A Shot of Sultry

by Macy Beckett

  “Open your eyes,” he murmured, thumbing slow circles around her aching, swollen flesh. “Watch with me.”

  She did, gazing through her lashes at his plump velvet tip, which glistened with a bead of moisture in the dim light. He gripped her thighs and rocked forward, easing inside so slowly her knees trembled. Struggling to focus, she watched as he pulled back and dipped in farther, stretching her inner walls, impaling her with a tiny stitch of pain that only served to heighten the pleasure.

  They each released a moan, their eyes meeting for one hot second before they glanced at his wet shaft sinking deeper, pulling back, and sinking deeper still. Her body sang with each pumping caress, each slippery stroke. The air was thick with heat and sex and the sound of her own wetness as he slid in and out.

  “Wrap your legs around me,” he ordered in a voice so rough she barely made out the words. “I want to be deep inside you.”

  She obeyed, locking her ankles behind his waist and letting her knees fall open to accommodate more of him. Releasing her hips, he stretched out and lowered onto her body, tucking both hands beneath her bottom to angle her for deeper penetration. Crushed beneath his weight, she delighted in the feeling of safety and warmth, surrounded in his skin and scent.

  With one hard thrust, he buried himself completely as she cried out with pleasure. She was so deliciously full, so inconceivably full for the first time in her life, and her only wish was to use her hands to grip his iron buttocks and trap him there forever. Holding still, he lifted his face, his eyes sweeping over her features with pure desire burning from within. He moved his hands to cup her cheek, sliding his mouth over hers as he resumed a hypnotic tempo with his hips.

  Her moans grew hysterical as he repeatedly drew back and plunged deep, every stroke more decadent than the last. Arching her lower back, she matched each thrust, rocking hard against him as he rode her faster and faster, panting for air. Her body tensed like a bowstring ready to snap, mind reeling with emotions she didn’t know existed. He drove her higher and higher toward the peak, her secret muscles tightening around his pumping shaft.

  “That’s it,” he whispered against her mouth. “Come for me.”

  The first pulsing wave of release shattered her into a million pieces, the pleasure intolerable in its intensity. Her lips parted, but she couldn’t make a sound. Pure ecstasy filled her lungs, smothering her beneath an orgasm so fierce it could not be described. She couldn’t draw air. He’d done it—he’d made her forget how to breathe. Several eternal seconds later, she gulped her first breath, but the wild spasms wouldn’t stop. One triggered another and another and another, until she didn’t think she could survive the jagged bliss.

  “Bobbi,” Trey gasped, resting his sweaty forehead against hers, “I can’t—oh god.” He bucked against her, and again, even harder, slamming into her and filling the room with the rhythmic staccato of skin slapping skin. Seconds later, he stiffened with a low, rumbling groan that announced his own climax. She continued to pulse and shudder around him for several beats before her muscles finally relented, sated after the longest, most ravaging release of her life.

  Then something happened that caught her completely off guard. Her lockbox, once chained deep beneath the ocean of her subconscious, burst open, spewing a decade of repressed feelings and disappointments that she wasn’t equipped to handle, now or then. Like a tidal wave, they surged inside her, and Bobbi let out a great, heaving sob. Another followed, and another, much like her climax, and before she knew it, she was in the throes of the ugliest cry of her life.

  “Bobbi?” Snapping to attention, Trey cradled her cheeks between his palms. “Did I hurt you?”

  She couldn’t speak, so she shook her head.

  “Baby, what’s wrong?” He scrambled to untie her wrists, still bound to the headboard. Swearing quietly to himself, he tugged at the knot, struggling in his panicked state. After what seemed like an eternity, he freed her. She wasted no time in wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her wet face in the crook of his shoulder.

  “You’re scarin’ me, darlin’.” Carefully, he pulled out of her and rolled to the side, bringing her body with him and brushing the hair away from her face. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “N-n-n-n-n—” Damn it, she couldn’t even get one word out. Massive sobs wracked her chest, hot tears plunking onto the sheet below. Memories she hadn’t revisited in ages came flying out of nowhere—the first time she’d fought a bully in the school parking lot and lost; a cold slap on the face when Bobbi had stood between Mama and her syringe; watching white-uniformed paramedics haul Mama away in a zippered vinyl bag; her first night in temporary foster care, and her adoption hearing, where she’d changed hands from one mother to two fathers.

  On and on it went, but Trey never faltered. He held her tightly within his arms, rocking her and kissing the top of her head. After at least fifteen minutes of solid, manic crying, the tears began to slow, and then the reality of what she’d done—bawling like a lunatic after they’d just made love—hit her like a shovel to the gut, heating her face with embarrassment. Her breath hitched, but she was finally able to fill her lungs with enough air to whisper, “Sorry.”

  Trey tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Tell the truth—did I hurt you? I know I wasn’t too gentle there at the end.”

  “No. It’s n-n-not you.”

  “Then what, hon?”

  “I…I’m n-n-not s-s-sure.”

  Gathering her wrists, he massaged the inside of each one with his thumb. “Is it because I tied you down? Did that trigger something bad that happened when you were little?”

  She shook her head.

  “Bobbi, you gotta talk to me.”

  “You’ll think I’m crazy,” she whispered.

  “No, I won’t.” He placed a reassuring kiss on the tip of her nose. “In case you haven’t noticed, I think you’re amazing. I’d never call you crazy.” He linked their fingers, swept his lips back and forth over her knuckles. “I’m asking you to trust me again.”

  Somehow, he must’ve known that talking would be easier for her without making eye contact, because he moved onto his back, pulling her snugly against him to rest her cheek on the solid contours of his bare chest. Steely arms closed around her, enveloping her in safety and affection, and she couldn’t say no when he’d made her feel so secure.

  So she told him about the box, beginning her story at age twelve, when a well-meaning psychologist had taught her how to manage her overwhelming feelings instead of acting out at school. Parceling away her emotions had proved easier than dealing with them, so she’d never quit the practice like she was supposed to.

  “It’s been harder to control since I came to town,” she said, “and then everything just blew to hell. I’m sorry you had to see that. I feel so stupid.”

  “Honey, that cry was long overdue.” Stroking her bare arm with his thumb, he told her what she’d just learned the hard way. “You can’t box that shit up. It keeps growing, and it always finds a way out.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, don’t feel sorry. I’m glad I was here when it happened.”

  “Me too.”

  “I just wish I could stay with you tonight. I hate leaving you like this.”

  Bobbi perched her chin atop his chest and peered at Trey’s stubbly jaw. “I’ll be fine. It’s weird, but I feel better than I have in years.” It was like she’d lost twenty pounds, all from her chest. The weight from that heavy lockbox had dragged her down with it, and now she was free.

  “That’s not weird. You just purged your system of some awful stuff.”

  “Thanks,” she said softly, “for being so great about all this. And for the other thing too.”

  “What other thing?”

  “You really did make me forget how to breathe.”

  His face beamed with pride, his mouth curving into a
smile that tugged his deep dimples into view. She lifted a finger to trace one, but just as she touched his cheek, his smile faltered, dimples vanishing.

  “Oh,” he said, “I meant to apologize about before, when we…uh…” He seemed to struggle with what to say next. “I should’ve asked if you’re on the Pill. I’m usually careful, but I was out of my mind, and I couldn’t wait another second…” Shifting his head on the pillow, he met her gaze. “You’re taking something, right?”

  Bobbi’s lips parted—she hadn’t thought about it either. Like Trey, she’d been so filled with need that safety hadn’t crossed her mind. “No.” She’d lost her health insurance and couldn’t afford out-of-pocket birth control. Besides, it had been so long since she’d had sex, she’d figured she didn’t need to fill her prescription.

  “What?” Every muscle in Trey’s body clenched as he lifted his shoulders off the bed.

  “Wait, let me think a minute.” When was her last period? Not too long ago. Once she remembered the date, she began doing the math, calculating her most fertile window. “I think we’re okay.” She exhaled a shaky sigh of relief. “If there’s ever a good time to slip up, it’s right now.”

  “Jesus, Bo, I’m sorry.” He lay back against the pillow. “I had a condom in my wallet. I was just too stupid to use it.”

  “It’s all right.” She patted his chest. “We’ll be more careful next time.”

  “Damn right, we will.” Pushing onto one elbow, he glanced at the clock on her bedside table. “And speaking of careful, I shouldn’t stay too much longer.”

  Bobbi groaned, clinging to his warmth.

  “I know.” He squeezed her tightly. “Once I get rid of my guests, we’ll think of an excuse for you to spend the night.” Nuzzling her ear, he reminded her, “I still wanna fall asleep inside you.”

  “Mmm, I want that too.” She burrowed deeper into his chest, determined to enjoy every moment she had left with this man. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

  Chapter 16

  “What’re you so damn happy about?” Luke scowled at Trey, crinkling a thick smudge of plaster that had dried on his forehead. The motion sent white flakes drifting onto his eyebrows until he resembled a cranky Groucho Marx. “We just got our asses rammed.” Shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun, Luke turned his glare to the Sultry County Courthouse, where they’d spent the last twenty minutes arguing with a crooked building inspector.

  Trey glanced at the bleached, stone steps, unable to look at his friend. Why am I so damn happy? Because your sister came to my place for lunch. I laid her down on my kitchen table and ate something a whole lot better than a sandwich. He hadn’t been able to stop grinning ever since, despite the guilt weighting his stomach. “Drove my mom to the airport last night,” he said instead. “Feels good to have the house to myself again.” With an innocent smile in place, he glanced back up.

  Luke scrutinized Trey before nodding in agreement. “Yeah. I know what you mean. Bo’s going out of town. First time in months me and June have had the place to ourselves.”

  “You sound happy about that. Did you settle the whole baby issue?”

  “Yeah. We agreed to wait another year.”

  “See? Told you she’d understand.” Trey clapped Luke on the arm. “Enjoy the empty house while you can.”

  Thank God Luke had plans—that he hadn’t asked to watch a game together or grab a beer. Because Bobbi wasn’t leaving town. In truth, she was coming over for an X-rated slumber party, to spend the whole night in Trey’s bed and in his arms. Just thinking about the things she could do with that hot, wet mouth quickened his pulse and had him bouncing on his toes. He was more keyed up than a kid on the last day of school.

  For the past few weeks, they’d been sneaking around like a couple of teenagers, stealing quickies in the backseat of her car, which was definitely not designed for sexin’. But even though that damned middle seatbelt had left a permanent dent in his ass, he couldn’t stop. Sex with Bobbi was a drug, and like a true addict, he’d do anything for a fix—betray his best friend, empty his bank account, sell all the shit inside his house. Hell, he’d sell the house itself to keep making love to her.

  They’d agreed to a no-strings-attached summer fling, and he wanted as much of Bobbi as he could get before they burned out on each other. Which they would. Nothing this hot was meant to last.

  “So what’re we gonna do?” Luke asked.

  “About what?”

  Luke screwed up his face. “About that thieving dickhead! What kind of man asks for bribes from a charity?”

  “Nonprofit,” Trey reminded him, forcing his thoughts away from Bobbi’s gifted tongue. “But yeah, I’m with you. I’ve been dealing with the little weasel all summer. He’s not gonna budge.”

  “I hate going to Bea without evidence.”

  “So don’t make any accusations. Just drop in for a friendly chat and mention we’re butting heads with the new inspector. Ask if he’ll talk to the guy.” Maybe the pecker would toe the line if he knew the county judge was watching.

  Scratching the back of his neck, Luke stared at the courthouse doors in obvious reluctance. “Guess I could do that.” He lifted one dusty brow and nodded at Trey. “You comin’?”

  “No, you go on. I’m gonna run to the sheriff’s office and return Colton’s house key.” He’d never expected Mom and Mindy to stay so long. Now that they’d abandoned their matchmaking schemes and gone home, he could quit couch-surfing and do the same.

  A low chuckle escaped Luke’s chest. “Miracle you didn’t catch an STD from his sofa.”

  “Nah. He never brings the ladies home. I think I’m safe.” Worst part had been fielding interference for the big-boobed psycho Colt had picked up at Shooters last month. Trey’d warned Colt about her crazy eyes, but had the horny bastard listened? Nope. Now the stalker was popping up everywhere like a cheesy porno ad.

  “Well, I’ll meet you back at the site.” Luke jogged up a few steps and stopped short. Turning back to Trey, he called, “Oh, yeah. I’m supposed to remind you to—”

  “—call my dad. I know.” He hadn’t forgotten. Right before Mom had left, she’d confessed the real reason behind her extended stay. It seemed the Colonel had grown tired of playing nice, so he’d threatened to air their dirty laundry—which probably entailed Dad’s skirt-chasing—if Mom didn’t quit fighting the divorce. Her parting words had been a hysterical, “I’ll never be able to show my face in Chicago again! Maybe I’ll move here to be closer to you.”

  And if that shit wasn’t motivation for Trey to get his old man to back off, he didn’t know what was. He waved a quick good-bye to Luke, then marched down the steps to stand in the shade of a tall cedar while he made the call. Tapping the numbers slowly, he held his breath and prayed the call would go to voice mail. Six rings later, his prayers were answered.

  “Hey,” you whoring jackass, “it’s me. Mom’s upset because she thinks you’re gonna ruin her reputation. I convinced her to let the lawyers handle everything and give you a divorce, so you can leave her alone now.” Before hanging up, he couldn’t resist adding, “Unless you get off on hurting the woman who gave you a family. In which case, I hope you rot in hell.”

  Christ, he hated that man. Even the slightest connection with the jerk—a voice mail message from a thousand miles away—had made his eye twitch. Trey hoped assholery wasn’t inherited, or at least that it skipped a generation, since he wasn’t having kids. He’d rather hurl himself off a cliff than turn out like his old man.

  Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath of warm, summer air. The smoky aroma of grilling meat from the diner on Main Street drove out thoughts of his father and issued an important reminder. He needed to make a special supper tonight. It probably wasn’t gentlemanly to ravish Bobbi for twelve hours without feeding her first. Though most of Trey’s talents lay in the bedroom, not
in the kitchen, he could manage something decent. But what?

  While crossing to the sheriff’s building, he replayed every conversation he’d had with Bobbi to determine what she’d like. By the time he pushed open the front door and stepped into the air-conditioned lobby, he’d decided on vegetarian pasta. Bobbi had too many allergies, and he didn’t want to risk shellfish or meat.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” Trey said, winking at Mrs. Bellabee, the gray-haired receptionist.

  Beaming, she waggled her fingers and pushed her horn-rimmed glasses up the length of her nose. “Hiya, hon.” As was their routine, she plucked a framed photo from her desk and thrust it at Trey’s face while he pretended to admire the young woman inside, Amy Bellabee. “My granddaughter’s comin’ to visit next month. She’s still single…” her voice trailed off, thick with implication.

  Trey didn’t need to study the picture. He knew Amy’d been crowned Miss Sultry Springs before she’d graduated and left for college. Mrs. Bellabee wouldn’t let him forget. But lovely as Amy was, she didn’t impress him.

  She didn’t have a razor wit and soft thighs. She hadn’t dedicated her life to defending the underdogs of the world. She didn’t smell like candied cinnamon. She didn’t rearrange his tools so they lined up in order from largest to smallest, which made no sense but made him smile anyway. She wasn’t Bobbi.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” Trey said. I’m taken. “I’m leaving town in a couple weeks.”

  “I’d heard that.” Puckering her mouth in disappointment, she set the frame back in line with a dozen others. “Any chance you’ll change your mind?”