Heather ran her hands through his hair and traced her fingers down the back of his neck. He growled approvingly into her mouth and pushed his hips harder against her. She did it again, like she was relishing the response she’d provoked.
As quickly as he could without hurting himself or tripping over her feet, he walked her backwards until her shoulders hit the hallway wall a foot from the staircase up to her bedroom.
She gasped as her shoulders made contact, and he broke the kiss.
“Is this okay?” She’d just had a scare, and he didn’t want to push her too far or too fast.
“Better than that,” she breathed, and he grinned, turning his attention to the side of her neck, kissing steadily down the steep slope of muscle along her shoulder until his lips met an infuriating fabric barrier. Her sweater still carried the scent of the cafe’s spices. He dipped lower, exploring the smooth, sensitive skin above her sternum and the tops of her small, perfect breasts, feeling her quiet moans vibrate through her and into his mouth. Goosebumps rose every place his lips and tongue touched.
“Too many clothes,” he muttered against her collarbone, and he felt her quiet laugh rumble through her rib cage.
Without a word, she reached up and undid his topmost shirt button. He resisted the urge to kiss her again and instead watched her, his heart pounding as her fingers worked their way down his chest and pulled the shirt out of his jeans. He extricated himself from his shirt and tossed it aside, then pulled her against him, the fabric of her sweater dress soft and ticklish on his bare chest. The feel of her lean, muscular body and small breasts pressed against him was blissful.
He kissed her again, and her hands roamed his chest to trace the ridges of his stomach, skimming lightly, torturously, over the sensitive skin just above his belt. He groaned with frustration and desire, sliding his hands down to her firm, round ass and pulling her hard against him so she could feel exactly what that did to him. She did it again, and he grinned against her mouth.
Breaking the kiss again and looking down, he realised she was still fully clothed, boots and all. He desperately wanted her out of this dress, wanted to peel it off and wrap her legs around his waist.Resisting that urge, he instead slid his hand to the back of her thigh and pulled her leg out to rest her foot on the lowest step.
She gasped, and his eyes flew to hers.
“Do you want me to keep going?” he asked.
“Yes,” she breathed, returning his gaze, and relief flooded him.
He moved his hand slowly up her leg, keeping her steady with his other, holding eye contact as his fingers slid over the smooth, taut skin of her inner thigh. Her eyes stayed locked on his as he touched her, her fingers tightening on his upper arms as his fingers pushed the hem of her dress up higher, and higher still.
When his hand disappeared under her dress and brushed against damp, soft lace, he moaned at the sensation and nearly closed his eyes against the surge of want slamming through him. But he kept watching her, holding her gaze, observing her face as he slipped the fabric aside and touched her hot, sensitive flesh. She gave in first, dropping her head back and whimpering as he stroked her. His fingers slid between her delicate folds, tracing loops and circles and approaching her clit before backing away. Heather whimpered louder this time, digging her knee into his thigh and rocking her hips against his fingers. More than happy to give her what she wanted, Marcus slid a finger carefully inside her—fuck, she was so slick and so hot—and settled the heel of his hand against her. She gasped at the pressure, clutched at his arms as she began to grind against his firm hand and his thrusting finger.
The hallway was silent except for the distant rumble of traffic sliding over the Bridge a few blocks away and Heather’s quiet but increasingly urgent moans. Marcus’s aching erection strained against his jeans, but there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d interrupt this, not when she was making those delightful, deliriously sexy sounds, not when she seemed to be right on the edge. Marcus slid a second finger inside and Heather grabbed at his hips, leaning forward, pressing her forehead into his shoulder as she shuddered around him, her breaths landing hot and sharp on his bare chest.
After a moment she lifted her head and leant back against the wall, still panting, heat radiating from her skin. He removed himself from her underwear and held her thigh, unwilling, and possibly unable, to stop touching her.
“So worth it,” Heather breathed with a dreamy smile.
“Worth what?”
“Worth living in a death trap with a poisonous eight-legged monster.”
Marcus laughed his surprised bark of a laugh up to the ceiling of the quiet house. Through the deep fog of an orgasm that had threatened to buckle her knees, Heather registered again how good it felt to make him laugh like that.
“Well, I’m a full-service exterminator, ma’am. The spiders go, and you come.” Marcus’s eyes lit up and his hands slid to her bare hips, pulling her against him. She could feel him through his jeans, rock hard and ready. She couldn’t help letting out a tiny moan as their hips met and his erection pressed against her again.
“I think there are probably some more spiders around here,” she managed as he kissed her neck again, “so I might need you to do that again.”
“Oh no, not that, anything but that,” he growled playfully in her ear, and this time she was the one laughing.
Had she and Jack ever laughed like this during sex? If they had, she couldn’t remember. She certainly couldn’t remember him laughing at her jokes; in fact, he’d been embarrassed by her attempts at humor. Once, after he’d been promoted to principal and she was still in the corps, they’d gone out to dinner with Samuel and Brett and their girlfriends, and she’d made some goofy pun about an item on the menu. When all four of them stared at her as though she’d suddenly spoken in tongues, Jack placed a hand gently on her forearm and jumped in to rescue her—or so she thought.
“Sorry,” he’d said to them, sounding genuinely apologetic, before casting her a fleeting, irritated glance. “She was trying to make a joke. She does that sometimes.”
Heather sighed, suddenly exhausted. Marcus pulled away from her earlobe and leaned back to look at her.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she replied quickly. “Just thirsty. I’m going to get a glass of water.”
“I’ll get it,” he said, pulling away and making his way toward the kitchen. Heather followed, admiring the way his back muscles shifted beneath his skin as he walked, and noting a spray of freckles across his shoulder blades that matched the ones on his forehead. Heather leaned against the counter, enjoying the view of his rippling shoulder muscles as he reached into an upper cupboard, pulled out a water glass, filled it at the sink, and handed it to her.
She gulped at it gratefully. She hadn’t realized how parched her throat had been. Marcus watched her intently, and when she set her empty glass down, he filled it again and slid it back toward her. She looked at the blue and yellow striped glass, which had left a thin wet streak behind where he’d pushed it across the counter. She must have stared a moment too long, because he took a step toward her and put one hand on her waist.
