Dusty’s fingers uncoiled from her wrists. The hand at the open fly of her jeans fell away. He took a step back.
Air wheezed in between Liz’s lips and died ice cold in her throat. No way was he stopping. No way would he take her up on that “never” option. He wasn’t even supposed to have an option; they were just stupid words she’d spoken to keep in line with the brash-talking woman she made herself out to be.
“In that case, see ya around.”
“Don’t you dare leave me like this, you dickhead!” Liz clamped her mouth shut the second the words left her mouth. It wasn’t fast enough. The knowing smile that curved his lips said he’d heard the desperation in her voice loud and clear.
She opened her mouth to say something more, anything to knock the arrogant smile off his face. His fingers returned to her body before she could get a word out.
Coated with a fresh layer of whipped cream, they traveled over her breasts, across her nipples, and down the slope of her belly. She sucked in a breath as two fingers moved farther south, disappearing beneath the fly of her jeans and then the lace of her panties.
She forgot to breathe altogether when cool cream met with the heated flesh of her pussy lips. One finger speared between the slick folds, caressing the ravenous pearl of her clit, and her breathing returned as a ragged sigh.
“Now, Marr. I said now!” Liz grabbed hold of the hem of his T-shirt and tugged upward. Her mouth watered as his defined musculature came into view.
Goddamn, she could run her tongue all over him.
Then again, no she couldn’t. They had to keep things moving along. They had to get to the main event. Get her off and him out of her life. He might be her brother’s friend, but she’d already vowed to move out of Colin’s house. Once she had her own place, she’d be sure to call ahead and check for unwanted company before dropping by Colin’s.
“Like you thought I’d leave you.” Dusty’s drawl was strengthened with lust, and the rich, husky words stroked over her senses as effectively as his fingers stroked her labia. His fingers pushed into her cunt then, pumping with unhurried thrusts. “You know me better than that, Elizabeth. I’d never leave a woman wanting.”
Gritting her teeth at his continual slow pace, she yanked at the button on the fly of his jeans. “At least not more than twice.”
For an instant, his fingers stilled and he winced. His fingers started to move again, only slower than before, as if he was punishing her for bringing up his past failures—failures that she knew were all her fault.
“Those times were your own damned fault,” he said as if reading her mind.
Admitting the truth to herself was one thing; she would never do so to Dusty. Instead she concentrated on his jeans. She tugged down the tab of his zipper and pushed her hand inside the snug denim. Fisting his erection, she challenged, “Prove it. Stick this infamous, monstrous cock in me and make me come.”
He laughed. “I’d hardly call it infamous. Nice to see you’re finally acknowledging the monstrous part, though.”
Any comment she might have made in return died on her tongue as he pulled his hand from her panties and shucked the jeans down his thighs along with his boxers. His dick pushed free, standing at full, gloriously long and thick attention from a swath of dark blond pubic hair. Monstrous might be pushing it just a little, but only just a little.
His cock bobbed toward her, and she practically drooled with the memory of the last time she’d had his hard length buried between her lips.
How would he taste with her second favorite cream mingling with her first?
Though it took time she shouldn’t be risking, Liz grabbed the bowl of whipped cream from the counter and went down on her knees. Scooping up a fingerful of cream, she took his cock in one hand and trailed a line of velvety white along the bulging vein that traveled the underside of his shaft. She followed her finger with her tongue, licking the sweet, rich substance until her tongue reached the deep purple head of his cock. Another sweet, totally male substance enlivened her taste buds.
Ah, sooo good…exactly the way she’d remembered.
Humming her elation, she lapped at the silky fluid and then sank her mouth onto his dick as far as she could take him. Dusty’s fingers threaded through her short hair, gripping none too gently. She applied pressure, pumping his erection with her lips while her tongue caressed the highly sensitive skin in slow circles. His full-bodied groan echoed off the classroom walls and sent a fresh wave of juices trickling into her panties.
“What happened to not blowing anything but my time?”
The words sliced through Liz. Damnit, he was right. As much as she thrived on going down on him and tasting his cum, it couldn’t be happening tonight, or ever.
She jerked her mouth from his shaft and stood. Without ceremony, she toed off her sneakers and socks, then removed her jeans and panties and left them in a pile next to her bare feet.
She cast him an assessing look, doing her best to camouflage the excitement that filled her as her gaze slid over his big cock made shiny wet by her mouth. “I was making sure you had enough staying power to actually finish the job for once. Since you planned this, I’m assuming you have a condom?”
“What makes you so sure I planned this?”
Hearing his defensive tone, she met his eyes. They held…what? Anger over her accusation? Or was it disappointment that she’d caught on to his ruse? “Don’t tell me you think you’re so suave I’d miss the setup. Lucky for you, I’m in the mood to get laid and am nice enough to give you another try at locating my G-spot.”
Whatever emotion had been in Dusty’s eyes gave way to blistering challenge as he grabbed hold of her wrist and yanked her back against the refrigerator door. One of the fingers from his free hand was between her thighs and pushing past her pussy lips before she could get out a breath.
“As I recall”—he plunged deep into the slick valley of her sex and stroked with vigor—“it was right about here.”
Liz swallowed her gasp as the violent need to explode clawed at her from deep within. She couldn’t help the breathless quality of her voice. “That’s not it,” she lied.
He pulled out of her, only to plunge back in, this time adding a second finger and quickening his pace. Her eyes widened with the exquisite pressure rippling through her body and soul.
Dusty let out a deep, rolling chuckle. “Lying little bitch.”
“So what?” she bit out, struggling not to chase his fingers with her body each time he withdrew. “Anyone can find it with their fingers. It takes a real man to do it with his dick.”
A gorgeously cocky grin claimed his mouth. “Real man this, babe.”
As quickly as he’d pushed into her with his fingers, he lifted a condom from his jeans pocket and sheathed himself, then grabbed her around the waist, lifted her up his body, and plunged into her slick heat. For an instant, as her legs automatically wound around his waist and his monstrous member filled her, Liz could only gasp and blink. Then all she could do was stare, openmouthed and panting, as her pussy gobbled up his cock, again and again, and raw desire unfurled thick as honey in her belly.
Oh gawd! The man had to-die-for positioning. Each thrust had his shaft rubbing over her clit, the back and forth slide of his pubis adding delicious friction.
Thick, white cream coated both of their sexes and tangled in their pubic hair. Some of it might be whipped cream, but sure as hell not all. Make that not even close to most of it. No, most of it was the juices gushing from her cunt.
From the sweltering heat stealing over her body to the quaking that started in her toes and ended in her nipples, orgasm was building, ready to erupt, to tear through her limb from limb and have her crying out her rapture.
Only a truly experienced man could accomplish such a seemingly impossible task so quickly. Only a man-whore. Which was what Dusty was. But Liz wasn’t going to think about that. No way. No how. She was going to be one with that stick of Juicy Fruit and stop thinking altogether. Sto
p focusing. Give herself over to the moment, to her lust, to the rich, musky scent of sex and something else infiltrating her senses.
What else? It didn’t smell good. It smelled, sort of…not good. “Wait.”
The thrust of his hips ceased. He looked up from the vicinity of her breasts to ask incredulously, “Wait?”
She dragged in a long breath. Burning. It smelled like something was burning. Not like the burning lace of her bra, but…Jesus H. Christ! The pie. The pie was burning.
“What am I waiting for?”
She had to block the smell out. The big one was seconds away. The long-awaited O. The climax that would assuage Dusty’s wounded ego and stop him from wanting her ever again. The big dickhead would be all but out of her life. Yes, she wanted that. Wanted orgasm even more.
“Nothing. Keep going.” Tangling her arms around his neck, Liz brought them breasts-to-chest. She buried her tongue in his mouth and pumped her hips.
Cupping her naked ass in his large palms, he gave in to her silent encouragement. He resumed the pace, thrusting into her with long, hard, well-practiced strokes as his warm, silky tongue lapped at hers.
Seconds ago those strokes had had her ready to spiral into the great beyond of Orgasm Land. Those strokes still felt decent, but they weren’t pushing her higher anymore. His kiss was good, but wasn’t evoking the magical warmth and wetness she felt every other time he’d stuck his tongue in her mouth. The wild tattoo of her heart and the hasty speed of her breathing had slowed considerably.
Lust was taking a fast boat to Not-Gonna-Climax Land.
Shit. Shit. And shit.
Her and her goddamned ever-thinking mind. She couldn’t block out the smell. Couldn’t block out the visual of burned pie. Couldn’t stop the thought that she wasn’t her slut of a mother. If she were her mother, or even the sex-crazed version of Liz she’d led most everyone to buy into, she would be coming up a storm and basking in the glow of climax. Instead she was Liz the never-gonna-come farce.
At least that Liz had values. That Liz had a good reason for not being able to dismiss the burning smell. Because unlike her mother, she was incapable of shutting out the things that mattered most. This class mattered more than an orgasm ever could. It was a step on the way to becoming something more than an easily replaceable waitress. Warped as it sounded, given her penchant for destroying nearly every recipe she attempted, she had dreams of owning a pastry shop. And, warped as it sounded, she would make that dream come true, starting with passing this class.
Burnt pie didn’t equate to a passing grade.
She had to make Dusty stop with the damned thrusting and tongue-play already. But she couldn’t just end things the way she had the last two times. She couldn’t because he would keep coming back until he made her climax and his pathetic big-ass ego could be put to rest.
Fake it.
Yes, she could do that. Had done it dozens of times in the past, when she’d either grown tired of the act or she’d been doing a guy she cared about enough to not tarnish his ego over her deficiencies. Those guys had been too caught up in their own orgasm to notice if hers wasn’t exactly bona fide. Dusty might be a man-whore with a reputation of providing more female orgasms than there were women in the state of Georgia, but no way would he catch on.
She had to fake it, for the sake of burned desserts and wannabe pastry chefs, who could barely handle breaking an egg, everywhere.
Forcing her thoughts back into the moment, she grabbed hold of his shoulders and lifted from his mouth. Tossing back her head, she ground her hips against his and rode him hard and fast.
One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand. Three-one-thousand.
The burning smell sneaked up and invaded her thoughts once more. If she allowed any more buildup time, the pie would be toast and not the kind that was edible.
Nipping her short nails into the soft cotton of his T-shirt, Liz sang out, “Ohmigawd!” She snapped her eyes shut and whimpered long and loud. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Right there. Oh yes! I can feel you all the way to my throat. So deep. So good. Oh wow. This is it. This is…I’m com-ing!”
Dusty buried his face in the crook of her neck. His warm, hasty breaths caressed her ear. His grip on her ass strengthened. The push of his dick into her body turned erratic. “Right there with you, babe,” he growled. “Oh fuck, am I ever.”
The last of the words barely left his mouth when she felt the hot push of cum filling up the condom. Thank God, it was finally over.
Tossing in one last pump, grind, and moan for good show, Liz released his shoulders and glanced past him. “What great timing! The pie’s done.”
“The pie’s done?”
His voice was still thick with lust, but he didn’t sound happy. Apparently, he and his enormous ego had been expecting a round of applause.
Looking back at his far-from-elated expression, she smiled. “Sorry. You were awesome. One of the best I’ve ever had.” She forgot about the smile then and swatted his arm. “Now, let me the fuck down. If that pie’s burned, your ass is dead.”
5
She’d faked it. Son of a bitch, she’d faked it.
Dusty pushed through the galley door of the bar’s kitchen. He poured himself a draft from the Budweiser tap and settled onto a stool at the end of the bar. Early afternoon on a Thursday, the place was dead aside from a handful of retired locals and those patrons who worked nights. Damned good thing, too, because the last thing he felt like doing was entertaining customers.
Tossing back a long drink of ale, he replayed the previous night in his head. He hadn’t planned on opening up about his childhood even remotely, but doing so had accomplished the goal he’d set out to attain. The revelation had been enough to get Liz talking to him without malice burning in her eyes. And that had been enough to give him the inside track straight to her panties.
He’d had her good and wet for him, breathing hard and anxious to fuck. Up until the moment the remnants of his own climax washed away, he hadn’t realized anything was off. The moment the blood returned to his brain, he’d known, though. Liz had been neither gasping for breath nor basking in post-climax glow, but speaking as calmly as if he’d just served her up an extra crispy char burger instead of a mind-blowing orgasm.
She’d claimed that she’d been on to his game from the moment he’d arrived at the cooking class. She’d also claimed that he was as lousy a lay as a man could be. He’d told himself she was wrong, a true whack-job to believe such a thing. But what if she wasn’t? What if he was nowhere near the sexual marvel the women in his past had led him to believe? What if Liz really had known his MO last night and had only given in to him in the hopes he would leave her alone from that point onward? She could easily have faked her excited expression and words. That didn’t explain her wetness.
Shit, he shouldn’t care why she’d faked it.
He should do what he’d told himself he would do earlier this week and forget Liz’s accusation by moving on to a woman eager to remind him that his reputation as an expert lover was a tried-and-true fact. He should, but one word refused to stop niggling at him. One word that had haunted him until the day he’d left his hometown behind.
Failure.
“Did hell freeze over, or since when is drowning your sorrows in an early afternoon beer your style?”
Dusty pulled free of his thoughts at the sound of Colin’s voice. A glance at his nearly empty beer mug proved his friend almost accurate. Sorrows might not be the right word, but it appeared he’d been drowning his thoughts anyway.
Setting the mug on the bar, he nodded at Colin. Colin had gotten his light brown hair and green eyes from his and Liz’s father’s first wife, while Liz’s ebony hair and olive-skinned complexion came from their father’s second wife—neither woman was any longer in the picture. Aside from sharing a tall, toned build, the two siblings looked nothing alike. That didn’t stop thoughts of Liz from resurfacing.
If anyone could explain Liz, it was her brother. And if there was one t
hing Dusty would never ask Colin, it was about his sister. Ever since Colin had walked in on Liz giving Dusty a blow job, Liz was an off-limits topic. Dusty couldn’t blame Colin for that. Hypocritical as it might be, Dusty would be pissed to find his own sister screwing a guy she claimed to hate for the mere sake of pleasure.
He remembered the creep in pink then. Even the idea of Liz acting that way with some random guy disturbed Dusty. Because she was his friend’s sister and he felt a sense of obligation to watch out for her. Any other reason was implausible.
Dusty signaled to Jen to get Colin a beer. He shot Colin a teasing grin as his friend settled onto a bar stool. “You are still alive, man. I was starting to think married life had gotten the best of ya.”
Colin snorted. “Married life, hell. Do I look shackled and drawn to you? All right, so I’m guilty of the shackled thing from time to time, but there’s nothing quite as sexy as Joyce on a power trip with a pair of handcuffs.”
“I should have swept her up when I had the chance.” The petite blonde had turned out to be on the softer side, rather than the she-devil in the tit-popping top she’d first presented herself as, and, therefore, nowhere near to Dusty’s type. Still, he would rather be sleeping with a woman who wasn’t his norm than trying to figure out the inner workings of Liz’s warped mind.
“We might not be headed to the altar yet, but Joyce is a relationship person.” Accusation laced Colin’s words.
Had Liz let on to her brother about sleeping with Dusty again? Though she made it clear she wasn’t the relationship type, Colin wanted to see her with a steady guy. Raising an eyebrow at his friend, Dusty tested the waters. “That s’posed to be your way of saying I’m not?”
Colin laughed. “Shit no, you’re not. I’ve never seen you with the same woman more than a couple nights in a row. The point was, you two never would’ve cut it.”
“People change.”
Operation G-Spot Page 5