Operation G-Spot

by Jodi Lynn Copeland

  Arms crossed, she turned around and leaned back against the oven door. “You want to make small talk. Fine. We have to pass the time somehow until the pie’s done. How’d you grow up that you were never exposed to cooking? Wait, let me guess. Your father’s a throwback to the olden days and thinks that kinda thing’s woman’s work, so you were never allowed in the kitchen with your mother.”

  Dusty’s gut tightened. Fuck. He thought he’d sidestepped this conversation. He could hardly ignore it now, when, despite her blasé tone, genuine interest shone in her eyes. The more he thought about what a disappointment he was to his parents, the more his need to get close enough to Liz to prove himself a sexual success grew. The secret was to keep his words light, share just enough to placate her, and then focus on pleasuring her.

  He assumed a carefree tone. “Before I answer that, tell me one thing.”

  She eyed him warily. “What?”

  “You aren’t being nice to me just to get in my pants, are you? ’Cause I gotta tell you, babe, the only thing I’m letting you blow is my time.”

  Her upper lip twitched, making it clear she fought a smile. Turning her back on him, she busied herself with switching on the oven light and bending down to look through the oven’s glass front. “Bite me, Marr.”

  Dusty moved up behind her. He brushed the front of his right thigh against the back of her left as he bent down and peered in the oven next to her. She jolted, and he taunted in a low voice, “Exactly as I’d feared—you can’t handle just talking around me. You want to move straight to the biting. Next thing you know, we’ll be licking each other, then sucking, blowing, fondling…” Hearing her breathing quicken, he came to his feet. “My mother doesn’t know the difference between vegetable oil and olive oil.”

  Liz stood. “There is one?” She looked quizzical but sounded slightly breathless.

  Another time he would have laughed at both the naïveté (there was a word he would never have thought to associate with her) of the question and her stimulated response to his remark. Now he focused on speaking without emotion coming into play. “Yes, there is. The point is my mother’s never cooked, or for that matter worked a real job, a day in her life. She was born into a wealthy family and married into the same. A hired chef does the cooking.”

  “That had to be nice when you were young, having her around to take care of you and your siblings instead of staying with a sitter.”

  He snorted. Nice, right. They’d been a regular fucking Partridge Family. “I have two brothers, and I said my mother never worked a real job, not that she stayed home. Mom spent all her time volunteering for my father’s company and with anyone else who needed help, so long as it kept her out of the house. Staying away from us kids was one of the few things my parents agreed on.” Disgust bled into his words. He gentled his tone as he added, “A live-in assistant took care of us.”

  A frown flirted with Liz’s lips. “Well, I’m sure he or she was nice.”

  “Yeah, by the time I was nine, I knew more than I ever cared to about being a gentleman in polite society.”

  Her frown appeared full force. “What about being a kid?”

  She looked almost sorry for him; it was the last thing he wanted or would have expected. Time to get things back on track and remember his mission here.

  Grinning, Dusty looked at her breasts hugged alluringly by the stretch of her white apron and the pale blue T-shirt beneath. He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m working on that part now. Whaddya say I come over there and show you what a naughty little boy I can be?”

  Though he could tell she fought it, a smile curved her lips, lightening the deep blue of her eyes and softening her tough-girl edge. “I’d say you’d be wise to stop fantasizing and focus on the pie.”

  His grin kicked higher. She gave that genuine smile to Colin with regularity, but never had it been aimed Dusty’s way. It felt damned good. “And your excuse is?”

  “My excuse?” Her voice took on a defensive note.

  “For acting the way you do,” he clarified, regretting the way the question diminished her smile.

  She planted a hand at her hip, and the last traces of her smile disappeared. “Just how the hell do you think I act?”

  Most of the students had already left. Obviously, Liz wasn’t concerned about making a good impression on the remaining few. Still, he kept his voice lowered as he responded with a shrug. “Bitchy around me, cynical around most everyone else.”

  The instructor’s voice resonated from the front of the room. “We have a couple more minutes before class is over. If you need more time, you’re welcome to stay after and finish; just leave the final product in the refrigerator, and I’ll pick them up for grading in the morning.”

  The last of the students took their pies up to the instructor and then left. After asking Liz and Dusty to turn off the lights when they were finished and informing them the door would lock automatically behind them, the instructor left as well.

  Tension filled the room the instant the door closed behind the man. Liz jammed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and looked toward the oven. Even turned away from him, Dusty could hear her every breath, coming too fast, too loud. A glance at the floor revealed her shifting foot to foot. His first observation of her tonight was that she’d seemed nervous to see him. As uncharacteristic as the mood was for her, she was definitely nervous now.

  Was she afraid to be alone with him? Afraid she would give in and let him finish the job he’d started twice now? Afraid he would show her exactly where her G-spot was and that it wanted his touch so badly, it was ready to stand up and beg?

  What would it matter if she did give in? She made no secret of her reputation for getting around. This had to be about ego. She’d told him that he’d blown his chance of sleeping with her again, and she was determined to see the words through. He would make her ecstatic to see that determination falter.

  “I can finish this alone,” she said tightly. “I’m sure you have plans.”

  “This is my only obligation for the night. I can handle things, though, if you’re in a rush to see Aiden.”

  Liz glanced back to send him a confused look. “Aiden?”

  Relief shot through Dusty. She either had a truly shitty memory, the way she’d accused him of having three nights ago, or there hadn’t been a man waiting outside for her that night. The wet, hot state of her body had been exactly as Dusty had believed, all because of him, all for him. That level of excitement was nothing a man who was a failure at sex could accomplish.

  He took a step toward her. “Your new boy toy.”

  Wariness flashed over her face with his next step. “Oh. Right. Aiden.” Her gaze shifted from his eyes to his mouth, and she swallowed audibly. “The things that man can do with his tongue.” Huskiness peppered her words.

  If she was thinking about any man’s tongue, it was Dusty’s. His blood warmed with the knowledge she wanted his kiss, his tongue pushing between her lush lips and thoroughly loving her mouth. He took a last step forward. The way she had her hands stuffed in her pockets accentuated the already snug play of the apron across her tits. The soft mounds rose and fell rapidly. His dick throbbed.

  He reached out. She gasped and jerked her hands from her pockets to splay them in front of her. Clearly, she thought her body was his hand’s destination. Soon. Very soon, he would touch her. But only when she was ready for it. Only when she was admitting that she wanted his hands on her.

  Grasping the refrigerator door handle, he pulled the door open and took out the whipped cream they’d made earlier in the night. He fingered a dollop out of the bowl and licked the cool cream from his finger. “Mmm…We do great things together. This is the second best cream I’ve ever tasted.”

  Liz’s throat worked visibly. He could almost hear her heart slamming against her rib cage, mimicking the mad beat of his own. He stuck his finger back in the bowl, trailed it through the whipped cream, and brought the digit to an inch from his mouth.

&n
bsp; Concentrating on her plump naked lips, parted slightly and issuing the sexiest little gasps he’d ever heard, Dusty murmured, “Do you want to know what the first is?”

  “Tonight was okay. Don’t ruin it by telling me.” The words held no bite. No sarcasm. Just a breathy edge that grabbed him by the throat and made him want to do so much more than just tell her about his favorite cream. And he would, and the only things that might get ruined in the process were her clothes when he ripped them from her body.

  “I got a better idea, babe. How ’bout I show you?”

  4

  “Dusty…” The one-word warning was all Liz could get out, and she was amazed it even came out sounding relatively calm. She didn’t feel calm. She felt like her heart and her pussy were having a contest to see which would explode first.

  He extended his hand toward her mouth, until his whipped-cream-covered finger hovered inches from her desert-dry lips. “Try it,” he urged in a rough whisper.

  She wanted to, wanted to lick his finger off slowly, sensuously. Suck every last bit of cream away. The memory of sucking the salty-sweet cum from his dick as he’d climaxed in her mouth pushed through her mind and further heated the molten liquid burning in her sex.

  He obviously ate his Brussels sprouts. They were rumored to enhance the flavor of a man’s cum, and his had tasted like her favorite new snack.

  “Scared?” Dusty questioned when she remained motionless, silent.

  To death.

  It was ridiculous to fear him, but the damn man had thrown her for a loop. First by seeing past her bigmouthed and carefree charade to her cynicism. Then with the reality of his upbringing.

  She’d imagined his childhood ideal, something to dislike him for all the more. In reality, it sounded like it had been less desirable than her own. Her mother might be an absentee flake whose greatest concern was what man she would do next, but at least Liz had had her father and Colin, misguided though their good intentions were at times. Outside of the letters Colin had exchanged with Dusty following a chance meeting when Colin had spent several weeks at a Texas ranch camp, Dusty had had only his brothers to share his youth with. Who knew if they’d even gotten along?

  Damnit, she would not feel sorry for him. What he’d endured as a kid didn’t change the arrogant dickhead he’d turned into as a man.

  “You know me so well,” she managed sarcastically.

  He smiled in the way that drew out the sharp angles of his jawline beneath the day’s growth of sandy-blond stubble, and her heart stuttered. “Maybe not everything, but I’d like to think I know a thing or two. Like how wet you are right now, wondering what my next move will be. I want to show you my favorite cream, Elizabeth. I want to show you exactly how much I enjoy tonguing you, making you squirm in my hands, making you come so hard, you can’t help but scream. Just say the words. Tell me you want it.”

  Jesus. Liz trembled with the thought of how incredible his tongue felt pushing inside her body, licking at her with slow, firm, masterful strokes. How close he’d brought her to climax twice now.

  Only a woman with the IQ of a stick of Juicy Fruit would be stupid enough to break her vow not to give in to him. After all, they were in a public place again. A place where anyone could walk in on them. Then there was the fact that she’d already given him to Kristi. Of course, in the name of orgasm and the Operation G-Spot creed, Kristi would forgive her. And, really, it was too late for anyone to be coming around. Even if someone did pass by, the door was locked. It seemed Dusty knew who he was with, too, since he was calling her by her ridiculously sweet full name.

  Only her name didn’t sound sweet rolling off his tongue. It sounded sexy. Sensual. It made her feel feminine in a way she’d never imagined possible.

  Fiona and Kristi might be nutso for telling her to give Dusty another try, but maybe they were also right. So long as she was maybeing, maybe her intelligence level wasn’t so far off from that stick of gum because she was seriously considering this.

  A little lick couldn’t hurt anything, right?

  Denying further thought, Liz brought her tongue out slowly, wetting her dry lips before flicking the tip of her tongue across his finger. “Oooh…” He was sooo right. They did do great things together. The whipped cream was heavenly. She lapped at his finger, eagerly savoring the sweet, light, velvety taste. She moaned her delight.

  “More?”

  Hearing the strained sound of his voice, she met his eyes. They burned dark with lust, hunger, and, most importantly, stark reality. He wanted her. She wanted him. One night would be okay. One quick screw to get her off and get him out of her life.

  He could pretend he’d come here for cooking lessons, but the truth was clear. He’d come here because he’d yet to give her an orgasm, and his ego couldn’t handle that fact; it wouldn’t be able to let go and move on until he proved he knew where her G-spot lived and exactly how it wanted to be stroked. He’d come here because the cooking class was one of the few places she wouldn’t make a scene, where she would be forced to listen to him, be forced to wiggle her way around his finger and want every little thing he hinted at. His finger that she could go on licking for days…

  The whipped cream was gone, and it was skin she tasted. Hot, potent, virile male skin.

  “It’s good.” Liz licked her tongue across the tip of his finger and sighed. “Damned good.” She traveled her tongue up his finger, knuckle to knuckle, and then turned her mouth on his hand, nibbling along the soft web of flesh between finger and thumb.

  Warm. Salty. So incredibly masculine.

  Dusty grunted and she released his hand to again meet his eyes. Heat rolled through her with the raw desire burning there, turning his eyes to the darkest of chocolates and cascading a rush of wet warmth from her pussy.

  If she hadn’t worn panties tonight, she would be dripping all over the classroom floor. Instead she would be dripping all over his hard cock, in approximately three seconds.

  Christ, the way this man affected her. The other night he’d had her totally forgetting time and place. And now, now he had her so impatient to get them both naked and panting, for the first time in her life she wished she hadn’t made a hobby out of snacking on her fingernails—long ones would seriously come in handy when it came to shredding the clothes from his fine-ass body.

  Speaking of fine asses…

  “You were right—as good as that cream is, it’s still only second best. I’d rather have the first.” Liz flung herself at Dusty, ready to grab hold of his buttocks while she attacked his mouth, devoured his kiss, stripped away his clothes until only sun-bronzed skin kept her from all that first-class muscle and sinew.

  Her hands skimmed the worn cotton of his black T-shirt en route to his delectable behind. Before they could go any farther, she found her hands pushed away from him and pressed up against the refrigerator door along with the rest of her overheated body.

  Holding her wrists above her head in one hand, Dusty brought his free hand to her face. He tilted her chin up and teased a warm, damp kiss at the corner of her lips. “You don’t say,” he taunted, rocking up against her, pressing his dick against her swollen sex, making her ache in a way that couldn’t be legal.

  “Never second-guess me, Marr. Especially when you’re getting what you want. I’m liable to take it away, and we both know how you naughty little boys cry when that happens.”

  His cocky smirk said what they were both thinking: She could never escape his viselike grip. However twisted it might be, she found herself glad for that fact in a way she would never admit to him. Her happiness shot up a level as he tugged the apron from her body with a quick jerk. That happiness flowed over into the serious jubilant range as his hand fisted in the waist of her T-shirt and yanked.

  The sound of ripping cotton filled Liz’s ears and spiked her heart rate. Her pussy thrummed as the torn shirt fell to the ground. Dusty’s attention dropped to her breasts, half-concealed by a black bra. He had the bra off in the instant it took to pop
the front clasp, and he sent the lacy garment sailing. For all she knew, her bra had landed on the range top. If the range was hot from the oven beneath, the lace could catch fire. And wouldn’t burning down the building impress the cooking class’s instructor? And wasn’t her messed-up mind totally attempting to take over?

  Cool whipped cream fingered onto her erect nipples had Liz gasping back into the moment. Dusty’s mouth came down, latching onto her swollen tit and sucking at the aching crown. The heat of his mouth quickly replaced the chill of the cream. The grip on her wrists intensified. His sucking turned to tender bites that had liquid longing pumping through her veins and jetting to her core. That longing only grew as the coarse hair of his goatee abraded a nipple.

  Her hips shot forward, connecting her weeping sex with the hard ridge of his cock. Brushing her nipple with his goatee a second time, he pumped his hips back toward her, pushing his shaft harder against her pussy, applying pressure at just the right angle to bring her clit to hot, hungry life.

  Holy shit! Her clit was hungry.

  Now there was something she’d never experienced before. Another brush of his goatee. Another pump of his hips. Her clit went from hungry to famished, tingling with its urgent want. Her sex grew heavy, unbearably moist. So damned needy. She whimpered against the erotic thrill of the foreign sensations and knew beyond a fact that, even though he had yet to move beneath her jeans and panties, he not only knew where her G-spot was, but he also had complete control over it.

  “Enough of the nipple action. Get the fuck in me!”

  Popping the button and easing the zipper down on her jeans, he lifted his mouth from her breast to eye her. “Aren’t much one for patience, are you, babe?”

  Not tonight. Going fast and keeping her mind from straying was the only way to achieve the orgasm slowly building inside her. Not even that was a guarantee. More like a chance in hell. “Now or never. Your choice.”