by Kacey Shea
“Look I’m sure you’re a nice guy.” Maybe. “And I’m sure we’d have great sex.” Fuck me, did I really admit that aloud? “But I’m kinda unavailable.” Mostly, sort of. Preston and I haven’t gone past first base, and the fact I haven’t had the urge to call or text him once tonight is probably a bad sign for our budding relationship. But Cam doesn’t need to know that.
Cam’s grin spreads across his face, and his eyes practically crinkle as he noticeably holds in a laugh. Nope. Scratch that. He full on laughs.
My hand goes to my hip and I narrow my glare. “What’s so funny?”
He blows out an exaggerated exhale and leans back against one of the closed doors. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
I have no clue what he means because I’m the opposite of trouble. I’m a rule follower. I don’t push boundaries. I always speak my mind, and go after what I want. And right now, I want to climb Cam like a ladder, even though it’s wrong on so many levels.
His stare doesn’t stray from mine, his gaze more knowing than it should be for someone I just met.
I shift under the uncomfortableness, and lift my beer to my lips so I have something to do with my hands.
“Sooo . . .” He grins as if he knows exactly why I’m guzzling back beer. “Wanna check out my rock collection?”
I almost choke, but manage to recover with a cough. I glance at him, and then around us though there’s no one except for two women waiting on what I assume is the bathroom. I want to laugh and roll my eyes, but manage to do neither. “And that’s where? In your room?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, the edges of his lips tugging up playfully. “Where else would I keep my rocks?”
I’m not sure if rock collection is a euphemism for dick, but weirdly enough I’m mildly intrigued by his invitation. Still, I narrow my gaze. I don’t follow strange men into their bedrooms. Not unless I’m looking to get laid, and well . . . okay, so I’m not opposed to the idea. As long I set the expectation ahead of time and he’s cool with a one-time thing.
“I don’t know.” I tap my finger against the rim of my cup. “Just how impressive is this rock collection?”
“Well, it’s hard. And big. Both in girth and length.”
I bite back my grin. “Someone likes to exaggerate.”
“Why don’t you come see for yourself?” His grin is full of challenge, but that’s not what wins me over; it’s the hint of a dimple hiding behind his scruffy jawline. Dimples. I’m a fucking sucker for them, and his have been playing peek-a-boo all night.
“Fine.” I lift my brow. “But only to see whether or not you’re a liar.”
A flash of something I can’t quite name dims his grin for a second before he bursts into laughter, those dimples popping just as I hoped they would. Le sigh. “Let’s do it, then.” He motions for me to follow.
It’s okay to hook up with the older brother of the guy your best friend is dating if you only do it once, right? Shit. Even my tipsy brain knows this is a horrible idea. But then again, why does Callie get all the fun? There are plenty of firemen to go around, and this one looks at me with an interest that can’t be faked. Maybe it’s a bad idea, but a thrill shoots up my spine as I decide to do it anyway.
Chapter Two
“Oh, my God!” I burst into laughter the second my eyes land on them. “You weren’t joking.” I walk the length of his bookcase and examine his very hard and very real rock collection.
“You’re impressed.” He leans against the wall, a cocky smirk in place. “I knew you would be.”
My gaze leaves his rocks to stare at the way his muscles strain against the fit of his T-shirt. “It’s not every day a guy shows you his geode.” I turn back to his collection so I don’t reach out and stroke his hard body. “It’s smaller than I thought it’d be.” My eyes widen as they land on another and I reach for the stone I’ve always admired. “Is this jade?”
He chuckles, crossing the space between us in a few long strides. “Fuck, keep talking about my rocks like that and I might fall in love.” He’s teasing, but his warning hits all too close to home.
I don’t do love. Ever.
I avert my gaze and dumbly set the jade back in place. “Don’t you dare.” My words come out huskier than I intend and effectively kill the lightheartedness of our banter.
“Jill.” He says my name rough, low, and full of need. There’s no question what he’s asking, even though he hasn’t posed a question. His strong body moves behind me, not close enough that we’re touching, but with a silent promise that his heat could set us both on fire. He only needs my permission to light the match.
I have no intention of getting burned. The smart thing would be to lay out the rules or go back to the party. Hell, I’ve spent the better part of the last hour arguing and pissed off at Cam, but with the rest of the world locked outside this room, I want to rebel. Give in to my most basic instincts. I want to feel. I want him. I want us.
I lift my chin, slowly glancing over my shoulder.
His lips are right there waiting. Full. Sensual. Tempting. “Jill.” This time my name leaves his mouth in a whisper and the rasp of his desire sends a surge of lust throughout my body. “I want you.” He waits though. Almost as if he’s waiting for my consent. Fuck, if that doesn’t turn me on more.
I want him, too. But I can’t have him. Can I?
I turn my body, needing space between our lips so I won’t assault his mouth. But he doesn’t move, and now with my back against his bookcase and his greedy gaze roaming my body as though he wants to eat me up, it’s even more difficult to resist the urge to jump him. “I’m sort of dating someone,” I blurt, mostly full of guilt for not saying something sooner. I’m not one to lead a man on when I’m with someone else. I don’t do love, but that doesn’t mean I sleep around. Though technically, that wouldn’t be the case since Preston and I aren’t sleeping together.
“Sort of?” Cam’s lips tip up at the corners.
I nod, resisting the urge to laugh, too. I am so not discussing Preston with him. “It’s complicated.”
Cam shuffles forward and his hands brace on the shelves at either side of my hips. His gaze heats, and fuck, maybe there’s actual testosterone oozing from his body into the air because my entire body tingles with anticipation. “Have you fucked him?”
The crassness to his question only heightens the sexual tension between us. Like a live wire filled with current, ready to combust and seeking contact. I shake my head, whispering my answer to his question. “No.” My eyes drop to his lips. Fuck, I want to kiss them.
“Then it doesn’t seem complicated to me.” In one swift move his mouth covers mine. Fucking finally. His hands widen over my hips and he presses our bodies together. His mouth tastes like beer, but moves with an expertise and control I lean into. There’s nothing soft or easy about this kiss. It’s possessive. Demanding. Commanding. And fuck if it’s not exactly what I need. He tugs my body closer, not satisfied until I’m flush against him, and only then does he break our kiss. “Want. You.” His chest rises with heavy breaths.
My hands run along his strong arms and don’t stop until they reach the back of his head. “Yes.”
“Yeah?”
“One-time thing.” I nod, ready for his lips on mine again. That and fewer clothes. I feel the hardness of his cock between us and much like his rock collection . . . it’s impressive. “Just tonight.”
“You really are the perfect woman.” His lips tip up at the corners and then they’re headed for my neck. He moves across my heated skin, trailing kisses, and the scruff of his jaw scrapes in the most delicious way.
“I’m really not.” I practically pant. His mouth moves lower, clearly heading for the neckline of my dress and the hint of cleavage there, as his hands roam upward to cup my breasts. I grab his head, tilting his jaw so he meets my gaze. “One night. Okay?”
“Yeah.” He finds my stare and bites the corner of his lip. He heaves out a breath as if he’s reaching for focus. I
kinda like that he seems a little dazed after only a few minutes of making out. Makes me wonder what he’ll look like when he comes. “Only once.” His hands find my hips again, sliding over my backside. He hauls me right off the ground. Fuck. That’s hot. “I better make it good.” He squeezes my ass then turns to walk us toward his bed.
“You better,” I whisper into his mouth, drawing his full lips into my kiss.
He kisses me back, hard. Then sucks my lower lip, giving it a playful nip before lowering my feet to the floor.
His hands roam up my body until they’re cupping my face, holding me in place as he assaults my mouth with his own. Not that I mind. His kisses are passionate, needy, almost unpracticed as his teeth click against mine.
My body aches with the need for more. I press my chest against his, and my hips move in an effort to seek friction in the building need between my legs. I don't know this man, but for what we’re doing I don't need to. In this moment and space, my primal needs and urges take precedence. My body buzzes with anticipation as his hands skim down my body to reach for the hem of my dress. His fingertips drag along my sides, scattering goosebumps across my flesh as he pulls my dress over my head.
His eyes are ablaze with desire when they land on the lacy cups of my bra, then leisurely trail down to my skimpy thong. “Fuck, I'm one lucky bastard.”
“Please don't tell me you're all talk and no game.” My words are taunting. Sexual. In part because the way he's looking at me feels too intimate. More intimate than I'm comfortable with, and it’s not because I’m the only one down to my underwear. The way he stares feels as if he’s peeling back layers. As if he sees beyond my front, or more than a one-time fuck. A spike of fear that he’ll want more lifts my brow in silent challenge. It’s rude, but if he can’t handle a little sass it’s better I leave now. There's a reason I'm not a relationship girl.
His chuckle wraps around me like an embrace. The wink of a dimple brings wetness between my legs. He’s not intimidated by my sharp words; if anything he’s entertained. “Naked. Now,” he practically growls. His gaze goes from playful to serious as he reaches over his shoulder, grips the fabric of his T-shirt, and in one swift move has it off.
“Bossy.” My gaze stutters at the sight of his broad chest, narrow trim waist, and glorious happy trail leading to the promised land. I swallow and offer up a silent prayer he isn’t sporting a micro-dick.
“Damn straight.” He pops the button on his jeans and slides the fly down with agonizing slowness. “That a problem?”
I stare, right at his crotch, waiting for a glimpse. “Only if I don't come.”
His lips spread in a wide grin and he shuffles forward, crowding me until the back of my legs hit the edge of his mattress. “First”—he reaches around my back and in one expert move unhooks the clasp of my bra. I gasp, bringing a smile to his lips—“I’m going to make you come with my fingers.” He runs his hands down my hips, tracing the elastic band of my thong until his grip is filled with my ass cheeks. He gives one side a slap and my breath hitches again.
Fuck. Why is his dominance so hot?
“And my mouth.” He dips his chin and his lips work along my neck to the valley between my breasts. His hands drag the straps of my bra off my arms to drop between us on the floor. Then his hungry mouth pulls one hard nipple in. He licks my breast with his tongue, leaning my body back in an arch. His arms hold me upright, barely, then they’re gone. I land on the mattress with a gentle thump.
“Then my dick.” He straightens and shucks his jeans.
Praise be. He’s big. Hard. Beautiful. Inside I give a little squeal because I just won the dick-lotto. Fucking hell. How does he walk around with that thing? It’s giant. Bigger than I’ve ever had. My legs press together as I imagine how he’ll feel inside.
His eyes dance with cocky assurance. He knows that thing’s a monster cock. Guess I’m not the only one with a cool party trick.
“Then fuck me already,” I say with a coolness I don’t really feel. My body aches for his touch, my need building. But he doesn’t need ego stroking, and I’m not the kind of woman to give it. Though I am eager to stroke something else right now. I back up on the mattress, widening my legs and then making grabby hands.
“You want this.” He grips himself, the length and girth of his hardness on full display.
I nod as a twinge of unease seeps into my consciousness. I’ve seen my fair share of penises, but his puts all others to shame. I have no doubt he’ll fit, but will he be too rough? It’s been awhile since I’ve done this. Pain is not my kink.
He grabs a condom from his bedside table then kneels on the bed, crawling forward to brace himself over me. His masculine presence is almost overbearing and his heavy erection juts out, stealing my attention. Fuck. Maybe it won’t fit.
His hand cups my chin, tilting my gaze back up to his. The pad of his thumb caresses my cheek and there’s a tenderness in his eyes. “This okay?”
Permission. He’s asking fucking permission. In that one question my nerves retreat and my confidence flares in its place. “I want to touch you,” I admit, my fingertips sliding down his chest toward his cut V. Jesus. He must work out constantly.
His dick bobs as if saying hello, and a soft chuckle leaves his mouth. “Someone’s happy to see you.” His amusement dies the second my fingers wrap around him. With our foreheads pressed together while our shallow breaths fill the room, he watches as I jack him off.
I stroke him, up and down, tighter and tighter, my grip strong around the soft flesh that covers his rock-hard length. Arousal grows in my belly, the power of what I’m doing to this big, cocky fireman fueling my confidence. Precum leaks from his tip, a most erotic sight, and we groan.
“My turn.” He pulls my hands from his erection, and pins them at my sides. Then his mouth is moving, down my breasts, teasing a nipple, biting at my hip, settling between my legs. His hands release my wrists to lift my legs and spread them wide. Exposing me. Open. Vulnerable. Wanton. “This pretty pussy is wet for me.” He stares at it with so much lust, as if he might actually die without a taste.
My breath hitches. Fuck me. I’m drenched.
He inhales, his mouth still inches away as he lifts the fabric of my thong over my mound and to the side. “This where you wanted me?” His fingers stroke around my center, but avoid my throbbing clit.
I need him to touch me. When he finally does, it won’t take much to set me off—our verbal sparring effective foreplay to this very moment. I groan, move my hips, and strain for the friction I desperately need.
“Come on. Say it.” He gives my pussy a slap that delivers more surprise than pain. “Tell me what you want.”
So Cam likes dirty talk? My clit throbs. Apparently so do I. “Fuck me with your mouth. Your fingers. Your cock. I want it all.”
“Fuck, yeah.” It’s all the encouragement he needs and his eyes darken with desire. His fingers slide between my wetness, his mouth moving over my clit. He licks. Kisses and sucks. His fingers slide inside to help. With swift and sure ministrations, he brings me closer. Makes me hotter. Draws curses along with his name from my lips.
“Fuck, I need inside.” He releases me and grabs the condom, opening the wrapper and sliding on the latex. “I can’t decide if I want to bend you over or take you like this.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because either way, I won’t be able to last. Fuck, you’re so damn sexy. What do you want?”
I like that he asks. That I get to be in charge, to take back control, especially after he brought me to the edge of my orgasm and didn’t finish me off. “I want to ride you.”
“Fuck. Yeah.” He slides back on the sheets as I roll to my knees and climb over him. I straddle his waist, line us up, and wait until he meets my gaze before spreading my knees and sinking down on his hard length.
We both gasp. In this position he fills me to the brink of pain. I’m so full. Thanks to all our foreplay, I’m wet enough for this to work. I inhale a br
eath, then move, swiveling my hips as I rock back and forth, up and down. Cam’s hands find their way to my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he helps quicken my pace. I rise and sink down, my clit making glorious contact with his pelvis.
“Yeah, that’s it. Get there.” One hand widens and his thumb slides down to massage my clit, playing it like his favorite instrument. Fitting, since it brings an erotic soundtrack of moans and gasps to my lips. I allow my eyes to drift shut, getting lost in the feel of everything. The slap of our bodies coming together spurs me on and I arch back, grinding on him.
“Fuck, Jill. Come on this dick.” He grunts his demand, thrusting his hips up to meet my rhythm.
I open my eyes and my gaze settles on his. The heat I find there, along with the strong set of his jaw, as if it’s taking every last ounce of his control to not come inside me is what sets me off. My toes curl. Incoherent sounds of pleasure escape my lips. My movements jerk with the tremors of my release. I swear I see stars, but more likely I forget to breathe as the aftershocks of my orgasm shudder through my body.
“I’m gonna . . .” But he doesn’t bother finishing the sentence. His hands lift my hips up off of his, and his condom covered erection bobs free as a guttural groan passes through his clenched jaw. I watch in fascination as his cock pulses, resting on his belly and filling the condom. The sight alone sparks a new wave of arousal through my limbs.
“Sorry,” he says between breaths, his chest rising and falling as if he just ran a sprint. “I couldn’t hold off any longer. You felt so good.” He tugs me down onto the bed next to him, then turns on his side.
This part—the after—is always my least favorite. My body wants to sink into a post-orgasmic haze, but my eyes don’t know where to look and my brain can’t think of what to say without making it awkward. Should I offer him a high five? Run like the wind? Too bad I couldn’t wrinkle my nose, blink, and end up transported to the safety of my own bed.
“Hey.” He catches my gaze, his own unreadable. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”