No Promises Required

by Cari Quinn

  “Christ, woman, you’re going to kill me.” His mouth swooped down on hers, smothering her startled oof.

  God, his lips were so soft. And warm. He nibbled at her mouth, seducing without words. Then, when she went boneless in his arms, he snuck past her admittedly shaky defenses and destroyed her thoughts with one slide of his tongue.

  He didn’t hesitate, just went for it, hands roaming, his body crushing hers into the fence until even the chain links at her back added tantalizing pressure to her skin. Her clothes were too constricting. She yanked at the belt of her dress so she didn’t burn up where she stood. He grabbed her hand, trapping it in one of his, ratcheting up her need even higher.

  “Not here,” he said. “Let’s go back to your place.”

  She yanked back so abruptly that she would’ve fallen into the fence if he hadn’t caught her by her waist. His thumbs incited some kind of erotic voodoo on her hips while she struggled to see him in the low light. “You want me to invite you home?”

  She’d sent Matilda the tabby to a new foster home yesterday, so at least she didn’t have to worry about the cat meowing and breaking the mood, but Jill hadn’t cleaned up her place for company. For all she knew, she’d left a bra hanging from the showerhead.

  And that’s important, why? He’s seen plenty of bras. And plenty of boobs.

  “We could go to my hotel if you’d rather.” His hand wandered to the front of her dress, tugging lightly on the loosened belt. From the reaction between her legs, he might as well have slipped his fingers into her very wet panties.

  “What about Vic?”

  Another light tug. Another pulse in her clit. “You indicated you could be discreet.”

  Oh hell, yeah. For more of what he was handing out, she’d be discreet all over the damn town. That didn’t mean she intended to let him off easy. He’d hurt her feelings years ago when he’d brushed her off after their first kiss, and again tonight.

  If he’d seen the error of his ways, hallelujah, but she wasn’t going to skip merrily into his rented bed without him earning it. Better yet, she’d skip the possible bedbugs all together and take him back to her apartment so they’d be on her turf. She needed the home-team advantage.

  “I thought you were so worried about tarnishing my sweet innocence.”

  He laughed. She loved how the sound rumbled deep in his chest, especially since it so rarely happened in her presence. “You told me you weren’t innocent.” He thumbed a tendril of hair away from her cheek. “Wanna be dirty together?”

  Now she really did shudder. And said nothing at all. Her powers of speech had fled right along with her functioning brain cells.

  But she’d come here with a mission, and she’d be damned if she let a few jumbled nerves stop her. She cupped him through his jeans for a second time that night, provoking a growl from him that made her clench. “Let’s get something straight first,” she said.

  He gripped the fence above her head, rattling the links. “Sweetheart, if you want to have a serious discussion, maybe you should stop stroking my dick. Because I guarantee I’m thinking only one thing right now, and it involves sinking balls-deep in your tight little pussy.”

  She swallowed hard. No one had ever spoken to her like that. Not even her girlfriends. They acted as if she had a shield of purity around her that didn’t include words like dick, balls, or pussy.

  But damn, she liked those words. They made her feel sexy. Strong. Empowered. She’d thought she’d never be able to say them back without lots of alcoholic enhancement, but maybe with Bryan…

  First she needed to use the body parts in question, then she’d work on discussing them in depth. Preferably while they were naked.

  Before she could chicken out, she grabbed his hand and tugged him toward her car. “My place. I have a box of condoms. Party-pack size.”

  “There’s a relief.” Suppressed laughter filled his tone. “Let’s take my vehicle.”

  “Okay.” She let her hand go lax in his as they shifted directions.

  “Wow, no argument?”

  She pulled her hand away to retie the belt of her dress. “I’m not in an arguing mood.”

  “Good to know.” He unlocked the passenger door of his truck, opened it, and patted her butt before she slipped inside. “Not that it matters much since I’m about to give you all the endorphins you can stand.”

  The grin he flashed mitigated her quick flare of irritation. Slightly.

  “Oh really,” she said.

  He braced his arm on the roof of the SUV, leaning in so that she got a heady whiff of his cologne. Mmm. “I don’t make claims I don’t intend to back up.”

  The man really did think he was God’s gift. Too bad there wasn’t a way to shed the burden of her virginity without acknowledging her attraction to him.

  The sacrifices one must make.

  He drove silently to her place, big wrists draped casually over the wheel. His watch probably weighed five pounds. All that gold and bling. Mr. Money-Bags football player probably had on platinum-threaded boxers while she wore a discount-special corset and two-for-one stockings.

  Her breathing sped up, and she pulled on the seatbelt that suddenly seemed way too tight. This was her best friend’s brother. The guy who went through women like underwear and never wore the same pair twice.

  Normally, that might have made her pause. But she wasn’t looking for love now. All she wanted was a good hard fuck.

  There, she’d said it. Only in her own head, true, but it was a start.

  What if their physical liaison made things awkward? Vic’s wedding was in two weeks. And there was the rehearsal dinner. And the reception. And, well, he was Vic’s brother. It wasn’t like she intended to tell her she’d gone for a ride on Bryan’s pony to loosen her saddle. She suppressed a smile at her easy innuendo. Hey, maybe she wouldn’t have to turn in her sex-kitten tiara after all.

  There was also the fact that he’d been with some of the hottest beauties in the entertainment business. Gossip Growl Weekly had told her so. Repeatedly. What if she didn’t measure up? If she sucked in the sack, every time they bumped into each other at Vic’s family functions he would remember how she’d been a spectacular dud. Talk about mortifying.

  The only way around the potential public humiliation was total secrecy. If it only happened this once, no one would have to know—

  His large hand slid up her thigh, his thumb edging along the top of her lace-topped stockings. “You need to leave these on. And the shoes.”

  She turned her ankle, frowning. “Shoes in bed?”

  His chuckle skated along her overstimulated nerve endings. “Who said anything about a bed, baby?”

  Her face heated. Baby. That was a decided improvement over Jilly Bean. “You aren’t discriminating against my bed, are you? I may not be some fancy pants like you, but it’s big and pillow-topped—” Her voice failed—simply failed—as his hand moved higher under her coat and his thumb slid over the panel of satin between her legs.

  “Shh. I only want to hear one thing from you right now.”

  Searching for her indignation was a futile task. His thumb was circling, drawing little patterns on damp fabric, and she couldn’t think. Holding back a gasp was hard enough. “What’s that?”

  He pressed inward, his knuckle finding her clit. His strokes intensified, and she bucked helplessly into his hand. “How many different ways you can moan my name,” he said.

  “Bryan.” She reached down to catch his wrist, stopping at the wild thrum of his pulse under her fingers. This affected him, too. A look at his tense features and hooded eyes as he drove proved that without doubt.

  He pulled into a spot at her apartment and cut her a heated glance. “Second thoughts?”

  “No. No. I just—”

  “Just wanted to gain a measure of control? Wanted to do things at your pace?”

  She gave an uneasy nod.

  “Sorry, sweetheart. I don’t play that way.” He leaned into her space, drivi
ng her back into the seat. His warm breath wafted over her mouth, as physical as a kiss. “I won’t ever do anything you’re not comfortable with, but if you hand me the reins, I intend to use them. That’s part of being with me, even for one night.”

  Before she could fully process what he’d said, he pushed a hand into her hair, guiding her head closer to his. “On your knees, on your belly, against the wall, I’ll take you any way I need. Because I know what you need, too.” Eyes on hers, he dragged his teeth over her lower lip while her breath hissed out. “Do you trust me, Jill?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t even have to think about the answer.

  “Good.” He smoothed the pad of his thumb over the soreness he’d left behind. The subtle ache in her lip pulsed between her legs, a promise she knew he would fulfill. “Next time, don’t stop my hand unless you’re truly uncomfortable. Definitely don’t stop it when you’re panicked by pleasure. I can smell your anxiety all over you.” He inhaled. “Not all I can smell, either. Your scent’s on my fingers, darlin’.”

  She fumbled for the door handle, desperate for air. It seemed to be a recurring problem around him. She couldn’t catch her breath, but that didn’t stop her from booking across the lot.

  At the door to the building, she dug for her keys. A moment later, his big hand closed around hers. “Let me.” He fit her key into the lock, pressing his chest to her back. Her nipples pebbled at even that small contact.

  “The elevator,” she mumbled, nearly tripping when he guided her inside. Stupid heels. Stupid oxygen deprivation. He was sucking all the air out of the room. The green T-shirt he wore stretched over his miles of muscles. One belly laugh and the fabric would probably rip. Even his jeans clung to his ass like a jealous lover.

  “Let’s take the stairs. Where are they?” When she gestured, he turned her in the right direction since her limbs weren’t functioning correctly anymore.

  “The elevator will get us upstairs faster.”

  His smile over his shoulder as they entered the stairway made her falter. “Anticipation is the best aphrodisiac.”

  Not when you’ve had nothing but anticipation for a quarter of your twenty-two years, pal. “Is that why you slip in and out of so many beds? To feel that rush over and over again?”

  Something crossed over his face. He moved faster, taking the steps two at a time. “Don’t believe everything you read, Jilly Bean.”

  Setting her teeth, she hurried after him, arriving at her apartment only a moment after he did. He unlocked the door, since he’d yet to relinquish her keys, and nudged her inside with a gentlemanly hand on the small of her back.

  The instant the door closed, his façade of politeness fell away.

  “I want you bent over the counter.” From behind her, he ran his hand up her outer thigh, dragging up her dress with one rough touch. “Lose the dress. Everything else stays on.”

  She shivered as his lips caressed the side of her neck. “Counter? In the kitchen?” People did stuff like that, she knew. She wasn’t completely naïve. Just not her. Never her.

  “To start.” A light shove on her backside got her feet moving. “Go.”

  She tugged off her dress and tossed it on the arm of the couch. “Um, be right back,” she said, fleeing to the bathroom, where she shut the door, flipped the lock, and proceeded to have a panic attack.

  This was a good thing. Natural. Needs being expressed and fulfilled. Perhaps a little laughter and conversation, maybe a sedate glass of wine afterward in lieu of the cigarettes she didn’t smoke. He didn’t smoke, either, did he? Of course he didn’t. He cared about his health. Besides, she didn’t care about his personal habits. All she was interested in was his ability to make love.

  No. Not make love. Something more primal.

  Fuck.

  All of the fucking.

  She glanced in the mirror, fussed with her hair, blew out a breath. Condom. She grabbed the box from under the sink and fumbled out a foil packet, shocked she was actually getting to use one. She’d never even broken the seal on the box. Things had never progressed that far.

  Biting her lip, she thought back to the banana she’d molested in high-school health class. She’d been vexed at getting the latex on the fruit, never mind an actual man with a penis that absolutely matched his football-player-sized body. If those shoe legends could be counted on to be true. She’d also held his corroborating evidence in her hand.

  A sharp knock sounded at the door. “Jill?”

  “Yes.” It wasn’t a squeak. Not exactly. “I’m just…readying myself for you.”

  She didn’t expect his growl. “You better not be. If I find out you’ve had your fingers in your panties when I’m standing out here hard and frustrated, I won’t be happy.”

  Stunned, she tucked the condom in her bra and threw open the door. “Say what? You thought I was masturbating?”

  As usual, conversation wasn’t at the top of his list.

  He yanked her to his chest, commanding her lips so forcefully that she didn’t dare call it a kiss. He ravaged her, more like. Invaded. His tongue plunged and swept through her mouth, tangling with hers while he palmed her ass and dragged her up his body. She didn’t realize she was moving until the rooster clock on the wall whizzed by her peripheral vision and she saw she was about to be banged next to her buffet server.

  He set her down and spun her around to face the counter, wasting no time in easing aside the satin between her thighs. With one smooth stroke his fingers were inside her, filling her almost to the point of pain. Her wetness eased the way, as did the focused pressure he applied to her clit, but there was no denying that maybe now might be an appropriate time to admit she was a virgin, and that her oh-so-tiny in comparison wonder wand vibrator didn’t compare to his giant digits—

  But then he did something deep inside her, twisting his fingers just right, and the discomfort faded in a hot rush of bliss that weakened her knees. She gasped and gripped the side of the counter, arching into his movements, her head falling forward and her hair tumbling over her face.

  “You feel so good,” he said. “Keep rocking on my fingers just like that.”

  She dug her nails into the Formica and bounced on his fingers, chasing the pleasure that bloomed every time he bottomed out inside her.

  “That’s it. Don’t fight it. I feel you pulsing.” His hot mouth moved down her neck. “You know you want to give it to me.”

  She rested her forehead on her fist, willing herself not to tense up as he worked her harder, faster, the scent of her own arousal taking over her senses and making her cheeks burn.

  “Damn, your pussy smells so fucking fantastic. I gotta have a taste.”

  “No. I don’t think so.” She reared up and banged her head on the hanging pots above her, setting off a chorus of clinking noises that seemed way too close to church bells for her liking. She wasn’t terribly religious, but she’d hung a cross that she’d brought with her from home over the sofa. Jesus was watching her get done doggy-style beneath her mother’s best cookware.

  She was so going to hell. Was it wrong she wanted a couple of orgasms—from an actual man—first?

  “I think yes.” He gripped her ass and crouched behind her, nipping at the bare flesh between her stocking tops and her panties. She jerked upward and would’ve risked a secondary concussion via the pans if he hadn’t kept up his onslaught between her thighs, slowing down his rhythm until she found herself bucking into his palm, trying to get the friction she needed. “You wanna come, baby?”

  “Yes. Please. Yes.”

  He pulled her panties down her legs and helped her step out of them. “Then you’re going to take my tongue.” Using his big hands, he widened her stance and replaced his fingers with his mouth, sucking on her with such obvious enjoyment that she couldn’t hold back her moan.

  He did make a convincing argument, she had to give him that.

  And apparently she also had to give him a healthy taste, since she couldn’t seem to stop riding
his face. It felt too damn incredible. From the sounds he was making and the way he ground his thumb on her clit in rapid circles, he didn’t mind that she was getting into it.

  “Bryan,” she gasped, feeling it necessary to tell him the flood was coming and he might want to grab his ark. A poor euphemism for dick, granted, but she had climax brain and couldn’t be expected to hit her metaphors spot-on. “I’m almost—”

  “Mmm. You are.” His deep voice rumbled against the most sensitive parts of her, eroding the last of her inhibitions. “Wanna swallow you down. Give it to me.”

  She shuddered, her body stringing tight like a bow. She couldn’t catch her breath and had to fight not to run from the avalanche of needs he pressed upon her with each slide of his tongue. She couldn’t take them all, hers or his. It was too much. Too soon. She’d only wanted easy, forgettable pleasure, and he was offering her a memory for the rest of her life.

  A roaring filled her ears, drowning out her frantic heartbeat and her greedy moans. Her body bucked endlessly, the ecstasy he brought with lips, tongue, and teeth going on for what felt like forever. And she could only hang on and savor the ride.

  By the time he stood, breathing heavily, she’d tensed all over again. In her corset, her breasts were swollen and achy, desperate for some attention. But instead of enjoying the arousal she’d only begun to slake, she had only one thought.

  Oh frick, this is going to hurt.

  He yanked down his zipper, and yep, she nearly head-butted the cookware again. Luckily she wasn’t quite as jumpy with all those endorphins he’d promised her happily swimming in her bloodstream. In fact, she might’ve even been pleasantly drowsy, if not for her concern that she was about to blow her bad-girl cover with a virgin’s wail of distress.

  “Hey. You still with me?” He nibbled the patch of skin between her shoulder and neck, giving her the first illicit feel of his bare, heated skin pressing between her thighs. He wasn’t going for it yet, just sort of circling the wagons to see if the trail was hospitable.

  And it was. Oh, it was. The damp trail down her thighs proved that irrefutably.

  “Yes. Condom?” she managed, belatedly remembering she’d stored it in her cleavage. She fished it out and handed it over. “Here.”