by Hazel Hunter
Dr. Kinchai had been a very busy man, thought Jean. Luckily, none of the wounds he had tended had been serious, hers least of all. She buttoned the last button on her silk shirt and looked at herself in the mirror. She’d succumbed to the heat of the greenhouse fire but hadn’t suffered smoke inhalation. The smoke had escaped through a broken roof panel before it had descended all the way to the floor.
They’d all been lucky.
But somehow, she didn’t feel lucky.
A single lamp was lit in the room but it was enough to see. Night had fallen outside and the house had become quiet.
As she brushed her hair, still a little damp from the shower, she tried to tell herself that they were fortunate to be alive, any of them, after what George Liew had attempted. Driven by greed, he’d nearly had a head on collision with Annan and he’d given Mrs. Juntasa a mild concussion. When the doctor had left Jean, he was on his way to check in with Clark–who she hadn’t seen yet.
Clark.
She glanced at the clothes he’d given her. Permeated with smoke, she’d folded the top and shorts neatly and left them on top of the dresser. She now realized they must have belonged to Linda–the woman she so much resembled and yet never seen. The woman she had been meant to replace in Clark's affections.
Dr. Kinchai had also told her about the drug George had given her. She stopped brushing her hair and tried to remember the first time George had “helped” her. Was it on the plane?
There was a light knock on the door.
“Come in,” she said.
The door opened and Clark stood there.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jean was back in her business clothes. Maybe that was for the best, thought Clark.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said.
“I’m fine, thanks,” she said quietly. “How’s Mrs. Juntasa doing?”
Clark had to grin a little.
“She’s got us waiting on her hand and foot,” he said. “I’ve never seen Tam so, ah, attentive.”
Jean smiled in return.
He felt some tension relax from his shoulders. He hadn’t known what to expect. He’d said some ugly things in the greenhouse when he’d realized George had robbed him. He’d locked her in there.
“I’m sorry,” Jean said, looking down at the hair brush in her hand. “For coming on to you…that way.”
She cleared her throat.
“I knew that you were in the middle of important business and…I knew that Linda had only been gone a year.” She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears. “I guess I couldn’t help myself…but I knew better.” She took in a shaky breath. “And I’m so sorry.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry,” he said, taking a step toward her. “For accusing you the way I did. I should have known you weren’t pretending.”
He stopped. She hadn’t been pretending but she had been under the influence.
“About that,” she whispered.
He realized he was holding his breath and let it go.
“Jean,” he said. “You don’t owe me any explanations.”
“No, I do,” she blurted out. “Please, just let me finish.”
She turned toward the mirror and set the brush down.
“I’ve never done anything like that before in my life,” she said. “Especially without knowing someone.”
He stepped behind her and looked over her shoulder into the mirror. She looked up at him.
“But that’s just it,” she said. “Before I ever met you, before I’d ever had that drug, I think I was in love with you.”
He stared at her.
“I’m an auditor,” she rushed on, looking down at the dresser top. “And I don’t mean just for my job. It’s who I am. It’s why I’m good at what I do. I knew you before I met you. On paper, you were perfect. And, then, when I met you…”
He grasped her lightly at the shoulders and she looked up at him in the mirror.
“When you met me?” he asked quietly, staring into her pale, green eyes as he moved even closer.
“You really were perfect,” she whispered, her lower lip trembling.
He stared at the quivering lip and realized he wanted to quell it–or make it worse.
• • • • •
Although Clark's eyes never left hers, Jean felt his hand move to her neck and brush her hair aside. Her heart, already racing, started to hammer. He lowered his gaze to the bare skin he’d revealed and placed his lips there. A chill ran down her spine at the sudden feeling of his soft lips on her and his warm breath moving down her chest. He kissed her lightly, moving his mouth higher as she tilted her head to the side to accommodate him. Then his hands appeared in front of her.
Despite her rapidly rising breathing and the rise and fall of her chest, he found the top button of her blouse and easily undid it. His fingers made quick work of the other buttons as his lips continued to skate across her skin. His mouth nudged her jaw upward and she tilted her head back until it lay on his chest. She closed her eyes as he slipped the blouse from her shoulders and arms. A tug at her waist meant that he had grasped the zipper of her skirt. It fell from her hips.
“Jean,” he murmured against her throat. “You’re perfect.”
She reached up behind her and ran her fingers into his thick, black hair.
He cupped her breast through the bra while his other hand snaked slowly down her abdomen.
“Oh god,” she whispered, gripping his hair.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he murmured between kisses.
At that, his hand slid into her panties and she gasped. His fingers pushed over the edge of her mound and she backed against him, unable to keep from writhing.
“Clark,” she gasped. “I–”
His fingers pulled up against her sweet spot and she cried out as her back arched. His lips captured her ear lobe and lightly tugged. Warmth flooded between her legs and her hands wound round the back of his neck. As her back separated from his chest, he undid the bra clasp. As his hand slid under the bra cup, his palm covered her nipple and she felt his skin on hers. He gently squeezed the soft flesh of her breast as the fingers in her panties spread her open.
A coil of anticipation tightened in her abdomen and she lowly moaned.
• • • • •
Clark watched her body writhing in the mirror. Her breasts were beautiful–round, bouncing lightly, the nipple of the one peeking from behind the bra a perfect pink. Her olive skin was smooth to the touch. But when she arched her back, he felt his arousal suddenly enlarge. Her belly went completely flat and her rising ribs pushed her breast into his hand. Her round hips and butt pushed back into him and he couldn’t help but pull the fingers in her panties tight onto her engorged sweet spot.
“Oh,” she grunted, flexing like a whip in his hands, her mound bucking into his palm.
He might have watched her like this forever but as her butt thrust backward, the pressure on his arousal was too much. He hissed at the contact and hugged her to himself. Gripped at the mound and the breast, he brought her back into his chest, his groin, and savored her writhing contact, the electric rubbing at his arousal and his nipples.
“Mmm,” he hummed against her neck. “Yes,” he hissed.
Her breathing was coming in heavy rasps, like his own. He squeezed both hands and was rewarded with more thrashing, sinuous but tense, rubbing all along him. Completely in his grasp, he needed to fill her, to enter her, and completely lose himself inside. Although the last thing he wanted to do was let go, he did–and picked her up. Cradling her in his arms, he was at the side of the bed before she could even react. But as he lay her down, she was quick to remove the bra. He stood there, looking down at her, her breasts completely exposed. Though he’d meant to rip his own clothes off, he suddenly found his mouth on her nipple.
Jean had been pulling her panties off but stopped. The panties still encircled her thighs but she threw her head back and gripped the comforter on either si
de of her.
Clark sucked savagely at the nipple as his need for her took over his mouth. He knew it was too hard, too much, but the sight of her body had sent him into overdrive. As his fingers clamped her mound, she writhed.
“Oh god,” she moaned.
He switched to the other nipple and squeezed her sweet spot hard.
She bucked beneath him, her breast pressing into his chin, her mound pushing against his hand. And then he felt his arousal throb. Finally, his mouth left her nipple and he ripped his shirt wide open. The buttons popped off and flew around the room, clattering to the floor.
“Clark!” Jean gasped. “What happened to your chest?”
Her look of shock made him gaze down as well. The doctor had stitched and covered the deep part of the cut at his shoulder but the rest of it had merely been bandaged. Spots of blood dotted the entire length.
He stripped off his shorts and underwear.
“It’s nothing,” he said, as he climbed onto the bed.
“You’re bleeding,” she said, trying to sit up.
But as he drew nearer and then loomed over her, her eyes went to his arousal. Her mouth hung open slightly and, as he closed the distance between them, the shaft of it scraped along the inside of her thigh but caught on her panties. He let it dangle there, straining against the light cloth, and then he let it pop loose. Her hands seemed frantic as she quickly removed the panties but when they found his shaft, that changed.
The feeling of her fingers wrapping around him made him freeze. Suspended above her, propped up on his hands in a pushup, he jerked his head down to see her hand. Her small fist rode up it to his groin and then back down.
“Ohh,” he moaned as his knees came down between her legs.
She spread them outward as she stroked him again, squeezing harder this time, pulling the skin tight, and making him groan. He’d been so focused on what she was doing, he hadn’t seen her other hand. It brushed against his nipple. His arousal pulsed in her hand and his back arched as she took that nipple between her fingers.
His breath whooshed out in a shudder at the second stimulation. As though she knew what he was thinking, her hand pulled down on his arousal but this time guided it between her legs before she let go. The tip of it found her moist entrance. As he watched, he slowly pushed into her.
They groaned together and he closed his eyes as he pushed further. Deeper he went, feeling her envelop him, close around him. He pushed against her tightness, feeling the warm resistance, even as her legs spread wider. She panted at the deepening intrusion, squirming, her groan turning into a whimper. But still he hadn’t sunk himself completely.
Slowly, he started to pull back, savoring the tug of her, the suction that would soon be drawing him back inside. Her hands were on his back and her hips tilted up to him. He hadn’t yet finished his stroke but her movement urged him back into her. He pushed again, letting her body draw him in, feeling the different angle of her pelvis opening her to him. She panted again and whimpered but there was no stopping him this time. He sank himself deeper, steadily inward, feeling her tighten around him, and her body squirm. Then, when he could no longer hold back, he thrust.
• • • • •
Clark's body was more than amazing–it was impossible. Though she’d longed to touch it, feel his torso flexing against hers since that night outside his bedroom, she’d never dreamed of what waited under the loose fitting shorts. His narrow hips were topped with muscles that flexed as he moved and formed a V down to his groin. His abdomen was so flat it almost curved inward. Not an ounce of fat lay between his skin and the veins and muscles that constantly moved underneath. And his arousal was almost more than she could take.
Suddenly, he thrust into her.
She cried out at the sudden impact, a mixture of pain, relief, and pure ecstasy. His groin ground into her sweet spot even as his penetration threatened to split her. Massive and thick, she could barely move around it. As he withdrew, pressure released inside her and then suddenly he thrust again. She involuntarily grunted at the impact.
“Jean,” she heard him whisper hoarsely. “Is it too much?”
“No,” she gasped. “No.”
And then he thrust into her again, even harder.
She grunted again, louder, and was about to spread her legs even wider, when she felt his arms around her. They were rolling and suddenly she was on top. She opened her eyes to see his torso spread out below her: the flaring muscles at his sides, the bulging curves of his pecs. No sooner had she realized where she was than his hands were on both her breasts.
He tugged her lightly toward him and her hands landed on the comforter next to his head. The pressure in her abdomen lessened and her sweet spot scraped against his groin. She moaned deeply, closed her eyes and lowered her head as she gave in to the new sensation. His arousal was still immense but she could move. Her hips wasted no time.
They began to pump into him, clenching in quick bursts, as her back arched and bowed, and then arched and bowed again. Her breathing came in rapid shudders.
“Yes,” she heard Clark hiss below her and she felt him thrust upward.
It was like a pole of steel, riding straight into her. She drew her knees in to get some separation, to lessen the pressure, as his hands went to her waist. The tight coiling of tension began in her abdomen as he thrust again, even higher. Her sweet spot collided with him and the clench clamped down on him hard.
He groaned loudly as his hands squeezed her waist.
Her hips jerked back and forth, striving for rhythm, but she was quickly spiraling out of control. On top, she could have as much of him as she could handle and now she wanted it all. As he thrust upward yet again, she sat back. Her full weight crushed her sweet spot and, as he thrust again, her clamping pulsed. He lifted her then, almost off her knees, and she felt him drive into her more deeply than she thought possible. But the clenching, once started, couldn’t be stopped. It rocked her torso in great waves, shook her from groin to shoulders, and she violently rode him even as he cried out.
Then she felt his release. From the base of his arousal to the very tip, his climax shot upward and then slapped into her. She threw her head back.
“Clark,” she breathed in a high-pitched whine, as her climax matched his.
She clamped on him again, wave after wave, her body rocking on top of him, straddling him, letting him go as deep into her as he could. He pulsed inside her again and his upward thrust suddenly released only to be replaced with a series of quick ones. Her breasts bounced as she held onto him, her grunts sharp and out of control, her climax seemingly unstoppable.
Finally though, the coiling inside her unwound. His hands were on her breasts and she leaned forward into them. As he thrust one last time, he lifted her high. Her chin dropped nearly to her chest and a deep moan escaped her throat, but her hips gyrated against him, her sweet spot spending itself one more time. She groaned and panted all at once, as the room began to spin. The only sensation was him inside her, still hard, still pulsing, her hips responding, her lungs aching with the effort to get enough air.
“Jean,” she heard Clark say, but she couldn’t open her eyes–wouldn’t have even if she could.
Instead, she clenched one last time, as her consciousness slipped away.
• • • • •
Jean woke to the most wonderful sensation–Clark nuzzling into her hair. His big arms encircled her from behind and she realized they were spooning. She inhaled deeply, hugged his arms to her chest, and scooted her herself back against him.
“Good morning,” he said quietly.
She smiled, though she still hadn’t opened her eyes.
“Good morning,” she said.
He hugged her closer.
“You had me worried,” he said. “Maybe we should have waited.”
She opened her eyes, drew his arms away from her and rolled over to face him. He seemed a little surprised and also a little worried. She caressed the side of his face.
His dark hair was tousled but his eyes were clear and searching hers.
“Waited?” she said. “I felt like I’d been waiting forever.”
“Me too,” he said, with a little smile.
Then she saw the bandage on his chest.
She lightly touched the skin beside it, running her fingers over his pec.
“George did this?” she asked quietly.
Clark nodded and told her the story. As he did, his face grew more serious and the tone of his voice more anxious. He finished with the collapse of the greenhouse. They were both silent for several moments.
“I don’t know what I’ll say to everyone,” he said, looking past her to the bedroom door. “We were all counting on the money.”
Jean shook her head at that.
“The money is easy,” she said.
He scowled at her.
“The money’s never been easy,” he said.
“Well, it should have been,” she replied.
“Really,” he said flatly.
She sat up.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m not kidding.” Clark sat up as well. “I’m an auditor, remember? George might have been a fake but I wasn’t.” She paused as he cocked his head at her. “I know your business inside out. There’s no reason you can’t get a loan. None at all. In fact, I had wondered why you’d chosen an investor in the first place.”
“Because we never could get a loan,” he said. “We tried.”
“I saw that loan package,” she said, as though she’d seen something horrific. “Who put that together?”
Clark blinked.
“Well, I did.”
That explained a lot. Clark was not a financial guy.
“I wish I’d known you then,” she said. “You’d have never needed an investor.”
“What?”
“That package was…well, frankly, it was pathetic. I’d have turned it down too.”
Now Clark grimaced.
“I see,” he said. “And I suppose you could have done better.”
“There is no suppose,” she said simply. “I could have. I would have. I’ve done it dozens of times with a lot less. A lot less.” She shook her head. “But now, with the seedlings destroyed–”