Body Heat

by Susan Fox

  Virginia Canfield had asked him the same question earlier tonight. The truth was, the only woman he’d really thought of as special was Maura. He shook his head. “No. I’ve dated—”

  “I bet you have,” she broke in.

  He shrugged. “Yeah. But just casually. And no one in the last two or three months.” He framed her face with his hands and leaned closer.

  She gave a little sigh and leaned forward, too, resting her hands on his chest.

  The scent of gardenia teased his nostrils with its sultry fragrance as he pressed his lips to hers, more insistently this time. He nibbled her bottom lip, sucking bits of it in and out of his mouth and pressing his teeth gently into her flesh. And then, when his tongue licked the crease between her lips, she parted them and opened for him.

  He slid his tongue inside and hers met it, hesitantly at first, then eagerly, passionately.

  Instantly, he was hard.

  And harder still when her soft hands began to explore his naked torso. Shoulders and upper arms first, then growing bolder, her fingers tangling in the wiry hair on his chest, rubbing over the nubs of his nipples. Not squeezing, just brushing over tentatively, the way she’d first touched his fly. Getting the feel of him?

  When he touched the button at the neck of her blouse, she didn’t stop him, so he slipped it through the buttonhole. She was sitting upright, leaning slightly toward him with her legs tucked together to one side, a little prim despite the heat of her kisses, despite the erotic scent of gardenia.

  He was in charge and she was waiting to see what he’d do. Though his body urged him to move this along, he needed to bring Maura with him. To give her pleasure.

  She sat very still as he continued to undo buttons. He didn’t mean to touch her naked flesh, not yet, but his thumb grazed her stomach and she shivered. When all the buttons were undone, he slowly parted the front edges of her shirt, sliding them back to reveal the woman inside.

  His breath caught in his throat. She was wearing a bra straight out of Victoria’s Secret. Lacy and sexy as all get-out. Her skin was ivory and the bra was a couple shades darker. Pale pink, maybe. He couldn’t tell in this light, and who cared anyway?

  “Lie down.” His voice came out huskier than usual.

  Silently, she obeyed. She didn’t touch him, just gazed up, looking nervous and expectant.

  He bent to drop a kiss on her lips. Then he kissed the hollow of her throat, the ridges of her collarbones, the soft flesh just above the cups of her bra.

  “It opens . . .” Her voice squeaked. She cleared her throat and began again. “It opens in the front.”

  Thank God. She wanted him to open it. He flicked the clasp, took an anticipatory breath, then spread the bra apart. Her breasts were as beautiful as he’d fantasized them: small, firm, rosy-tipped, with taut nipples. He palmed one breast in each hand, cupping them reverently. Maura, this was Maura, her nipples all beaded up just for him.

  He bent to breathe air on one of those buds, then moistened it with his tongue. He licked, sucked, trying to be gentle.

  Her body shifted and she pressed up against his mouth, silently asking for more.

  He gave it to her, then turned his attention to the other nipple, cupping the first breast warmly in his hand as he teased the other with his mouth.

  She moaned and he returned to her mouth, to kiss her as passionately as he knew how, and she kissed him back fervently.

  When he touched the waistband of her pants, she didn’t stop him, so he undid the button and slid down the zipper.

  She lifted her lower body so he could slide the pants down, and he carefully pulled them all the way off, leaving tiny panties. Her legs were long and lovely. Even her feet were elegant. One day he would massage them, nibble them, see if he could bring her to orgasm just by playing with her feet. Not tonight, though. There were more important body parts to explore.

  He trailed his fingers up the inside of her legs, heading for, but just bypassing, the triangle of lace covering her sex.

  “Wait a minute,” she murmured, then she sat up and peeled the blouse and bra off her shoulders.

  When she lay back down, all he could do was stare. Naked but for the triangle of lace, she was a moon goddess. His goddess, to worship.

  Sex had always seemed easy to him, lusty and natural. His partners were always satisfied. But now he felt such a strange mix of feelings. He wanted to bury himself deep inside Maura and have mind-numbing sex, yet he wanted to caress her tenderly, let her know how much he cared for her. Yes, he cared. Cared for the woman inside, as well as the perfect body. But he couldn’t tell her. This was too new, and they were too different. He had no idea what tonight meant—for either of them.

  Enough, for now, that they were here, like this. That she wanted him.

  “You’re so beautiful, Maura. I’m scared to touch you.”

  “Oh, Jesse, touch me. Please.”

  To have Maura aroused and begging his touch made his swollen dick pulse. “Where?” he murmured. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

  “Everywhere.”

  He stretched out beside her, leaning across her body so his chest just touched her breasts, and he slanted a kiss across her lips. His erection was painfully hard, escaping his cotton boxer-briefs and pressing against coarse denim. But he didn’t want to rush things, didn’t want to be selfish and leave her behind.

  He concentrated on her face, kissing her eyes until they closed, then watching them pop open again as he tickled her eyebrows with his tongue. He traced the line of her nose, stroked across her lips, nibbled that stubborn jaw. Slid down and flirted with her nipples again, watching as her pelvis began a dance that told him, clear as words, what she was feeling inside.

  His tongue traced the center of her body down to her navel, circled it, slid down again, to the edge of the lacy band of her one remaining garment. He took her waist in his hands, using his thumbs to caress downward, sliding along her hips, then across the lacy triangle of her panties. He felt the springy curls of hair, the firm mound underneath. His index finger trailed farther, to the damp silky strip that ran between her legs.

  She started, then subsided, but he felt the tension in her body. This time it wasn’t the tension of arousal, he thought, but of anxiety. Didn’t she want him to do this? Was he moving too quickly, or not quickly enough? Not touching her in the right way? He’d promised her an orgasm, and he’d always cared about pleasuring his partners, but never before had it been this important.

  He stroked cautiously along the strip of fabric, and suddenly her muscles relaxed and she moaned. She began to move against his hand, her body telling him exactly how she wanted to be touched as she squirmed and pressed against him.

  God, he wanted to be inside her. But he was fascinated by her body, by her reactions, and he sensed she was close. He couldn’t leave her now, not while her body cried out for release.

  He glanced at her face, saw her eyes squeezed shut and a look of intense concentration. Her thighs were spread wide, and she pressed upward against his fingers as he stroked a little harder now, a little faster. Through drenched silk, his thumb found her swollen nub and teased it.

  Her hips moved in a private rhythm, and little moans came out of her mouth.

  Then, “Oh, Jesse!” and her body froze for a second. Froze, then surged against him, bucking and throbbing. He nestled his palm close, holding her through the spasms.

  Jesus, but he wanted to come, too. Just watching her, touching her, feeling the moist heat of her crotch as she throbbed against his palm, had brought him so close to the edge he could barely hold on.

  He became aware he was sucking in air in great panting breaths, just like she was.

  “Jesse?”

  “Yes?”

  “That was amazing. But . . .”

  “What?”

  “Don’t you want . . . I mean, don’t you want to uh, take off your jeans and . . .”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “What’s keeping y
ou, then?”

  He gave a ragged chuckle. “God knows.” He sprang to his feet, wrestled the button through the buttonhole, and hauled down the strained zipper. He struggled to get his legs out of his jeans and realized she had sat up and was staring up at him, her eyes huge. He glanced down, saw the huge erection busting out of the top of his underwear.

  Should he strip off his boxer-briefs, or would that be rushing things? Hell, he was supposed to be good with his hands; he was supposed to know what he was doing. It wasn’t like he’d never had sex before. But this, it was different. Maura was different, and that made things great, but a hell of a lot scarier.

  She was sprawled across his T-shirt and jacket, so he sank down on the grass beside her, feeling its soft tickle against his bare skin.

  When he leaned over to kiss her, her hands gripped his shoulders and moved down his back.

  He slid his body over hers, taking his weight on his knees yet letting their bodies touch. His chest to her breasts, his belly to her soft, flat tummy. Her hands continued their journey and reached his buttocks, squeezing and pressing him close. Her hips rose, grinding that lacy triangle against him, and he thrust against her, unable to stop himself.

  “Wouldn’t it be better . . .” She murmured something he didn’t catch.

  “Hmm?”

  “Could we take off our . . .”

  Thank God. He rolled off her quickly, yanked off his underwear, then eased hers down her legs. He wanted to stare spellbound at the beauty he’d just revealed, but his body was demanding action. Very, very soon. He grabbed at his jeans, fumbled his wallet out of his pocket, and found a condom. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely get the damned thing on.

  When he did, he again covered her body with his. She raised her knees, cradling him between them. Her eyes, dazzling in the moonlight, gazed straight into his.

  And suddenly, despite the urgent need in his body, the world stopped spinning and stood still. “Maura,” he breathed.

  Her smile was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. “Jesse.”

  It could have been seconds, minutes, even hours that they stared straight into each other’s eyes. He had the strangest feeling of connection, like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He’d fantasized plenty about Maura Mahoney, but tonight was a whole different thing.

  He had to join with her, couldn’t stay separate from her any longer. Reaching between their bodies, he touched her with his fingers, stroking, circling, making sure she was ready.

  She wriggled against him, making those sexy little moaning sounds. “Please, I need you.”

  He parted those damp silky folds, then eased the tip of his dick inside her. She was hot, tight, and he was scared he was going to hurt her. Then she did two things, at once. She squeezed his buttocks just as she thrust upward, encompassing him.

  His body went crazy on him. He pumped into her like a madman, and damned if she didn’t grab his butt even tighter. He’d only managed four or five strokes when he knew the dam was going to break. Fortunately, he heard her cry his name, felt her body spasm around him. “Jesus, Maura,” he cried as he thrust one final time, letting everything pour through him and into her. He couldn’t stop pumping, but each successive thrust was weaker until finally he collapsed on top of her.

  Her tummy fluttered under him; her breasts pushed up as she took deep breaths.

  His head was crammed into the space between her neck and shoulder, where he inhaled gardenia and something even more sultry and sexy. Maura’s arousal; her satisfaction.

  Not wanting to crush her, he tried to take some weight on his knees, but they felt like jelly. He touched her skin with his tongue, tasting salt, pressing little kisses into her until he had the strength to lift his head and look at her face.

  His moon goddess’s grin nearly split her face. He realized he was smiling the same way. “Wow, that was something,” he said.

  “It’s not just your hands you’re good with, Mr. Blue.”

  “Oh, man, I can do way better than that. I acted like a high school kid.”

  “You mean you can last longer than three seconds?” she teased.

  “That sounds like a challenge.” He touched her lips gently with his. “God, but you’re hot. And sweet.”

  Except, Maura didn’t feel hot. Cold was seeping into her bones. She moved away from Jesse, sitting up and wrapping her arms around herself, suddenly self-conscious. This wasn’t how a sex fantasy was supposed to go. Shouldn’t the scene shift, and magically they’d be in a nice cozy bed, with rose petals strewn across the sheets and a crackling fire to warm her?

  It had to be a fantasy, though. For perhaps the dozenth time she told herself that.

  The real Maura Mahoney would never have wild sex with a man she’d known only a few days—a man who could cost her her job. And Jesse Blue wouldn’t look at the real Maura like she was the loveliest, most sexy woman in the world.

  It couldn’t be real.

  It had felt real, but so had last night’s gardenia pool dream.

  Except, tonight had felt more real—as if the details she’d skimmed in novels, the ones she’d incorporated in previous fantasies, had come blazingly to life.

  She’d read, once, that a person couldn’t know what the ocean was like from just reading about it and seeing pictures. They couldn’t understand until they’d waded in, felt waves caress and suck at their ankles, smelled that crisp, tangy scent, heard the roar of waves and the cry of gulls.

  Tonight, for the first time, she understood sex: the physical sensations, so intense and exquisite; the incredible feeling of having her empty, needy, most intimate places filled by a man; the emotion of joining, sharing, merging; even the less romantic aspects like the chilly ground and watching Jesse strip off the used condom. She would never have fantasized that last detail.

  Oh, my God. This was real!

  Hurriedly, she grabbed up her shirt and pulled it on, not bothering with her bra.

  Jesse sat up, too. “Maura?”

  She ignored him until her fingers, clumsy with nerves, managed to get the buttons done up all the way. Once she was covered from shirt collar to the shirt tails tugged down to cover the tops of her thighs, she finally turned to him. “We shouldn’t have done this.”

  Oh, God, they shouldn’t, for so many reasons. Why had she let this happen? She’d been totally irresponsible, wanting so badly to be with Jesse—to be wanted by Jesse—that she’d fooled herself into thinking this was a fantasy.

  “What the hell?” He gaped up at her.

  She scrambled to her feet, holding the tails of her shirt in place, and pointed to his T-shirt, crumpled in the grass where she’d been sitting. “Get dressed. Please.”

  When he stood, she picked up her thong—disgustingly damp; no, this was no romantic, sensual fantasy—and, shuddering, tugged it on under her shirt, followed by her pants.

  “What the hell’s gotten into you?” His voice was rough with frustration.

  Cautiously, she glanced over her shoulder. Then, seeing that he was dressed, she turned around. Oh, my, he was so handsome, his long black hair rumpled, his T-shirt creased, and those old jeans clinging to his muscular legs.

  She’d had sex with him for real? He’d wanted to take her for a bike ride, wanted to make love—no, she corrected herself—have sex with her?

  “Jesse, I got carried away, and it was wrong. You see, I’ve been having some fantasies and dreams, and—”

  “When you go into those little trances.”

  Feeling foolish, she nodded. “And when I’m asleep.”

  “Me, too,” he said. “I’ve had them, too.”

  “About us?” Her voice squeaked in disbelief. “You and me?” She was hardly the stuff of fantasies.

  He nodded. “Since I first saw you.”

  “Me?” she asked again. Pleasure and pride warmed her.

  “Figured it’d never work out with us, but tonight I realized I was wrong.”

  His words sank in and s
he pressed her hands to her cheeks. “No! No, you were right.” Sex between them was wrong. Very wrong. She took a step back, tripping over his jacket. She’d have fallen if Jesse hadn’t caught her arm to steady her.

  But his touch didn’t steady her. It made her want him, but wanting him was stupid. She stepped away again, this time more careful about her footing. “Tonight, I fooled myself into thinking this was just another fantasy. But it’s real, and it’s wrong.”

  Scowling, he said, “Jesus, we already went through this. You said your personal life was your own business.”

  She had said something like that, before they left Cherry Lane. “I was talking about a bike ride. Just a harmless ride. Not sex!”

  “What’s the difference?”

  Aagh. For him, clearly there wasn’t one. For her, sex was special. She’d only ever made love with two men before, and then after they’d dated for months and months. Sex was intimacy; it meant a relationship; it was—well, obviously, a totally different thing for her than it was for him. He’d probably been to bed with dozens of women.

  It was one of the many, many differences between them. Insurmountable ones.

  And even if all of that wasn’t true, one cold, hard fact remained: she was his supervisor. She could lose her job over what to him was a quickie fling.

  “Maura, don’t make such a big deal out of it.”

  She realized she was shaking her head, back and forth, like she was trying to deny that this had ever happened.

  Except, no, upset as she was, she couldn’t totally regret it. Couldn’t regret feeling his caresses, experiencing the kind of sex she’d never even imagined.

  Finally, she managed to stop shaking her head and regain control. Chin up, she stared at him. “You’re right. It was one night. No big deal. But no one can find out.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “I mean it! My job’s at stake, and your community service.” Sleeping with his supervisor, even if it was consensual, surely could get him into big trouble. Didn’t he realize that?

  “Yeah, fine,” he said coolly. “Whatever.”

  “We have to go back. I’m cold and I want to go home.” Actually, she wanted to be home now, cozy and safe in her own warm bed. She hated the thought of retracing the starlit journey that had, at the time, seemed so sexy and exciting. Now, all she could think of was how cold she was, and how wrong she’d been. She should have heeded the lesson she’d learned on prom night a dozen years ago: letting down her hair could get her in serious trouble.