His mouth was addictive though, pushing away all cognizant thought, and she soon forgot about her panties worry. His hands drifted from her hips, trailing down to her crotch and running along the seam of her.
“God, you’re soaking,” he rasped against her mouth as he ran a finger up and down her lips.
Her face flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry—”
He lifted his face to look down at her, his dark eyes snapping heat. “Never apologize. I love that you want it. That you’re this hot for it.”
Then she watched him as he made his way down her body and buried his face between her legs.
“OhGodOhGodOhGod.” Her hands flew to his hair, spearing through the strands as she arched her spine off the ground. He feasted on her through the thin barrier of her panties, nibbling and licking and nuzzling until he found the little pearl nestled at the top of her folds. He attacked it, trying to get to it through the fabric. The barrier of her panties was drenched now, slippery between them, and that somehow increased the sensations.
Shrieking, she tightened her hold on his hair as she felt the stabbing pressure of his tongue and sharp little nips of his teeth. She squirmed, desperate for him to push her panties aside, desperate to feel the abrasion of his tongue, the satisfying graze of his teeth directly on her.
His hands gripped hold of her thighs, spreading her wider for him. His fingers burned twin imprints into her yielding flesh as he settled deeper between her legs with a contented sigh, as though he were settling in for the long haul, prepared to gorge on her for hours—just as he had promised.
She started to shake the instant he started toying with the edge of her panties—toying with her—even as he continued to nuzzle her through her panties, whispering naughty words into her wet crotch. “So hot . . . so sweet . . . your pussy tastes like candy, Rossi . . . I can’t wait to slide my cock inside . . .”
It was the filthiest, most erotic thing she had ever done. It dimly registered that with any other man she would be embarrassed in this scenario, but not with him. Actually, the dirtier he talked, the wetter she got. With him it felt perfect and natural. Like she had been waiting for this her entire adult life.
Then suddenly his fingers hooked inside the elastic edge and tugged her panties aside, baring her to the room, to the air, to his gaze . . . his mouth. “Ahh,” he sighed. “There’s my pretty pussy.”
Fire burned through her as he latched onto her, tasting her with a muffled groan that made her sink deeper into the ground. Her legs fell wider apart, limp appendages. She was totally boneless as his tongue lapped at her, working her like she was some delectable treat. It was too much. Incoherent words choked from her lips.
His voice vibrated against her flesh. “You taste better than I ever imagined . . . and you’re such a pretty pink. I can’t believe you wanted to hide this from me.” He gave her pussy lips a gentle slap that made sensation zing directly to her clit. She arched and cried out, whimpering as he followed the little slap with several savoring licks.
“Again,” she begged.
He paused. “What? This?” He gave her another light slap, this time directly making contact with her clit.
“Yes!” She had no idea she would react to such a thing . . . want more of it. Want it firmer. Harder. Her desire tightened, coiling in her core as her clit tingled from the contact.
He growled in satisfaction and lowered his head. “I know what you want.” To prove it, he pulled her clit between his lips, flaying it with his tongue.
“Yes!” Her fingers clenched in his hair, but he didn’t make a sound of protest, simply lashed her clit faster, harder. She shook from head to toe.
“There you go. Come for me, Rossi,” he continued, speaking against her aching bud of flesh.
She curled her toes and drew her wobbly knees up, looking down at him where he was wedged between her thighs. It was wicked and indecent and lewd and she couldn’t remember ever being in such a position—on the floor beneath glaring fluorescent lights that did all manner of unkind things to her body. But here she was. Exposed. And she didn’t care.
He gazed up at her, his dark eyes languid, drugged. Drugged from the effects of her . . . it was hard to fathom.
Still watching her, he bent back down to lick her long and slow, relishing her as his thumb landed unerringly on her hungry clit, pressing down on it hard and rolling it until she was done. Shattered. Her body broke.
The tension tightening every muscle snapped.
She flew apart into a million particles into the stratosphere.
He was right. She was ruined. He had just destroyed her. Without even having sex yet. She knew she could never have anything close to this with another man.
She fell back down to the ground, gasping and panting as though she had run a marathon. She couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t catch her breath. Tears leaked out from the corners of her eyes. She turned her face away and swallowed, fighting for speech.
Now the embarrassment came. Embarrassment over her intense reaction. Her unprecedented reaction. Maybe he did this to every woman he was with, but it felt wholly singular to her. Biblical in proportion. The experience rattling and soul-touching.
Rationally, she knew it had to be her getting caught up in the best orgasm of her life. She had orgasm brain. That was it. Pure and simple. She was dead of it.
Dead of orgasm.
Her heart pounded in her ears. A loud, steady thumping. She pressed a hand over her heart, attempting to inject herself with a level of calm.
It didn’t help.
The pounding just seemed to grow louder.
Loud enough that he could probably hear it, too.
She frowned. Loud enough that it wasn’t just in her head?
Loud enough that it actually existed.
Oh God. It wasn’t only in her head. It was real. A very REAL pounding. She blinked and gave her head a small shake as though returning to her senses and shaking off the orgasm cloud.
Someone was knocking at her door. The front door right beside where they were tangled up on the carpet in a messy pile of limbs . . . she half naked and he, sadly, not. Her frown deepened and she paused at that realization. She suddenly felt very cheated. How could she have just had the best orgasm—correction, two orgasms—at the expert hands of Cruz Walsh and she didn’t get to see him out of his clothes? It was vastly wrong.
But back to the point she couldn’t ignore right now . . . someone was at her door.
Someone was pounding at her door just as she was two seconds from having sex with Cruz. Sex with Cruz seemed like a non-thing now. She lurched into a sitting position, bringing her legs together and arranging her panties back into place.
It wasn’t going to happen. Definitely not now. Apparently she had company. She couldn’t imagine who was at her door at this hour, but she wasn’t about to ignore the knocking. There could be an issue with Nana Betty.
She reached for her leggings. They were inside out. With a curse, she struggled to set them to rights, stabbing her feet into the leg holes and then hopping like a mad woman. He was slow to get to his feet, and then she noticed why.
A giant erection swelled the front of his jeans. She felt her eyes widen . . . for multiple reasons.
Firstly, his size was impressive . . . and intimidating. He was big. As in is-that-thing-real-or-is-there-a-sock-stuffed-in-there big. Secondly, he actually wore a pained grimace. He actually appeared to be in pain.
That was some consolation. She didn’t think any man had ever wanted her so badly . . . or ever would. She didn’t consider herself the kind of woman to inspire such arousal. And the fact that they couldn’t do anything about it right now made her want to weep.
“Are you . . . okay?” she asked in a voice she hardly recognized as her own. It was breathless and soft . . . and frankly . . . it sounded a little Jessica Rabbit. It had that I’ve-been-well-pleasured quality to it.
His big hand lowered to himself and, still grimacing, he adjusted his engorge
d member. “I’ll survive. Self-denial is character building. Isn’t that what people say?”
She simply stared at him, stunned that he could feel any degree of anguish over not having her. As though she were some . . . prize.
“Aunt Gabby! I know you’re in there.”
She jerked out of her thoughts. “Oh my God. It’s my nephew.”
Cruz sighed. “So this definitely isn’t happening. Is that what you’re telling me?”
Pleasure suffused her to hear the longing in his voice. Longing for her.
It hadn’t gone away simply because they stopped touching each other. She gazed into his dark eyes and felt herself melting all over again. God, she wanted to attack him. Throw herself at him. She wanted to unzip his jeans and free that cock of his she’d been ogling.
“Aunt Gabby!”
Shaking her head, she rushed to the door and looked through the peephole, confirming that it was, in fact, her nephew standing on the other side of the door, looking decidedly impatient. She spun back around, her hand going to her throat in dramatic fashion. “He can’t see you,” she whispered shrilly.
“Aunt Gabby? My dad sent me over to check on you and Nana.”
She frowned. Anthony had never sent Trent to check on her before. Why, tonight, did he suddenly decide to do this? Was there some kind of internal big brother alert that warned him his little sister might be getting some action and he must impede?
Almost in answer to her thoughts, he added, “He was worried after you disappeared at Dakota’s ceremony and then you didn’t call him.”
Oh. Yeah. She winced. She never answered her brother’s earlier texts asking her to call him. She got caught up in work and then Nana and then Cruz. Her gaze skimmed over his impressive body. Obviously, Cruz.
Plus, she didn’t love conversations with her brother. It always felt a bit like she was talking to her father—if her father had ever been the type to go all fatherly and judgmental on her. But he wasn’t that type. He pretty much kept to his hobbies and let her live her life. She wished her brother would do the same and not try to parent her.
“You have to go,” she mouthed and then winced as her mind tracked over the layout of this apartment. “But there’s no back door.”
He nodded. “Yeah. That’s a problem.”
“You’ll have to climb out a back window.”
He snorted. “It’s been years since I had to do that. Sorry, but I’m past the age where I climb out of windows.” He stepped around her, lifting a hand for the door knob.
Her mind raced ahead, envisioning him stepping outside and coming face-to-face with her nephew . . . and how then her nephew would carry tales to the family. Soon they would all know Cruz Walsh had been in her apartment late at night. She couldn’t even pretend it had been innocent. That would have been a lie and she was a terrible liar. Her siblings could always see right through her. Plus, he was Cruz Walsh. One look at him and a person didn’t think innocent. Clearly.
She grabbed his arm, desperate to get him to stop. “You can’t—”
He whirled around and snatched her up in his arms, lifting her off her feet and planting his mouth on hers in a searing kiss that tasted faintly earthy and she knew it was herself she was tasting on him. She knew and didn’t care because it was his mouth on her. His hands. His body hard against her softness.
She should be resisting. Hello. Her nephew was two feet away on the other side of the door. Unfortunately, she couldn’t resist. She just wasn’t that strong. Or smart, apparently. She dove right back into the kiss, circling her arms around his neck and clinging to him like a vine.
It was Cruz who ended it. Who broke away with a ragged breath. He held on to her face, his big hands burning twin imprints into her cheeks. His gaze crawled over her face. He was all intensity as he uttered, “I’ll be seeing you again.”
Excitement thrummed through her veins, followed swiftly by panic. She shouldn’t want that so very badly. She liked him too much. Always had. She could fall hard for him and nothing could ever come of it. She should stop it now before the eventual heartbreak. “Really, no.”
His dark eyes seemed to grow even darker. “This isn’t finished between us.”
“We can’t—” She stopped, unsure any longer why they couldn’t. What was her resistance? She had put to bed the idea of interviewing him. There was no professional conflict.
“Why not?” he prompted.
She frowned, still reluctant to agree to this . . . whatever it was.
A fling.
His voice dropped to a velvet pitch. Almost as though he could read her internal battle, he drawled in a voice that she felt like a caress, “The next time we meet, it’s going to be to fuck.”
She gasped and, admittedly, felt a small thrill. He was bold and primal and visceral and she wanted to wrap herself in all of that, snuggle into it like a warm blanket. Into him. He made her feel feminine and wanted in a way she had never felt before.
Apparently done talking, he turned and opened the front door.
Trent almost fell forward into the small entrance hall, but he caught himself. His gaze landed on Cruz and then his eyes nearly doubled in size on his face. “Ahhh. Sorry. I didn’t know you had company, Aunt Gabby. I was just coming home from a party and Dad asked me to stop by.”
Cruz gave him a brisk nod of greeting and then walked out the door, leaving them both standing there in the doorway to her apartment looking after him. Gawking after him, really. And it was a fine sight indeed. She couldn’t help from watching the way his jeans hugged his ass nicely.
“Isn’t that the guy from the news? The one who . . .” Trent’s voice deliberately faded. Shelley Rae’s name wasn’t discussed freely within the family. He knew that. He’d been trained about that from an early age. She was a subject to be avoided. Clearly, their family didn’t do grief or complicated subjects well.
“Yes,” she supplied.
Her nephew glanced at her. “Cruz Walsh?” he asked, as though needing absolute confirmation.
She nodded once, feeling suddenly very grim, already imagining him reporting this information back to his dad. “Yes.”
“The one who went to prison for murdering Shelley Rae?” Okay. So Trent was more at ease stating the facts than the rest of them. Must be a generational thing. Good for him.
“Yes, Trent. But he was exonerated, remember?” She winced at her defensive tone. “But yeah, it’s him.”
“He was in your house . . .”
She nodded with a sigh. Clearly this was something her nephew was grappling with. She couldn’t fault him, she supposed. She was still grappling with it, too.
He continued, “And you look . . .”
He looked her up and down in a thorough inspection. She tried not to fidget. She was fully dressed. He could have no idea what just transpired in the very spot they were standing. Plus, she was his aunt. In his mind, she was old and boring and past the age for sexy times.
His silence stretched, making her more uncomfortable. “I look like what?” she asked.
His survey seemed to linger on her wrinkled blouse. Her hand crept up self-consciously to smooth over the fabric.
“You look like you’ve been making out,” he finished.
Heat flamed her face. How could he know that? Her nephew was young. What did he know about such things? She could still remember when she changed his diapers. Five years ago, he was still watching cartoons.
Trent is now the same age she was when Cruz rocked her world in the boathouse.
The reminder didn’t help. It didn’t make her feel better. She was his aunt. An adult. She should be sensitive to his sensibilities. She didn’t want to scar him with the image of her making out. Nor did she want him telling any of the family his theories about her and Cruz Walsh.
“Trent,” she tsked, determined to convince him he was wrong. “Of course, I wasn’t—”
“C’mon.” His gaze flicked over her in amusement. “I know the signs. I mean, not tha
t I blame you.” He glanced back out in the direction where Cruz disappeared. “He’s hot.”
It was her turn to gawk. “Trent?” She was pretty sure guys didn’t call other guys hot with the same appreciative inflection she just heard in her nephew’s voice. At least not most hetero guys.
Trent looked back at her and shrugged. “Yeah. I’m gay.”
She blinked. He said it so matter-of-factly. Like she should know. “I . . . did I somehow miss this information? I didn’t know that—”
“Yeah, I haven’t told the family yet. My sister knows. And you. Haven’t told my parents yet. I was waiting until I leave in a few months for college.” He smiled and shrugged nonchalantly. “But now you know I’m gay. Figure you can handle it.”
“Well, yes. Of course. I’m glad you told me . . . are you sure you don’t want to go ahead and tell your parents? Are you worried they won’t be understanding?”
“Oh, I know they’ll come around, but they’re going to have an adjustment period. It could get difficult and I’d rather not be here when that happens. They can mourn the me they thought I would be while I’m away at school.”
“They may not mourn at all,” she pointed out. Her brother might be a hoverer and rule the family like some patriarch à la The Godfather, but he loved his kids. She knew he’d love them no matter what. “It may not even be a thing for them at all. Have a little faith. Tell them.”
He arched an eyebrow. “When are you going to tell the family you’re dating Cruz Walsh?”
Her face heated at his clever rejoinder. “We’re not dating.”
“Oh?” He made a knowing humming sound. “So you’re just . . . friends?”
She squirmed and shifted on her feet. Even admitting to that didn’t feel right.
“Friends with benefits?” Trent amended with a smirk.
“Oh, you brat! No!” She swatted his arm.
“I have eyes . . . and a nose. I could practically smell the sex pheromones in the air when I entered the apartment.”
“Trent!” It was like she was seeing her nephew for the first time . . . and her biggest shock was that he had just uttered the word sex in her presence. She may never recover from that.
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