Her gaze connected with his before he could look away, and lust hit Colin in the gut like a sucker punch. The lighting might be low, the air heavy with smoke, but there was no mistaking the desire smoldering in her eyes. She wanted him in a big way.
It was possible Dusty had a point. If all Blondie wanted was one night, then why let his dick suffer another nine months of abstinence?
He set his pool stick against the wall and grabbed the empty beer bottles from the ledge. “I’m due for a refill. Maybe I’ll say hi while I’m at it.”
To the sound of Dusty’s laughter and shout of, “I don’t want to see your ass back at this table tonight,” Colin started over to the bar. Blondie had broken eye contact to turn on her stool and talk to Jen. She swiveled back when Colin reached the halfway point, a full drink in her hand. She took a sip, her eyes lifting over the rim of the glass. They went wide the moment they met with his, something akin to shock slipping through them. But, nah, there was no way in hell a knockout like her would be surprised to get a response to her sensual invitation.
She brought the glass back from her mouth. Moisture must have stuck the coaster to the bottom, as it fell from the glass and onto the floor. Color burst into her cheeks. Quickly, she set the glass on the bar and bent for the coaster.
Colin’s wonder over her blush died the moment her jean skirt rode up to reveal her ass hanging out. Smooth, pale flesh that had clearly never seen sunlight winked at him in all its naked glory. No panties. No fucking way. His cock twitched with the urge to push into her tight behind.
Did she know the show she was giving him and most of the rest of the bar?
Poor old-man Jenkins, who sat on the stool beside her, eyeing her shapely rear, looked like he had the first hard-on since his wife passed, and was ready to keel over because of it. Either that or he was planning on bending down and planting a long, wet one right on her sweet ass.
Blondie jerked upward, slapping the recovered coaster on the bar. She looked at Jenkins, who had the good sense to bury his ogling behind his whiskey glass, then at Colin. Her tongue came out, taking a leisurely journey over her full red lips. Hunger darkened her hazel eyes.
Oh, yeah, she knew what she was doing. Luring him in just a little bit more in case the bait hadn’t been enticing enough from afar.
He’d started over with the intention of bypassing temptation in a scantily wrapped package and moving on to the open section of the bar to order a beer. Nine months of pent-up testosterone and the enduring image of one fine, round ass raged through his body and boiled his blood. Colin set the empty bottles on the next table he passed and headed straight for Blondie.
In his early twenties, he’d been known for his ability to meet a woman and get her into bed within the next half hour. He was thirty-three now and hadn’t used those seduction skills in damned near eight years. With the blatant way she was looking at him, he might not need to worry about seduction. She might just open her legs and let him plow inside.
He didn’t stop moving until his thighs brushed up against her bare knees. She shifted on the stool, parting her thighs and wordlessly inviting him into their vee. He didn’t go with his body, but his gaze accepted the offer. A glimpse of pale blonde pubic curls, damp with juices and a musky scent that curled into the moist air and wrapped around his nostrils, assured him that the ass shot hadn’t been off in suggesting a lack of panties. She was bare beneath that skirt. Bare and wet. He definitely wouldn’t be needing seduction skills tonight. Minimal conversation, a gratuitous dance or two and he’d be hilt-deep in warm, dripping cream.
Colin brought his gaze back up her body, pausing at the pale but plentiful breasts that plunged above her tank top. “Nice headlights.”
Her eyebrows winged together. “Uh, thanks, but there’s only one.”
The better half of a Harley was visible on her right breast, its headlight flowing over into the slit of her cleavage. That wasn’t the headlight he’d had in mind. “I was talking about your breasts.”
“Oh. Right.” She looked him up and down, settling her attention on his crotch. “Nice bulge.”
He chuckled. Not exactly the most articulate of women, but then he wasn’t looking for an English professor, just someone warm, willing and guaranteed to be gone minutes after the fun ended. “What do you say to a dance?”
“Let me finish my drink.”
Blondie reached behind her, with a hand tipped by short, blood-red nails, to reveal a glass nearly full. He frowned. She’d been sipping her drinks all night. No way was she going to start guzzling them. Taunting his dick by giving him that ass shot or not, she’d obviously lost interest the moment she’d seen him up close. “I’m a big boy, cupcake. I can take no for an answer.”
Her eyes went wide, almost ingenuous. “No,” she gasped. “I mean, I want to dance. Just give me a second to finish my drink.” She proved his guzzling theory wrong, swallowing the drink back like a fish desperate for water. With a smile, she slammed the empty glass on the bar and stood. “Okay. Ready now.”
She moved forward before he could step back and her breasts rubbed teasingly against his chest. The shelf-style bra did nothing to hide the tenting of her nipples. Her hands came up, grasping his forearms, and warmth radiated from her body hot enough to singe. Her hips pushed against his groin, rotating sinuously.
He’d been right about her height. She was petite, barely over five feet. Dusty had been right on every other account. She was a sexual bottle rocket just waiting to go off, and he had the good fortune to get to be the one to light her fuse. She continued to move against him, her sex grinding against the swollen head of his cock, and he realized he wouldn’t be lighting anything, just stoking a fire already in progress.
“What do you say we take this onto the dance floor?” Or back to his bed. His truck would work just as well. It’d be a little crowded in the cab, but they’d manage.
Blondie giggled, then hiccuped. Releasing his arm, she stopped moving and brought her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my gosh! I guess I drank that last one too fast.”
With a second hiccup, she freed his other arm and took his hand, pulling him onto the dance floor. Toby Keith’s “Whiskey Girl” thrummed through the overhead sound system. If the color of her drink was to be believed, Colin had a Cosmo girl on his hands tonight. A Cosmo girl who twirled away from him only to fly back into his arms and nearly knock him and several other dancers onto their asses.
Her laughter mingled with the music. “Oops. I haven’t been dancing in a while.”
More like she hadn’t been drinking in a while. The way she was acting now, he’d say the liquor had gone straight to her head.
He moved back, intending to put some space between them. No matter how happy his shaft was over the idea of sinking into Blondie’s compact little body, he wouldn’t be doing it while she was under the influence. Her arms wrapped around his neck before he could move. She rose on tiptoe and shifted her hips against his, circling with a fast, carnal rhythm that had his balls snugging tightly to his body.
She tipped back her head and implored him through heavily lidded eyes. “Maybe if we dance close enough, I won’t go flying off like that again.”
Her attention lowered to his mouth, hovering there as she thrust her body against his and shimmied her hips. The ridge of her mound rubbed over his erection, chafing the sensitized head through his jeans. He grunted. “Keep it up, cupcake, and you’re going to get a lot more than just a dance.”
Her gaze flew to his. She smiled—not with a hint of naughtiness, but rather as if she were both stunned and pleased with her efforts. “Really? You want me?”
The return of her suggestive moves had seemed too practiced for drunken behavior. The artlessness of her questions now had him confused as hell. Was she plastered, or was it all just part of an act?
Only one way to find out.
Colin mimicked her movements, pressing his throbbing cock into her pelvis and swiveling his hips. “What do you think?”
Colin’s pulse picked up with the dirty words, and the way she punctuated them with a thrust. No way was she plastered. And that meant all signs were go for a well-deserved lay.
Continuing the circling and thrusting rhythm she’d begun, he slid his hands down the curve of her spine to rub her ass through her skirt. He knew she was wet for him, had seen the evidence of that excitement dampening her pubic curls, scented it on the air. He wanted her more so, aroused to the point of near pain—the same way he felt—before he took her out to his truck and sank into her heat. “It is pretty anxious.”
“Is it the headlight?” Her lips moved along his neck, feathering barely there kisses and making his body burn to fever pitch. Nine months was too damned long to go without sex. He would never feel this close to splitting his jeans otherwise.
He wasn’t coming yet. Not until he had her begging for release.
“All three of them. And the skirt. What there is of it.” He slid his hands beneath the jean skirt. Warm, supple flesh filled his palms. He sighed at the feminine softness. Nine months was also too damned long to go without holding a woman in his arms, even temporarily. “This ass isn’t too bad, either.” He squeezed her bare buttocks, pleasuring in her answering sigh.
“Forget to wear your panties, cupcake?”
Her mouth returned to his ear. Hot breath caressed his damp skin and a shiver racked through him. “Panties are overdone. So, you want a blow job?”
The air stuck in Colin’s throat at the abrupt change in topic. His dick pushed hard against his zipper. If she honestly thought he’d say no, then she had to be plastered. “That all depends: How much have you had to drink tonight?”
She pulled back to give him a questioning look. Realization seemed to settle in then and she shook her head. “Oh, gracious, I don’t mean the shot. I mean oral sex.”
Odd. She was acting odd, but not in a drunken way. Not in a way that suggested he should remove his hands from the silkiness of her ass. “You’re going to give me oral sex right here on the dance floor?”
She glanced around, then back at him. “There must be an alley.”
“You want to give me a blow job in an alley?”
“Don’t you think it sounds exciting, being there, where anyone might see us?”
Fuck, yeah. “And dirty.”
“Dirty’s good, though, right?”
The kind of dirty she had in mind, but he’d been thinking in regard to germs. Christ, he’d softened up since bringing on enough employees to handle the fieldwork for his landscaping business. There was a time he’d loved the feel of moist dirt sliding through his fingers. Now he had a hot blonde ready to go down on him and he could only think about the bacteria that dirt carried.
Softer he might be, but he was also healthy enough to risk any germs that lingered in the back alley, particularly when it meant Blondie’s red-hot lips would be wrapped around his dick.
“Yeah, dirty’s good.” With a squeeze, he released her ass and grabbed her hand. “C’mon, dirty girl. Let’s see if we can’t find us an alley.”
Tonight was supposed to be about getting her man and then getting an orgasm from that man. Instead, Joyce was about to go down on her knees in the name of someone else’s pleasure. It was exactly the way sex had gone in her marriage, and yet something was different about tonight. Maybe because she’d done the instigating. It wasn’t Rick pushing her to her knees and sticking his penis in her face, demanding she suck on it. It was her short-term lover leading her into a dark alley—but only after he’d made certain she wanted to be there.
Colin pulled her into a partially shadowed area and pushed her back against the wall. Sticky night air rank with the scent of the dumpsters washed over her. The setting should have been the furthest from what she wanted for her first assertive, sex-goddess adventure. The way he shoved his hands into her hair and slanted his mouth over hers in a hard kiss made it seem perfect. It also made her darned glad she’d had the foresight to pop the stick of gum from her pocket into her mouth on the way outside. She tucked it into her cheek, wanting to taste fresh for him, but not share her gum.
His tongue speared between her lips, roving over her teeth, tangling with hers and stroking greedily. Sensation spiraled in her belly. Shards of wicked delight arrowed direct to her erect nipples and damp sex. Her head spun as she kissed him back, exerting a want she’d never let show in the past. Heck, that she’d never experienced.
His hands pulled from her hair to move down her body and mold to her breasts. Cupping their weight, he pushed them up and out of the shelf bra, exposing the mounds to the gentle breeze and anyone in viewing distance.
Joyce sighed with the first lick of the sultry breeze over her pebbled nipples, and then froze. Despite what she’d said about it being exciting to get caught, she wasn’t ready for an audience to see her naked boobs. It was bad enough she’d mooned the bulk of the patrons inside when she’d only been trying to cover her coaster fumble. She’d forgone panties in an attempt to feel sexier. Instead, she’d felt like an idiot.
Colin’s hard thigh moved between her legs. His knee pushed up against her tingling sex, and rivulets of liquid desire jetted through her body, heating her blood. His thumbs rubbed over her nipples, pressing at the straining buds. A throaty cry filled the night.
Oh, my gosh. Was that her, sounding like a wild animal in dire need?
It might well be, because suddenly she didn’t fear getting caught with her breasts hanging out. Suddenly she could only remember her mission from inside. To get his cock inside her mouth, where she could run her tongue over the weeping head and drive him crazy with her read about if not yet practiced moves.
Liquid courage had emboldened her into standing from her bar stool and all but climbing into his arms. The Cosmos were fast losing their effect. She didn’t need them. Not when she knew the golden rule of being a sex goddess: attitude.
Joyce pulled from his mouth and went down on her knees. Gravel jabbed into the soft pads of knee flesh. She ignored the bite to look up at him and bat her lashes. “Ready for that blow job?” she questioned in the best X-rated whisper she could manage.
She reached to his groin and stroked his hard length through his jeans. Nerves tightened her belly when her fingers continued on for inches. Too many inches.
She jerked her attention to the bulge her hand caressed. What if he was really big—a hot, solid replica of the penis from the sex manual’s spine? What if she couldn’t fit him into her mouth without gagging?
Colin’s cock jerked beneath her hand. He groaned. “Christ, cupcake, you have me ready to explode and we’re not even naked yet.”
The nerves disappeared. Silent thrill coursed through her, power to think she’d made him want her so badly. And, extra big or not, she wanted him. Wanted her mouth on his shaft and wanted it there now.
She tugged at his zipper, whimpering when it refused to budge. His hands came over hers, blocking further attempts.
Joyce’s heart skipped a beat. Oh, gosh, no. He hadn’t changed his mind.
The agonizing thought had her looking up. Lust vivid enough to light up even the darkest shadows of the alley rallied through his sea-green eyes. Her own need pitched higher. The ache in her sex intensified. She felt practically liquid with her longing. Such unfamiliar sensations, the tightening in her belly, the restless throb in her core, and yet something she wanted to experience again and again.
His voice edged with roughness, he asked, “Do I get to know your name first?”
Did he? Achieving the Ultimate Orgasm hadn’t said anything about names. Common sense suggested that giving her name would make this moment about more than just sex. At the same time, she knew his. Givi
ng him a name in return might be the only way to get his zipper down. Tossing out more dirty words probably couldn’t hurt, either. “Caitlyn. With a C, as in ‘cock.’ Do I get to suck on yours now?”
He grimaced as if the question had pained him. “Don’t you want to know mine?”
“Colin. Which also starts with a C, as in ‘cock.’” She wiggled her hand beneath his, licked her lips. “About that suck…”
“Are you in a hurry to get this over with?”
“Not at all.”
Or was she?
Maybe desire didn’t egg her on. Maybe she secretly wanted to get this first adventure over with and prove she was more than a timid bookstore manager. But if that was the case, would her nipples be hard? Would her sex be heavy with wetness and aching for something inside it?
No. She didn’t want to get it over with. She wanted this tall, sexy, wondrously built stranger because she hungered for him, and not because she’d been coerced into having him. “I want to taste you. I want to feel your cock sliding between my lips. I want to feel you coming in my mouth.”
Uncertainty flashed through his eyes, quickly replaced by carnal appetite. He lifted her hand from his zipper and pulled down on the tab. Bringing her hand back to his fly, he set it over the swollen bulge of his cock. “Then I suggest you get my dick out and start sucking on it. A few more strokes and there won’t be anything left to swallow.”
Joyce’s face warmed as she pushed into his jeans and past his underwear. Her fingertips met with wetness and she ordered her hands not to shake. There was no reason to act timid now, not seconds away from getting her tongue on him.
He pushed his jeans and underwear down lean hips to his knees. His shaft sprang free, directly into her hand. She gasped at the sight of it rising from a tangle of sandy-brown pubic hair. So long, so thick, so incredibly warm and male. Covering her gasp with a sigh, she leaned forward and settled her lips around the dark pink tip. Gingerly, she tongued the ridge that surrounded the sensitive head.
After Hours Page 21