But she should not be so titillated by his quid-pro-quo offer, by the way he said “fuck.” She should not. Bad girl. But God, he was even hotter in person than on the back of the faded paperback. He was older of course, with faint lines around his eyes that she’d hesitate to modify by the word “laugh” given his apparent disposition. His black hair was longer and curlier than in the photo, as if he’d been running his fingers through it, and in person, his dark green eyes were noticeably fringed with ridiculously long lashes. They would’ve looked almost feminine on any other guy, but on his strong-boned, weathered face, they looked wildly sexy. Dressed in low-slung jeans that hugged his slim hips and a plaid shirt across his broad chest, he clearly wasn’t even trying. But guys like him didn’t have to.
And despite his crack about kismet, wasn’t it kind of like fate that she’d ended up here? It must mean something more than making sure she would get her interview and nab another A in her long line of As. It was hard to cuddle up with a report card—or have hot sex with it, for that matter.
“Thinking it over? What’d you say your name was? Mary?”
“Clarie.”
“Whatever. Do you want a drink?”
It was about the most civil thing he’d said to her since he’d slammed open the cabin door, and it was undoubtedly only because he wanted to get laid. This was ridiculous. She’d graduated from Columbia summa cum laude. She’d have her PHD soon. She didn’t need to hop in bed with a guy to get a good grade.
She watched as he brought the bottle to his lips a second time, a slight smile still in his expression.
On the other hand, she could hop into bed with him just because she wanted to, this being the twenty-first century and all. The thought gave her a delicious warm sensation. Could she…? She couldn’t.
He put down the whiskey bottle on the counter and closed the distance between them while she was reminding herself of her impeccable resume and having him right in front of her, this close, drove her credentials right out of her head.
“Or do you want to forget about a drink and just get to the fucking?”
Leaning down, he whispered the words into her ear and she shivered.
She pulled back to murmur, “So what if I did say yes? What if I am dying to be romanced by Byron?”
“I said fucked,” he muttered, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his touch surprisingly gentle for all his tough talk, and tilting her up to him. Then his mouth covered hers, still a little cold from the outside and tasting of whiskey, but oh so very hot in the only way that mattered. When he thrust his tongue in, she felt that darned stab of desire thing again. He cupped the back of her head, holding her to him while he kissed her. The intensity of it overrode any good girl objections that might have been lingering in her mind, given she was sure she didn’t have one anymore. A mind, that is.
He was sticking his tongue practically down her throat and biting her lips lightly, following his attentions up a second later with sucking her own tongue. It was so impossibly hot that she arched up against him and felt him grope for the bottom of her sweater. He broke the kiss for a second, whipping the wet garment up and over her head almost before she even registered it. Okay, now that was a little abrupt. Then he yanked her tee-shirt up and off, throwing it to the side where it went to join her wet sweater on the floor.
“Hey,” she said ambiguously, placing her hands on his wrists as he put his own hands on her now-bare waist.
“I get to see what’s under the sweater, remember?” His tone was low and a little hoarse, and he tugged her closer until she could feel his erection against her stomach. His lips were at her temple and then the curve of her neck. Geez…she didn’t know how Byron had stacked up, but it certainly felt as if Liam Conner came with all the right equipment. She placed her palms on his chest, trying to slow him down a little, but his hands dipped suddenly around to the small of her back, caressing the overly sensitized naked skin there with those big hands of his, and the pleasure of it drove her even closer to him. Moaning, she brought her hands up to his shoulders, slipping underneath the flannel of his shirt to clutch the hot, hard flesh beneath.
Her touch on his bare skin seemed to galvanize him and he reclaimed her mouth, digging his hands even lower down the back of her low-rise jeans. She felt his hands slip underneath the cotton of her underwear, fondling one bare cheek in each hand. While his tongue quested further in her mouth, his hard cock jerked against her bare stomach. She squirmed against him and he raised his head. “God, you are hot,” he whispered as she thrust her fingers in his hair now, clinging to him.
Maybe she really was a literary groupie. Here she was, standing in her bra, letting him kiss her and rub that long hard cock against her, and it wasn’t five minutes since she’d met him. Well, met him in person anyway. It seemed as if she’d met Liam Conner a long, long time ago when she’d first picked up the slim volume comprising his first novel and soaked up the poetry between its covers.
At the thought that this was really him, Liam Conner, she ceded any further reservations, kissing him back wildly, leaning up into him, pulling him down. He thrust one of his jean-clad legs between her own and she almost felt as if he had thrust his cock up into her, it resonated so acutely, as she rode his hard thigh.
“Oh, I’m going to fuck you, you hot little…” He muttered the words, still kissing her, his hands coming swiftly up to deftly unfasten the clasp of her bra, whipping it off her, baring her breasts to the still-cold air and then pulling away to look down at her.
She tried to yank him back to her, but he resisted. “Wait a minute. Let me look.” And he did, those dark lashes dipping down. Then he took one of her breasts in each of his large hands, feeling them, stroking them, his thumbs brushing the nipples as she shivered. She gasped. His hands were rough, and the tactile friction of them against her skin mesmerized her.
“Beautiful.” He bent his head and flicked his tongue across one nipple.
“Oh, god,” she moaned.
His hands went to the snap at her waist.
“Let’s get you out of these wet jeans.”
Chapter Two
Her nipples were pale pink until he flicked his tongue against one and watched it, felt it, harden into a dusky rose nub. Against the background of her creamy-white breasts, full and firm, they looked impossibly erotic. Liam tried to remember the last time he’d had sex and failed. The urgency of his throbbing cock as he played with this half-naked girl, this gift of manna from heaven, however, told him it had been quite some time.
He wasn’t sure how they had gotten so far so fast or why she was letting him. But he didn’t care, each touch taking them further, revving them higher.
Unsnapping her jeans, he yanked the zipper down, and slid his hand beneath the elastic of her plain cotton underwear, feeling the smooth, warm skin of her belly against his palm. Nice, but not enough. Not nearly enough. He made his way farther down to her soft and fluffy pubic hair and then his fingers sought out her clit, rubbing a little before venturing into paradise. With a surge of masculine satisfaction that he had thought long dead, he registered she was already wet. When he thrust his middle finger up into her slick pussy, she caught her breath and rotated her hips into it.
He had intended to go slow, to make sure she was okay with this, but her response rendered him almost incapable of it as she whimpered a little, her eyes closing, her tits jiggling with the heavy breaths she was taking. And her pussy. She was clutching his finger so tight, his cock painfully pounded against his own zipper to get out.
Fuck. He wanted in. Now. Desperately.
He swiftly withdrew his finger, prompting her to open her eyes with a little murmur of discontent, and he quickly peeled her wet jeans down her ass, crouching in front of her while she balanced her hands on his shoulders as he bared her. Normally—from what he could remember, anyway—seeing a woman’s body for the first time always necessitated a good long look, a swipe of his hands along each smooth and curved surfac
e as it was revealed, and a deep inhale of the smell of her cunt.
But frankly he couldn’t take the time right now. Whether it was the whiskey or his long celibacy or this fresh young girl, he had no idea. He just knew his eagerness almost overwhelmed him as she stepped out of her jeans, one leg at a time, taking her panties with them. She started to peel off her white knee socks and he batted her hands away, standing up and pulling her straight up with him. He backed her up into the wood of the cabin wall.
“Shouldn’t we…”
Kissing his way up her neck, he fumbled with the belt on his jeans.
“I mean…isn’t there a bed or…”
He covered her mouth with his own, thrusting his tongue in half to keep her from talking and half because he could not get enough of kissing her. He finally got his belt open, wrenched his zipper down and pushed aside his boxers to free his rock-hard cock. He took it in hand and rubbed the hot, throbbing head of it against her flat stomach. A drop of moisture leaked out. Oh, God, that felt so fucking amazing. He was almost home.
But she pulled her mouth away and planted her palms on his shoulders. “A condom,” she said breathlessly, staring up at him. “Don’t go in me without a condom.”
He froze. Fuck. How he longed for the bad old days, so long ago now he’d been barely in his teens. No political correctness. No fucking condoms. Taking a deep breath, he admitted, “I don’t have one.”
She pushed against him, scrambling out from under his arms, and he watched helplessly at the erotic picture she made with the curve of her waist, her bare ass jiggling slightly as she trotted away from him, naked in those white knee socks. Before he could expire of frustration, he heard her say, “I’ve got one in my bag.”
Probably about the sweetest words he’d ever heard.
He collapsed back against the wall and quickly unbuttoned his shirt, flinging it aside, and then shucked his pants and boxers in the bargain before she had finished rummaging through her bag and come back with that blessed foil-wrapped package.
“Do you want me to put it on?” she asked, almost shyly, and he snatched it from her, his urgency in full force.
“No.” He had the condom out and on so quickly he seemed to startle her when he picked her up, flipping her around so her back was to the wall again, tipping her just so. “Fuck.” His moan accompanied his thrust into her, accomplishing the action right as he voiced it. She was wet and hot and ready and he buried his face in her hair as he grasped her hips and pulled out that little way to drive back in with everything he had.
She moaned and wrapped her long legs around his waist, digging those sock-covered heels into his butt as he went at her.
One thing about a condom. For better or worse, it didn’t let you lie to yourself. You couldn’t pretend you hadn’t meant for it to go so far or hadn’t meant for it to happen. She wanted it to happen. She wanted for it to go as far as they could take it. She realized that as she volunteered the condom.
And of course she had one. Like any modern young lady, she was always prepared. Not that she’d needed to be much lately. But now, suddenly, she was in the middle of nowhere with the man whose prose she’d been admiring and analyzing for as long as she could remember.
Oh, and he was so drop-dead sexy that he was practically giving her an orgasm just by French kissing her.
Don’t forget that little fact.
Her fingers were in the long silky hair at the nape of his neck as he drove into her, his cock impossibly big and hard. She wasn’t a virgin by any means, and she’d even been known to once or twice try bedroom appliances with names like “Mega Vibe” and “Mr. Big”, but she’d never felt anything like this, the urgency of Liam Conner’s hard cock thrusting deep inside her and then back, his hands gripping her ass to tilt him to her. She moved against him, how he wanted her, how he positioned her, but with his relentless pounding she found herself matching his urgency with the grip of her inner muscles against his cock, the helpless tug of her fingers in his hair.
The sound of their panting struck her as impossibly loud and she moaned, not quite knowing what she was saying. “I can’t take it.”
The hands on her butt cheeks clenched. There would be bruises there tomorrow she was sure, marks of his possession. He lifted his head, pausing, glittering green eyes, flushed cheeks, and thrust his cock in once, hard. “You can take it.”
She tightened her legs around his hips and closed her eyes against the overwhelming sensations as he pulled out and then thrust back in again.
With that thrust, she came, pulling him closer with her heels against his ass, probably ripping some of his hair out by the roots as she tugged, but he didn’t complain. Panting, they were still and she realized that though she had climaxed, he was still hard within her. His lips pressed softly to her shoulder, then her neck and still he didn’t move, rock hard within her but not moving. She moaned, a funny keening sound that she didn’t recognize and his cock slid out and then in again. She took a deep breath.
“That’s right, baby. Hold me tight.”
Her arms clenched around his neck, her inner muscles spasmed around his relentless cock, her legs around his waist. Hold him tight? Christ, she felt as if they were one.
The thought startled her as he started to move in earnest, pumping in and out, his harsh breath in her ear. She could feel herself climbing with him again as he moved to kiss her and then he let go himself, his hips pinning her to the wall as his powerful cock thrust one more time and he had his release, shuddering against her lips as she cried out and came again.
When she could breathe again, she realized he still held her, his face buried in her wet hair. She felt his lips against her neck as she slid her legs down to the floor. Part of her didn’t want him to raise his head, didn’t want to come out of the sensual dream she’d somehow tumbled into so quickly. She felt his fingers move lightly up her back, causing a shiver, which was ridiculous given how hard she’d just come. Her hands drifted from his hair, down to his shoulders, wrapping around his neck to hold him to her.
And it was as if her move to keep him drove him away. He lifted his head and untangled her arms, sliding out of her and stepping back. His breathing had slowed, and his green eyes were more shuttered. But it wasn’t hard to read what was in them.
A dismissal.
“Well now, if I was grading you, I’d certainly give you an A-plus for that performance.”
Liam was surprised sometimes he hadn’t ever actually resorted to kicking puppies or snatching suckers out of the hands of young children. He was a mean bastard.
He busied himself with tugging off the condom to avoid the hurt look in her wide-open blue eyes. What the hell did she expect? Sonnets? He knotted the end of the condom and went to throw it out in the waste basket in the kitchen. His back to her, he reclaimed the whiskey bottle and took another drink.
God, that had been sweet. She had been sweet. Between her legs, buried so far up her, he couldn’t think, could only feel. Feel the warm, welcoming clutch of her cunt, the desperate tugs on his hair, the soft moans and pants as he fucked her. His cock stirred, greedy, ungrateful monster that it was. But shit, the feeling was better than anything, better than whiskey. Unfortunately, he couldn’t spend all his time in bed with a starry-eyed grad student. Being drunk, however, could be perfected into a full-time endeavor. He took another swig of the whiskey. He should know.
“Why don’t you write anymore?”
The unexpected question softly asked behind him pissed him off more than he would’ve thought possible given the sated feeling that still hung over him. He swung around to the sight of her already in her panties, fastening her bra. “What business is it of yours? I’ve known you like, what, ten minutes? You think fucking me gives you a right to nose around in my life?”
“The interview.” She slipped her wet tee-shirt over her head. “Remember. I guess I’m entitled to it now, after all.”
“Oh yeah.” He felt like an ass. “Don’t put those wet clo
thes on again. You’ll catch pneumonia.” He went into his bedroom and yanked a shirt out of the closet. “Put this on.”
Handing her the soft red flannel, he saw she was about to put it on over her shirt and bra and he pulled it away from her. “Not over the wet clothes. Take them off.” He punctuated his words with doing it himself, tugging the tee-shirt over her head and off and unhooking the bra. She took over, shrugging out of the bra, and he watched, mesmerized like a teen catching his first glimpse of a girl’s boobs.
When her hands went to her panties, he turned away quickly, reclaiming his own pants which were dry thanks to the length of the parka, and pulled them on together with the boxers. The awkwardness he felt was unnerving, but when he finally looked back at her, the red flannel covered her to the tops of her thighs, like an old fashioned nightshirt. The knee socks were gone and she was wringing the water out of her long tail of hair.
“Fine. So let’s get this over with,” he said curtly. “What do you want to ask me?”
This was so not how she had planned her interview with Liam Conner to go. She’d had a speech prepared for him of course, for when she eventually got to meet her, well, her idol, she supposed. But she wasn’t prepared to deliver it on such short notice and under such strange circumstances. She had envisioned sharing a long cup of coffee in some trendy café, as he casually talked about his career and she soaked up all his words of wisdom. He’d be self-depreciating and witty and she’d be hip and attentive.
Sore between her thighs from the ride he’d given her, her breasts still heavy and full, and pathetically wanting nothing more than to snuggle up with him, was not how she had planned it.
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