Instant Gratification

by Jill Shalvis

  when they’d heard his truck start and take off.

  “Dammit.” She sighed. “He must be just off a hike or something. He wanted Band-Aids. Which means he’s hurt.” And hot and sweaty. And sexy. “Dammit.”

  “You said that already.” Spence watched her grab her black medical bag. “So you’re really doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Falling for a big, tough, outdoorsy guy with more testosterone in his pinky finger than most guys have in their entire body.”

  She shook her head. “I’m just going to take him Band-Aids, Spence. And see how badly he’s hurt.” With that, she walked out the door, Spencer’s knowing gaze following her.

  She didn’t catch up with Stone until she pulled into the driveway at the Wilder Lodge. As she hopped out of her dad’s truck and moved toward his, she found him leaning back against his driver’s door, arms and legs casually crossed. Eyes inscrutable. Expression closed.

  She looked him over carefully, her heart stopping at the napkin wadded in one of his hands.

  There was blood on it.

  She took another closer look, then eyes narrowed, stepped right up to him so that they were toe to toe and pulled off his baseball cap.

  Bingo.

  The wound on his head was bleeding, and she went up on tiptoe to study it closely. “Dammit, Stone.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Can we go inside?”

  “It’s nothing,” he repeated.

  “Inside.”

  “Fine.” He straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets. Gesturing with a jerk of one shoulder in the direction of a trail next to the lodge, he started walking. She followed him past two small cabins and up to the front of a third. He opened the door, then gestured her in ahead of him.

  His place, she realized. He flicked on the mudroom light. The entry opened to a living room which was dimly lit by the single light by the front door, but she could see exposed wood beam ceilings and gorgeous distressed oak wood floors. There was a large comfy looking couch and several chairs facing the biggest TV she’d ever seen, and beyond that, a huge sliding glass door leading out to the black night.

  Using only the mudroom light, he moved to the couch and plopped down, kicking his booted feet up onto the coffee table next to an SLR camera and a tool belt.

  A study in contradictions. “I can’t figure you out,” she said.

  “Ditto.”

  She took her bag off her shoulder, set it at her feet, then crouched down to open it up.

  “Don’t bother, I’m not letting you re-stitch.”

  Glancing up along the length of him—and up, because damn, the man was tall—she wished he’d turn on another light. Especially since his broad shoulders blocked out the glow from the mudroom, casting his face in shadows. “I’m just going to disinfect and put on one of your standard medical go-to’s—a Band-Aid. Okay?”

  He said nothing, so she flipped on a lamp herself, then pulled out antiseptic and a gauze. Bending over him, she wiped away the now drying blood. “You know, you ought to think about buying stock in Band-Aids.”

  He said more of his loaded nothing. She put on a steri-strip, then straightened and sighed. “Okay, listen. There’s nothing going on between me and Spencer. At least not in the way you’re thinking.”

  His eyes cut to hers. “Not that it matters, but your definition of nothing is interesting, considering I saw you playing tonsil hockey with him.”

  “You saw him kissing me. He was proving a point.” At his raised brow, she raised one of her own. “That our chemistry is no longer there. How did you get hurt?”

  He lifted a shoulder.

  “Let me guess. You went to Moody’s and once again got beat up by three women?”

  A corner of his mouth quirked, and he let out a breath. “I helped TJ on a climb, and as it turns out, our client is an idiot.”

  “You should probably try harder to weed those out in the selection process.”

  “We do try, but sometimes they get past us.”

  “Huh.”

  He slid her a look. “Hey, even you have to treat the assholes of the world.”

  “Yes, but I don’t have to put my life into their hands. What happened?”

  “We were roped together and he screwed up on a grip. Kicked me in the head as he fell. He’s lucky that I have fast reflexes and caught him anyway, or we’d both be bleeding. Or dead.”

  She stared at him. With those surfer boy good looks and that throwaway charm he exuded in spades, she kept forgetting how easy it was to underestimate him.

  She’d underestimated him.

  Because no matter how much he looked like a slacker, he was nowhere close. “I’m really not sleeping with Spencer, Stone.”

  “Anymore.”

  “Anymore,” she agreed. “I’m not sure why I feel the need to tell you this, but it’s the truth. And, as long as I’m opening a vein, I’ll tell you I haven’t had sex in nine months.”

  “Long time.”

  “At about the six month mark I stopped missing it.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  “I’m a girl. We aren’t programmed to think about sex 24/7 like guys do.”

  “We don’t think about it 24/7. It’s 20/7, max.”

  She smiled wryly. “I keep telling myself it’s not nearly as good as I remember it.”

  He tugged her down to the couch with him. Those broad shoulders of his blocked out most of the light. His eyes were very dark. “It would be with me.”

  Oh boy.

  He shifted closer, then closer still. “Tell me one more time why you were kissing Spencer.”

  “To see if there was a spark.”

  His hands settled on her arms as he slowly but inexorably pulled her up against him.

  He looked at her mouth, his eyes heavy and sleepy, and she shivered, anticipation racing down her spine, branching out into all her good parts, of which there were many more than she remembered.

  Way more.

  She could feel his hard chest against hers, the easy strength in him as he held her. He was still looking at her mouth as he dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, like it was taking no effort at all to hold her, but plenty of effort to hold himself back. “Do you feel a spark now?” he asked silkily.

  If she felt any more sparks, she’d burst into flame.

  Chapter 15

  Stone absorbed the bone-melting sensation of Emma’s arms winding their way around his neck. “Do you, Emma? Feel a spark?”

  She pressed even closer, letting out a hum of desire that went straight to his head. And parts south. Far south.

  “It’s too soon to tell,” she murmured in his ear.

  “Liar.”

  “Okay, fair enough.” Her lips were brushing his earlobe with every word, and he was hard as a rock. “I think…I think I feel an entire set of fireworks.”

  “Good.” He nodded, definitely feeling the same fireworks. He’d nearly made those fireworks work for him the last time they’d been alone together, when she’d nearly given it all up for him. Nearly…nearly…and then TJ had shown up and he’d been shit out of luck. Suddenly, he had hopes that tonight would end better. “Let’s make sure.”

  “How—”

  Which is all he let her get out before he leaned over her, pressing her back down, down, down to the couch. Towering over her, he looked into those fathomless eyes, letting the anticipation drum between them before bending low to kiss her.

  Together they sank further into his comfortably worn couch as she opened her mouth for him, gently sliding her tongue to his. Oh, God, yeah, that worked, and he tightened his hands on her, apparently the universal sign for more, please, because with a little gasp of breath, she made room for him between her legs and arched up to rock against him. “You sure yet?” he asked as the both of them panted for more.

  She blinked up at him, lips wet, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. I lost all track of our conversation.”

  With
a ragged exhale, he pressed his forehead to hers. Pressed up against him, she undulated her hips against the hard-on he’d had since she’d driven up to the lodge. “Okay, it’s definitely safe to say I’m sure I feel something,” she murmured.

  With a low laugh, he pressed the “something” up against her. “Not what I meant, Em.”

  “I feel it.” She cupped his face. “It’s been so long that I almost didn’t recognize it, but I feel it.” She touched his hair, his jaw, nothing but a touch, and he nearly melted on the spot. It’d been awhile for him too, at least awhile since he’d felt so moved. As in earth rocking, foundation slipping, dizzy from the emotions moved. He was still trying to gather his wits when she whispered his name in a low, shaky voice that said she was with him on this. Unnerved, unsure, but with him.

  Slowly, he lowered his head and kissed her again; a deep, long, wet kiss that shut down what little brain power he had left. She tasted warm and sweet and innately female. She tasted like the solution to his restless loneliness. She tasted like she was…his. “I want more than Spencer got,” he murmured. “I want more than the kiss. Tell me right now if you don’t, before this goes any further.”

  “That elusive word more again…” she whispered, staring at him as she pulled his head back down. “Kiss me, Stone. Take what you want.”

  He would. He did, taking what he wanted without apology, showing her what he was beginning to realize he felt. A fact that amped up both his heartbeat and the mood, which went from calm and lazily aroused to hot-as-hell wild frenzied as they went at it, their hands fighting for purchase, tangling in each other. She was letting out those helpless little pants as she tried to get under his clothes, the sexiest breathy sounds he’d ever heard, which were going to make him go off so he grabbed her hands and pressed them high above her head. This brought his entire weight down on her, which she welcomed by spreading her legs even further and wrapping them around him, bringing him in tighter against her. “God,” he murmured, his mouth on her throat now. “God, Emma.”

  “I know,” she gasped, latching her mouth onto his shoulder. It was crazy how fast the air changed, how fast it sparked, and lit fire.

  Crazy. Take what he wanted? He wanted it all.

  “Stone—”

  “Tell me.”

  “You. I want you.”

  The words were no sooner out of Emma’s mouth before he ripped off his shirt, and then hers, both following the same air path over his shoulder and across the room.

  He popped open her bra and bent his head, kissing her jaw, her throat, her shoulder, and then a breast, gently pulling it into his mouth and sucking, a motion so perfect that it arched her right off the couch and further into his mouth. An inarticulate sound left her, one that conveyed shocking need and hunger, which might have horrified her if she’d been alone in this.

  But she wasn’t. For once, she wasn’t alone at all, and given the sound that escaped his throat—one of equal need and hunger, and also of thrilling impatience, he felt it too as he lifted up enough to unhook and unzip her pants. Still teasing her nipples with his tongue, he slid a hand down her leg, bending it so he could reach to yank off her shoe.

  She went to work on his clothes, and had his sweats opened and her hands inside when he twisted to get at her other shoe. Tangled up in each other, they lost their balance and together fell off the couch and onto the small space on the floor between the couch and the coffee table.

  “Jesus.” He arched up to slide his hands beneath her head as she dissolved into laughter. “Are you okay?” he demanded.

  “Yes.” She held onto him when he would have pulled away. Her bra was caught on her elbow, her pants half on and half off, both hampering her movements. He lay over her, no shirt, his sweats halfway down. His chest was warm and deliciously hard against her. She realized he had a leg thrust between hers, one hand still cradling her head in a protective gesture that melted her as his other hand, low on her back, moved lower to cup her bottom. “Very okay. You?”

  His eyes were lit with heat and humor as his mouth curved. “I could be better.”

  “You have a nearly naked woman in your arms and you could be better?”

  “I could be inside you.”

  His words liquefied her bones. “I suggest rectifying the situation. Stat.”

  “I love it when you get bossy.” He pushed with his thigh, just a little, which opened her legs to him further, and then he settled into the spot as if he’d been made for it as his fingers slid between her legs and stroked.

  She cried out, she couldn’t help it. She’d never been amused and excited at the same time before, never, and it confused her brain, flipped a switch somewhere deep inside, making it feel so intense she almost couldn’t take it. “Not to criticize your technique,” she panted. “But what’s taking so long?”

  With a grin, he lowered his head and licked her nipple, rasping his tongue over the tip, and then again, while she sucked in a breath. “I’ve never been a fast mover,” he said against her flesh.

  As if to prove the point, he slid his way down her body, kissing her ribs, her belly button, her hip. His fingers idly, almost lazily, hooked in her pants. He lifted his head and watched her as he tugged.

  But since he’d only gotten one of her shoes off, they got stuck on her leg. He didn’t seem concerned as he dropped his gaze to see what he was doing, and ran a finger over the elastic on her bikini panties. “Pretty,” he said of the navy blue and white sailor stripes. He slid them down, sucking in a breath at all he’d revealed. “God. Look at you.”

  “Stone—”

  “Open.” Accompanying this gentle demand, he settled a hand on her thigh and nudged it, wedging his shoulders between her legs, giving him quite the front row view.

  “Um.” Trapped, she lay there on the floor between the couch and the table, her legs held open by his wide shoulders, with nowhere to escape. She could have pushed him away, could have sat up, could have stopped him in a hundred different ways, but instead, when he leaned forward and lapped at her like she was a bowl of cream, she sank her fingers into his hair and held on for the ride.

  She cried out again. And then again when he added his fingers. She was burning up, from the inside out, trembling with strain, her every muscle taut and seeking release as she clutched at him with a horrifying desperation.

  It’d been so long. So damn long, and even so, she honestly had to admit, she’d never felt like this. Like she was going to die if he didn’t finish her off, like she didn’t have to struggle to get to the edge, didn’t have to try to orgasm because she was there on the very brink already. He held her there, damn him, held her there for an interminably long beat before he let her take the plunge.

  She very nearly came right out of her own skin. Cradled by him, she shuddered and trembled, and shuddered some more, shocked at how easily it had barreled through her.

  Stone lifted his head and lazily kissed his way up her body as if totally relaxed—except for the erection pressing against her hip.

  She reached for him, managing to stroke him once before a rough rumble escaped his throat and he staggered to his feet. The light fell over him, revealing just how incredibly made he was. His chest was perfectly sculptured, his belly flat and six-packed, his thighs hard and powerful.

  And between…God, between them he was just as glorious, but that was as far she got before he scooped her up against him and carried her through the living room, down a hall to his bedroom. He set her on the bed, then flicked on a lamp, which gave her a moment of self-awareness she could have done without. But then he moved into her line of view and she blessed the light because he was so beautifully made she could hardly stand it.

  He had a condom, and she stared at it thinking good God, she’d have actually forgotten. For the first time in her life, she would have forgotten to have responsible sex.

  Good thing he could think, because she was apparently beyond it, as proven when he ran a hand down her body, over her breasts, her belly,
to between her thighs, where she was wet and beyond