by Tawna Fenske
No fooling around.
He braced himself to be pushed away, to have her tell him this was a terrible idea for all the reasons they’d discussed before.
But instead of pushing him away, she grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him closer. “Yes,” she murmured against his mouth, kissing him back a lot harder than he’d kissed her.
Maybe she was taking this hiccup cure thing seriously, figuring this was worth a shot. Maybe that’s what this was about.
But her hand on his ass put a stop to those thoughts. “God, I want you,” she breathed, sending a shot of adrenaline straight to his cock.
Okay. He didn’t need any more encouragement than that. He tunneled his fingers into her hair, threading them through those thick, luscious curls he hadn’t stopped thinking about since Saturday. They felt like silk, like smooth coils of energy, electrified by the intensity of her kiss. She hadn’t come up for air or hiccuped again, which seemed like a great sign on several levels.
Still, he should probably put this cure to the test.
“Gentle throat massage,” he murmured as he planted a careful trail of kisses down her throat. She gasped when his lips brushed the hollow of her neck, and he could feel her pulse leaping against the delicate skin there. He kept kissing her, moving his way down.
“Throat massage,” she repeated, sounding a little dazed. “I can see how that might work.”
“It pays to follow the esophageal system all the way down.” He kissed his way between her breasts and wondered if this was the weirdest form of dirty talk he’d ever come up with.
But it seemed to be working.
He felt her squirm beneath his lips, her breath coming fast and heated now. His mouth grazed the lacy edge of her bra cup, teasing the warm globes of flesh.
Miriam gasped again. Her hand was still on his ass, but Jason felt the other one drop from his lapel and slide down the middle of his chest. Her fingertips grazed his abs and kept moving down, catching his belt buckle with surprising enthusiasm.
She dug her nails into his ass, hard, which forced him up off the chair. His lips broke contact with her breast, and he drew back, breathless as Miriam yanked him to his feet.
“Stand up,” she ordered, though he was already halfway there.
“What for?”
“Because I just thought of another hiccup cure I want to try.”
“What’s that?” He scrubbed a hand over his jawline as Miriam yanked at his belt buckle. His cock strained against the zipper of his pants, anticipating what Miriam had in mind.
But Jason wanted her to say it. He wanted to be absolutely sure this is what she wanted.
“I want to suck you,” she said.
“Okey-dokey,” he said, too dizzy to spend any time considering what a dork he sounded like.
She had his belt buckle undone and was dragging his zipper down, working with an efficiency that took his breath away. Or maybe it wasn’t the efficiency doing it. Maybe it was the feel of her hand on his dick through his boxer briefs, the warmth of her breath against his abdomen, the smell of rosemary and red wine making him dizzy.
She tilted her head back and grinned up at him, those green eyes twinkling like she’d just stolen a peek at her Christmas present two weeks early. Jason gripped the back of the chair, not sure how long his legs would be willing to hold him up.
Her words echoed in the back of his brain, no fooling around, and though his libido screamed at him to shut the fuck up, he had to ask again. “Miriam, are you sure?”
Hiccup!
She giggled, then nodded with mock solemnity. “Absolutely. It’s a legitimate medical treatment, after all.”
She dragged his boxer briefs down his hips and let his pants drop with them. He felt like an idiot standing here in her dining room with his trousers around his knees and his dinner half eaten on the table beside him.
And then he felt something else entirely.
Her fingers wrapped around the base of his shaft and she lowered her mouth to him, making a delicate O with her lips. She drew him in slowly, letting him glide to the back of her tongue, and he let go of the chair with one hand and reached for her hair.
Delirious with need, he tangled his fingers in those curls and closed his eyes as Miriam drew back, then slid her mouth over him again. There was so much heat, so much wet, soft suction, that Jason thought he might pass out.
She was doing something with her hand, some sort of twisty maneuver that worked in time with her mouth and left him wondering if she’d taken a class in this or was naturally gifted. He’d never felt anything like this in his whole life, not with anyone.
“God, Miriam,” he groaned as she sucked him in again, her mouth working miracles. He could feel her tongue flicking over the underside of his shaft, her fingers still tight around the base of him as she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock. He tightened his fingers in her hair. He was going to lose it if he wasn’t careful.
“Miriam—”
“Mmm,” she said, and the vibration traveled all the way up his spine to the nape of his neck. She drew back and grinned up at him. “I think the cure is working. I feel better already.”
“You’re not the only one.”
She laughed and started to lower her mouth again, but Jason caught her under the arms. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer if she kept at it, and he wasn’t ready for this to be done.
They’d already crossed the line. They might as well sprint full speed ahead on the other side of it.
Her eyes widened as he lifted her to her feet. He shoved his chair back and spun her around, pinning her against the table. He kissed her hard, claiming that magical mouth with his as he kicked his shoes off and freed himself from his pants and underwear. Miriam had gone to work on his jacket and tie and shirt, though he barely realized it until he noticed she was shoving them off his shoulders and onto the ground behind him.
He pulled back, breaking the kiss. “Well, that’s not very fair, is it?”
“What’s that?”
“You’re still fully clothed. We owe it to medical science to remedy that.”
She gave a dramatic sigh, though he saw her eyes flicker with desire. “If we must,” she said.
He grabbed hold of the ties at the side of her dress and said a silent prayer his years of camping tours would pay off and he’d remember how to untie a knot under duress. He was under serious duress. If he didn’t get her dress off in five seconds, he’d be even more duressed. Or undressed? Holy hell, he was losing it, making up words and fumbling with knots like an eight-year-old Boy Scout.
“Thank God,” he breathed as the ties came loose and the dress slipped open to reveal the sexiest bra and panty set ever created. It was some sort of flimsy black lace, and the sight of it made him even more eager to devour her from head to toe.
“You’re fucking beautiful.” He grinned. “Sorry for cursing at the dinner table again.”
“I’ll let it slide this time.”
“Will you?” He trailed a hand down her abdomen and under the seam of her panties.
She gasped as he slid a finger inside her, finding her warm and wet and very, very ready.
“I want to taste you.” He didn’t wait for her reply as he caught her waist with his free hand, angling her body the opposite direction of the dinner plates. Then he lifted her onto the table, satisfied by the little gasp of surprise she gave as she let herself fall back.
His chair was still behind him, so he sat down hard and let his fingers slip beneath the lace of her panties. He shoved the fabric aside and shouldered her thighs apart, more eager to taste her than he had been with anything on his dinner plate.
The second he touched her with the tip of his tongue, her whole body arched clear off the table.
“Oh God!” she cried, and gripped the back of his head like she feared he might stop.
Jason had no intention of doing that.
He slid his tongue along her opening, getting more turned on by the
way she writhed and gasped on the table. His tongue found the sensitive little bud he’d been seeking, and the instant he touched it she bucked again. He held tight, gripping her hips with both hands as he circled her with his tongue, feeling her grow tense beneath him.
“Jason. I’m going to—”
“Do it,” he growled, taking one hand off her hip and sliding a finger inside her. He felt her clench around him, so tight, so wet, so close.
She screamed, a primal howl that left him grateful they were here at her little house instead of his duplex with the shared wall. He kept his hold on her hip, working her with his finger as she rocked against him and gripped the tablecloth in a fist, knocking over his empty water glass.
He didn’t let go until he felt her go lax. She lay breathing hard for a moment, then propped herself up on her elbows and grinned at him.
“Now there’s a hiccup cure someone should write up in a medical text.”
“Happy to be part of the scientific study.”
She pushed her hair off her face, flushed and lovely in the candlelight from the centerpiece. “I’m not hiccuping anymore.”
“You’re cured.”
“Seems that way,” she said, then glanced at the sideboard. “I really think we should continue the treatment.”
“You have something else in mind?”
“Maybe.” Again with the glance at the sideboard and a grin he was starting to really love.
“Are you planning something kinky with napkin rings?”
“No. But it’s possible I stashed a condom in there right before you showed up.”
He laughed and stood up, already halfway to the sideboard. “What happened to ‘no fooling around’?”
“I meant it,” she said. “Mostly. But a lady must be prepared for anything.”
“Thank God for that.”
He grabbed the condom from the drawer and headed back to her, tearing the wrapper as he went. She set a hand on his and stopped him. “Let me,” she said, then took it from him and reached for his cock once more. “I want to feel you again.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ll be feeling a lot of me in just a few seconds.”
She laughed and slid the condom on with expert hands. Jason reached for her again, a little dumbstruck by how this whole lesson was turning out. “Do you have any more dinner etiquette suggestions for me? Anything about choosing the right tie or sniffing the wine cork or something?”
“How about a lesson on tipping,” she said as she drew him closer and slid the head of his cock along her wet opening. She drew him inside, just the tip, and Jason gave a low moan of pleasure.
“Just the tip?”
“No way,” she said, drawing her legs up behind him and pressing her heels into his back. “I want the whole thing.”
“Whatever you say,” he said, and slid deep inside her.
She cried out, her ankles locking behind him as he started to move inside her. He went slowly at first, giving her time to adjust, but it was clear Miriam didn’t need that.
“Fuck me!” she gasped as her thighs clenched around him. “God, yes! Like that.”
Jason didn’t need to be told twice. He was a lot better at taking direction with sex than he was with table manners, which seemed to bode well for both of them.
He drove into her again, loving the way she moved beneath him. This wasn’t a woman content to lie passively beneath him, batting her lashes like a princess. Miriam knew how to fuck back, how to take what she wanted, how to move her hips to bring him right to the edge.
He held his breath, not ready for this to be over yet. Maybe he could slow his pace, recite the user manual for his snowmobile or envision his favorite hiking trail to keep his brain locked on something besides the fact that he was dangerously close to coming inside her.
“I’m close,” she gasped.
“Thank God.”
He drove into her hard, and Miriam arched up again, pressing herself against him. He glanced down at where their bodies joined, mesmerized by the sight of her wrapped tightly around him as he slid himself deep inside her again and again until he felt something burst behind his eyelids.
“Christ!” he ground out as he exploded inside her, driving harder and harder until they were both spent.
When they stopped moving at last, Miriam gave a sigh of contentment and angled up on her elbows again. “Well,” she said. “That etiquette lesson went a little differently than I expected.”
Jason grinned. “Do I get a gold star?”
“You get something, all right.” She smiled back and pulled him down for another kiss.
…
As Miriam mulled her usual array of normal postcoital activities, it occurred to her that doing the dishes had never made the list.
Then again, she’d never slept with Jason Sanders before.
“Careful,” he said as he glanced up from the salad bowl he was drying. “I dropped a knife in there somewhere under all those suds.”
“Was it my puntilla knife or my boning knife?”
“Again with the dirty talk?”
She snorted and slipped her hand carefully into the sudsy water so she could feel around along the bottom of the sink. “Got it.” She fished out the knife and gave it a good scrub before handing it to him and plunging her hands back into the dishwater.
There was something utterly perfect about standing shoulder to shoulder with him at her kitchen sink, scrubbing and drying in tandem like an old married couple. She’d tried to insist he leave them all to her, but he’d insisted with equal fervor that he wanted to help.
She got the sense he was used to getting his way.
Besides, this seemed less awkward than pillow talk and a sleepover. While she might have planned for the possibility of a hookup, she definitely wasn’t ready for anything that smacked of relationships or commitment. Or fine, maybe commitment wasn’t the issue. Maybe it was the idea of committing to someone whose notion of a good time involved an ice ax and crampons.
That’s not his only notion of a good time…
Her cheeks flushed with heat as she finished scrubbing the cast-iron skillet she’d been washing and handed it to him. “So do you feel more ready for Saturday night’s dinner?”
He grabbed the skillet like it weighed next to nothing, even though it was heavy enough that Miriam needed both hands to lift it. He gave her a knowing grin, probably wondering why she’d made such an abrupt shift from flirty banter to business mode.
But Miriam knew why. She had to set some boundaries, dammit. To let him know this was fun and fabulous, but also very, very casual. That was the only way to do this without risking her heart.
“I feel great,” he said, and the gravelly undertone in his voice made her cheeks warm up. “About the dinner,” he added. “I feel great about my preparation for the dinner.”
“Of course. I knew that’s what you meant.”
“I feel great about other things, too.” He grinned and set the skillet aside, then reached for the serving platter she handed him. “You certainly showed me some things I’d never seen before.”
“Likewise.” She smiled in spite of herself as she remembered what he’d done with his thumb and— “The hiccup cures,” she blurted. “That was new to me.”
Jason gave her a knowing grin, but nodded. “And the stuff about napkin placement and silverware—that was new to me.”
She looked down into the sink full of soapy water and began scrubbing the little copper saucepan she used for melting butter. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can help with.” She paused, moving more delicately as she washed the blade of her mandoline. “You never mentioned what time the dinner event starts. Is it early or late?”
“I think it’s at six thirty on Saturday evening, which is kind of a pain.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, since it’s a three-day weekend, I was hoping to head over to the Cascades to climb Three Fingered Jack,” he said.
A rush of ice sl
uiced through Miriam’s veins. She kept her eyes on the spoon she was scrubbing, not trusting herself to look up. “Okay,” she said, though it came out more like a squeak than an affirmation.
“I planned to drive over Thursday evening to set up base camp at the bottom of the mountain, but Ellie has this support group she goes to for parents of kids with cancer,” he continued, blessedly oblivious to Miriam’s discomfort. “His oncologist offered to hook us up with a babysitter who’s a nurse. Someone who knows all about kids in remission and that sort of thing.”
“That’s great!” Miriam said, doing her best to focus on Henry instead of her fears about Jason’s climb. “It must be a relief to have someone you can trust.”
“That’s just it. I don’t. I don’t trust anyone with Henry. Even though it’s only for an hour. Even though Ellie insists it would be totally fine.”
“Oh.” Miriam frowned, trying to understand. “So Henry’s doctor thinks it’s okay to leave him with this nurse for an hour, and his mother thinks it’s okay—”
“It’s not okay.” The vehemence in his voice told Miriam the topic was off-limits for discussion, so she shut up and kept scrubbing.
“Anyway, I’m staying here with Henry,” Jason said. “Which means I can’t take off until Friday morning, which means I’ll get a later start than I wanted on the climb.”
Miriam didn’t say anything. Several long seconds passed before she realized she’d been washing the same spoon for at least three minutes. She rinsed it off and handed it to him. “Three Fingered Jack,” she said, trying to keep her voice even, though she could feel her hands starting to shake. She plunged them back into the soapy water, determined not to make a big deal of this. “Didn’t I see a headline about a guy falling to his death there just a couple weeks ago?”
“Yeah. It was on the descent about a hundred feet from the summit. He wasn’t roped in.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. “But you’ll be roped in?”
“At that spot we will be. Plus my climbing buddy and I are doing the south route, which is a little safer.”
“I see.” She wished she could find the words reassuring, but instead she just felt cold. She could feel Jason watching her, but opted to keep her eyes on the sink full of dishes, on the nest of silverware glittering beneath the suds.