One Taste

by Cari Quinn

  She climbed onto the bed, closing her eyes as he brought her close with his good arm. When he tucked her head against his chest, she couldn’t hold back her sigh. Had anything ever felt this good? This right?

  This…risky?

  Unable to resist, she rubbed her palm over the warm, taut skin of his ribcage, absorbing the feeling of bone and sinew. The wild throb of her heartbeat echoed in her ears as she slid her hand against the light bristle of hair encircling his navel.

  Touch more. Take. You know you want to.

  Daring herself, she trailed her nail along the path of hair that disappeared beneath his waistband. The knot of his sweats was right there. Not letting herself think, she undid the string, widening the gap between the bunched fabric and his stomach. Her fingers darted beneath the band. Seeking. Caressing.

  Stop.

  The warning issued in her mind, but her hand wasn’t listening. Inside her, a dangerous force had taken over. Need bubbled in her veins, pumped through her with every breath. As her hand slid further into his sweats, then under his briefs, her urgency grew, tangling with a sweet sense of power she couldn’t have suppressed if she tried.

  Her gaze shot to his face, dawdled there. His eyes were closed, his mouth lax and vulnerable. She took a shuddery breath and encircled his shaft with her fingers. He wasn’t hard yet, but not all of him was sleeping. Not by a long shot.

  Here was her chance to take charge and for once, just once, let her inner wild-child free. But if he didn’t want this, she wouldn’t push him.

  A soft chuckle escaped her. As if.

  She rolled down his waistband and nibbled the hot skin covering his jumping muscles. She licked him again, dragging her teeth along the edge of the dense hair that circled the base of his cock. More muscles tensed under her tongue as she nipped and bit and nuzzled. He jerked in her hold, swelling under her fingers so fast an exhilarated laugh rumbled through her.

  Certain parts of him clearly approved. But that wasn’t a yes. Some things with men were as involuntary as breathing, penis function among them. She wanted a much more personal agreement from him.

  Bottom line, she’d wanted him far too long, starting from the night she’d been helping Mrs. Willoughby find her variety of Polident. When her gaze had landed on Vincent, she’d tossed him the standard store greeting.

  Welcome to the Quikky Snak. How may I—uh, we—serve you today?

  He hadn’t answered her question, but he’d smiled. Just smiled, all cocky self-assurance in his long black coat and gray business suit, paired with white sneakers with lime-green laces.

  She hadn’t been the same since.

  Kiki turned her head, rubbing her cheek against the rough smattering of hair on his stomach. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, but his lips parted, allowing her to hear the low hiss of his breathing.

  Asleep, my ass.

  She swung her leg over his stomach, straddling him. Then she sifted her fingers through his thick hair and studied his face.

  God, he was beautiful, especially when his features were relaxed. With the artifice of seduction gone, she noticed all the details she’d never dared look long enough to catalog before. The precise bow of his full lips, the blade of his nose, his slashing brows. How his hair fell across his forehead, and curled over his ears.

  His eyes finally opened as she removed his glasses, and what she saw in those dark depths wasn’t fatigue or confusion. They spoke to her, giving her the permission she’d wished for without even having to ask.

  Nerves fluttered in her belly before desire extinguished them. Right now, Vincent’s long, rangy body was her playground. And oh, how she intended to play.

  She tugged off her shirt and peeled the lacy material of her bra away from her breasts. Her lips curved at Vincent’s sharp sound of pleasure as she bent to kiss his chest. She swirled her tongue over his nipple, drawing deeply to seal his taste in her memory.

  Old Spice flooded her nose just as images of Nico flooded her mind.

  No. She squeezed her eyes shut. Not here. Not now.

  Kiki slithered lower, her breasts brushing his stomach with every wiggle. She dipped her tongue into his navel, and his gasp shattered Nico’s memory like a velvet-covered hammer.

  Going, going, gone.

  His fingers twisted in her hair, and he drew her closer. She explored his taut muscles with her mouth, the erotic little frissons along her scalp causing a fresh gush of moisture between her legs. Maybe he wouldn’t be the only one coming, after all.

  Watching him while he watched her through half-lidded eyes, she licked his rigid shaft, experimenting with flicks and curls of her tongue as she discovered what made his breath come faster. What made his hips raise clear off the bed, pushing him deeper until he bumped the back of her throat.

  Still licking him, she dragged her nail down the vein that throbbed under her touch. Then, sucking slowly, she rolled the onyx cabochon on her thumb ring over his balls. The contrast between her gentle sucking and the brutal rub of her ring had just the effect she’d hoped. “Kiki.” She barely heard his ragged moan over the blood roaring in her ears. “C’mere.”

  She pulled her mouth away with a soft whoosh, her gaze hot on his. Why did she feel so much safer in the dark? So much more in control? “No. Busy here.”

  Wetting her lips, she drew on him again, harder now, cushioning her breasts on either side of his erection. Every time her nipples brushed his groin, a tremor shot through her and his groans rippled the air.

  She was driving him wild. Hell, she was driving herself wild, and it felt so good.

  Bracing one hand on his clenched thigh, she sucked him deeper, his frantic thrusts alerting her he’d reached the edge of his control.

  Time to push him over.

  She pressed her fingertip behind his sac, exerting a firm pressure. He cursed, and knotted his hands in her hair as he drove himself farther inside. Though her nipples hardened to the point of agony, worry seized her at his punishing grip. He had to be hurting himself. His shoulder—

  Her name burst from his lips as his climax thundered through him. He jerked inside her mouth, his release scalding her throat, but she continued to suck, swallowing every drop.

  Triumph rolled through her at his gasps. This was what sex could be like. She didn’t have to feel like a guest at her own party. She could feel fully involved. Invigorated.

  Alive.

  She didn’t stop bathing him with her tongue until he nudged her head away with a resigned, utterly contented sigh. “Baby, keep that up and I’ll come again.”

  Her own throaty laughter shocked her. She’d never heard herself laugh like that in bed before. To her, sex was serious business with one purpose only. Release.

  She crawled up his body, leaving a path of wet kisses in her wake. As her fingertips danced up his sides, slick with sweat, she smiled. That she’d had that effect on him rocked her. True, any guy would enjoy a woman giving him a blow job, especially with a happy ending. But right now, she needed to believe it was more than that.

  They had chemistry. It wouldn’t ever result in more than a few firework shows between—or on top of—the sheets, but she was glad she hadn’t rejected something that felt so right just because of past experience.

  And because he was a player, born and bred.

  And because she didn’t have the necessary equipment to interest him beyond a few entertaining romps, if his sexual history meant anything.

  Vincent’s hand cupped her chin, tilting her face up so he could meet her eyes. Even in the faint moonlight, his expression proved he could see more deeply inside of her than she would’ve preferred. Deep enough her flaws and insecurities flashed in neon.

  “You’ll stay?”

  Overcome, she lowered her cheek to his chest. His heart beat under her lips, reassuring her even while reminding her of what had happened a mere four days ago.

  She glanced at his alarm clock. A little over ninety-six hours ago, her life had changed completely.


  “Even though black silk sheets are a cliché….” She fought to smile. “I’ll stay.”

  He laughed quietly. “Silk’s nice.”

  “Flannel’s better. Less slippery. Better for cuddling.”

  “You’re one of those, hmm? A cuddler?”

  “I don’t like getting cold feet.”

  His quiet laughter soothed her, lulling her into a sense of safety she could get addicted to. Which made it very dangerous.

  Hesitatingly, her arms circled his torso. That he was whole and safe and here in her arms seemed like some kind of miracle. “Sleep,” she whispered, hoping he couldn’t hear her voice tremble.

  Hoping more he couldn’t feel her tears on his skin.

  Chapter Seven

  When Vincent woke, Kiki was gone. The only thing she’d left behind was her scent on his sheets. He finally swapped them for the flannel ones his grandmother had bought him last Christmas. They’d never been used.

  After an afternoon of bad TV, he decided to look up her number, though it broke the cardinal rule he’d set years ago. The last time he’d gotten rejected in high school, he’d vowed never to call a woman who hadn’t called him first.

  Showing up at her door the other day had been one thing. He’d owed her an apology. But seeking her out for—

  What? What did he need from her, exactly?

  Screw it. A phone call was a phone call. No further explanation needed.

  Except Kiki’s number was unlisted. Undeterred, he called Lynsay’s cell. And promptly got her voicemail.

  So much for taking charge.

  He spent the rest of the day on the couch. His grandmother stopped by with more soup and movies on her way to the drop some clothes off at the Goodwill. She fussed at him as she always did, and he did his best to hide his ill temper. Kiki’s disappearance had wreaked more havoc on his mood than he’d expected. Even so, he managed to act sufficiently cheerful that his grandmother eventually left him to his afternoon talk shows and his thoughts.

  Throughout the day, his laptop taunted him from the coffee table. He ignored it. Why bother? His book wouldn’t write itself but he couldn’t concentrate. The pain was more manageable—it was a good day—but his current preoccupation with a certain brunette precluded any chance of putting down some words. Kiki had surprised him. Thrown him clear off course. He never would’ve expected her to crawl into bed with him last night and then to just leave without a word….

  Forget surprised. She’d shocked the hell out of him. And that was neither here nor there, since he had things to do. Mulling Kiki’s motives for her incredible game of suck-and-go wouldn’t improve his word count.

  Finally out of ways to stall, he opened his work-in-progress. His shoulder hurt a little less, but not enough less that he could suddenly start churning out words. But he still managed to make a little progress until approximately seven forty-five.

  Then he watched the clock. And waited.

  They hadn’t discussed a regular time. Hadn’t discussed anything beyond that day’s work.

  Stupid. Why should it matter he had no way of reaching her, short of arriving at her door like a love-starved teenager? She’d show if she showed, and that was that.

  The knock on his door at eight hit him square in the gut. When he rose to answer it—waiting long enough she wouldn’t think he was too eager—the palms he rubbed against his pants were actually damp.

  He imagined his greeting as he crossed to the door. With a lazy smile, he’d ask where she’d run off to so soon, as if the answer barely mattered. But that was before he glimpsed her bundled up in her snow gear, her cheeks bright from the cold, and the lips that had engulfed his cock the night before, shiny and pink.

  All the blood in his body drained south. Plan? What plan?

  He tugged her over the threshold with his good arm, barely cognizant of her startled squeak before his mouth swooped down to cover hers. She tasted pepperminty, as if she’d been sucking on a candy cane again. He swept his tongue between her lips to taste more of her while her arms locked around his neck.

  All at once, his world righted. If he hadn’t been so consumed by having her in his arms—or arm, since only one was doing most of the work—that might have worried him. But it was hard to worry when her snowy fingers were whipping through his hair, blazing an icy-hot path down his neck that made him shiver for reasons that had nothing to do with cold.

  He dug through the layers of outerwear to cup her denim-clad ass. Pain streaked through his shoulder, but he ignored it. That’s what drugs were for.

  His cock swelled against his khakis, nudging her stomach. But she didn’t retreat. Her tongue twirled around his, and she inched up higher to grind against him. “Vincent,” she gasped as he tore his mouth away to rain kisses down her neck.

  “I changed my sheets.” Taking her gloved hand in his, he booted his door shut and backed toward his bedroom. “Wanna see?”

  Her laughter spun around him, weaving a sticky web he had no desire to fight his way through. “But the book—”

  He silenced her with a kiss and, piece by piece, shed her gear. Her coat fell to the floor, along with her gloves and her scarf. Still walking with him, she managed to kick off her boots without losing pace.

  Forgetting himself, he elbowed his bedroom door open with his bad arm. The resulting wave of agony nearly made him lose his balance, but she caught him neatly around the waist, altering the move so they pitched together sideways onto his bed.

  Thank God he didn’t have a footboard.

  The pain snatched away his enjoyment of holding her, along with most of his rational thoughts. So he closed his eyes and prayed it would recede. Her soft murmurs as she kissed his jaw and throat definitely helped speed up the process. Eventually he could feel something other than the piercing ache coursing down his arm. He even managed to shift onto his other side in a position that didn’t hurt. Much.

  He slipped his hand under her well-worn corduroy shirt and found hot, bare skin. He wrestled with buttons, clumsily ripping them free while he danced kisses up her ribcage. As he finally yanked her shirt open—with her help—her back arched, pushing her milk-white breasts toward his mouth.

  No bra.

  “Thank you, Jesus.”

  Her moan blazed through him like lightning as he captured her nipple between his teeth. The husky sound reminded him of her whimpers in his fantasies, though it was about two decibels too low to suit him.

  Vincent lifted his head, noting the dusky color riding her cheekbones. When she slid a hand up to cover her breast, he kissed her palm and, keeping his eyes on hers, reached over to turn out the light. At once, her arms and legs enfolded him, as if he’d given her an early Christmas present just by plunging them into the darkness.

  “Hang on,” he murmured, shifting her back enough to give his throbbing arm room. “Broken guy here, remember?”

  “Shit, I’m sorry. I got carried away.” She stroked his bandage as she dropped kisses down his neck. Soft, slippery kisses that made him ache for another reason.

  “It’s okay.” He let out a long breath when her tongue flicked under his earlobe. “Really.”

  “Want to stop?”

  “Hell, no. Why do you think they invented pain pills?”

  She laughed and smoothed her hands down his chest with speed and unerring accuracy. Already she knew where and how he liked to be touched, but he couldn’t say the same.

  That was about to change.

  He unzipped her jeans, expecting to find some lacy confection. Instead, he found lots of warm skin and a trail of hair that barely covered her drenched heat. “Laundry day.” She laughed against his mouth, swallowing his sound of appreciation. “Nothing was clean.”

  “I love laundry day.” Hooking a finger inside her soft, wet folds, he coaxed her lips open with his tongue. Again he savored her peppermint flavor, but he wanted more. He needed to sample all of her. Every creamy inch.

  “Clothes off.” He shifted his focus lower and bit
her nipple, tonguing it to soothe the ache as his thumb flicked her clit. Her moan was instantaneous. It didn’t shake the rafters, but there was definite improvement.

  Once she was naked, he lay back against the pillows. He knew she’d think he’d finished the foreplay portion of the evening’s entertainment, especially after the previous night’s roll-over-and-fall-asleep routine.

  She was so wrong.

  “You’re going to have to work with me here,” he said in a low voice. “I can’t move like I usually do, but I’ll do my damn best to make this worth your while.”

  “No doubts there. Truly.”

  Noting that she was already breathless, his lips quirked. “Get up here then.”

  Kiki climbed on top, drawing his glasses off in an eerie replay of last night. But this time he locked his good arm around her waist, urging her forward as he sidled down. Ouch. Too fast. He stiffened his spine and tried again. Going slow and easy was damn near impossible with her. He wedged her thighs open farther with his shoulders—and oh shit, did that hurt—before he speared his tongue into her welcoming warmth.

  She braced, but her nerves seemed to dissipate fast under his onslaught of teeth, tongue, and lips. Her taste brought to mind some kind of naughty apple pie, spice and sin all rolled into one. God, so damn good. A woman might wear makeup, might load up on perfume. But some parts of herself she couldn’t mask, and he craved exploring Kiki that intimately with a hunger he’d never known. He couldn’t get enough.

  His fingers dug into her hips and he lapped at her, pulling the bead of her arousal between his teeth, then releasing it to slide his tongue into her core. Deep, deeper. But even as she rode his mouth, she adjusted her stance over him, shifting so her weight wasn’t on his left shoulder.

  His pain ceased immediately. He’d be sure to thank her when his mouth wasn’t occupied. Like a couple years from now.

  When her sexy cries drowned out even his own thundering heartbeat, he pressed teasing kisses along her inner thigh. “What the hell?” he murmured, noticing two distinct dark spots inches away from where he’d just had his mouth.