Maybe I was misinterpreting things. I dunno. But that's what I thought. And then, suddenly, you're closed off and shaking and I'm just wondering...what the hell, basically."

  "You didn't misinterpret anything," I said, turning away again and twisting my ring. "I did want all that."

  "Did? What changed?"

  "Nothing. Well, not changed, really. Just...I've never done this before."

  "Done what?" Ian's voice went sharp and wary. "You're not a virgin, are you? Not that that'd be a bad thing, but--"

  "No! No, I'm not a virgin. That's not what I meant." Twist, twist, twist. Don't make eye contact, it's too embarrassing. "I just meant...I don't know you. I mean, I do, sort of, but not as well as--ugh, I don't even know how to say it. I've never shacked up with someone I just met, is all. So I'm sort of nervous."

  Ian didn't respond for a long time. "Oh....Oh." I heard amusement in his voice. "Shacked up? Who says that? It's not shacking up, Nina. That's a stupid phrase and hopelessly out-dated phrase."

  "A one-night stand, then. What's a good British phrase? A quick bang? A shag? Whatever you want to call it. I've never had sex with someone I just met. How about that?" I was too chicken to turn and look at him right then.

  "What if it doesn't have to be a one-night stand? And why is that so scary for you?"

  "Because...it's different? I don't know, I guess. And if it's not a one-night stand, what is it? What if I'm no good? What if we're not...compatible? What if you get my clothes off and you don't like how I look after all? And what does it mean when you have sex with someone you just met? What does that say about me?"

  "You think too much, Nina. It doesn't say anything about you." Ian was suddenly behind me, although I never heard him move. His hands rested on my waist, holding me in place. "And how will you know what I think of the way you look, and whether we're compatible, if you don't give it a chance? It's just sex, Nina."

  "But that's the thing." I really did like the way his hands felt on my waist. They were large enough that he could hold a good portion of my waistline. "Just sex. I always...I don't know, thought sex should mean something. Not necessarily love, maybe, but...the idea of casual sex never appealed to me, I guess. I've always wanted to have some kind of connection with the guy first, you know?"

  "And we don't have a connection? I thought we did. I do get what you're saying, Nina, I really do, but I think you're adding unnecessary complications to the whole thing." He shifted, and his body was now that much closer to mine, not pressed up against me yet, but enough that I could feel his chest as he took a deep breath. "Listen, a connection, as you put it, is a really subjective thing. You said yourself you don't need it to be love, per se, right? But then what is the connection you're looking for? Is it a specific time period in which you get to know someone? Or is it more of a...feeling about that person?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I've never tried to define it before."

  "Exactly." Ian's hands slid downward incrementally, and now he was almost but not quite gripping my hips. "Tell me something. Do you believe in love at first sight?"

  "I don't know. I've never experienced it, but I suppose I would say it's possible. Unlikely, perhaps, but possible."

  "Yeah, me too. So if love at first sight is possible, then why not connection at first sight?"

  "Your logic is seductive," I said. "But I see what you're trying to do."

  "Is it working?" His voice was right at my ear, his hands sliding down yet again to clutch my hips.

  "A little. Maybe."

  "I can work with maybe," Ian whispered.

  "You can?"

  "Oh yes." His fingers dug into the denim at my hips, gripping me tightly, and then, without warning, he jerked me backward into him. I felt him behind me, the hard muscle of his chest, a faint heartbeat hammering reassuringly at my shoulder blade, and yes, oh, god yes, I felt the thick, hard presence of his erection against my backside. He ground the aforementioned erection into me. "How about this? Is this working?"

  I bobbled my head side to side. "A bit. I might need a bit more convincing, though. I'm still not entirely sure." I was only partly joking.

  "Hmmmm. What else can I do to sway you?"

  His hands rose and slid around to my front, just over the waistline of my jeans. Then his thumbs lifted the hem of my T-shirt out of the way and his palms found the warm skin of my belly. I let out a hissing breath at the delicious heat and scratch of his palms on my flesh. My skin tightened, becoming hypersensitive, and my breath caught. I blinked hard, staring at the wall opposite me, focused on feeling the presence of Ian behind me, against me, focused on feeling instead of thinking. I knew I wanted this; I just had to give myself permission. Traveling to a new country was all about new experiences, right? I'd been born and raised in Michigan, always under the watchful eye of my parents and older sisters, even while at school at U of M. Now, I was totally on my own. This was my opportunity to really live, right? To do crazy and unexpected things, to make mistakes and have experiences I'd never had before.

  Well, Ian ticked all those boxes. He was totally new, totally unexpected. He might be a mistake. But, god, what an experience he was already.

  I tilted my head back, felt his shoulder under my head. I let out a long breath as his hands traveled up my stomach to my ribcage, halting just beneath the underwire of my bra.

  Which bra was I wearing? I suddenly couldn't remember. I hadn't changed my bra or underwear, and now I couldn't remember what I'd put on that morning. Something at least remotely sexy, hopefully. Please god, not the plain white comfy bra. Please god, not the stretchy white cotton granny panties. Shit. I'd totally put those on. I knew I had. It would be just my luck, of course. I mean, why wouldn't I have put on my most comfortable undergarments for an eight-hour transatlantic flight?

  "You're thinking again, aren't you?" Ian asked.

  "How do you know?"

  "You go tense. You were getting all nice and melty there for a moment, and then you just suddenly went tense. What were you thinking about?"

  "You really want to know?" I asked.

  "Of course."

  I sighed. "I was wonderin
g which bra and underwear I'd put on this morning. I couldn't remember."

  "Why does it matter?" Ian's thumbs brushed against the underwire, and if I wasn't tense before, I was right now.

  "Um, hello? Because you're about to see them?"

  "I am?"

  I stifled a groan as he traced the outline of my bra, then moved around to my underarms and then back to my sternum. Back and forth, back and forth, teasing me and leaving me to wonder whether or not he'd dare move upward. "Yeah, probably."

  "Probably, huh?" He touched the cup of my bra now, tracing the same line across my torso but doing so over the fabric of my bra. "Just probably? Sounded more definite a second ago. But again, why does it matter which set you're wearing?"

  "Because what if it's not a set? I was traveling, and I wasn't expecting...this. So I probably put on something comfortable, which wouldn't match, and is probably the least sexy and most unflattering set of underwear I own."

  Ian rumbled in laughter. "Allow me to reassure you, somewhat: I don't care. You know why? Because this time around, at least, your bra and underwear will only be on you long enough for me to get them off. You can play sexy lingerie dress-up for me next time, how about that?"

  "Next time?"

  "Next time." He slid his hands up my sides. "But that's then. This is now. And right now, I couldn't care less what you're wearing beneath your clothes, because all I care about is what you look like in your bare skin. That's what I want to see."

  "It is?"

  "Mmm. Oh yes." Ian's lips nuzzled my ear, his voice buzzing. "Every inch of your bare skin." His lips skated down and I felt his teeth nip my earlobe, eliciting a breathy moan from me.

  "That's a lot of inches, Ian."

  "Good. Just the way I like it."

  "For real?"

  "Mmmmhmmmm." His teeth nibbled at the thin skin of my neck, and his hands cupped my tits over my bra. "I like a woman with curves."

  "Well, curves I've got," I said, reaching back to thread my fingers in the hair at the back of his head, arching my back.

  "Goddamn do you ever," Ian muttered, kneading my breasts and grazing his teeth on the tendon of my neck before kissing the hollow of my throat. "Such hot, sexy, beautiful curves. And I'm going to thoroughly enjoy them all."

  "I like the sound of that."

  "You know what I like the sound of?" Ian asked, tugging the cup of my bra down to expose my nipple.

  "What's that?"

  "The way you moaned just then." His fingers found my nipple and pinched, twisted. I moaned for him again, and he growled in his throat. "Yes, just that way."

  I'd already made the decision, hadn't I? He had his mouth on me, had my boobs in his hands and his erection pressed up against my back. I wanted this. It might be a mistake, and I might end up getting hurt, but fuck it, right? You're only young once, and how many times in my life would I have a sexy-as-fuck British hunk in my apartment seducing the clothes right off me? Maybe never again. And if the shivers down my spine and the heat building between my thighs were any indication, Ian was going to rock my world into crumbly, melty pieces.

  He tugged the cup of my bra down further, sliding his palm under my boob, lifting it to rest on the cup, rubbing my nipple with his thumb, strumming as if it was a guitar string. And my, oh my, I was vibrating and humming like a taut string, each touch drawing sounds from me.

  "I feel like maybe this would be easier if you just took my shirt off," I suggested, lifting my arms up over my head.

  "I think you're right," Ian said.

  A single tug and my T-shirt was flying across the room, landing on the arm of the couch. My nipples, now bare to the air, tightened further, stiffening to hard peaks. Ian stood beside me, his mouth laving its way across my breastbone, his hands skating up my back to undo the hooks of my bra.

  He fumbled for a few seconds, then straightened to look over my shoulder. "Sorry, I'm normally better at this," Ian said. "It shouldn't be that hard, but they just..."

  I laughed. "It's fine. There are a lot of hooks to undo. A pain in the ass to put on and take off, but it's comfortable." I was about to reach back and help him when he finally freed the first hook, then made quick work of the rest. "I think it might actually be a little reassuring that you're not more adept at it, actually."

  With a final pull-and-release, my bra was loose and Ian was brushing the straps off my shoulders. I let the garment fall off, and stood topless in front of him. I fought the urge to cross my arms over my chest, finding Ian's hungry scrutiny hard to bear without flinching. In the end I lost the battle, my hands coming up and my arms crossing over my breasts, my cheeks hot, my heart pounding like a drum.

  "Why'd you cover up, Nina?" Ian's hands latched onto my wrists and gently but firmly drew my hands away. "You don't need to cover up. You're beautiful. You're perfect."

  I shook my head in denial, but said, "Thanks, Ian."

  He just smiled at me, releasing my wrists so he could slide his palms up my ribcage to cup my heavy breasts, the fair white skin of his hands a contrast against my dark Latina flesh. His palms scraped over my nipples, and I bit my lip and hissed at the sizzling heat that scorched through me.

  "Now, let's see the rest of you."

  He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the gap at the top of my cleavage, bending at the knees and sliding his tongue across the thrill-bumps on the slope of my boobs, cupping them and lifting them to his mouth, his tongue tip flicking first one nipple and then the other. I couldn't help but gasp, sucking in air to replace the oxygen he was stealing from my lungs with each touch of his mouth to my flesh, each slide of his strong hands on my body. My nipple in his mouth, teeth scraping and tongue flicking, Ian reached between us to unbutton my jeans, drawing the zipper down in one smooth motion.

  "Wait," I said, grabbing his hands to stop him.

  He reared back and met my eyes. "Something wrong? Am I moving too fast?"

  "No." I shook my head. "It's just that you're wearing too many clothes too. I've been dying for a look at your abs since you boarded that plane." I didn't wait for him to move or reply, instead I went to work myself.

  I grasped a fistful of his shirt and tore it upward, over his head and off, throwing it to join mine on the couch.

  Oh. I smiled at him, tracing the grooves of his washboard abs. I mean, damn. Just damn. And he had a V-cut? That sexy V of toned muscle pointing down beneath his boxers and the waist of his jeans to the promised land. It beckoned to me, called out to me. I felt needy, hungry, drunk with want. I wasn't myself. I wasn't this girl, the one who slept with guys she didn't know, the one who shoved her hands down his pants, but here I was, fairly panting with desire for Ian's body, for the heat of his flesh and the hard muscle and the way his hands made me feel. My palms flattened against his stomach, my fingertips pointing downward. I slid my hands against his firm hot skin down beneath the elastic of his underwear.

  Ian's stomach muscles tensed as I reached in, and now it was his turn to catch his breath as I found his silky-soft yet iron-hard cock. Ohhh my. Oh my. Ohmygod. Dear sweet Jesus, this was going to be good. I withdrew my hands and made quick work of the button and zipper, tugging his jeans and boxers down around his hips. He pried one shoe off with his toe, and then the other, and then he stepped out of his jeans and kicked them across the floor, then peeled his socks off.

  It was my turn to step back and admire him, well over six feet of ripped, toned, nude male hotness. His cock was thick and tall, hard as a rock, straining up and laying flat against his belly.

  "God, Ian. You are...a lot of man." I closed my eyes briefly, taking a step toward him, letting out a breath. Then I closed the space between us, pressing my body against his. "A lot of insanely hot man."

  Ian's hands slid over my shoulders, down my back, curling around my sides to hold me against him. "I'm glad you think so. And thank you." He traced the waistline of my jeans from hip to hip, then slid his hands between our bodies. "Except now I'm naked and you're not. That is an inequity
we shall have to rectify post-haste."

  "Indeed we shall," I breathed.

  Okay, so I may have a tendency to sometimes slip into a weird kind of faux-formal, almost British, Regency Romance-inspired manner of speech complete with accent. I'm kind of a nerd that way, and Ian's accent helped to pull it out of me. It was embarrassing and awful and something I could do nothing to stop, especially as aroused as I was in that moment.

  Ian hooked his thumbs between the flesh of my hips and my jeans and underwear.

  I concentrated on the feel of Ian's skin under my hands as I explored his bare shoulders, focusing on the feel of his muscles playing and shifting as he moved, focusing on anything other than the fact that I was about to be totally naked in front of a man for the first time in a very long time, and it was happening in the middle of my well-lit living room. I caressed the expanse of his back with both hands, rested my forehead on his shoulder for a moment as I cupped his ass.

  And fuck me if his ass wasn't delectably perfect. A taut, round bubble of rock-solid muscle. I spent several moments just gripping it, holding onto it, exploring the firmness of it, simply enjoying it. Meanwhile, Ian was slowly working my jeans off, slipping them down over one hip, palming the exposed flesh over my hipbone, and then lowering the other side, taking my underwear with the denim. Oh man. Oh boy. He had my pants down far enough that the top of my pussy was exposed. Just the creases between my legs and my core and a hint of close-trimmed pubic hair, but enough to have me trembling and nervous.

  I clutched Ian's butt with suddenly panicked fingers as he gently tugged one side of my jeans down another two inches, and then the other side, baring me completely now.

  Swallowing was nearly impossible, and my breathing was coming in deep, fast gasps.

  I should have shaved down there. I mean, my legs were smooth, having been shaved just before I left the States, but I'd never been brave enough to totally shave my privates. Now, with Ian's gaze on me, with his hands about to touch me there, I wished I had. He probably thought the pubic hair was gross.