The Yearning

by Tina Donahue

  Pleased, he licked the trail of light drizzling toward her groin. She reacted instantly, nudging nearer, intent on her goal.

  Not yet ready to allow it, he moved his head away, tipping it back to look at her. She’d sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. Her eyes sought his and implored.

  He winked.

  Her slender brows arched.

  Swooping down, he latched onto her sex, his tongue circling her clit. Contented sighs poured from her each time he made brief contact with the nub. Soon, she learned the value of obedience and opened her body to his will. Not even the murmur of female voices coming from the end of the alley slowed Jasmine’s hitching breaths. Oblivious to everything except this—or simply not caring what anyone else saw—she delivered herself to him.

  Mike welcomed her gift and held her clit carefully between his teeth, keeping it prisoner as his tongue teased and tempted, working its magic. To the side, the club’s door opened. Music spilled out, the melody loud and lusty. A female voice complained, “I can’t believe the shitty tip that jerk gave me.”

  A male voice responded, “Relax. I saw Sara trip him on the way out.”

  The girl laughed.

  Beneath Mike’s mouth, Jasmine writhed, her muffled moans telling him release wasn’t far away. He withdrew his tongue and suckled to delay the inevitable. Her whimper stiffened his cock even more.

  The girl who’d received the lousy tip said something indistinct. The boy coughed. At the end of the alley, the same female voices continued an increasingly heated conversation.

  With no further delay, Mike licked Jasmine’s clit rough and fast. Not expecting it, her body alternately tensed and trembled as pleasure lurched through her. He imagined her moving her head back and forth, willing him to stop, unable to handle the sensation.

  He gave her even more. During it, the voices of the club employees receded and the door clicked closed. Jasmine’s wrists relaxed within his fingers. She slumped into the building, spent from her orgasm, unable to fight his determined mouth.

  His tongue stroked her sensitive area until she came again, harder than before. Releasing her wrists, he pushed to his feet and folded her in his embrace.

  Inside the club, the muted music grew progressively torrid, conjuring scenes of men and women molded together, their sexes meeting as they danced. Here, Jasmine’s head sank to his shoulder. Her hands cupped his ass as she swayed to the tune.

  Gratified and seriously horny, he turned circle after circle, dancing her away from the building.

  She giggled.

  He whispered in her ear, “I like your body jewelry.”

  “Thanks.” Her voice purred. “I really love your tongue.”

  Mike buried his face in her hair, trying to quiet his proud laughter.

  She cuddled close, her fingers fondling his butt and traversing the furrow between his cheeks.

  Sweet Jesus. His penis behaved as if a woman had never touched him there, the head pressing against the barrier of his fly, wanting her searching fingers and mouth on it. He choked out his words. “If you keep doing that, I won’t be able to control myself.”

  “Then don’t.” She paused to pull in more air and spoke on a whispery sigh. “Come home with me, please.”

  Hunger deepened her voice, giving him an idea of how she’d sound when he mounted her. Intoxicated at the thought, he turned again and grinned at her newest giggle. He planned to show off and try a more complicated dance move when he unexpectedly caught movement in his peripheral vision. Gaze shifting to the right, he paused.

  At the end of the alley, two young women huddled beneath the pool of yellow light from the gas lamp. They spoke in subdued voices he couldn’t possibly overhear. Were they the ones who’d sounded close to arguing? If so, why were they still hanging around this place and talking so low?

  The one on the right appeared to be in her late twenties. She had light brown hair and a pallid complexion, which looked out of place in the sunny Keys. The other one, younger by a few years, was equally fair. She wore her hair very short, like a man, and had dyed it an impossible platinum blonde.

  Neither appeared to notice him or Jasmine. In fact, they looked everywhere except this alley. Their presence didn’t feel right. As a former law enforcement officer, he thought it seemed downright staged. He glanced at Jasmine.

  Anxiety pinched her features, so fuzzy with contentment a few moments ago.

  He frowned. “Do you know those two?”

  Her head snapped from them to him, her eyes widened in confusion. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  At his abrupt tone, she stepped back and kept her voice low. “No.” Head bowed, she adjusted her halter top to make certain it covered her breasts. “I don’t know them.” She lifted her face and avoided his eyes. “Did they see us?”

  “Not from way over there they didn’t.”

  She nodded and turned away, arms hugging her middle.

  He studied her narrow shoulders, the sleek expanse of her back revealed by her dress. Two small moles decorated her tawny skin, one on her right shoulder blade, the other on the graceful slope of her spine. On her second sigh, his shoulders slumped. What in the fuck was the matter with him? So what if two women decided to use this alley for their incessant chatter? Could be they were so deep in debate over whatever in the hell women talked about, they forgot to keep walking. Stranger things had happened. At least it hadn’t been a bunch of guys invading this space.

  “Hey.” Hands resting on her firm biceps, he eased her into him, her back to his front.

  With her plush ass blanketing his groin, he murmured, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m sorry.”

  She turned in his arms. It took her a few seconds to lift her head and another to open her eyes.

  Unexpectedly, a wave of tenderness hit hard. In her blue-green gaze, he saw guileless yearning. Beneath it, he sensed a wounded soul who needed his protection. How crazy was that for a man who’d failed his duty so miserably? Driven to redeem himself with her, he ran his hands down her buttery arms and used his softest voice. “Despite my acting like an SOB, does your invitation still stand?”

  “Will you bring your tongue?”

  Laughing, he hugged her until she squealed like a little girl. “Where do you live?”

  With her head nestled on his shoulder, her breath warmed his neck. “A few blocks from here. We can walk.”

  “We’ll take my bike. It’s right over there.”

  She didn’t bother to look. Her hands returned to his ass. She resumed squeezing. “Whatever you say.”

  Exactly what every man longed to hear.

  He insisted she put on his helmet. “I want you safe.”

  Completing a full circle around his Harley, a customized V-Rod Muscle, she ran her fingertips over the black leather seat. “What will you wear?”

  “You.” He tossed her his helmet, which she thankfully caught, straddled his bike, and patted the space behind himself. “Hop on, put your arms around my middle and press the insides of your thighs against mine.”

  She turned the helmet in her palms while staring at his legs. “Shouldn’t we wait to do that until we get to my place?”

  Head down, he hid his smile and faked a growl. “Come on, woman. You’re making me wait.”

  “Sorry.” With more care than he thought necessary, she tucked her thick hair into the sides of his helmet, secured the strap and lifted her foot, stopping short of swinging her leg over the bike.

  Suddenly, he remembered she wasn’t wearing panties, just her amazing body jewelry. He got so hard he winced inwardly and it showed in his unsteady voice. “Ah, if you pull the back of your dress between your legs you can…” His words trailed off as she did as he suggested, her succulent ass resting on cloth rather than his seat.

  Blood pounded in his ears at the way she wrapped her arms around him, leaving one palm on his belly and the other on his fly. God help him if he took a corner too fast and she grabbed his shaft and balls
to hang on.

  “How’s this?” she asked.

  Surrounded by her fragrance and heat, distracted by her rigid nipples poking his back, he lowered his head and forced himself to take a calming breath. “It’s great. Precisely what I wanted.” He looked past his shoulder at her.

  Indecency sparkled in her eyes. Her forefinger stroked his balls.

  His ears rang. He’d never experienced a moment quite like this, not even in high school or college where he fucked as much as he possibly could. It killed him to break the mood, but he couldn’t think of a way around it. “We’ll have to stop at a drugstore first for protection. There’s one two streets over, unless you have condoms at your place.”

  Her finger found the head of his cock and traced its outline. He bit back a moan. She reduced her voice to just above a whisper as though someone might overhear. “I have an IUD. There’s a slight chance you may feel the strings when you’re inside me. Is that okay?”

  Was she joking? He nodded quickly and guided her hand to his waist, placing it on top of her other one. Once his heart began to beat normally again, he heeled the kickstand. “Hang on.”

  They roared out of the alley and entered the street, weaving around a slow-moving vehicle to zip past a continuous flow of cars. A teenaged boy in the passenger seat of a red Honda Civic hung out his window and waved with both arms as they approached. “Hey man,” he shouted, “I love your bike!”

  Head turned to the boy, Mike grinned to acknowledge his thanks.

  Jasmine nuzzled the back of his neck, adrift in his potent masculinity. The thought of his powerful thighs separating her legs and his cock buried deep dulled her earlier distress.

  He’d given her an opportunity to retreat when he’d seen Violet and Lily beneath the gas lamp, asking if she knew them. For a moment, she’d vacillated, and then the curse took over, pushing her to have him at all costs, allowing her to look confused at his question and to lie so easily.

  She knew her sisters followed. When he’d stopped at the end of the alley and regarded the passing traffic, she’d peeked to the right. Violet and Lily sat in her blue Saturn, parked at the curb. She’d given them time to head for the vehicle while she fooled with his helmet and her skirt. Her nod let them know everything was going as planned. Within minutes, she’d be home with him. They wouldn’t enter the house for an hour, time enough for her to get him into her bedroom, so he’d believe she lived alone.

  Her lids slid down, shame mingling with accelerating delight. Cheek pressed to his shoulder, she savored his tee’s fresh scent, his glossy hair whipped by the wind, his torso tensing with each movement, the way their bodies dipped to the right, the left as he expertly maneuvered his bike around street corners.

  On the fourth turn, he slowed and stopped at the address she’d provided. Opening her eyes, Jasmine looked at her childhood home, a two-story Victorian with white wrought-iron columns and porches draped in crimson bougainvillea. The petals fluttered in the midnight breeze, delivering their perfume. Moss-draped cypress trees and gigantic banyans flanked the structure, along with squat palms and ferns. Stately and inviting, the house didn’t look like a place where she would imprison a man.

  He eased toward the curb.

  “No,” she said, her voice just a shade too loud.

  He turned to her. His eyes glistened in the moonlight. “No what?”

  If he parked out here, the neighbors would see his Harley. Not a problem, if he left in the morning. If she couldn’t allow it… Not knowing what to do, or what she might be capable of, she said, “There’s a detached garage in back. Your bike will be safer there.”

  “You rent a room here?”

  Her throat constricted at his simple question, one she should have known he’d ask. She shook her head, not able to lie this time. He knew her real name and should he leave in the morning, there were too many public records to confirm ownership. “It’s mine.”

  His dark brows lifted. “You don’t seem too happy about that. Is the bank giving you grief? They’re getting ready to foreclose?”

  “Actually, the place is free and clear, an inheritance from my parents.”

  His head turned to the house, taking it in. “Can I ask you something?”

  She wished he wouldn’t. “I guess.”

  He glanced over at the uncertainty in her voice. “I know this is none of my business. If you want, just tell me to shut up, but did they die recently?”

  His question brought relief and sorrow. “No. I lost them when I was eighteen.” Her belly cramped at the memory. “They’d gone to the store that day and didn’t return when they said they would. The police department called. An officer said a group of kids was tossing rocks off an overpass, thinking it’d be fun to smash some windshields. My dad lost control of the car. It rolled over several times, killing him and Mom instantly. A stupid, senseless accident.” The loss still angered and pained her, though she shouldn’t be talking about it. If she wasn’t careful, she’d tell him everything: how she’d raised her younger sisters. How she’d crossed paths with a mad woman. How Desiree’s jealousy had altered her life. Tears burned her eyes.

  His expression softened. “I’m sorry. It must have been tough. Do you have any siblings or relatives?”

  She shook her head, not wanting to involve Violet and Lily in this, hoping her next lie would sound like the truth. “I’m pretty much it.” Running her finger beneath her nose, she turned her head to the right. “There’s the drive, you can take it to the garage.”

  Once he’d parked his bike next to Violet’s black VW, which he surely thought belonged to her, she placed his helmet on the seat and ran her fingers through his hair, easing it from his ear. He offered a gentle smile and gathered her into his arms. His embrace nearly defeated Jasmine. New tears threatened. She hated deceiving him but didn’t know what else to do. Without his warmth and touch, she’d go crazy.

  He whispered, “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  He ran his hand up her back. She sagged into him, loving his solid support. “Ready to go inside?”

  “Depends.” He kissed the top of her head. “What do you have in mind?”

  Jasmine pushed to her toes and suckled his throat while cupping his sac with her free hand, feeling the shape and weight of his balls through the rough denim.

  Air hissed through his teeth. “How about we stay here? I’ve always wanted to have sex in a garage. We could even try to do it on my Harley.”

  Her grin released several tears. “Inside’s better. Follow me.”

  With her fingers laced through his, she led him past the gazebo, a lacy white structure ringed by fat bushes and towering palms. White wicker rockers graced the back porch. Silvery light streamed through the tall kitchen windows, illuminating the snowy cabinets and gleaming hardwood floor. The fragrant cinnamon cake Violet prepared for tonight’s dessert sweetened the space.

  Jasmine hung her purse on Lily’s chair at the glass-topped kitchen table. A prearranged signal to let her sisters know she’d chosen a safe man. He wouldn’t harm her.

  She eased her hand from his and backed up several steps toward the hall.

  He finished looking around the airy room. Shadows and light played across his features, giving him a mysterious, formidable appearance. He moved closer. Her body throbbed, hurting for his.

  “I can’t believe you live here alone,” he said.

  The back of her neck prickled. She warned herself not to break and blurt the truth. In addition to Violet and Lily, Ben Bishop, their border, rented a room upstairs. Ben waited for her now, determined to protect her if the man she chose became threatening. Heart racing, she offered a promising smile. “Most of the time I like the solitude, though not tonight.” To distract him from the subject, she lifted her hands and unfastened her halter.

  Mike followed the ends of the cloth as they slid over her breasts to pool at her waist. Eyes riveted to her partial nudity, he pulled his tee out of his jeans.

  “No—don
’t.”

  His gaze jumped from her tight nipples to her eyes. “Don’t? Why?”

  If worry caused Violet and Lily to arrive before she got him out of the kitchen, he’d see them coming up the porch. “I want to undress you. Please.”

  He flung out his arms, his resonant voice even huskier. “Have at it.”

  Jasmine smiled, liking him so much desire rose swift and pitiless, worse than the times with the other men. The room pressed in and the air became suffocating. Tension magnified every sound: crickets chirped boisterously, something in the wall popped as the house settled. Her heart skipped a beat while she battled for composure. No matter his impatience to sink inside of her, if she allowed him to witness the heartless depth of her passion, she’d spook him and he’d leave.

  She’d have no way to satisfy herself through tonight’s grueling hours, not even if she went to Ben. He’d argued for them to become intimate, not understanding the curse. Desiree didn’t want her to crave just any male. That would be too easy. She could hire escorts. The man had to be one she felt in her core with a connection so strong he seemed to be a part of her, whether he was vicious like Travis or as seemingly honorable as Mike. Only then would the sex gratify, though never for long. She’d still want unendingly. Finding her voice, she tried to make it as light and tantalizing as possible. “Not here. Upstairs.”

  Mike’s arms fell to his sides. He arched one brow. “What’s upstairs?”

  “My bedroom.” She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “You do want to see it, don’t you?”

  “Eventually.” His amused smile grew mischievous as he inclined his head. “Right now, though, that table has your name on it. Once you’ve stripped me, I definitely see you bending over it, lifting your ass and spreading your legs.”

  Her pussy thumped, indelicate, shameless beats at the picture he’d created, her body displayed for his use, vaginally and anally. She strained for control. “I was saving that for breakfast.” Her voice trembled. She cleared it. “By the way, I’m quite the chef. I cook in the nude.” She unzipped the back of her dress and nudged it past her hips.