Can’t Get Enough

by Showalter, Gena

  Did it matter? Trembling, she sank into the fragrant liquid. Hot water lapped at her, soothing muscles she hadn’t known were sore.

  A timer rested on the shelf beside the tub, a note propped up beside it. Press me.

  She obeyed, and twenty minutes began ticking away. Before closing her eyes to relax, or at least attempt to relax, she looked around and found a towel folded on the vanity chair, with its own note—Use me. A robe hung on the door peg—Wear me.

  This was, hands down, the sweetest thing anyone had done for her…ever. Rather than relaxing, however, she found herself watching the timer, eager to find out what other things Brock had planned. Tick tick tick. Tick tick.

  Ding.

  Finally! After drying off, she donned the robe and nothing else. The silk felt decadent against her water-warmed skin.

  When she emerged from the bathroom, she discovered Brock waiting for her in the bedroom. His gaze roved over her and sizzled. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Ravenous,” she croaked. But not for food.

  The merciless man escorted her to the kitchen, and once again she jolted with shock and awe. He’d set the table with fine china. And he hadn’t made tacos but taco soup, combining her top two favorites.

  “I know you love soup, so I paid a local girl to make it.” He sounded unsure and adorable and oh, wow, she really liked this man. Might even lo—

  Nope. No way, no how. She liked him. Liked, liked, liked. Nothing more, nothing less.

  “How did you know?” she asked.

  “Once, after hours at the Scratching Post,” he said, grinning, “I watched you eat alphabet soup in order. A. B. C. D.”

  He’d been that aware of her?

  Lyndie did a mental scan on the condition of her heart and flinched. Ouch! There were cracks in her resolve. Brock Hudson had begun to chip away at her resistance. First with his willingness to wait to have sex, then with his welcoming of the animals, then with his desire to build those animals a shelter even though he had little free time. Heck, with his everything.

  Affection had snuck its way inside her, challenging her independence. She’d have to get rid of it, and soon, then fortify those cracks. But not tonight. Tonight she would consider her time with Brock an exception, or exemption, or maybe even a vacation. People had fun on vacations; they didn’t worry about the future.

  On vacation, you could go wild, do crazy things, and enjoy your time away from the daily grind. Then, when the vacation ended, you went home and returned to normal.

  Although, was relying on another person for a semi-permanent or even permanent basis really so bad? Brock didn’t seem to think so. And if the scales remained balanced, a perfect give-and-take between them, she wouldn’t be relying on him, not really—they would be relying on each other.

  But what could she give to him?

  Ponder later. Enjoy now. “Brock, darling,” she said, and smiled up at him. “I’m a sure thing tonight and we both know it, yet you still went to a whole heck of a lot of trouble for me. I’m utterly blown away. Thank you.”

  “Scottie, sweetheart, you’re as far from a sure thing as a guy can get, but don’t worry. I like you anyway. More than that, I’d go to any lengths to put that smile on your face. And I like darling. Darling beats hugsy by a landslide.”

  This man…oh, this man. He’d put his desire for her on Technicolor display. How could she do any less?

  No inhibitions. No taboos. All pleasure. With Brock, she could take what she wanted—because he wanted it too.

  “I want you.” She toyed with the tie cinched around her waist, teasing him with what could be. “I want you bad.”

  He rubbed a hand over his slackened jaw; he was trembling. “How bad?” he croaked. “Show me.”

  She dropped her robe, shivering as cool air kissed her skin and a sizzling gaze devoured her curves. Knees threatening to give out, she perched on the edge of the table, on the opposite end of the food, and spread her legs.

  Holding his gaze, she whispered, “Very, very bad.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brock drank in the feast of carnal delights splayed before him. One he’d earned for—what had Lyndie said? Not trying to control her.

  I will never try to control her.

  He reveled in the exquisite beauty of her face, her cheeks flushed by arousal, her eyes heavy lidded, her cheeks pink, and her mouth parted and pouty. Her breasts were plump with the sexiest little cotton candy crests. Her stomach was as flat as always, and her alabaster legs stretched for miles.

  Better to wrap around my waist…or shoulders.

  Between her thighs, a small patch of strawberry-blond curls shielded paradise.

  Almost in a trance, Brock closed the distance and rested his palms on her knees. Such soft, warm skin. She sucked in a breath as if he’d burned her. Perhaps he had. Need sizzled inside him.

  Since Lyndie had agreed to marry him, he hadn’t thought of any other woman—hadn’t wanted one. Actually, he hadn’t wanted another woman since well before his marriage. For months he’d closed his eyes and pretended any woman in his arms was Lyndie. A disservice to the woman, and himself, and even Lyndie. Now he had the real deal.

  Going to savor every moment.

  Brock kicked his leg backward, hooked his foot around the leg of a chair, and slid the entire piece of furniture closer. He sat, the apex of Lyndie’s thighs suddenly at eye level. A low growl reverberated in his chest as he placed one of her feet on an arm of the chair, then the other.

  “Down,” he commanded, then remembered her control issues. “Please.”

  With a moan, she stretched back, lifting her breasts as she reached overhead to clasp the outer edge of the table. A position of vulnerability, but also enormous power. Right now, she owned him.

  As her knees fell farther apart, revealing beauty beyond imagining, lust delivered a hard one-two punch to his solar plexus. She was wet. Because of Brock. Even though he had yet to touch her.

  He loved oral sex, both giving and receiving, but he rarely performed the intimate act on a one-night stand. And he never let a one-night stand perform the intimate act on him if he wasn’t going to reciprocate. If you wouldn’t give, you shouldn’t take.

  Strangers were just that—strangers—and the innate intimacy of oral sex made promises he’d had no intention of keeping. But he knew Lyndie. He admired and adored her.

  Brock licked and nibbled the inside of her thigh. Her shivers spurred him on. He nuzzled the sensitive skin with the prickle of his beard stubble. As goose bumps spread, he imagined the passion fever did as well, heating her from head to toe.

  When he reached the object of his fascination, the heady scent of her femininity drove him wild. Control frayed. He liiiicked. Yes! One taste, and he died and went to heaven.

  Her hips jolted, and she gasped, then moaned. “Please,” she pleaded. “Again!”

  Her sweetness seduced him, consumed his thoughts and his senses. He had to have more.

  Brock licked and sucked, then speared her with his tongue. As she writhed, still begging for more, he focused on her luscious little bundle of nerves and thrust a finger deep, deep inside her. She cried out and began to pant. A string of incoherent words left her. Gibberish he interpreted as: I’ve never felt this good. You amaze me, Brock. I can’t get enough of you.

  Her fingers combed through his hair before her nails cut into his scalp, as if she thought to hold him captive. The sharp sting thrilled him. The stronger her desire, the wilder her reaction, the more uninhibited she became. The more uninhibited she became, the more his control frayed. A beautiful, wild, savage, wondrous, welcome, frightening, glorious cycle.

  He thrust a second finger into her depths and made scissoring motions. Just—like—that. The muscles in her abdomen quivered, her inner walls clamping down. She screamed his name, an orgasm ripping through her, the taste of her suddenly sweeter.

  Moving his hands under her ass, he lifted her hips. Oh, yes. Much better access to the goods
. He was greedy, taking every drop, every ripple and shiver, as his due, until her body sagged atop the table.

  Panting, Brock jumped to his feet. Never in all his life had his shaft throbbed so forcefully. The tip extended well past the waist of his jeans and was already moist. He ripped at his belt, button, and zipper, desperate for relief. The denim gaped open, but the lack of pressure only made matters worse. Pressure built.

  With a curse, he kicked off the jeans, scooped Lyndie into his arms, and carried her into the master bedroom. He tossed her on the king-size bed.

  As she bounced, she said, “I’d never had that…always wanted it…thank you.”

  “Your ex never—”

  “No.” Her red waves spilled over the pillows while a gold comforter framed her alabaster skin.

  Such beauty. Such bounty.

  All mine.

  “James said— Well, it doesn’t matter.” She wetted her lips. “He’s gone, and you’re amazing.”

  The man had been an idiot. To have all of Lyndie’s sweetness at his disposal and never partake…

  “I’ll taste you every day. Morning, noon, and night. Whenever you want it, I’ll want to give it—because I always want you, any way I can get you.” He gripped the base of his shaft. “This is what you do to me.”

  Eyes wild with desire despite her orgasm, she commanded, “Give it to me. I’ve earned it.”

  “Yes, beauty, you have.” Desire drove him to the mattress. He crawled up Lyndie’s body, his hands outside her legs…beside her waist…

  She raised her arms to grip the headboard, once again lifting her breasts in offering. Her nipples puckered for him, making his mouth water. She was a seductress without equal, an enchantress born to tempt him.

  He leaned down to lave one luscious crest, then the other. Beneath him, she writhed.

  “You want more of me?” he asked.

  “Mmm. I want all of you.”

  Her words echoed inside his head. Must have echoed inside hers as well. She froze, not even daring to breathe.

  Did she not like the intensity of her desire for him? Or did she fear his reaction to her words? “I’ll give you all.” Every inch. “But in return, I’ll take everything.” With pleasure.

  As tension drained from her, Brock cupped those beautiful breasts, kneading the tender flesh. She began to writhe once again.

  “The things you do to me,” she said between panting breaths.

  If she knew half the things he wanted to do…

  “I’ve got to touch you.” She released the headboard to wrap her fingers around his length and squeeze. “Got to taste you.”

  Air hissed between his teeth. The heat. The new—and perfect—pressure. The knowledge that Lyndie Scott-Hudson, his wife, was the one who gripped him…it almost proved to be his undoing.

  “Don’t want to come in your mouth,” he managed to croak. “Not this time.”

  She rubbed him up, down. Up, down. Of their own accord, his hips rocked in time to her movements, slowly closing the distance between male and female. The second the tip of his erection brushed against her wet heat, what little remained of his control snapped.

  His hips jerked forward, once, twice, pressing his length against her soaked folds, making his mind careen with desire. Throaty little mewling sounds left her. Her lids were heavy, her breaths hoarse. He wondered if her body burned like his. If she lived for desire alone.

  For Brock, sex had always been a distraction from his demons. A past steeped in violence, a family unconcerned for his well-being. With Lyndie, he felt connected, felt so much a part of her that nothing else mattered.

  What would happen when he finally got inside her?

  Let’s find out.

  “Condom—never mind.” He’d never taken a woman bare, male to female. That his first time would be with Lyndie…

  Can’t wait a moment more. Need her. Must have her. Now. Now! Brock positioned himself at her entrance—and thrust deep. She screamed his name, her inner walls clamping and unclamping around his shaft as she came a second time.

  Incredible. Exquisite. A climax nearly ripped through him, but he fought it off. Consumed by her, Brock pulled out, only to slam in again. And again. Breathing was impossible. He didn’t care. Who needed air? Lyndie now kept him alive.

  One of her hands cupped his nape while the other lifted his ass. She drew him down for a kiss, rolling her tongue against his. Her taste…better than fine wine, more intoxicating. All the while he continued to thrust, and thrust. The headboard slapped against the wall. Pictures shook and threatened to fall.

  She scoured him with her nails, branding him. Lyndie’s man. He would never be the same. Never again wanted to use a condom. This was…he was…

  His thoughts fragmented. Pressure, so much pressure. It filled him, filled his lungs, drowned him. Blinded him. Lyndie was all he could see, all he wanted to see, bliss hovering just out of reach.

  Thrust, thrust, thrust. Faster. Harder. He lifted to his knees, settling on his haunches while lifting her, angling her lower body. Faster. With his arms hooked behind her knees, he forced her legs farther apart. Harder. Her breasts jiggled with his movements, cotton candy nipples bobbing.

  So beautiful…

  So mine.

  Her gaze met his, and that was it. He was done. As her orgasm continued, her inner walls clenching and unclenching on his length, Brock erupted, jetting inside her.

  * * *

  It felt like an hour had passed before Lyndie’s heart rate slowed and her mind had the power to form complete sentences that didn’t involve the words “yes” “more” “please” and “oh.”

  That was…absolutely and utterly…amazing. Better than she’d thought possible, and she’d had high expectations for Brock.

  The man had rocked her world. He’d stretched her, filled her, consumed and remade her. In short, he’d possessed her.

  Maybe, after her marriage ended, Brock could be her regular booty call. A little of her happy buzz faded. Would he be amenable? Would she want to sleep with him knowing he’d been with someone else the night before?

  What about her need to cut all ties with him when things ended, for the sake of the baby and her heart? What about her independence? Dang it, if she was going to rely on someone else, that someone else needed to rely on her, too. It was only fair. But again, she wondered what she could ever give him.

  Brock lay at her side, seemingly content to hold her against the hard line of his body. Part of her expected him to jump up and head to his bedroom. And she would be totally okay with that. Really. The sex was over, and he’d done his part. Why remain?

  Unless he stayed with every woman he slept with?

  Jealousy pricked her, a white-hot needle she couldn’t ignore. How did she compare to his other conquests? His many, many, many other conquests. Probably hundreds.

  Stop! I’m one in an assembly line. So what? I knew it going in. I’m fine with it. More than that, we aren’t a real couple. Must get that through my stupid head.

  Besides, after the way he’d roared, she must’ve compared just fine, thank you very much.

  He tugged her closer, closer still, as if he would like to be fused with her. Yes, please! One of his arms slid under her nape while the other brought her wedding ring to his mouth. He kissed the diamond before draping his arm over her stomach. No, not her stomach. He rested his palm over her womb, and the knowledge turned her world upside down and inside out. Was he imagining her growing big with his child?

  Longing washed through her afresh, little ripples flowing under the surface of her skin. She wanted a child so badly, but more than anything, she wanted Brock’s child.

  “You’d never experienced oral sex, and I’d never experienced sex without a condom.” His tone dripped with masculine satisfaction and pride. “A night of firsts.”

  “And the verdict?” she asked.

  “You loved it.”

  Snort. “I meant the verdict about the lack of condom.”

&n
bsp; A pause, as if his mind struggled to find the right word. Then he grinned with wicked amusement, pleasuring her all over again. “Once you’re bared, you’re snared.”

  “Ha!” She traced a fingertip around his nipple. Hesitant, somehow more vulnerable than ever before, she said, “So you liked?”

  “Scottie, I loved. I’ve never felt anything so incredible.”

  Loved. The word reverberated inside her head, as thrilling as it was ominous. Could the wealthy playboy ever fall in love with the quirky kindergarten teacher?

  Whoa! Seriously, this has to stop. Her orgasm had fried her brain, that was all. And really, she’d known this could happen. That she could confuse sex with love. Or a desire to be loved. But at the end of the day, Brock’s emotions mattered as much as hers—not at all. Love wasn’t part of their deal, so there was no reason to think about it and ruin the afterglow.

  He cleared his throat. “Well?”

  She racked her brain, came up empty. Brow furrowed with confusion, she said, “Well, what?”

  “Well, did you like?”

  “You told me I loved it.”

  “And now I want to hear your agreement.” With a hard roll of his hips, he positioned her atop him, chest to chest. Expression stern, he smacked her butt. “I need reassurance too, so—” The moment he realized he’d hit her, he stiffened and stilled. So still she doubted he breathed. Goodbye, passion-flush. He became chalk white, almost sickly. “Scottie, I’m so sorry. I never meant—”

  Pressing a finger against his lips, she quieted him. Pale green eyes continued to project all kinds of guilt.

  This, she realized, was a make-or-break moment. A pattern would be set for the rest of their relationship.

  “Brock, darling, you didn’t hurt me. And yes, yes, a thousand times yes, I liked—loved—having you inside me.”

  Slowly he relaxed.

  “Tell me something,” she said, hoping a subject change would revive his teasing mood. Something else she’d never before experienced with a man—playfulness.