The Yearning

by Tina Donahue

  Mike watched the flimsy fabric float to her feet. She stepped out of it and slipped off her slides. Excited and embarrassed at being naked, she didn’t move, allowing his scrutiny. Her breasts felt heavy and vulnerable beneath his intense gaze. Chilled air from the cooling system drifted down, glancing against her hard nipples and the building moisture between her legs. With each breath, the belly chain rolled over her stomach. She knew the dangling diamonds shimmered in the ashy light.

  Transfixed, his attention roamed from the jewels to her shaved mound, exactly as she wanted. When she brought him through the house, she couldn’t risk him noticing anything other than her. A necessary precaution to keep him from asking too many questions. And, if she couldn’t bring herself to keep him captive, the only way she could allow him to leave in the morning.

  Hand outstretched, she coaxed, “Let’s go upstairs.”

  Chapter Three

  Mike knew seduction when he saw it, though he couldn’t figure out why Jasmine considered it necessary, given his obvious attraction to her. If his interest went up another notch, he’d be drooling.

  Maybe being alone in this house gave her lots of time to read romance novels and dream about heroes who didn’t take meth or beat up on women.

  He followed her into the hall. Ornate nightlights—one a fairy, another a stylized sun, the next a hummingbird—created circles of colored light on the shiny hardwood floor.

  Her feet slapped the wood. He slowed his pace, watching her ass bounce with each step. The dainty dimples above her cheeks baited him shamelessly, as they would any sane man. His testosterone spiked to a dangerous level, sending his heart rate into triple overdrive. Not willing to risk a stroke, he pulled her toward him, facing him, then backed her into the rose-colored wall, imprisoning her with his body.

  “Not upstairs. Here. Now,” he insisted.

  “But—”

  He kissed her objections away, his hands roughly fondling her luscious breasts chilled from the air-conditioning. As he warmed them with his palms, his fingers tugged her long nipples, sensing she’d like it.

  She did. Smothered moans punctuated her heightened breathing. Knee lifted to his groin, she prodded his balls and cock.

  Arousal surged through him. Every hair on his body seemed to stand on end. He responded with an indulgent grunt and kept her pinned to the wall with his kiss as his hands went to his belt.

  Jasmine gripped his wrists as best she could and tore her mouth free. “No.” Her breasts heaved against his chest. “I want to strip you.”

  His swallow interrupted his gasp. “Then for God’s sake, do it now or I will.”

  She released his wrists and sidled away from the wall. “Please, let me.” Fingers grabbing the hem of his tee, she eased it up his torso and arms, off his head, and flung it aside. A soft, feminine growl purred from her as she ran her hands over his chest. Her warm, caring fingers traced his muscles and flat nipples. Pleasure, shocking and deep, shot to the top of his head. He trembled.

  Encouraged, she licked his right nipple and his tattoo as her fingers gently tugged the hair peeking from beneath his arms.

  Torn between laughing and groaning in appreciation, he settled on another grunt, this one coarser.

  Her fingers slid down him as she went to her knees. She gifted his body with hot, openmouthed kisses. His toes splayed within his mocs.

  Tongue sweeping over his navel, she unbuckled his belt, pushed his jeans’ metal button through its slit and lowered his fly. His rigid cock twitched within the stretchy cotton of his navy briefs, sensitive to all contact. In no hurry, she ran her tongue across the underwear’s elastic edge as her fingers glided down the front placket.

  She was fucking killing him. His chin lifted on a new groan that barely got past his clenched jaw. Her fingers negotiated the underwear’s opening. Once inside, she caressed his rod and searched for his balls.

  He ground his teeth so hard they hurt. One more stroke and he’d be making love to his Jockeys. No damn way. He demanded her wet, snug heat. His strangled voice betrayed his agony. “If you don’t take my clothes off now, I swear I will.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  He hoped.

  She hooked her thumbs beneath the band, lowering his briefs and jeans. His cock jumped out of its prison, plumped by blood, dusky with lust. A whimpering sigh escaped her, but she didn’t touch his sex. Puffing like a long-distance runner, she pushed his briefs and jeans down his legs, stopping at his ankle holster. Her head whipped up.

  Surprise and concern registered in her lovely eyes. Her voice, so seductive a moment ago, grew cautious. “I thought you left the US Marshals.”

  “I did.” His hammering heart choked his voice. “But my current work still requires me to carry a weapon.”

  Waves of hair spilled over her shoulders as her head lowered to the Glock 27. Although law enforcement considered it the baby Glock due to its smaller size, he sensed it looked like a cannon to her. He wondered whether he’d be here right now if she’d detected it at the bar as she ran her foot up his leg. “Give me a sec and I’ll take it off.”

  “I will.” She lifted her face. “I promised to strip you.”

  He smiled at her sweet willingness. “Of clothes. Not weapons. You didn’t know I had one.”

  Her gaze shifted to his erect penis, its skin pulled so tight the damned thing bobbed each time he breathed.

  “Actually, I did,” she said.

  He laughed, though not for long. “Whoa. Hold it.”

  “I’m nearly through.” With great care, she finished unbuckling the holster from his ankle and held it in both palms like a sacred offering. “See, I didn’t hurt it.”

  Affection washed over him. She seemed so young, suddenly, so determined to please. He placed his hand on the side of her face and ran his thumb over her downy upper lip. “I’m not worried about the gun. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Carefully, she pushed to her feet, inhaling deeply as his fingers trailed from her neck to her breast. “You like?” he asked.

  “Oh yeah.”

  “There’s more as soon as I put this down.” He reached for his Glock.

  Instantly, she stepped back, keeping the weapon from him. “I’ll put it away so we’re both safe.” She left the hall.

  Mike stopped himself from calling her back, figuring she wouldn’t return. His weapon scared her, he saw it in her eyes, and she didn’t want it anywhere near them. He, on the other hand, didn’t want her to stick the pistol in an umbrella stand or a closet. It should be at his side. Placing his hand on the wall, he hurriedly toed off his mocs, then stepped out of his briefs and jeans.

  Naked, he padded down the hall, halting at the opulent front entry. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought he’d stepped back in time. A sparkling crystal chandelier hung from the beveled ceiling. Nightlights shaped like candles glowed near muraled walls depicting ocean scenes from long ago, complete with racing sailboats and couples in dated dress. Floral arrangements of pink carnations and white roses, fresh and aromatic, filled clear glass vases on the mahogany accent tables. On either side of the front door were long, narrow windows. Tall ferns stood in front of each, discouraging anyone from looking inside. An antique sofa in blue velvet was to the left, near an opened white door. A wedge of brightness came from within the room and shone on the polished flooring.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Mike didn’t see Jasmine on the winding staircase leading upstairs. He went to the opened door and nearly ran into her.

  “Oh.” She jumped back, hand to her long neck.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you. I wondered where you’d gone.” Inside the room, an office, apparently, he saw a banker’s lamp, its green shade glowing faintly from its small bulb. The light fixture sat at the edge of a large desk, possibly an heirloom given its elaborate gold handles and carvings. Placed squarely in the middle of it, with no chance of falling off, was his gun. He suppressed a smile and looked at the other side of the of
fice, surprised at the racks of bridal gowns adorned with lace, pearls and other finery, each as ethereal as a cloud. Other racks held evening dresses in hues he’d never seen: fluorescent blues, pinkish greens, outrageous reds. “Do you design women’s clothes?”

  She didn’t respond.

  He turned his head to her.

  Something behind him had caught her attention. He glanced around to the foyer. It looked unchanged to him, unless one of the candle nightlights had gone out.

  “I inherited the business from my parents,” she finally answered. Her voice sounded anxious. She flicked off the light and started to close the door.

  Mike put his arm in the middle of it, stopping her. “Does my gun make you uncomfortable?”

  “Not if it’s in there and we’re out here.” With one hand planted on his bare chest, she pushed him back with surprising strength and closed the door. “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah.” She circled him. He turned. Suddenly, she advanced. Not expecting it, he instinctively withdrew a step. His head jerked to the side as his shoulder hit the muraled wall. Sinking to her knees, she embraced his cock in her baby-soft palm, put her other hand on his ass and pressed her face into his groin.

  Holy fuck. His hands went to his temples and dug through his hair, his fists yanking it. Unmindful of her deliberate sexual torture, she filled herself with his scent. He growled. She countered by running her tongue down his stiff length, wetting and heating it in a way her pussy never could. With her mouth, she had full control and used it well. Her lapping strokes on his shaft and suckling kisses on his crown added a level of intensity and intimacy he didn’t think he could endure for long.

  “Aw, shit.” His shoulders bunched to his ears at his cock’s ruthless need.

  Reaching the most sensitive part of the head, she drew her tongue over the wrinkled skin on the back. The muscles in his chest tensed at the sensations raging through him. Before he could catch his breath she slipped him inside her mouth, taking him so deep the tip of her nose nearly touched his pubic hair. At the intense heat, his knees buckled. He struggled to lock them. They cracked. Unconcerned, she slid him in and out of her mouth, her tongue swirling over his width, while her fingers fooled with his balls.

  It had been too many months since he’d experienced this. Hell, who was he kidding—he’d never known anything quite this good. She played him expertly, knowing every move to make as if he’d told her beforehand how much he liked her tongue flicking the back of the head and the way she periodically probed the slit, all while sucking hard, pulling his skin, urging him to grow even harder.

  Damn. Raw anguish crowded his words. “I can’t hold off much longer. If you don’t stop now, I’m going to come.”

  Unfazed, she continued to enjoy his sex, encouraging him as few women had. The others talked a good game, then always pulled away at the last moment, uncomfortable with a man’s ejaculate. Not Jasmine. With her hand still on his ass, her lips and tongue held him prisoner as she tightened her lips around him, increasing the pace of her strokes, sucking him as hard as she dared.

  He wrestled against the intolerable grip of his climax, knowing he’d never win. Heat flashed in his groin, chest, face, followed by a thin sheen of sweat. Hardened beyond anything he’d known, his sex felt as if it were so big his skin would split. Even if he’d wanted to stop, nothing could have given him the power. With a shudder and a groan, he succumbed.

  Her mouth hugged him with each swallow, the snug fit bringing even greater relief. Seconds passed, maybe a minute. He cried out repeatedly, his vocabulary gone, reducing him to crude animal noises. She kept at it until she’d drained him completely. His arms dropped and his shoulders drooped. Each gasp took an enormous amount of effort. Slowly, she released him and looked up.

  Desire smoldered in her eyes, yet her expression was surprisingly tender. She opened her arms.

  He collapsed to the floor and moved into the refuge of her body. In between pants, he pressed his face to her neck, catching her delicate scent, similar to the floral arrangements, though far more enticing.

  She combed his tangled hair with her fingers and sucked his shoulder, just short of giving him a hickey. “Good?”

  Freaking unbelievable, he wanted to say, though a nod had to suffice. His racing heart and heaving chest wouldn’t allow much else.

  “Want to lie down?”

  More than anything, but male pride wouldn’t permit it. He was the big, bad former US Marshal with the scary gun and super-stiff rod. “No. I’m fine.” His voice scratched, sounding unused.

  “What if I join you?”

  “Just for a sec.” A hard floor never felt so wonderful. He spread his legs wide—his left ankle hit the sofa—and put one arm under his head to pillow it. His other hand patted the area next to him, telling Jasmine where he wanted her.

  She remained on her knees, running her fingers over his tattoo, stopping short of the scar.

  He fought his impulse to pull away, not wanting to wound her feelings. He remembered the concern on her face at the bar when she’d first asked about his injury and he’d cut off any further questions. She had only tried to be kind and he’d answered with cold indifference. To his way of thinking, it was a miracle he was here.

  Her eyes moved to his. “Can I ask you something?”

  He forced himself to nod, hoping her question wouldn’t be more than he could handle.

  She laid the tips of her fingers on his scar. “Does it still hurt?”

  Only on lonely nights when he had too much time to think. Pushing aside the pain, he lied. “Not any longer.”

  “I’m glad.” She held her hair back with one hand, leaned down and touched her lips gently to the bumpy skin.

  His eyes stung at her unexpected gesture and her intuition not to ask more. Her gentle breathing warmed his battered soul. She trailed light, loving kisses from his scar to his mouth. There, she lingered, brushing her achingly soft lips against his. Beneath her perfume, she smelled of him. His lips turned up in a smile. Her tongue followed it, teasing the seam of his mouth before slipping inside to give him a taste of himself.

  Unhurriedly, they necked, like pre-teens who don’t have the option to do anything else. Mike couldn’t recall the last time he’d experienced anything so satisfying. Their slow, wet, noisy kisses engendered peace, the kind a man seeks after a brutal and humbling day. The kind that restored, bringing renewed hope. He could have done this forever.

  After a time, Jasmine lifted her head, inhaling deeply, luxuriously.

  Forcing his lids to open, he marveled at her, so damned glad they’d met. “I thought you were going to lie next to me.”

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  He smiled at the sass in her voice. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

  “I have a better idea.” She turned her back to him and straddled his body, lowering herself until her mouth had easy access to his sex, and she’d poised her cunt provocatively above his head.

  Shit, she was just full of surprises. More than he was certain he deserved. His cock stirred, coming back to life at the sight of her bare female flesh. He’d never slept with a woman who’d removed all of her body hair. Although he liked a fluffy, fragrant bush, he had no complaints about this. Her pouty, unprotected lips and glistening passage urged him to be uncivilized.

  Hands on her velvety ass to keep her confined, he snaked out his tongue and took the first lap of her delicious juices.

  Jasmine’s head dropped. If Violet and Lily came home now, they’d see her like this. She wanted to care, but didn’t. Her ability to behave like a rational being had fallen away, the same as a liar’s empty promises, when Mike had backed her into the wall, compelling her to do as he willed.

  His hot, demanding mouth explored her swollen folds. Periodically, he made certain to torment her dangerously aroused clit.

  He headed there now.

  His tongue circled the hard nub, a predator homing in on its prey. I’m coming, it said, you can’t get away from me. But I
will make you wait.

  She groaned in desperation. He paid no heed. Though his lips tightened on her, his tongue remained elusive. Lids fluttering, she blew out an exasperated sigh. If she’d been able, she would have burrowed inside his marrow to become a part of him. Her sisters would have argued the curse drove her reaction. Her heart understood it was the man.

  Still suckling, he slid his hand to the furrow between her cheeks. His forefinger rounded her anus.

  Lewd need punched through her. Body shaking, her chin jerked up. His tongue grazed her clit. Scarcely able to catch her breath, her head dipped back to his groin. Musk scented the dark fur above his rod, exciting her even more. She licked the seat of his cock, moaning as his mouth troubled her clit and his finger probed her anus.

  Exquisitely trapped and used, she required even more. Using the last of her strength, she took him inside her mouth. The head of his penis slid past her tongue to her throat, silky, salty, savory and stunning.

  He muttered an obscenity.

  No sounds could leave her. He filled her too well. As he worked her openings, cunt and anus, she deliberately held off suckling his cock, cradling his testicles instead, testing their weight, learning the contours of the wrinkled, lightly furred glands.

  His legs pressed her shoulders and hers hugged him. It seemed a toss-up as to who would come first.

  Jasmine surrendered, mostly because she had to, partly by design, since she wasn’t remotely through with him. Her ragged gasps allowed him to slip from her mouth. His erection snuggled against her damp cheek, thrilling her with its merciless power.

  He placed both hands on her ass, spreading the cheeks wide to display her tightest passage. A promise of what he would have. “Good?”

  She smiled at the way he repeated her earlier question, with the same hope in his voice as she’d had in hers. Like him, she nodded. The movement rubbed her face across his dense pubic hair, releasing more of his musk. She shivered.