by Heidi Rice
She could feel the ridge in his pants, pressing into her tummy. “Um, yes, very good.”
He chuckled, the sound deep and gruff. Working off her top, he surveyed her bra, brushing his thumb across the satin cup until her nipple ruched into a hard point.
“Then let the cross-examination begin.” He licked at the satin-covered tip before sucking it against the roof of his mouth.
She grasped his head, sinking her fingers into the soft silky strands, the wet suction both too much and not nearly enough.
Lifting her onto the kitchen counter, he stood back to survey the damage. “Nope, don’t think that looks decent when wet. Definitely guilty as charged.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “You might as well be naked.”
She unclipped the bra’s hook, let it hang down, caught on the tips of her breasts. “If you say so.”
He slid a finger under the strap and lifted the swatch of satin and lace away, leaving her naked to the waist. Her breathing became ragged, her breasts swollen and heavy, the hint of wetness left by his kiss chilling her already sensitive nipples in the stream of air from the unit. Grabbing her hips, he lifted her into his arms. She hooked her legs round his waist, holding onto his shoulders as he carried her into the barge’s bedroom, her breath too ragged now to contemplate conversation.
Dropping her onto the bed, he closed the door, sealing them into the small room. He stripped off his shirt as she kicked off her Converse. The daylight glimmered off the water, flooding into the space to highlight the firm contours of muscle and sinew.
She’d had nooners before, back when she would wake up at midday and yearn for a drink while she tried to remember who the hell was sprawled out beside her—and what the hell they’d been doing the night before. But she’d never had one sober before. And now she wondered why she’d missed out on the wicked treat. He looked glorious in the sunlight. The dark whorls of hair on his chest tapering down through the ridged muscles of his six pack.
For a desk jockey he was certainly ripped.
Her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of the thick erection as he dropped the cutoffs and boxers. He grabbed a box of condoms from the nightstand. She watched as he rolled one onto the hard length, the teasing light in his eyes darkening with determination.
The throbbing ache between her thighs became unbearable.
“Now to test those panties,” he said, his voice husky as he joined her on the bed.
He inched her zipper down, then edged the pants over her hips and down her legs, until the only thing left protecting her from his intense gaze was the thin satin of her panties. Angling her knees up, she lay back still watching him. Anticipation and excitement built to fever pitch as he pressed his nose to the fragile gusset, already soaked with her juices.
“You smell glorious,” he said.
A staggered purr of pleasure choked out, but what had been playful a moment ago, seemed suddenly serious.
Nudging the gusset aside, he blew on her heated flesh.
She jerked, the teasing contact too much and still not nearly enough. “Please, you need to…”
The plea cut off as his tongue explored her folds, then flicked over the straining nub.
She bucked, arching into the delicious caress. “Yes, just exactly there.”
The rough chuckle was both temptation and torture. “You sure? How about here?”
He circled and licked, taking her to the brink of completion, then drawing back to tease and torment.
She panted, the coil tightening like a fist, her heart swelling up to hammer at her ribcage.
“Don’t stop, please don’t stop…” she urged him on, getting closer and closer to the edge but not close enough. Then he captured the swollen nub, and suckled hard.
A keening cry ripped from her as she flew over that final peak, the pleasure cresting in a never ending wave. She clung to him as he rose over her, stunned by the intensity of her orgasm and the fierce approval in his gaze.
“Again,” he said, those deep green eyes fixed on her face. “I want to see you do that again.”
Ripping away her panties, he pulled her up until he sat on the bed and she straddled him. Large hands bracketed her hips, encouraging her, directing her, as she sank down on his thrusting cock.
Her mind reeled, the fullness stretching her unbearably, his penis impossibly large inside her. She gripped his shoulders, firm with muscle and, using her knees for leverage, rose up to impale herself again.
He swore, his fingers digging into her waist, and began pumping up to meet her. Going further, forcing her to take even more of him as they established a furious rhythm.
Shock warred with sensation, the rub of his cock making the heat build again.
The wave rose towards her like a tsunami, destroying everything in its path.
“I can’t come again,” she cried, sure she couldn’t because she never had before.
“Yes, you can,” he demanded, his thumb locating her clit to caress the very heart of her.
The second climax hit like a freight train, hard and fast and unstoppable. She sobbed, shattering into a million tiny pieces.
She heard his yell of completion, her pussy clenching on him as he followed her into oblivion.
He felt back onto the bed and she flopped on top of him. Exhausted, spent, and a little shaky. Her cheek nestled against his neck, the salty scent of his sweat a potent accompaniment to the funky smell of sex.
“Damn,” he murmured, the tone awestruck as his arms folded over her and gathered her close, his hands stroking her back to soothe and caress. “That wasn’t just an endorphin fix it was a freaking endorphin apocalypse. You’re amazing, Zelda.”
She pushed out a laugh, aware of the strange weight pressing under her breastbone at the compliment. She pulled out of his arms and lay on the bed beside him. The roll and sway of the water made the boat creak as she stared at the ceiling fan, stirring the muggy air and pebbling her flushed skin.
She shivered, the heavy weight still sitting on her chest, the unsteady beats of her heart punching her ribcage. How had he known just how to touch her, and tease her, and why had he held her like that afterwards. As if she mattered to him?
She lifted her arm above her head, letting it lie on the bed as she turned to him.
It’s just the sex talking. The seriously amazing sex talking.
“That was quite a work out, counselor,” she said, keeping her voice flippant.
But then he reached out to trace his fingertip over her cheek and her heart bobbed into her throat.
“Zelda, you really are incredible. Who knew bad girls could be so damn gorgeous?”
She captured his finger, to draw it away from her face, the weight starting to crush her. Sitting up, she scooted off the bed.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I need a shower.” She threw the words over her shoulder, scared to look back at him as she rushed into the bathroom, her legs trembling.
She closed the door and locked it, just in case Ty had any ideas about joining her. Then leaned on the sink and locked her knees to keep from falling on her arse.
Bloody hell, Madison, stop freaking out. You’ve had seriously amazing sex loads of times.
Maybe not an endorphin apocalypse. Not that she could remember anyway. But there was a lot of stuff from her drinking days she didn’t remember.
But who would ever have guessed there could be so much more to Mr. High and Mighty than just a sexy glare? The tender smile. The wry humor. His unexpected naughty streak. Not to mention his inventive fingers and phenomenal cock. Even that glimpse of vulnerability about his attachment to his family.
It was just the surprise. That had to be the cause of the boulder on her chest, because this was only a sex thing. It was not a caring thing. Or a liking thing. Because that could lead to a thing thing. And she didn’t do thing things. Ever. Especially not with men like Ty, who were sure and steady and idealistic and probably took thing things far too seriously.
She turned on the shower and stepped under the lukewarm spray, trying to steady herself. And make the panic go away.
So what if Ty Sullivan was a lot hotter and more complex than expected. That was no cause to freak-out over a bit of pillow talk.
She wasn’t an emotionally crippled, wild child anymore, frantically seeking attention by whatever means necessary. Five years of staying clean and sober—and resisting the urge to knock back a bottle of champagne or snort a line of coke whenever she wanted to bolster her confidence—had seen to that.
She might like Ty, but she didn’t need Ty to like her, because she’d learned a long time ago not to let the opinion of others matter.
Every time Seb looked right through her and didn’t see her. Every time a new headline splashed her inadequacies across the front page of a tabloid rag. Every time she faced down her demons in a meeting, had taught her to ignore the sneers, the disapproval, the open hostility, and to keep the desperate desire to be loved kept securely under lock and key and move on.
Spending a couple of days enjoying the company of the likeable and very shaggable Ty Sullivan wasn’t going to change that. So there were no freak-outs required.
She squirted a generous dollop of Ty’s shampoo into one shaky palm and massaged it into her scalp. And the crushing weight on her chest finally eased up enough to allow her to draw a decent breath.
Even if she did like Ty Sullivan, he didn’t mean that much to her. He was just a handy port in a storm, a short-term friend with exceptional benefits, a good guy who had a weakness for bad girls and knew his way ’round a clitoris.
And she would certainly never mean that much to him.
She rinsed off the last of the shampoo.
A guy like Ty might find a bad girl irresistible for a weekend fling, but he would never consider hooking up with someone like her for the long haul.
But just to be on the safe side, she ought to establish a few simple ground rules before they took this any further. After all, Ty’s speciality was following the rules. And she’d become pretty good at it too, in recent years, when she had to be.
*
So what the heck happened to no more surprise booty calls with supermodels?
Ty listened to the rattle of the shower unit he needed to replace, the heady feeling of afterglow fading as he tried to figure out where his good intentions had gone wrong.
Zelda had started teasing him about the barbeque he’d skipped out on. He’d started flirting back to distract her and then, bam! They’d been racing back to the barge and getting naked.
But what had been a sexy game at first, light and flirtatious and fun, hadn’t stayed that way.
She’d captivated him and surprised him, and responded to him without holding one single thing back. He’d watched her eyes go glassy with stunned pleasure, seen her skin flush pink, heard her sobbing breaths as she came and he’d turned into a fucking caveman again. And for a moment there, while he was bucking his hips to get as deep inside her as he could, and she was riding him with her pussy muscles clamping down on his cock, he’d had the insane urge to stay inside her, forever.
Tugging on his shorts, he walked into the boat’s main living space. Noting the time, he headed for the fridge. So what if it was only three in the afternoon, he needed a damn beer.
This could never be more than a weekend booty call—because their lives would always be way too far apart, both socially and economically—so why couldn’t he shake the feeling this was already more than sex?
Zelda emerged from the bathroom in a puff of steam, one of his towels wrapped around her slim body. And the hollow feeling in his gut sunk down to tighten around his ball sack.
Relief shot through him. The panic retreating back where it belonged.
He and Zelda had a sexual chemistry that went all the way to eleven—and his life had been boring as hell for months now. An endless grind of long hours and limited recreation. If all work and no play had made Jack a dull boy, it appeared to have turned Ty Sullivan, attorney-at-law, into a sex maniac.
So maybe he needed to get a life. And what better way to do that, than to take a time-out this weekend, indulge the insane sexual chemistry between him and Zel, while discovering the fascinating woman who lurked behind the bad-ass sass?
“Hey.” He tipped the bottle at her. “You want a beer?”
She stiffened and shook her head, but he saw the flash of something in her eyes. The flash of something he recognized, because he’d seen it before in the people he was representing who had something to hide.
“No, that’s okay. I’m good. I need to get dressed.”
What was with that?
She gave him a tantalizing glimpse of one flushed butt cheek as she shot off towards the bedroom. And the knot of panic returned to tighten around his larynx.
Was she leaving? Had he done something wrong? Was that why she’d run off to the bathroom so fast after he’d screwed her like a caveman?
“Zelda, wait.” He placed the beer bottle onto the counter with a solid thunk and shot after her. “Where are you going?”
*
“Nowhere, I’m just getting dressed.” Zel yanked the T-shirt on and turned, keeping her gaze fixed on Ty’s face instead of the wide expanse of muscular chest dusted in dark hair. “Is there a problem?”
Was he already regretting their endorphin apocalypse? Or worse the sweet stuff he’d said afterwards.
Her heartbeat punched her throat like a rabbit on speed. Not that him regretting it would be bad. Because, of course, he hadn’t really meant it, and she definitely didn’t need him to mean it. Because this was not and would never be a thing thing.
“No problem,” he said, looking relieved. “It’s just… You seemed kind of spooked.”
Bugger, did he know his sweet, make that cheesy, compliments, had sent her into a tailspin of panic? Because that would definitely be bad.
“You’re sure everything’s all right?” He asked again, the tinge of color high on his cheekbones. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“Ty, why would you even think that? Of course you didn’t hurt me.”
Good grief, his white knight complex was worse than she thought. How on earth could he look at her, after she’d ridden him like a bucking bronco, and still see a damsel in distress?
The tinge of color went a dull red and raced up to his hairline. The man was actually blushing.
Ty Sullivan really was one of the good guys. Which was exactly why she mustn’t let this get any stickier.
“That’s good.” His lips quirked. “I just didn’t want you to think…” He shrugged, obviously struggling. “That I was taking anything for granted. With you. While you’re here.”
“Actually I’d be more than happy if you took as much as you liked for granted.”
“All right, then.” He thrust his fingertips through his hair, sending it into haphazard tufts, the smile still a little unsure, but heating up considerably. “So we’re still good?”
“I’d say we’re exceptional.” She stepped towards him, to wrap her arms round those broad shoulders and enjoy the feel of his hands, settling on her waist.
His lips curved, so close now she could smell the yeasty scent of the beer. She rolled her bottom lip under her teeth, tamping down on the urge to lick across that sensual mouth. And taste him again.
“Actually, I was thinking, maybe we should renegotiate the sleeping arrangements for the weekend,” she said, seeing her opportunity to stave off any more potential freak-outs.
His hands slipped down to cup her buttocks, firm and warm and more than a bit possessive. “I guess there’s no sense you sleeping on the couch. All things considered.”
“Exactly…” she said. “But I think we should establish some ground rules first.”
The man was seriously addictive. Something she needed to keep in mind given that she had always had an addictive personality.
“I thought you were a bad girl who didn’t follow rules,” he
teased, the assured smile making her pulse pummel her throat in double time.
There was bloody Bugs Bunny again, mainlining coke now.
“I do, if I’m the one making them,” she said.
“Who said you get to make the rules?” The cocky grin spread across his face making him even more gorgeous. “Last time I checked this was a democracy not a dictatorship.”
The rabbit punching her throat went insane.
Piss off, Bugs.
“I get to make them because I happen to be an expert on them.” She needed to be practical and persuasive now, without getting intoxicated by those industrial strength pheromones ahead of schedule. “Because I’ve broken pretty much every rule there is in my time.” He didn’t need to know that these days she couldn’t afford to break the rules.
“I look forward to hearing all about that,” he said, the naughty streak back. “All right, let’s hear your rules,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into the hollow of her throat. Day-old stubble rasped across delicate skin, and a low groan escaped her lips. “But I should warn you I’m a tough negotiator.”
She didn’t doubt it for a second, adrenaline shooting through her as he carried on nibbling.
Thrusting her fingers into his hair, she dragged his head back, and sent him her best ‘don’t-mess-with-me’ stare. “Behave yourself, counselor.” She prodded her index finger into his breastbone, to press him back further and stop any more extracurricular nibbling from occurring before the rules were agreed upon. “Rule one. We share your bed for the duration of my stay.”
“That rule I can abide by, one hundred percent.”
“Don’t be too sure, rule one comes with a but.”
“A butt, huh?” The wicked tilt of his lips sent the heat south to throb between her legs as he caressed the naked butt in question. “I’m a big fan of your butt.”
“That would be a but with one ‘t’ you pervert.” She knocked his hand away. “Which is that if we share the bed, it is strictly for the purposes of down and dirty sex and sleep. No cuddling or canoodling or snuggling or lovey-dovey looks allowed.”