Kissing Frogs

by Tori Turnbull

  Bastard.

  He sat in my place, swinging his legs onto the sofa. “I’m not going to have some pointless argument over turf with you.” He lay back, his neck and head propped on the arm of the chair, bending one leg against the sofa back, the other on the floor. He settled me so I lay cradled between his thighs and draped over his chest.

  He wheezed out a painful breath as I deployed an elbow, struggling to get off him. A heavy hand clamped down on my bum, landing with a loud smack that had me squealing. His palm settled, cupped, and held me in place. “You’re missing the movie. Lie still. This way we both get what we want.”

  “Huh.” I sprawled over his chest, settling myself a little more comfortably – as Sid met Manny the mammoth – one hand resting on his bicep, the other fisted on the worn cotton of his t-shirt over his pec. His muscles flexed and rippled sexily under my hand. I ignored his hand palming my bum, not willing to lose the battle to make him remove it. Besides, it was nice to just snuggle in front of the TV. I bet he’d never done this with Babs.

  Twenty minutes of fretting and thinking later, I shifted restlessly, eyes still fixed on the TV. “So, have you heard from Malibu Stacey recently?”

  “Barbie? Nope.” He continued to stroke my bottom idly, chuckling as the acorn once more bounced out of reach of the squirrel creature. “You heard anything more from any of your dates?” His tension was communicated through the stilling of his hand on my backside.

  “Oh my goodness. I don’t believe it!” my mother squealed from the hallway.

  I shot up. Mark lurched forward, struggling to keep me from toppling over the edge of the sofa. My neck clicked, but it was my mother’s face staring over the back of the couch, one hand pressed to her chest, that had me wincing. “Penny was right. You two are…”

  “Yes,” Mark responded.

  “No!” I screeched at the same time, scrambling for purchase so I could get off him. This did not look good. If I didn’t get this under control quickly, my mother would be on the phone to his mother, whipping up a fantasy wedding.

  “Why lie, KT?” he said in a harsh undertone whilst my mother continued to hyperventilate and quote Penny and Pete. His hand tightened on my hips, holding me still, before I did him serious injury.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Mum couldn’t contain her excitement. “It’s wonderful.” She either hadn’t heard my denial or was choosing not to hear it. She was probably distracted, mentally picking her mother-of-the-bride outfit.

  “It’s nothing,” I said. “It’s not–”

  “It’s something,” Mark snapped. “Or do I need to remind you what we spent all–”

  Tipping my head back against his chest, I looked up at him, eyes pleading, desperately. “Don’t do this. Please,” I whispered.

  He heaved a frustrated sigh. “Fine,” he said through his teeth. “Don’t get your hopes up, Muriel. KT wanted to stretch out and watch TV and we’ve only got the one sofa, so we had to share.”

  Mum’s expression fell. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes!” I snapped before he could comment. I knew I was pushing it to expect him to stick with the denial if my mother called him on it.

  “I hoped you were together.”

  Mark muttered something I couldn’t catch over the sound of the TV.

  Mum sighed. “Well, I only came to drop off some mail that came through my door instead of yours, and, ah…” Her eyes strayed to his hand, still firmly cupped over my backside, his fingers flexing; she shook her head in a way that usually preceded her telling me she didn’t understand young people today. “Ah, a couple of phone messages that Sylvia” – I recognised my mother’s cleaner’s name – “took for you from Before Lunch. I’ll ah, I’ll leave you two to… ah, watch TV, then.”

  The door clicked behind her and the silence stretched between us. Mark sucked in a breath. “Don’t,” I said. He tensed under me, then heaved out a breath and remained silent. We both turned back to the TV.

  * * * * *

  I woke sprawled over Mark, still on the sofa, his hands roaming over me. The TV, sound on low, showed a Friends rerun and lit the room with its flickering light. His t-shirt had bunched up under his arms, leaving me lying against the warmth of his bare skin. I rubbed my cheek against the springy hair on his chest, enjoying his rumbling response. He smelt of paint and grout, from working on the bathroom and the musky scent of warm, sleepy man. Yummy. “You don’t know how lucky you are,” I said. “Not many women would be willing to take on an unemployed man, no matter how good he is at DIY and making love.”

  He stilled, eyelids half covering his eyes. “You said making love,” he said sleepily.

  Damn it.

  It was practice sex.

  I scowled, body tense against his. “You know what I meant.”

  “I do,” he responded on a sigh. “I just wondered if you’d figured it out yet.”

  “Fine, not many women would be willing to take on an unemployed man, no matter how good you are in bed.”

  He frowned, then his lips twitched. “I’m good in bed, huh?”

  “I should’ve guessed you’d focus on that bit and not the unemployed bit.”

  “I’m employed. One of those letters your mum brought was from a publisher. They’re interested in taking my manuscript on.”

  “Wow… Congratulations.” I pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

  “Want to help me celebrate?”

  “Why do I get the feeling your idea of celebrating doesn’t involve leaving the bedroom?”

  “It’s my celebration, but I’m willing to compromise. We’ve never done it on the sofa, or in the kitchen.”

  I considered my options. “There’s no need to move or delay if we stay on the sofa.”

  A smile slowly spread across his face, reaching up into his eyes. “That’s my girl.”

  Our mouths met, a gentle pressure growing deeper, firmer. His lips coaxed with addictive expertise. My lips parted, our tongues tangled. We broke apart, gasping for breath. “What’s your book actually about?” I said, panting.

  His muscles flexed under my fingers. His lips moved against mine. “Best wait until after the congratulatory sex to ask questions.”

  Warning bells sounded. “That means it’s about something that would stop you getting congratulatory sex.” I leant back to look at him.

  “We’ll talk about it later. First things first – I wouldn’t want you to think I let success go to my head and didn’t prioritise giving you the attention you need.” He hauled me up his body until he could reach my mouth better. He tasted of coffee and hunger.

  I needed more. I needed to feel his skin pressed against mine, all of mine. I wanted to wrap my legs around him and enjoy what followed. It was all practice, and my body, which had been in sexual exile for too long, was craving his.

  Sitting up, I tugged his rumpled t-shirt the rest of the way off, smoothing my hands across his broad shoulders and down over his chest, nails scratching against small, flat nipples. My hands trailed lower, teasing feather-light touches that chased goose bumps over his skin. I shuffled back, smiling as I reached the thick, dark line of springy hair that disappeared into his low-slung jeans.

  I paused, enjoying the feeling of him hardening beneath my touch. He sucked in a breath, tightening his muscles, trying to push his erection into my hand. I gave him what he wanted, tugging his pants out of my way, wrapping my hand around him, smoothing my thumb over the sensitive tip, moistened with his own need. I slid my hand down, squeezing gently, then up, in one long stroke over his hard velvet shaft. “Ah, fuck, KT.” He groaned, eyes rolling, and dropped his head back on the arm of the sofa.

  “So, I’ve been thinking about the kink you promised me.”

  He grunted as my hand made a long slide then squeeze. “Anything.”

  “Goody.” Another pass with my hand. “I was thinking you could be the handyman.”

  “Huh. You keep playing with the handyman’s tool like that and he’s going to blow
a gasket.” I laughed, continuing the squeeze and slide, until his hand clamped around my wrist, stilling the motion. “You have to stop that before I embarrass myself and give you that pearl necklace your mother spoke about.”

  Jack-knifing up, he pulled my top off. “Beautiful.” My breasts bounced forward, perfectly presented to his mouth. He leant forward, lapping with his tongue, groaning his frustration when I moved, going straight for his erection. He knocked my hands out of the way. “You shouldn’t disturb a man at work.”

  “I thought I could be your apprentice, make sure your tools were kept in perfect working order.”

  “Your mind is one track.”

  “And you have a problem with that?”

  He grabbed my hands, clamping them to the sofa over my head, surging up and over me, pressing his body into mine. I shuddered, tremors of arousal sparking out as my sensitive nipples brushed the solid wall of his chest. My hips pressed against the rigid strength of his erection.

  His mouth closed over mine. I gasped at the impatient thrust of his tongue. He responded instantly, taking advantage, deepening the kiss, his mouth hot and open, his tongue duelling with mine. I whimpered, hearing his rumbled response of possession as my fingernails scored his back, sliding down to push at his waistband. I pulled but didn’t have the flexibility or the room to manoeuvre to get him out of them.

  Mark jumped up and began to divest himself of his clothes, dragging my joggers and panties off too before he joined me back on the sofa, finally putting sensitive skin to skin. Sighing, I pressed my mouth to the pulse in his neck, tasting salty, hot male, my lips tingling from the vibration of his groan.

  His mouth moved to the sensitive skin beside my ear. His stubble scraped. His teeth placed stinging nips that his tongue soothed. Fingers trailed back up the inside of my thigh, stroking the sensitive skin before sliding through my damp curls, finding my clit. My thighs parted. I gasped for air, head back, eyes closed, muscles tensed and straining as I panted my desire. He growled, enjoying the submissive gesture.

  “You feel so good. So hot and wet and ready for me.” He panted. He stretched out beside me. His tongue teased. He groaned, grinding his shaft against my hip.

  “Please, Mark. Please.” I writhed against him, aching. My hands clutched. My fingers dug into his shoulders as he slid down my body, moving to kneel beside the sofa. Wedging his big body between my thighs, he dragged my legs over his shoulders, pulling my bum to the edge of the cushion. He used his thumbs to part me, eyes fixed on my sex. “I dream of you like this, I wake up with your taste on my tongue.”

  I jerked, crying out as his mouth claimed me, fingers clawing at his hair, gripping the short strands. He responded by tightening his hold on my bottom, holding me to his mouth, his lips sealed tight around my clit, his tongue making hard little flicks followed by long, slow licks.

  “Please.” I was rocking against his mouth now, fingers kneading in his hair, head thrashing against the sofa cushions, lost to sensation, as he feasted on me. “I can’t…”

  He pulled my clit deeper into his mouth, his teeth scraping lightly as two thick fingers pushed into my desperately grasping channel. “You–” I screamed, convulsing around him as my climax hit me hard, thrusting me beyond thought into a realm of pure, pulsing pleasure.

  I floated slowly back down, with him gently stroking and petting me. My legs slid off his shoulders as he shifted us, his body dragging against mine as he moved back up me. He chuckled at my shuddering moan as every brush of his solid body against my distended clit set off explosions of pleasure-pain.

  His lips found mine, his tongue pushing deep, and I tasted myself on him. I tore my mouth from his, gasping for breath. “Inside me. Now.”

  He dug through the pocket of his jeans, pooled around his knees, pulling out a small plastic square. He ripped it open and rolled the condom down his pulsing shaft. His thighs tensed, pushing forward to settle between mine. His hands captured mine where they fluttered against his chest.

  “Ow, my back!” I tensed, pain flaring as he moved forward. I yanked my hand free of his, slapping it against his chest, pushing him back.

  Mark froze, heart pounding against my palm. He eased gently back, holding his weight off me. “Bloody stupid… I should’ve just given you the electric sander straight away – or better yet, kept you in bed.” I whimpered. “Take it easy, honey.”

  Easy for him to say. His back hadn’t just seized. Grasping my hips, he rolled, pulling me over him, pressing my damp heat against his stomach. I came to rest straddling him. He lay back, breathing hard, holding me against him, fingers flexing against my skin in time with the rocking of his hips.

  With the change in position, the pain lessened. I relaxed against him, left hand braced on his chest balancing myself. Reaching between us, I stroked him with my right hand. “Impressive set of tools you have here, Mr Handyman.”

  “Complete satisfaction guaranteed,” he responded. “Or you get your next service for free.” His hands tightened on my hips. He watched me, eyes dark with passion. My head fell back. One large hand gripped my hip, steadying me; the other kneaded my breast in time with my rocking, sending pulses of pleasure straight to my over-sensitised clit. My panting grew louder. Mark increased the deep, hard rhythm of his hips, surging and retreating inside my body.

  We were both shaking and surging against each other, desperate to reach satisfaction. I bucked, whimpering, calling out Mark’s name as I tumbled over the edge into orgasm.

  “KT!” He surged against me, eyes locked on mine as his release pulsed through him, pumping deep into me.

  I collapsed on top of him, slick skin pressed against slick skin. He rolled us onto our sides, dragging the throw off the back of the sofa over my trembling body. He settled me flush against him, stroking a soothing hand over my hair and down my back.

  * * * * *

  I woke sometime later feeling snug and secure with Mark’s body spooned behind me on the couch. His face was buried in my hair, warm breath puffing against my neck. His arm draped over my waist, palm cupping my breast (made a change from my backside), and his hairy thigh was flung over my smooth ones, clamping me against him. I shivered as his palm smoothed over my stomach then back up over the curve of my breast. His sleepy, sexy voice rumbled in my ear. “It’s your turn to make dinner, and you owe me a beer for all my hard work earlier.”

  “Hmm. Dinner?” We’d slept and had sex on the couch most of the afternoon. We were lucky my mother hadn’t delivered another message whilst I was playing with the handyman’s tool. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly five.”

  I squealed. “Five? I’m going to be late.” I struggled to roll away from him and off the couch, sending us both tumbling to the floor. I landed hard on my hands and knees, Mark bent over my back, his erection probing, like the bloody Duracell Bunny.

  He grunted on impact, clamping me against him with a firm hand. “Late for what?”

  I elbowed and wiggled to no avail. “My date.”

  “What?”

  “My date.”

  Chapter 22

  Was your father a thief? Because someone stole the stars from the sky and put them in your eyes!

  “You’re joking, right?”

  The silence that followed Mark’s ominously quiet words was broken by the sound of car tyres splashing on the wet road outside.

  Why would I be joking? “No.”

  “You’re going on a date, with a man?” Fury vibrated through his still-quiet tone, raising the tiny hairs on my arms and the back of my neck.

  “Yes. A date. With a man.” I shuffled forward on my hands and knees, putting a couple of inches of space between us. His hand landing on my hip halted my movement. “Before Lunch called. I thought I told you about it? It was one of the messages Mum left.”

  His “No” was said in a hell no tone. I glanced over my shoulder. He sat back on his heels, looming over me, naked and scowling. “I wouldn’t have forgotten that.”

&nbs
p; “Well, they’ve found Mr Perfect and set up a date for us tonight at Bee Tower. Cocktails from six thirty, then dinner.”

  “You’re not going.”

  He did not just tell me I couldn’t do something, especially not something he’d been part of blackmailing me into. “What?”

  “You’re not going.”

  I twisted so I could see his face. His eyes were burning, his brows beetled, and his mouth was tight. What was his problem? “Don’t be silly. Of course I’m going.”

  “You can’t be serious.” His hand burned against my hip.

  “Deadly. It’s all been arranged. I can’t back out now.” What the hell was going on? Why was he angry at me? “I said I’d go out on a date if they could find me someone… and I will.”

  “For God’s sake, Kate. You’re screwing me.”

  I sucked in a hard breath and jerked away from his touch, scrambling across the floor on hands and knees, anger taking the place of grace. “You say that like a couple of practice screws mean something, Mark.”

  “You kneel butt naked in front of me and say that like it doesn’t, Kate.”

  Damn it all. What the hell was happening here? This was what he wanted. He’d set the whole thing up with Mum.

  “What the hell do you think we’re doing here?”

  Not fair. He wasn’t allowed to pose questions like that. Not when I didn’t know what the right answer was. What did he think we were doing? “Practice sex?” I said, my uncertainty making it sound like a question.

  He snarled and jerked upright. “It’s a relationship, damn it! We don’t need to practice. I’m pretty sure I’m not boasting when I say it’s pretty fucking perfect.”

  I just… I was totally confused. “You told Barbie it was just dating and you should see other people.”

  “You are not Barbie.” His tone was lethal.

  I scooped up the first thing I found, his t-shirt, covering my nakedness, as I stood staring at him and breathing hard. He stared back, his face icy. “I don’t understand you,” I whispered hoarsely, torn between temper and tears.