Incidental Contact (Those Devilish De Marco Men)

by Connor, Eden

  The gentle torture made her cry out with frustration until he took a warm, soothing lick. The entire time, that forceful jet of water danced over her clit. His licks mingled with nips until her sensation of being cold disappeared. All Amy could feel was the heat from his tongue and the strong ache coiling inside her—and that jet of water driving her mad.

  Tension spiraled in her core. She didn’t even know his middle name and she was about to come while he watched. He didn’t look away, licking and nipping until she arched, unable to stop the bowing motion when she came. He leaned forward, still teasing her with his tongue. Snowflakes melted on her cheeks and chest, tiny, cool darts that accented the whirlwind of heat making her senseless. Her other nipple felt so sensitive, she could almost feel the rising steam slide over the aching point. She cried out.

  He wouldn’t let her move. Another orgasm hit her, hard on the heels of the first. He slowly sucked her nipple into his mouth. His ministrations sent waves of intense aches to her channel. Pounding waves of pleasure made her vision go dark. She bucked, but he kept her centered over that hard flow.

  “Eric, please,” she finally gasped.

  She’d tried sex in a swimming pool, but the chemicals seemed to wash away her moisture, making penetration uncomfortable. She didn’t care. She’d never had such an overwhelming need to be fucked.

  “No condom.”

  How could he sound so unaffected? “But I need mo—”

  He shut off her protest, lifting one hand from the water. Cupping the back of her head, he forced it down, until her forehead rested on his. He stared into her eyes. She felt strange, and wonderful, and connected, and empty, all at once. He wasn’t a stranger, but she barely knew him. Yet Drew had never watched her with such intensity.

  “I can help you get a little relief.”

  His gaze was intent while he slid a finger through her folds from behind. When he eased inside her, she couldn’t help but whimper, clenching around him tightly.

  He began working into her, slowly stretching her channel. The jet was still there, driving her crazy. When he could go no deeper, his thrusts grew more forceful. The motion made her rock, moving her over the nosy stream of water again and again. The jet drove bubbles into the thatch over her mound, turning each strand of hair into an antenna that directed sensation inward.

  Another orgasm hit her, the hard waves making her thighs quake. His thrusts stopped, replaced by a gentle circling motion just inside her channel. She couldn’t resist when he turned her, sitting her on his thighs, but she found her slit right over that little jet again. He cupped her breasts with both hands, locking her in place with crossed forearms. His thumbs and forefingers trapped her nipples, pulling and pinching. She tried shifting forward, but all that did was send the pressure pounding against her pucker.

  She sensed his movement from the ripple of his thigh muscles. He hooked his heels over her ankles and pulled, spreading her. When he leaned forward, forcing her breasts underwater, she had nowhere to go but right back over that piercing stream. “Please, Eric.” She wasn’t sure what she was begging for.

  His voice was a growl in her ear. “Coming is sexy, Amy. Come again, baby doll. Stop fighting it.”

  She knew right then, she was over her head in more ways than one, but Amy was too limp to remain tense. The pressure did feel good. His rough fondling of her nipples added to her pleasure, building her quickly to another peak. Each orgasm faded into the next swell of pleasure, leaving her no way to keep track.

  He whispered sweet, dirty nothings in her ear. The warm air from his breath penetrated her ear with the same insubstantial nothing as the jet of water, but both sensations drove her higher. She felt his mouth on her neck, her shoulder, her jaw. Bright color exploded in the darkness behind her eyes. She felt caught in a strong undertow of pleasure, but she felt so empty, tears ran down her cheeks.

  Finally, he untangled their legs and turned her to face him. Resting her head on his shoulder, Amy let her eyes drift closed. His hands were never still, caressing her. From time to time, he slid a finger along her folds, tapping her swollen clit and setting off aftershocks of pleasure inside her.

  Bathed in warmth and cuddled to his chest, contentment and exhaustion numbed her.

  Yes, this was definitely the best part.

  “Wake up, little one.” Amy opened her eyes and reluctantly lifted her head from his shoulder. The snow was coming down in flakes so fat and thick, she could barely see the trees. She gave him a shy smile. He pecked her cheek. “Ready?”

  His muscular arms bulged when he lifted her from the water. She groped for the side of the pool, but her arms felt like wet spaghetti. When her butt connected with the warm rock, the air felt shockingly cold. He pulled up on the edge, pausing to press a kiss to her thigh. “Guess I should’ve thought to bring towels.”

  Amy scrambled to her feet, eager to get indoors. Without the benefit of that small underwater light, she couldn’t see his expression. “They’d be cold anyway.” Unsure of her bearings, she clutched his hand.

  Suddenly, he pulled her into his arms, lifting her again like a toy. She felt him nuzzle her cheek. When she turned her head, he brought his lips down hard on hers. His demanding kiss wiped the cold right off her mind, setting a flame burning inside her belly.

  He was a good teacher. It’d almost ceased to be strange that he wanted her. She ached with the need to be filled. Small throbs echoed in her clit. She realized she was grinding her mound into his belly, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  When he broke the kiss, she was panting. He slipped one hand beneath her butt, cradled her head to his shoulder with the other, and started walking. Her emotions were torn apart and his seemed as impenetrable as the darkness. She sensed the only way she could win this game was to hold something back. When he cleared the trees, she demanded, “Put me down. Let’s run.”

  He slowed. “Really?”

  “Really.” She tried to see his eyes. “How many chances in a lifetime do you get to go snow-streaking?” She felt his laugh rumble thorough his chest, but couldn’t make out his expression.

  “You’re something else. Let’s do it.”

  Jogging through the darkness chased away her need to be cuddled. Before she’d taken many strides, the small porch lights appeared. Her sense of loss disappeared. She couldn’t help laughing. She’d never in a million years have guessed when she woke this morning, she’d be running bare-assed through the snow before bedtime, holding hands with Eric De Marco.

  She was eager to reach the fire. Her feet were numb, but she felt giddy. At the foot of the stairs, he pulled back, letting her go first. She dashed up the steps and across the porch, and yanked the door open. The cabin felt warm, though not as warm as she hoped she might get in a few minutes. She made a beeline for the hearth and dropped to her knees on the rug. The fire inside the little stove was still burning bright.

  While he locked the door and turned off the lights, she finally worked up the courage to peek, but when she looked up, he was on the other side of the counter. “Towels are in the bathroom and there’s plenty of hot water. Make yourself at home. Good night.”

  Not how she’d thought this dream might end.

  Chapter Six

  A loud shriek ripped the silence. Eric jerked upright, heart pounding. Sweat trickled down the side of his face, growing cold from the chill in his bedroom. His first thought was of Lila. Had something gone wrong with the baby? But the siren wasn’t the wail of an ambulance. The racket was coming from inside his house. His smoke alarm made a low, continuous drone, nothing like the wail piercing his eardrums. He didn’t have a burglar alarm. Sounded like some innocent machine was being tortured. In his loft.

  Loft. The memory of confused brown eyes swept the cobwebs from his brain. The god-awful noise had to be Amy’s alarm. Collapsing against one pillow, he clamped another over his head, waiting for her to hit the snooze button. A minute crawled by. The brain-curdling sound didn’t relent. He flung the pi
llow aside to glare at the clock beside his bed.

  Who the fuck sets an alarm for five in the morning? He’d expected a college kid to sleep in. After two solid minutes of auditory torture, Eric decided she was either deaf or dead. He prayed she was still breathing. So he could fucking kill her for taking her sweet time turning off her alarm.

  What the hell was I thinking, bringing her here?

  Waiting impatiently for silence to resume, he wondered what he’d tell Dan and Colton—much less Lila or Cynda—about his sudden urge for a roommate. Lying on his back, glaring at the ceiling in the dark, he knew Dan would see Amy’s car when he left for work. His brother would recognize the Honda, too. Knowing who drove what vehicle was second nature to a small town mechanic. He’d almost rather talk to the circuit solicitor today than have one more conversation where his brothers called him a dumbass. He yanked the pillow over his head again, but the piercing sound seemed to have pissed off his conscience. That bitch was screaming nearly as loud as Amy’s alarm.

  You hurt her last night. His conscience didn’t seem to care he’d had little choice in the matter.

  I’m not sexy. The memory of her plaintive whisper crept under his ire. The fuck you’re not. He flung the pillow aside and glared at the ceiling. If she didn’t turn off her damn clock, he was going up those steps to paddle her ass. If she’d set an alarm, then she had somewhere to be, though God only knew where the fuck that could be at this hour. So why wasn’t she getting up?

  For a woman standing about five-two barefoot, Amy Sizemore had the potential to become about fifteen feet worth of trouble. Of course, he’d gone looking for this particular trouble. But why?

  “Amy! Turn that damn alarm off!” Eric rolled onto his knees and pounded the wall behind the bed.

  The blaring noise stopped. Blessed silence settled over him like a second quilt.

  He sighed, flopped back onto the mattress, and stretched. He closed his eyes and waited for his heartbeat to slow. What if the lawyer tells us he’s made a deal with John to do a year in prison? Or he’s going to recommend probation?

  Eric’s stomach knotted. His eyelids felt like window shades, snapping open. He sat up and hurled his pillow. He knew from bitter experience, he’d be unable to go back to sleep. For weeks, he’d been waking while it was still dark, feeling like he’d had rocks for supper. Might as well get his ass up and go fetch the steamer trunks for Amy’s clothes.

  The small voice piped up again. You want her here.

  “Brought her here, didn’t I?” he muttered, stomping into the bathroom, not bothering to turn on a light.

  He felt dog-tired and his stomach was a roiling pit, but peering through the bathroom window, the charcoal sky revealed the fog floating over the geothermal spring. Squinting, he could just make out the footprints marking their run through the snow. Recalling the exhilarating dash, he smiled. Most fun he’d had in a while. Which said something about his pathetic excuse for a life.

  He might even say that unexpected romp was better than the sex... but then again, he hadn’t had sex, had he? Fucking limp bastard. What the hell was up with his cock? In the pool, with Amy squirming in his arms like a turned-on teddy bear, begging him with her eyes—nothing.

  Nothing below the waist. His brain conjured the intense ripple of pleasure from sliding into the heat of her tight pussy, but the sensation—and act—was limited to his skull.

  Gotta be stress. Watching the snow come down, he’d started worrying that the weather might cause the courthouse to close. He wasn’t looking forward to meeting with the solicitor, but he was tired of having this concern hanging over his head. He wanted to find out John’s fate and then find a way to move on with his life.

  Because, yeah. That’s going places. Growling, he strode through the bedroom and snatched a pair of jeans off a hanger.

  He started the coffee maker, then stoked the fire. The lights were on in the loft, but he heard no sound.

  Outside, a cold blast of wind picked up some of the powder and hurled it across his boots while he unlocked his truck. He had to pull onto the grass to maneuver around Amy’s car. At the end of the drive, his headlights showed the tracks made by the newspaper guy’s vehicle. Looked like about an inch of snow had fallen. He figured the paved roads would be unaffected. A southern snow tended to be wet, with ice involved, typically a nasty affair. This powder stuff was a real rarity. No snow day for the schoolgirl.

  He yanked the rolled newsprint from the holder affixed beside the mailbox. And the courthouse will be open. Eric slung the paper into the passenger seat.

  He found the two steamer trunks right where he expected, in the shed where his grandmother once taught the farm’s migrant workers who wanted to learn English.

  Back at the cabin, he hauled the big trunks onto the porch and opened the first one.

  Yellow cardboard boxes, about a half inch thick and the size of his palm, filled one drawer. Eric snorted, thinking about the summer his Grandmother Chapman drove them insane with her new home movie camera. She’d never quite gotten the hang of holding the camera steady. Her results had made his eyes cross and his stomach heave. And the way she yanked the camera from one subject to another.... He shuddered. To say these things would make good torture devices was like saying Bentley made an okay car.

  He grabbed a handful of the film reels and turned, intending to throw them away, but something stopped him. His baby sister, Sarah, would be in these. Should he see if Jonah wanted to try and watch this crap?

  The familiar ache throbbed inside his chest at the thought of his little sister. He’d locked her in one of these trunks once. When he let her out, she’d run straight to tattle. Eric could almost feel the stripes his dad put on his ass for making Sarah cry. Rafe never could handle it when tears fell from his daughter’s eyes. Colton had smeared mayonnaise under Eric’s pillow later that night. He knew it’d been Colton, though no one ever ‘fessed up. Colton and Sarah always had each others’ back.

  His little sister’s death had been just as senseless as his mother’s. Eric could picture her, refusing to give up the keys to her new car and being shot in return. Something like that would never happen here. Yeah, right. Damn you, Sarah, no matter what Dad thought, you should’ve stayed put, right here in the shadow of the Klan. He kicked the trunk, watching the cloud of dust rise through stinging eyes.

  Hadn’t Cynda almost been raped in the house where they’d grown up? Hadn’t their mother been killed practically in Eric’s back yard? And if living in California had put Sarah in harm’s way, who was to blame for that? Me. My fault. My fault. God, Sarah, I’m so sorry. Some days, it was all Eric could do to look his nephew in the eye.

  He pulled the drawer free and dumped the film boxes on the kitchen table. Back on the porch, he flipped the latch on the second trunk and slid the two sides open. The projector rested in the hat box in the bottom of the hanging section. The camera nestled behind the fake drawer front that opened to make a writing desk. He snorted, lifting the heavy projector. Too bad he didn’t need a boat anchor. The De Marcos held on to everything—except their women.

  He parked the machines beside the reels and grabbed the central vacuum hose and a rag. By the time he had the old trunks cleaned off, he thought he could handle his morning cup of coffee.

  His stomach was steady, until he slid the rubber band off the paper and the page fell open. He studied John Carpenter’s photo through narrowed eyes. Gritting his teeth, Eric filled a mug and strode to the couch. Slamming down the paper and cup, he looked up. The lights were still on in the loft.

  Come on down, Amy. I need to see your smile.

  Carpenter had been front page news nearly every day since his stunning confession. This morning’s article was another speculating on the sentence the prick might get. Scanning the same tired conclusion—five years—Eric’s stomach lurched, nearly making him spill his coffee. He’s not gonna get five years. He’s just not. Calm down.

  He had two full hours to kill before he ha
d to leave for work. He’d check the classifieds for an all-terrain vehicle. Jonah had been begging for one. Lila wasn’t enamored of the idea, but Eric thought she was being too protective. He and his siblings had grown up ripping and running through the orchards on dirt bikes, four-wheelers, anything with a motor. Despite a few cuts and bruises, they’d lived to tell the tale. Maybe he’d just build Jonah a go-cart.

  Maybe not. The last thing he wanted was to cause a problem between his brother and his woman. Maybe Lila would chill out after the baby came. Moving Amy in was sure to set her off, anyway. No sense in starting the De Marco family version of World War Three.

  He’d done that once already and was in no hurry for a repeat performance.

  An hour went by without sight of Amy, though his gaze wandered often to the loft. The sudden sound of running water made him snap the paper open. A tear of roughly an inch appeared down the center fold of the newsprint, making him snarl again.

  The fine print blurred. His mind’s eye saw the spray from the shower running over Amy's skin. The image was all too easy to conjure after last night. His brain sketched her hands, rubbing soap across her breasts and down her thighs. Then the image changed, and his hands were doing the rubbing.

  Thinking about what he was missing, he glared at the undisturbed fabric over his cock. Useless motherfucker.

  * * * *

  Amy felt like an idiot for setting her alarm for such an ungodly hour. Not only did she owe Eric an apology for waking him, she hadn’t written more than four paragraphs on her paper, for hoping he’d come upstairs and offer her a better wake-up call. Glancing across the bed, she tried to peer through the window, but all she could see was her reflection. He’d gone out and returned, but she didn’t hear any movement now. He must’ve gone back to bed.

  Shoving her textbooks out of the way, she tugged her shirt over her head. She’d put in some more work on her paper at the library before her first class.

  Her gaze roamed the varnished boards overhead and her thoughts turned back to Eric. She had zero experience with casual sex. She only knew the rules to this game in theory. They were roommates-with-benefits, meaning this would be different than living with Drew. Now that she’d figured out the obvious, she couldn’t expect to stay here for free. She had to pay something for rent.