Virgin's Night Out

by Shiloh Walker

  He groaned, one hand catching her hip and holding her steady as he rocked against her. She felt each stroke right in the heart of her, each pang echoing through her body until she thought it would drive her mad.

  “Sloane…?”

  Dragging her lashes up, she rested her head against his shoulder. His hand had worked her blouse free from the waistband of her skirt—the skirt was tighter. In another month, it might not zip. A sudden harsh breath escaped her and she tensed.

  His lashes swept low.

  When he went to pull away, though, she closed her hand over his wrist, squeezed.

  “I should go,” he whispered against her lips.

  “Why? Why are you here?”

  “I already told you.”

  “And I gave you the answer, so why are you still here when you have a job to get ready for?”

  His hands tightened on her hips with enough force to hurt.

  “Because I…”

  When he didn’t answer, she turned in the circle of his arms, trapped between his body and the counter.

  “I needed to know,” he said and the words came out in a slow, uneven rumble.

  “So you know. There’s no problem. If that’s all you need…”

  “It’s not.”

  She didn’t even have time to prepare as his mouth slanted over hers.

  Through the lightweight sweater she wore, she could feel the heat of his hands as he caught her hips and dragged her closer. She caught her breath and the gasp seemed to draw him even closer. When he brought a hand up to fist in her hair, she reached for him, only to stop.

  This was insane.

  Slowly, he ended the kiss, lifting his head to study her. In his blue eyes, she saw the echo of the need storming inside her. She’d dreamed about him. Night after night. Wished for him, day after day. What she felt, it wasn’t love, but she thought maybe it could be.

  Already, the emotions she had for him were stronger than what she’d felt for Rodney and it wasn’t just because he made her body sing. She’d felt something toward him even when they were just exchanging letters—admiration, yes, but there was something about the words he’d written, the careful guarded way he’d expressed himself that made her wonder—did he feel the echo of the loneliness that had too often haunted her?

  “What is this?” she asked softly as he cupped her face, his thumb tracking over the curve of her lip.

  He stared, seemingly obsessed with the way it looked as he touched her. “This…” Boone shook his head. “It’s an obsession.”

  With a groan, he let go of her hips but he didn’t move away. He braced his hands on the counter on either side of her, pinning her in.

  She found surrounded by him.

  She would have even enjoyed it if she hadn’t seen the reluctance in his eyes. He wanted her…but he didn’t like it.

  “And what do you think we should do about it?”

  Boone’s eyes roamed over her face. “What I think…I think I should get the hell out of here, walk away. You should forget you ever saw me, that you even know me.”

  “Just like that?” She tightened her hands on the edge of the counter, an ache settling inside her chest at the thought of it. Forget that night existed? Not likely. “Why?”

  “Because this is no good.” He slid his hand up her back.

  She went still at his touch, but he didn’t seem to notice. He smoothed his hand around her torso and then up, catching a heavy lock of her hair in his hand. “Well, I’m no expert, but it felt pretty good.”

  With a ragged breath, he shook his head. “I don’t need to think about how good it felt. I’m already going insane, thinking I imagined that night. Nothing can feel that good. That perfect—but that doesn’t mean this, you, me, is any good.”

  “I’m not following.” She reached out and fisted her hand in his shirt. “It’s not like I’m asking you to marry me or anything. But you…we already sort of know each other. I like you. We…um…”

  “Being good in bed doesn’t mean this is good.” He pushed his hand into her hair. “My job takes me everywhere and I never even know if I’ll come back. If I disappeared? There might never be answers. A smart woman doesn’t get involved with a guy like that.”

  She licked her lips. “Then…” Why was it so hard to force the words out? He’d said almost exactly what she’d expected to hear. That was why Taylor had quit working in the field. He wanted his wife to know he’d be there.

  Sloane wanted the same thing.

  “Maybe you should go then.” She continued to stare at his chest. “I generally consider myself a smart woman.”

  His hands fell away.

  She was a smart woman—naïve at times, but smart. She knew what he was telling her. She’d be smart and protect herself, her future baby…

  After this—

  He backed up and she shoved off the counter. “You should go,” she said again, her voice firm.

  “I will.” He gave her a short nod and his face was calm, relaxed. He managed a faint smile. “Sloane—”

  The boots she wore had a solid, two-inch square heel. They were comfortable to walk in and they kept her warm on cooler days. They also made it possible for her to press her lips to the corner of his mouth. “After this.”

  Then she turned her head more fully and covered his mouth with hers.

  His groan, harsh and deep, rumbled out of his chest as he banded an arm around her waist and pulled her up against him. She opened for him and his tongue swept into her mouth. She bit down and his reaction made her shudder—body tightened, his hips rocking forward as his hands gripped her. He broke the kiss, swore, then kissed her again, deeper, harder.

  She was panting when he broke the kiss again.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head when she went to rub her lips over his. His hand smoothed over her side.

  Was it her or did it linger on her waist, his thumb sweeping across her belly?

  “Sloane, baby, this isn’t what you need.”

  Through their clothes, she could feel him, heavy and warm and there was an echoing pang deep inside. One more time.

  Sliding one hand down, she slipped her hand under his shirt. His skin was hot against her hand, the ridged muscles of his torso tight. “Maybe I should be the one who decides that,” she said softly.

  Easing back, she reached up and freed the top button of his shirt.

  She wasn’t do this…was she?

  But, oh. Hell. Yes. Once more, she was back on the crazy train that had only one beginning and end. Boone, a man who’d somehow made himself a drug inside her blood system.

  A ragged exhalation of breath escaped him and that gave her the confidence to free one button after another but when he slid his hands under the hem of her sweater. “This is stupid,” he said.

  “Even a smart woman can be stupid from time to time.”

  Body taut, all Boone did was first was stand there. She pressed her lips to the middle of chest as she bared more skin. There was a scar, just a few inches down.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  In response, she caught her sweater and pulled it off.

  He sucked in a breath. His fingers trailed along the line of her neck, then down, the rough callouses calling a shiver of sensation from her.

  His eyes narrowed and she looked down, watched as he cupped her breasts in his hands.

  “You’re…”

  He circled his thumbs around her nipples and she whimpered. It was almost painful when he caught one swollen tip and rolled it through the silk of her bra. Catching his wrist, she gripped his hand. He stroked his mouth along her jawline, then down, down, down. The feel of his teeth scraping over her neck was almost torturous.

  His body shuddered again and he lifted his head, staring down at her—at her breasts.

  Instinctively, she turned, pressing her back up against his chest. “Fuck,” he rasped. He caught her hips in his hands and rocked against her.

  Her knees went weak.

&n
bsp; Giving into the instinct, she pressed her hips back against him.

  “Sloane.” Her name was a ragged warning on his lips. She rolled her hips against him once more and then, she undulated her hips.

  “Fuck!”

  He caught the hem of her skirt and pulled it up, working the narrow skirt up her legs, over her hips. She gasped, the noise catching in her throat as he reached down, bold as you please, and cupped her between her thighs.

  “You want this?” He pressed his mouth to her neck.

  Sloane whimpered.

  He slid his hand inside her panties, then, slowly, pushed two fingers inside. “Do you want this?” he asked, raw demand edging his voice.

  In response, she just rocked back, riding his hand—or trying to. He leaned in, using his weight to still her body. “Are you certain?”

  He bit her ear and she thought she just might die if he didn’t hurry.

  Then he caught her cheek in his hand, pulled her mouth around. After a hard, brutal kiss, he said, “Answer me.”

  “I…” Sloane licked her lips and tasted him. Just like she’d dreamed… She could taste him, hot and male and wild. “I want this,” she said, not moving her mouth away. “But…just this.”

  As he lifted his head, the echo of his voice rose in the back of her mind.

  Is there a problem…

  If I disappeared…

  “Just this?” he said quietly.

  “Just this.” She slid a hand up, curled it over the back of his neck. Head craned up to meet his, she said, “After this…please. Don’t come back. Don’t come looking for me anymore. Because you’re right. I am a smart woman and this isn’t good for me.”

  Don’t come back.

  The words stabbed right through him.

  That had been the plan, all along. Check and make sure…

  He cut the thought off. He’d just check. Then he’d leave and stay away from her.

  That had been the plan…

  But then he’d touched her. She’d touched him. Even now, the warm of her body burned against his own, the scent of her surrounded him. Back away, he told himself.

  That was the right thing to do.

  But if Boone had given a damn about doing the right thing, he could have just called her. Or stayed away from her from the beginning—he’d known, even before he knew her name, that she was the kind of woman who needed a forever.

  He whispered that, pressed his lips to her ear. “You deserve a forever…and I can’t give you one.”

  Her body gave a hard, shuddering spasm. “I know,” she whispered, her voice soft. “Then just give me tonight—and then…”

  Go.

  He heard it in her voice. Weak bastard that he was, he’d give her tonight—her, and himself.

  He reached into his back pocket, pulled out the condoms he’d told himself he wouldn’t need. Tossing the strip on the counter next to her, he traced his fingers over the vivid purple that covered the heart of her.

  She bent over the counter as he stroked her. Slow, he told himself. I want to make this slow…

  She cried out and twisted, shoving herself back onto his palm.

  He caught the sad excuse of underwear in his hands and ripped it away.

  Now she was naked, wet, open to him. He stroked one finger up the slick wet flesh as he bent forward, surrounding her. “I’m about two seconds away from fucking you, Sloane,” he said, pressing his mouth to her ear. “And this time…”

  She whimpered, an involuntary shudder working through her body.

  Boone fought to clear his head—impossible, though, when her heat pressed against him, her body soft against his as he bent over her.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  That was all she said, but the drugged, dazed heat faded away and he grabbed the savaged edges of control, forcing one hand, then the other down on the counter on either side of her. “You’re certain?”

  “For tonight,” she said, twisting her hips.

  He pressed one hand to the middle of her back, urging her flat.

  “Please,” she said.

  His hands shook as he tore open one of the condoms. As he rolled it down his length, he watched, watched as she rocked her hips back once more.

  “Be still,” he ordered. “Just…for fuck’s sake, be still.”

  But she continued to rock her hips, as though he was already inside her and broken, needy little noises kept slipping from her.

  He fumbled the rubber into place and caught one hip, stilled the desperate, feverish movements. He used the other to tuck the head of his cock against her entrance. She was so wet—

  He groaned as he flexed his hips and pushed inside. She was just as tight as she’d been the first time and he grunted as he worked against the clenching muscles of her pussy. He went to withdraw and she made a keening noise deep in her throat.

  Swearing, he surged back against her. She was so tight around him, tight and clamping down on him like she was already hovering on the edge of climax. “This…you…” He panted as he bent over her. “This is making me crazy.”

  He pulled out, almost completely and then drove back inside, deeper, harder. “You’re so tight…and you squeeze…” He shuddered. “Just like that.”

  Working one hand under her, he caught one small, firm breast in his hand. Sloane jolted against him and he teased her nipple, just the lightest pressure. She twisted her hips went he went to thrust deep.

  “It’s not enough,” he growled against her ear, kicking her legs farther apart. “Be still.”

  Hard.

  Deep.

  Fast.

  Over and over, he stroked, sweat dripping from him as her body twisted and writhed. Each hungry moan made his balls tighten, his blood burning so hot, he was surprised steam didn’t rise from his flesh.

  Her hands scrambled against the counter, desperate for something, anything to hold to and he shifted his grip, his weight, reaching up to brace one hand near her shoulders. Her hand closed around it, her nails biting into his skin.

  It was quick.

  It was rough.

  The room was filled with the sound of her desperate cries, the hard slap of his hips against her bottom, they Sensation raced through her, radiating out from where they joined, where he filled her.

  He bent down around her, pressing his chest to her back, needing as deeper a connection as he could get. He raked her neck with his teeth and bit her, mindless. When she bucked against him, her pussy tightening around him, he thought he just might die from the pleasure of it.

  And still she moved under him.

  Sliding one hand down, he reached between her thighs and sought out the hard nub of her clitoris.

  She sucked in her breath, going rigid. He pressed down—and she came, throwing her head back as a long, keening noise escaped her throat. He gave in, letting his own climax erupt—it was hard and vicious and he thought the top of his cock just might come off, just from the intensity of it.

  Stunned, staggered, shaken, he had to brace his elbow on the counter to keep his weight from crushing her.

  Tiny little convulsions from her pussy still milked him. Groaning, he continued to lay there, letting the counter support the two of them. He should pull out, he should move…but he needed just one more minute.

  Just one more minute.

  He smoothed his hand down her spine, watching her in the darkness. She slept, deep and dreamless, not even stirring when he bent down and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

  The night had been a haze of heat and sex, once more on the counter as he turned her to face him, her hair spilling around her like a veil as he gorged himself on her taste.

  Then, in the hallway when he tried to make himself take her to her bed.

  The fourth time happened in her bed and that had been hours ago. She’d barely stirred when he slid back into her bed but when he’d pulled her into his arms, she murmured his name and curled into his body.

  Now, in the pre-dawn light, he sat on the e
dge of the bed and studied her, memorizing the curve of her cheekbone, the lush bow of her mouth. Not that he’d ever forget, but he needed the memory.

  He wouldn’t be back.

  The past few hours…

  Even a smart woman can be stupid from time to time, she’d told him.

  Yeah, from time to time.

  But Sloane was smart. She’d told him not to come back.

  And he guessed he didn’t really have any reason to. He rested a hand on the slight flare of her hip, his fingers curling around to stroke the flat plane of her belly.

  It was stupid, he guessed. Right up until she’d looked at him and told him not to come back, part of him had hoped.

  Part Two

  Chapter Nine

  “No.”

  Boone looked at the woman who’d slid onto the rickety stool next to him.

  She wasn’t the first prostitute who’d sidled up to him that night.

  But she the most determined, he’d give her that.

  As she laid a hand on his chest, he caught her wrist and moved it away.

  She whispered to him in Spanish, offering him things that might have interested him—once. Now, though, almost three months after he’d slid from Sloane’s bed in silence, it was her skin her felt against his own at night.

  Her mouth he tasted in his dreams.

  And her voice that echoed in his ears. Sometimes it would be his name. Other times, just the words, Don’t come back.

  He’d spent most of the past three months telling himself he wouldn’t. That leaving had been the best thing. And every day, he found himself wishing he’d told the boss to send somebody else down here.

  So far, the job had been a bust.

  A mouth rubbed over his arm and then the hooker murmured, “I hear you’ve been looking for a missing little princess.”

  Her words, although lightly accented with Spanish, were delivered in perfect English—and what she’d said…

  Casually, he reached for the beer in front of him. After the heat of the day, the cold felt good going down his throat and he took his time taking another slow drink. Then he flicked her a look.