Helping Sarah

Chapter 32

Sarah

Like the rest of his house, Michael's bedroom was held in light colours except for the wall where the bed stood. That was painted a dark blue that matched the heavy curtains. The entire wall opposite the bed was windows and in the adjacent wall a wide opening led into a walk-in wardrobe. There were no knick-knacks but for a large, black and white print of The Beatles hanging above the bed.

I made myself notice it all, take a moment to look round and give myself a chance to calm down a little. I felt ready to combust already, and we were both still fully dressed. It had been that long.

But the sight of Michael's massive bed in the soft light spilling from lamps on the bedside tables on either side, a striped bedspread that looked so very soft over it, didn't exactly douse what he'd started down in the hall.

And everything inside me, jazz hands and flutters and sensations, only found new vigour when a pair of soft lips landed on the crook of my neck, right beneath my ear.

My eyes fell closed on a soft moan as my head tilted backwards to rest against his shoulder to give him more room. A shiver ran up my spine, chased by another when his arms came around me.

Michael moved us further into the room, closer to the bed, and all thoughts but the ones concerning Michael, which were most of them, flew out of my mind when his hands rose to cup my breasts. The sensations were instant and fierce.

On a gasp, almost a cry, all of me jerked and my hands caught his forearms, gripped them tightly.

He stilled completely.

"Sarah," Michael's voice was strained, "are you sure about this?"

I turned in his arms, met his gaze. "Yes." The word was but a pant.

"We don't have to do this now. If you're not ready."

The carefulness in his tone made me smile. "I know. It's not that." I moved one of his hands back over the pebbled tip of one breast, let him see how the slight movement of his palm was enough to steal away my breath. "I'd forgotten what this feels like," I managed. "How good it feels. I haven't been with anyone since Andrew and he was my first."

Michael's mouth fell open. "You haven't had sex in three years?"

I chewed my lip as I shook my head. "No. You might say I have some catching up to do."

He looked down at our hands, our fingers entwined over one soft mound, then suddenly bent his head and replaced our hands with his mouth, suckled lightly through the thin fabric of my dress and bra.

The spear of pleasure shooting through me made my back arch, a gasp falling from my lips.

"Happy to help with that." Michael's eyes alighted with heat as his hands delved under the fabric of the skirt. Then rose. To expose my thighs. My belly.

I grabbed his forearms again before he could lift the dress further and halted him. "I'm not like that woman."

Michael blinked. Quite a few times. "What woman?"

"The one in the restaurant."

"Bridgette?"

I could hear the surprise in his voice. My eyes wouldn't rise higher than to where the evening stubble on his jaw started as I nodded.

"Thank God for that."

My eyes flew up. "But she's beautiful."

"No, she isn't."

I stared into the green eyes that had somehow grown darker. I couldn't look away again. The tone of his voice was one you didn't argue with and it only grew deeper.