Operation G-Spot

by Jodi Lynn Copeland

  Fought and lost.

  Liz flicked her tongue over the tip of his finger, moaning low as she recalled the velvety sweet taste of it coated in whipped cream. Her lips worked downward, nibbling at the long, thick digit, swirling her tongue around it. His skin didn’t taste velvety sweet tonight, but warm and salty. Dusty’s groan as she worked her mouth up and down, eliciting slurping sounds that hinted at something far more erotic, wasn’t sweet either, but raw. Feral. Reckless with a want she felt all the way to her toes.

  The plan wasn’t to kiss him. The plan was simply to touch him a little, get his motor revving. Prove to him they could never be friends and prove to herself that he wasn’t a nice guy but a man ruled by his dick. The plan was about to take a serious detour.

  Liz leaned into him, placing her hands on his hard chest. She sighed at the blissful contact and cocked her head back, eyeing his mouth.

  Kiss. She wanted his kiss. Now.

  His lips parted slightly. The tip of his tongue winked at her. Her heart skipped a beat. She closed her eyes. Held her breath. Waiting. Waiting.

  “You into brunettes with beards?”

  The unexpected question snapped her eyes open and rocked her back on the heels of her sneakers. “What?”

  Dusty’s hands fell at his sides, and he stepped back until he was nearly up against the wall. He cleared his throat. “I have a friend I think you’d like. Name’s Cord. He owns a beefalo ranch in Texas. Mentioned coming to visit in the next month or two, and—”

  “And what?” Liz snapped. “You enjoyed fucking me so much, you wanted to give your friend the same opportunity by setting the two of us up?”

  He frowned. “I want to see you happy.”

  And he’d been about to before he opened his mouth and failed to stick his tongue between her lips.

  What in the hell was going through his head? Had he said that crap about her body to show her why his friend would like her? And why would he want her to date his friend if he was only playing at being nice? “Lovely. Tonight you’re both a dickhead and a fruitcake.”

  “As much as that bitchy attitude does it for me, I have to wonder what I did to you to make you dislike me so much.”

  Where to start? There was…and…yeah…Okay, so at the moment the reasons were eluding her, but there were plenty of them. Liz jutted her hip out and planted a fist against it. “If I really have to tell you, you’re even dumber than I thought.”

  His look said he wanted to voice a comeback. Dusty shrugged it off to ask, “So, what do ya say to meeting Cord?”

  What did she say? Temper kindled and then quickly died as she realized the potential to be had in this conversation. The plan could still work, just slightly altered.

  Crossing her arms under her breasts in a way that plumped the mounds and thrust their hard tips toward his face, she smiled naughtily and closed the distance between them by half. “He owns a ranch, eh? Guess that means he enjoys a good ride.” She looked up at him from beneath half-drawn eyelids. “What about you?”

  The muscle in his jaw worked. “What about me?”

  Liz closed the distance by half again. Inches separated them now. Enough to keep their chests from touching but not their body heat from mingling. Damn, it was getting seriously hot in here. “Do you enjoy a good ride?” she practically purred.

  “It’s been years,” he answered seriously. “I used to sneak out of the house to go riding with Cord on his parents’ ranch—that’s where I met Colin. Then one time I ended up breaking my arm. I’m not sure who was more pissed off, Mom being pulled out of her bridge club meeting, or Dad being interrupted during the workday to come to the hospital. Needless to say, it put an end to things fast.”

  We share things that matter.

  Joyce’s words on how she and Colin had ended up together sprang into Liz’s mind and unsettled her belly. So what if she and Dusty had both had less-than-perfect upbringings? It didn’t mean jack. Sure as hell not that they were meant to be together.

  Shuddering over the ludicrous idea, she planted her hands on his chest. She spread her fingers over the delicious muscle and curled them in the linen of his shirt. “I’m not your mother, Marr. You wanna ride, I say go for it. Matter of fact”—she uncurled her fingers and smoothed her hands down his torso and past his zipper, connecting with his hard-on—“I’ll join you.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Showing up here tonight, cutting yourself, complimenting the bar, it was all just a lead-in to my pants.”

  He sounded disappointed. When he talked about the bar during cooking class, his pride over its success always came through. Obviously the place was the equivalent of her pastry shop—a dream, in his case one realized. Just another thing they shared in common. La-di-flipping-da.

  “I’m not a masochist, and I appreciate a good kitchen when I see it,” Liz said truthfully and then reverted to focusing on the plan.

  Lifting her hand from his groin, she pumped her hips against his. His rigid shaft brushed against her swollen pussy lips, and a heady sensation zinged through her. She didn’t bother to stop her gasp or the urge to rub her sensitized breasts against his chest. Let him think it was all part of the act. After all, it was. Mostly. “I appreciate a good man even more.”

  “I’m not the right guy. You said so yourself.”

  Midway through a second hip pump, Liz stalled. That was why he’d acted so nonsexual toward her these last few weeks? She would never have believed him the type to let a little comment sway him. And she had to have been correct about that. He wasn’t the type, just like he wasn’t concerned with her happiness. He was an unscrupulous man-whore messing with her mind. Two could play that game, and she could play it better.

  “You know damned well I have no intentions of settling on one guy.” She ground her hips into his hard, each swivel of her sex against his bringing forth a new sigh. And new want. Real want. The kind she’d experienced three weeks ago before the pie had started to burn.

  Her clit was hungry again. She could feel it throbbing between her juicy nether lips, aching to be let out to play. Poor little bastard would have to starve.

  “So, what do you say?” She glanced at the sink. “You, me, and the sink?”

  “You’ll regret it.”

  There would be nothing to regret. All he had to do was admit that he wanted her on a purely carnal level and this would be over with. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a big girl.” Liz moved back far enough to strip the T-shirt over her head. She pushed out her naked breasts and brought her fingers to her nipples, touching, squeezing, toying with the tight buds in a way that had her cunt thrumming.

  Dusty’s throat worked visibly as he watched her finger-play. His stoic edge vanished while his eyes grew heavy-lidded, his breathing intensified. The bulge beneath his jeans gave a noticeable twitch. Her heartbeat took off as she remembered the all-consuming thrill of his massive member impaling her.

  He wanted her. He sooo wanted her.

  And she wanted him. She sooo, sooo, sooo wanted him.

  Expectancy fired through her, further dampening the crotch of her jeans. The impulse to widen her stance so that the rough denim would rub against her inflamed clit taunted her. She should ignore it, him. Stick to the plan. Demand that he admit he wanted her and then leave. Remember what really mattered.

  “Touch me.” Ah, wrong words.

  Indecision warred on Dusty’s face, shocking her. The want in her words should have been enough for him. He should be on her, inside of her, or at least teasing her in a way that made it clear he would soon be that way.

  Unless he wasn’t playing head games.

  Seconds passed. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Finally, he moved, straight to the door. Liz’s pounding heartbeat screeched to a halt. Damnit, she didn’t want him leaving. But she wasn’t about to ask him to stay.

  He didn’t reach for the knob, but pushed in the lock on the door handle. She breathed a sigh of relief. Some of her judgment must have slipped out with that sigh because her n
ext words were, “Don’t lock it.”

  “I’m not getting caught fucking in the staff bathroom.”

  She snorted. “As if it would be a first.”

  He looked back at her. “Until the night Matt walked in on me going down on you on the pool table, I’ve never done anything more than kiss a woman in this bar. That woman was you.”

  Liz blinked, taken aback. Was he being honest? His expression suggested he was. But why would he single her out to misbehave with on the job site, and did the reason have to do with his nonsexual treatment of her the last few weeks? He’d made it sound like he hadn’t touched her because she told him he wasn’t the right man for her. Did his admission now suggest that he wanted to be the right one?

  Never mind. Even if the idea of him—not to mention her—in a relationship wasn’t laughable, she wouldn’t want to know the answer. She didn’t want to get one iota closer to him on a personal level. She just wanted to screw. Wanted her one bona fide orgasm and then be done with him and on with the rest of her life. Amen.

  “Fine, lock it. You’ll have to find another way to give me a little added thrill.”

  7

  He shouldn’t be doing this, Dusty’s conscience screamed as Liz rocked back on the bathroom sink and he buried his tongue in her mouth and filled his hands with her small, supple breasts. But since when did he give a shit what his conscience said?

  The white bandage on her finger flashed in his line of vision, and he had his answer. He’d started giving a shit some time in the last few days, or weeks, or months. Hell, maybe it had been their first encounter eight years ago, when he’d given her a smile and in return she’d given him the finger. When wasn’t important. His reaction to seeing her blood spilling onto the bar counter was.

  The cut hadn’t turned out to be as bad as the amount of blood seemed to indicate; still it had tightened his gut with concern. Because he’d known her for so long. Because she was almost like family. The little sister he never had. Damned good thing, too, since the desire to screw his “little sister” senseless wasn’t bound to go over well.

  Dusty indulged in a full minute of tongue-play, committing to memory the fervent way Liz stroked back and the sexy little sounds that erupted from the back of her throat. Then he lifted from the openmouthed kiss and emptied his hands of her breasts. He straightened, giving the high, firm mounds with their brown tips a long look, aware it would be the last. He was a man who could get off on pleasure alone. She was a woman who needed more—that one right lover—to achieve orgasm. Given the accidental insight into her mother’s promiscuous behavior, he couldn’t blame her for that.

  Only, if her mother’s promiscuous behavior stopped Liz from partaking in casual sex, why had she slept with him twice before and was even now attempting at lay number three?

  Her fingers buried in the shoulders of his shirt, and she gave the material a rough jerk. “What are you doing, stopping?”

  The right thing. Or was it?

  He stepped back and looked at her face. He attempted to gauge her true feelings but couldn’t see past her appearance. Even with her eyelids at half-mast, the blue of her irises showed startlingly bright, intense in a way that seemed to see right through his pretense of wanting to be friends. Her lips were no less powerful. Extra pink and plump from their kisses, they made him think of anything but friendship. Made his body throb with the desire to make them pinker and plumper yet. To do the same to those sweet lips hidden beneath her jeans. Shit.

  Dusty buried his hands in his pockets. “This isn’t going to happen.”

  Her eyes went wide. “What? Why the hell not?”

  “You don’t want it to. You just convinced yourself you do.”

  Liz’s eyes snapped closed on a growl. She thrust her hands into her short ebony locks, looking like she wanted to tear them out. “What is it with you and your stupid-ass ideas lately?” She opened her eyes and released her hair, pinned him with a seething look. “Get it through your thick skull—I want this to happen.”

  It would be easy to believe her. Too damned easy to sink into her warm, wet body and ride her to fulfillment. But if he was the only one able to achieve that fulfillment, it would also be a mistake. He shook his head and lied. “I don’t.”

  With a grunt, she jumped off the sink and sent her tits swaying into motion. The whisper of material sliding against skin had Dusty’s gaze going from her jiggling breasts to her thighs—her naked thighs. The breath snagged in his throat as he realized how much of her was naked—every tight, toned inch. He took in the shimmering black curls that covered her mound, and his cock pulsed savagely.

  With her uninjured hand, Liz grabbed one of his and brought it to her sex, cupping their joined hands against her pussy. “Feel this and tell me you don’t want me.”

  Cream seeped onto his palm. Wet heat rolled from between her pink folds to perfume the air. His index finger speared upward without his permission. He groaned as the slippery walls of her cunt welcomed him inside with a hug. “Christ, you’re wet.”

  “No shit. Do something about it.”

  He wished he could. Wished to hell he was the right one for her.

  The thought sneaked up to pummel Dusty in the gut. Pulse racing, he jerked his finger from her body and his hand from beneath hers, and he took a desperately needed step back.

  The way her face had glowed when she commented on his kitchen had blindsided him. First, by making his pride soar with the idea he was a success at something other than sex. And, second, by making his heart warm with her honest smile. What her glowing appreciation hadn’t done was turn him stupid. He didn’t want to be any woman’s right guy. The only reason he’d even considered such a thing was because, no matter how he tried to ignore it, his dick was clamoring to call the shots. The big guy knew that if Dusty was the right one for Liz, he would get to spend the next while out of the too-snug confines of his jeans and into the perfectly snug confines of her pussy.

  The big guy was shit out of luck. “I can’t.”

  “You’re seriously earning that dickhead title.”

  “By not sleeping with you?”

  “By making me feel like an idiot,” Liz admitted with a quiet sincerity that shocked him. “How much harder can I throw myself at you?”

  She sniffed. He tensed with the thought that she might cry, resisted the urge to soothe her with either words or actions. The Liz he knew would never shed tears over a man. But then, how much did he know about the real her?

  “You really don’t want me, do you? I should have known it the second I smelled you.” She sniffed again, and this time he realized she was scenting him, not preparing for an emotional breakdown. “You never wear cologne unless you’re wearing it for something special, someone special.” She nodded at his groin, where his cock had yet to relax. “That’s for someone special, too. You were already hard when Jen called you over to look at my hand.”

  She was right on both accounts. Dusty had been wearing cologne for the last week in the hopes of attracting a woman capable of challenging him on the levels that Liz did. As for the erection, he’d developed it the moment he’d realized a capable woman had finally arrived, in the form of Liz herself.

  He couldn’t tell her the truth without risking her jumping him. He was bigger, stronger, but brawn was no match for her current state of guilelessness and the weakness he never expected to feel toward it.

  Giving a shrug, he smirked. “What can I say? Ya oughta know by now that my dick gets hard whenever the wind blows.”

  Embarrassment and anger flashed in Liz’s eyes. She slammed her fist into his upper arm, wincing when her knuckles connected with bone. “Get your ass out of my way!”

  He stepped to the side. She grabbed her jeans and hastily pushed her legs into the holes. The T-shirt was jerked over her head with the same haste, and then she scooped up her socks and sneakers and made for the door. She unlocked it and tossed it open, looked back at him, nostrils flaring. “You can pretend all you want, Marr,
but we aren’t friends. We will never be friends. Anything else, you just lost your chance at.”

  She needed coffee, bad.

  Sitting up in bed, Liz scrubbed her hands over her face. Her supercharged morning persona was something she’d never had to fake. She was one of those people who didn’t require much sleep and was energized both morning and night. Each day started out the same, waking at six o’clock without the aid of an alarm clock and getting in her two-mile jog before most of the neighborhood stirred.

  This morning it was after eight and her energy seemed to have moved to another country, right along with her self-respect.

  Unless last night had been a nightmare.

  Maybe she hadn’t thrown herself at Dusty only to have him turn her down cold for some hoochie whose blow-job technique clearly merited his wearing cologne.

  Yeah, and maybe hell had frozen over during the few minutes of sleep she had managed.

  She’d played such the fool over him. And why? Not because for a few seconds there she’d crazily thought he might care about her beyond the physical. And, damnit, for a few more seconds, as he kissed her so thoroughly it robbed her of sound judgment, she considered maybe the two of them being in a relationship was neither an absurd nor fictional concept. Oh no, that mistake wouldn’t have been hard enough to live down. No, her behavior had been all about living up to her heritage, acting like the slut her mother would have raised her to be had the woman been around enough.

  Liz pulled her hands from her face and scooted to the edge of the bed. Last night she might have fallen victim to her hormones, but today was a new day. Today she had hold of her common sense. She also didn’t have to be at work until four.

  Just as soon as she got some coffee pumping through her system, she would do what she should have done long ago and go apartment hunting. The sooner she got out of this house and away from the potential of running into dickhead Dusty, the better.