Burn It Up

by Cara McKenna

  Bingo.

  He gave her exactly that, playing around until he knew how much pressure to use, exactly how slow she liked it. Slow was good—he loved when a woman needed it slow. Seemed like they came for ages when you coaxed it out, instead of a fast and frenzied rush.

  Abilene was getting close—he could tell from how stiff her clit was, and how her lips had grown swollen. From the smell of her.

  “Can I use my mouth?” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  He moved back, dropping onto his forearms. He slid one hand under her ass and eased her thigh wider with the other. He took her in with a long greedy breath, and sighed his satisfaction right there against her pussy.

  There was a lot to be said for deprivation where sex was concerned, and aside from the odd glance of his nose, he ignored her clit to start. He pressed kisses along her seam, licked her lightly, then deeper. He hadn’t tasted this in far too long. So long she could have been his first, for how exotic it felt.

  He gave it to her like that for long minutes, until her fingers were in his hair and her belly was quivering with little gasps. When her legs tensed, he eased them wider. He didn’t hide his own excitement—he moaned as loudly as he dared and let the odd sigh steam her skin.

  “Casey.” The hands on his head were growing plaintive or bossy, fingers tugging at his hair.

  “What do you need?” He knew but wanted to make her say it.

  “Higher,” she murmured.

  He had no doubt she was too shy to say “clit” but no matter. Maybe given time, she’d learn to get demanding. Casey liked few things more than getting ordered around in bed, especially by shy girls. He rewarded her with a long, slow lap of his tongue, all the way up and over her clitoris.

  She gasped, grip tightening. He gave her another stroke, another, and crept that hand on her thigh up closer, closer. Close enough to run his thumb along her wet lips, then dip inside. Another gasp, and it was all he could do not to free a hand and touch himself. His dick was a screaming frustrated beast.

  He closed his lips around her clit, working it with his tongue as he eased two fingers inside her. Was she thinking about what might come next? About his cock? Was she thinking of him at all, or of whatever mysterious fantasies hatched inside women’s heads when they were inching toward orgasm? He didn’t care, as long as he was the one getting her there. He worked his fingers in and out, reminding her of what she hadn’t felt in over a year, teasing himself with what he hadn’t done since last spring. Imagined how sweet it’d feel to sink inside her, right here, and slowly, torturously, edge himself to a body-wringing release.

  Her hips told him when he’d found the right speed and pressure—they rolled subtly, seeking his tongue and the thrust, mimicking sex. He wanted to groan, to swear, to tell her how fucking hot she was; he didn’t. He kept up the pleasure until her motions grew sharp and urgent, until her hands trembled, and he let her hear his desire in the moans rising up from his throat, humming against her pussy. He wished he could see her face as he had yesterday when he’d made her come, beautiful and wild and disbelieving.

  He got her voice instead, whispering his name. That sound rang through his head as he brought her to orgasm, his hips pumping in time with hers, cock dying to be where his fingers were. As her body stilled, he did the same with his mouth and hand, and sat up. He rubbed her legs, memorizing her expression. The cheek lit by the weak light was pink, and her lids were half shut. She looked dozy and dazed.

  “I do good?” he asked.

  A smile broke through her stupor. She nodded. “You did real good. You did perfect.”

  Better than you’ve ever had it? A question whose answer was none of his business, though he hoped he could guess.

  And he hoped for more than that.

  He got his legs between hers, and tucked his forearms up against her ribs. Kissed her.

  Excitement rolled through him, a fever sizzling in its wake. He kissed her neck, shifted so their bellies and hips pressed tight, so she could feel how bad he needed this. “Being inside you was all I could think about when I was doing that.”

  “Me, too.”

  Another flash of heat, and he groaned into her skin. His hips were already moving, stroking his cock along her pussy, his shorts dragging against her wetness, so fucking hot. “I can’t wait.”

  “Then don’t.”

  He pushed up on straight arms and looked to the table, but she already had the condom in hand. As she opened it, Casey got his shorts off, knelt, primed himself with a light stroke—no need. He was as hard as sin, already wet himself. Her gaze took it all in with a hunger he hadn’t seen in those blue eyes before. Made him feel fucking huge.

  He took the condom from her and rolled it on. Fuck if that didn’t feel good in itself, after so long. The promise inherent in the cool caress of the latex.

  His hand was shaking as he guided himself to her lips, every cell pulsing in time with his thumping heart. He eased into her with a single, slow push.

  “Fuck, you feel incredible.” He could only shut his eyes, sink down on his elbows and press his face to her neck. It had been so long since he’d felt this. So long since he’d been invited here. And he’d wanted her for ages. “You’re so warm.”

  She tensed. “I’m not . . . I know I’m not as . . . since the baby.”

  He cut her off right there, propping himself up to hold her stare, and began to move, easing out, then back in a little deeper. “I’m not thinking about the things you’re not, honey. You’re warm,” he told her again. “And wet. You’re perfect. You’re the best thing I’ve felt in my whole goddamn life.”

  She bit her lip, a smile dimpling her cheeks.

  “And you’re gorgeous. You just tell me if anything doesn’t feel good.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then tell me if anything feels amazing.” Whatever that might be, he do it again, again, a hundred thousand times until he felt her quaking beneath him.

  Of course in reality, he had to doubt if he could last that long. Already the pleasure was mounting, tight and low, spurring him to go faster, deeper, harder. He held back, not ready for it to be over. He focused on the subtler sensations, like Abilene’s hands. They were soft, her palms cool on his ribs. Focused on her eyes and the way they moved up and down his body, curious and hot.

  He groaned—louder than he meant to, then froze for a couple breaths, straining for a sign that he’d disturbed the baby. None came, and he eased back into the moment. Back into this beautiful woman.

  “Can’t tell you how bad I’ve wanted this. And for how long.”

  She stroked his arms with hungry hands. “Me, too.”

  “Here.” He pulled out and moved to his side, urging her to do the same. He needed her face close, her mouth near enough to kiss. They scissored their legs and Casey got back inside her, shoving one arm beneath the pillow. God yes—that face, right here. He kissed her lightly as he found a good angle, held her thigh tight to his hip. Everything felt right. Nobody on top, the two of them on par. He slid his hand up her side beneath her shirt. As the top rode up, she seemed to curl in on herself, face pressing against his neck.

  How she didn’t realize her body was exactly perfect, Casey couldn’t understand. All he could do was show her how he felt. “Take your shirt off. I’ve seen this,” he added softly, rubbing her belly through her tee. “I’ve done more than just see it.” He’d come on that soft skin yesterday.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she’d worked the shirt up and off. She still had her bra on, and as much as Casey was dying to see her breasts, he didn’t press. He sealed their bodies close and drove deep, slowly, again and again. “You’re so fucking soft,” he whispered.

  Her mouth was at the base of his throat, words warm and private. “You aren’t.”

  Casey chuckled, kissed her forehead. “No, I’m not. That’s what you do to me.” He held her ass, tugging her tight to him, and he pushed as deep as he could go. It was so good, he felt a gr
oan roaring up from his chest. It took everything he had to hold it in. “Fuck. Kiss me, honey.”

  The way he held her, she couldn’t reach his mouth, but her lips teased his throat. Her tongue, a little rasp of her teeth. He shivered at that tiny taste of aggression from this sweet, hesitant girl, and let her hear how it excited him. She gave more, and his hips rushed. February was gone—their bellies and thighs were slick, the room like a sauna. He wanted to stay here tonight, sleep in this bed, keep the smell of their two bodies and this sex fogging his senses as he dropped off to sleep beside her.

  He buried his face in her hair and moaned. “You’re gonna make me come.” It might be his body driving into hers, but that mouth on his neck was making him crazy. “Say my name.”

  She did, her breath hot on his skin. He could only moan in reply, and turn everything over to his dick. His hips were pounding, sloppy and fast, frantic, chasing relief.

  She whispered it again. “Casey.” Her hand was on his arm, gripping, thumb stroking. She was excited. Maybe not near the brink, but turned on—no mistaking it. He imagined next time, imagined her coming on his cock, saying his name, begging him not to stop. Or perhaps just her hands on him, her breath rushing, her eyes closed. He fantasized about all of it, until he felt that tether inside of him snapping, aggression and urgency going slack as the pleasure dropped him into free fall.

  “Honey.” He was half on top of her, hips racing him home, body slapping. He’d forgotten how it felt. How fucking good it was, losing it inside a woman, face-to-face. He crested from need to ecstasy and to marrow-deep relief in one long, wringing rush, then came down slowly, reeling.

  Her hold on his arm softened, and he realized he might be squishing her. He eased out and rolled onto his back, folded the condom into the shorts he’d tossed on the floor. The sheets were cool on his shoulders and back, and he shoved the covers down to his waist, burning up.

  “Goddamn.”

  Abilene turned over and laid an arm along his chest. He closed her hand in his, pressing it to his heart so she could feel it pounding. He side-eyed her. “You trying to kill me, honey?”

  She smiled. “Never.”

  His laugh came out in a soft rush of breath. “Jesus, I guess I needed that.”

  “You deserved it.”

  He shook his head, thumped their hands atop his chest. “No. Nobody’s entitled to sex. Nobody owes sex. You just have to be happy when it falls in your lap.”

  “And are you happy?”

  “Fucking ecstatic.” He squeezed her fingers, then drew them to his mouth and kissed them.

  She snuggled closer, locking a leg over his. “Good.”

  “Tell me that’ll happen again.”

  “I sure hope so.”

  Better add condoms to the shopping list.

  “You sleeping in here again tonight?” she whispered.

  “I want that if you do.”

  “Of course I do. But people are going to catch on soon.”

  “So let them. I don’t care. Do you?”

  She didn’t answer right away.

  “Abilene?”

  “I don’t know if I care or not. It’s just that . . . We agreed this can’t be anything serious, is all. I wouldn’t know what to tell people, if they asked.” She didn’t sound fretful, merely puzzled. “What would you tell them?”

  He considered it. Imagined Christine grilling him over morning coffee. “I think I’d probably say that you and I are getting close. Leave it at that.”

  “Oh.” A pause. “That’s nice. I like that.”

  “And it’s true, right?” He turned back to his side, pulling the length of her body to his, splaying his fingers along her back, possessive.

  “Yeah. It’s true. This is as close as I’ve gotten to anybody in a long time.”

  Close as you were with Ware? James Ware was cut from a similar cloth as Casey’s brother—he was like Vince with no sense of humor, and it was tough to imagine such men letting women turn them soft. But of course Vince had managed it with Kim. They’d been together for months, and weathered some pretty ugly stuff between the casino chaos and living with Vince and Casey’s mom, yet Casey didn’t see any cracks forming between them. So maybe Ware was capable of it, too. Though he preferred to imagine the man had never treated Abilene as he could. That no man had ever lain with her just this way, talked this way.

  Such a fucking goner.

  Abilene squeezed his hand, then let it go, rolling away. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where you off to?” He studied her naked body before it was swallowed up by her shirt and pajamas, memorizing the soft swells of her breasts, belly, butt, calves.

  “Bathroom.” She smiled at him as she smoothed her hair, then slipped out of the room.

  Casey stared up at the beams ribbing the sloped ceiling, then shut his eyes. Breathed it all in. Felt the cool air on his chest, the warm covers around his waist and legs.

  A thought struck him with such ferocious clarity, he got chills.

  Please, don’t let me go crazy.

  A few months ago he’d walked through his life with that same prayer running on a loop in the back of his head, but his reasons for wishing it had been selfish. He hadn’t wanted to be pitied, hadn’t wanted to be dependent, hadn’t wanted to lose his mind before he could enjoy the money he’d made, and more recently, before he had a chance to see the bar succeed. Now it felt different. It had begun feeling different ever since he’d kissed this woman, hadn’t it? What else could explain his sudden, impulsive urge on that very same night, the one that’d finally had him ordering the genetic testing kit?

  Don’t let me go crazy. Don’t take my life away when I’ve only just started making something worthwhile of it.

  Don’t make me have to leave her.

  He sighed, eyes opening as the water ran in the next room. She’d be back in a minute. His to hold through the night. His, for now.

  His, for as long as karma decided he deserved it.

  Chapter 14

  At two minutes to four the next afternoon, Abilene strained for sounds—the slam of a truck door outside, of knocking, voices rising.

  This room was nearly as far as you could get from the front lot, and the window was shut. Didn’t stop her imagination, though. A hundred times she could swear she’d caught a doorbell; talking or shouting or the sounds of a fight. All figments. The only actual noises were the occasional creak of the old house, the tick and whir of the heat coming on at odd intervals.

  Four o’clock was the time she’d given James for their face-to-face meeting, and likely his first encounter with his daughter, provided things went well.

  Mercy was downstairs, being looked after by Christine. Casey had offered to be in the room with Abilene when everything went down, but of course she’d declined. There was too much to be unpacked that she never wanted him to know about her. Too much at stake in the truths she’d omitted, the assumptions she’d let him make about her—

  She sat up straight at the sounds of activity beyond her room. Real ones. Voices, then the heavy thumps of two sets of footsteps on the uncarpeted stairs.

  She watched the door, heart clenched and pounding, temples throbbing, palms damp. Even as she hoped it would never open, every second that elapsed before it did lasted an hour.

  Muffled words were exchanged outside the room, and then one set of steps faded back down the stairs.

  “Come on,” she murmured, staring at the knob, daring it to twist. “Come on, come—”

  A knock.

  “Yeah,” she called.

  The door swung in, and there he was.

  James seemed shorter than she remembered, though perhaps that was merely a side effect of all her time spent around Vince and Duncan. He looked a little older, too, and she supposed prison must do that to a man. He was still handsome in his intimidating, fierce way, but weariness had etched fine lines across his brow and shadowed his blue eyes.

  Mercy’s eyes. Darker than her own. Mood
ier.

  He kept his gaze on her as he shut the door, expression guarded. His lips were set, as were his shoulders. He looked like a man entering a ring with a spook-prone horse, exuding an aura of forced calm.

  She’d brought a chair up from the kitchen and set it facing the bed. The noise of it scraping on the floor as he took a seat felt so loud she flinched.

  “Abilene,” he said evenly, planting his elbows on his thighs. She knew not to expect a cordial Thanks for agreeing to meet me or the like. Despite his psychotic move on Wednesday night, turning up and creeping around, she owed him whatever he was after—another apology, assurances, proof she had things under control. And she did have most of it under control, she thought. Beneath the jitters, she felt strong. She felt ready for this.

  “You look good,” James said. He didn’t mean she looked pretty—he meant that she looked healthy. That she looked clean.

  “I feel good. Just a little sleep deprived.”

  “Where’s the baby?”

  “She’s asleep. Someone’s with her.”

  “Tell me I get to see her.”

  She nodded. “Unless this all goes real badly, yeah, you’ll get to see her.”

  That softened his jaw. And that jaw was coated in dark stubble—unusual for James, a man who rose each morning at the same hour, rarely drank, and never smoked, who thrived on routine and shaved daily. She remembered another time when she’d driven him to forsake his regimens and lose his focus. She remembered all the power she’d felt, seeing the strongest, hardest man she’d yet met reduced to a nervous wreck. Oddly, it made her curious to watch him when he held his daughter for the first time. Would that moment change him, soften him, as his worry and care for her had, once upon a time last winter?

  “I know you must be impatient,” she said. “But let’s talk first. We both must have more things to say than we did on the phone.”

  A silent, mirthless little laugh curled his lips. “Yeah, I’ve got things to say.”

  She nodded to tell him to go ahead.