by Lamont, Tess
“So I see,” he replied, popping the last of his cone into his mouth.
She caught a threatening drip with her tongue.
Bryce unfolded his legs as she licked. She pressed her lips to the lower edge—just where the ice cream disappeared into the cone.
The three bucks her ice cream had cost had been the best money he’d spent in years.
He told himself to look back out at the road, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from her mouth. She looked up and blushed. Actually blushed. His pulse thudded inside his cock.
It was on, baby. Time to reel her in.
Bells clanged again and then, after the teens made their noisy way out, the shop grew quiet.
“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” he commented with more breath than he intended.
“I am, actually.”
“I could watch you eat…anything.”
When she smiled, her eyes sparkled.
“So, what brought you to the ice cream shop, Mr. Walker?” Christina asked, resting her elbows on the table and curving toward him. “I’ve never seen you in here before.”
Bryce wondered if she knew how her shirt gaped, revealing the pale, smooth swell of her breasts. He glanced up, watching a sensual smile curve her lips. She knew, alright.
He gazed out the window. The sun glinted off freshly washed cars rolling along Stokes Road. “My air conditioner is broken,” he said, voice cracking.
“Really?”
Her throaty purr made him glance back. She tilted her head and swirled the cone against her mouth, finishing the ice cream. Then, she slowly licked her lips clean.
Why the hell had he taken off those sunglasses?
“Must be sweltering back at your place,” she said.
“Yeah. I was, uh, on my way back from the gym and ice cream seemed...” What was it he wanted to say? “...like a good idea.”
Clearly, blood had left the articulate part of his brain.
He could just about make out the edge of Christina’s bra—delicate, light pink lace. Did her panties match? Would she wear a thong or a lacy brief?
Brief. Definitely brief. Possibly sheer.
He rubbed his knee and leaned back.
“Mmmm….fantastic.” She popped the last of her cone into her mouth and hummed. “Must be awful to be without air conditioning—it’s at least one hundred.”
“One hundred and five, actually. I heard on the gym radio that it’s not supposed to go down past ninety tonight.”
She shook her head and scowled. “Too hot to sleep. You could check into one of those hotels on seventy-three—there’s a zillion of them,” she said in a light, careless tone, though her serious gaze was fixed on his. Was she probing for his plans?
“I was planning to head to the mall and pick up a new unit.”
He refused to be the first to look away. The brandy-gold color of her eyes shaded darker around the edges as she smiled like the damn Mona Lisa.
“I have a better idea,” she said, as if the thought just occurred. “How about you come to my place for a drink? I have sangria.”
He swallowed. He’d been angling for an invite, and his palms tingled with anticipation. He didn’t want to assume sex, but her body emitted raw need his cock was aching to answer.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“It’s my birthday, I want to celebrate.” She peeked through her lashes and smirked. “Maybe after a drink or two, I will answer your question.”
He cleared his throat. “What question was that?”
“You asked if I had a wish you could grant,” she said, low and sultry.
His head grew dizzy and light as all his blood flowed in one direction. “Sounds good to me.”
She pushed back her chair. “Thank you for the ice cream.”
“You are very welcome.” He stood and placed out his arm. “After you...”
“I’m in Deer Hollow development, number two, twenty-one,” she said. “Do you know where it is?”
“Sure, but I thought I’d follow you.”
“You can’t,” she replied as they reached the exit.
“Why’s that?” He asked.
“Because first, you need to go buy some condoms.” She turned away and pushed open the door.
Condoms. Plural. Sudden heat burned Bryce’s skin.
****
Ice clinked as Christina sipped her sangria. She stretched out her legs. Not bad, for thirty-something legs.
How she and Mr. Walker had both ended up on her floor, she wasn’t quite sure. Bryce sprawled across her carpet, his jeans stretched taut over his muscled thighs—sigh—so hot. She wasn’t going to give up her view.
She attempted to summon her inner censor. But nothing inside was gonna agree that sex would be wrong...hasty. Having Bryce in her home set her body on fire, and she loved the smolder.
He leaned on his elbow. His inscrutable hazel eyes patiently drank her in. She squelched a nervous smile and drank deep from her glass, admiring his chest’s athletic taper. The drink, she decided, had been a marvelous idea. Each mouthful cooled her inhibitions and heightened the swirling, pleasant, ‘floaty’ feeling.
She’d been full of marvelous ideas today, hadn’t she? An ice cream, an impromptu birthday party, and her own private present in the form of a beautifully muscled English teacher/baseball coach.
He chewed his lip and her ‘floaty’ feeling condensed into an inner thigh throb.
Why the hell hadn’t he made a move? The small package of condoms resting on her counter served as a clear reminder of both their expectations. But he hadn’t so much as reached for her neck.
He waited, unhurried. If only she could quell the sensation that she was about to be devoured, she would get things started.
She suspected sex would be different with Bryce...hotter...more unrestrained. And though the thought struck fear into her belly, his animal draw was also the reason she’d grown bold enough to invite him over.
She needed a good, hard fuck, damn it.
She’d spent hours and hours watching him coach. Despite his dangerous air, his patience with the kids had given her a measure of trust she couldn’t hope to achieve in a few dates with a stranger.
All right, already. She set aside her drink and inched closer. “This thing between us has been building for months.”
“True,” he replied.
Energy prowled in his thick, musky scent. One small signal and he would pounce. Pin-pricks of expectancy danced up her spine and her mound throbbed, heavy with arousal. She checked her gut: still certain.
“Well Mr. Walker.” She sighed, hoisting herself onto one elbow to mirror his position. “It’s about time we saw it through, don’t you think?”
Her blouse gaped and his gaze rested like a warm palm on her breasts.
“First, your wish.” His voice’s cragged edge dried her throat.
She groped through lust and alcohol’s haze, seeking some way to articulate. “I wish for a man—”
“That much I took for granted,” he interrupted, smirking.
She arched a brow. “You shouldn’t take that particular wish for granted,” she said, hoping he’d miss her slight slur. “I spent my first year of college at an exclusive women’s university and I hung with a very curious crowd.”
“Ha,” he laughed, though the muscles beneath his shirt tensed. “Of course you did. My apologies, Ms. Welch, I hadn’t realized the breadth of your, ah, experience.”
He didn’t look sorry at all. In fact, she had the distinct feeling she was being mocked. She shifted onto her knees and leaned toward him. His scent fogged her mind: clean and ready male.
Instinct asked, do you really want to bait this man? She inhaled, drawing breath to the bottom of her lungs.
Yes. Oh God, yes.
“Interrupting is discourteous, Mr. Walker. As I was saying, I wish for a man...”
She paused. With her gaze, she raked him toe to head before resting with an air of disappointment on his amb
er-green eyes.
“Oh,” she sighed as if deeply disappointed, “never mind. What I wish for doesn’t exist.”
His pupils dilated. His clear, piercing look cut to the core of her erotic need—to be taken—not just screwed, but taken.
She froze. Perhaps teasing him did not number among the day’s good ideas.
“Finish, Ms. Welch,” he said, soft and low. “What kind of man do you wish for? Tell me the fantasies that keep you up at night.”
He leaned so close his breath tickled the thin skin of her neck. She sucked in. Everything about Bryce emanated lustful intensity.
Wine made her bold and, now more than ever, she craved his cock. She looked him straight in his eye, though the act sucked every ounce of her courage.
“I want a man who will fuck me hard, fuck me until I’m screaming in his pillow. I want a man who will devour me, claim me, whose touch will make everything else go dark but him.”
Bryce’s breath hitched. In an instant, his hot, dry hand grasped her chin.
“Are you sure about that, Ms. Welch?” he drawled.
An affirmative answer would unleash something dark and dangerous. Her nipples, already aching, strained against the confining lace of her bra.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Let’s just see, then.”
Bryce straddled her and forced her back against the couch’s base, crushing her breasts against his muscle. He clamped his legs around her thighs like he had a primal right. On instinct and alarm, she twisted in his clutch, and the tender part of her abdomen rubbed against a stiffness that had to be his cock.
Good God.
“How hard do you want to be fucked?” he asked, flipping her arms above her head and clasping both of her wrists in a firm grip. He stretched her arms higher and a shiver of pain trailed down her shoulder.
She arched her back and parted her lips. “Harder than this,” she gasped, challenging.
He kept her stretched full until her fingertips tingled. His mouth, however, was as gentle as satin against her skin.
His lips brushed and teased while his body kept her frozen in a pleasure-pain kiss she hoped would never finish. The ache in her arms pitted against his kiss’ smooth caress. She opened her mouth, deepening their connection.
Heat filled her cheeks, lust pooled in her belly. She groaned—half mew, half moan, and all pleading. His lips thinned and turned up as he smiled, but his look of pleasure disappeared in an instant.
He ground down, capturing her next breath in a long, probing attack. She lost feeling in her hands, but they twitched with the urge to entwine themselves in his hair. In response, he yanked her arms further above her head, pulling away to survey her tremble with a lazy, self-satisfied smile.
He gave her exactly what she wanted, but anger sloshed into the swampy mess of her desire. She wanted to fuck his little grin right off his face.
“Most men,” she panted, “are too damn afraid.”
“Is that so?”
He ran a knuckle down her arm’s sensitive inner skin and continued down the side of her breast, stopping just below her aching nipple. Rub it...please, please, please. Shit, she wished she was naked. She shivered.
“From my perspective,” he drawled, “I’m not the one looking afraid.” He swirled the tip of his tongue around her earlobe. “I don’t give a fuck about most men. So tell me, specifically, what you think makes me afraid.”
He nipped at her earlobe as he waited for her to answer. She blinked. Her mind floundered for a sensible thought. Trapped by his thighs with his hot breath tickling her neck and his tongue suckling her earlobe, she couldn’t think at all.
He released her hands. Warm friction from the carpet penetrated her blouse as he pulled her flat against the floor. He eased his full weight over her body.
She took a deep and shuddering breath. This time she was sure the hard length pressing into her belly was his cock. He pulsed thick and ready with a size promising to be memorable. She moaned, spreading her legs.
“If you cannot give an answer, Ms. Welch, you shouldn’t have raised your hand.”
His dark rumble made her vibrate. Something must make him fear. She looked into his eyes.
“Clearly, Mr. Walker,” she panted. “You are afraid of surrender.”
He blinked as if she’d surprised him with her reply. A jolt of mischief shot through her stomach. She bent her knees and planted her feet. With every ounce of strength she possessed, she bucked her hips in a sideways arc, administering a trick she’d learned in self-defense class.
His own weight threw him to her side and, before he could react, she straddled him and pinned his arms with her knees. She dangled her tits just above his lips.
“You’re afraid of surrender,” she repeated, with a wicked, teasing smile.
His laughter rumbled against her thighs. His eyes twinkled and he made no move to fight.
“Perhaps you’ve found me out.”
Why then, did she still feel like he was the one in control?
“God you’re a hot little librarian.” He smiled, but spoke to her lips rather than her eyes. “Your semantics lack clarity, though. Am I afraid of your surrender, or mine?”
He rocked his hips forward, pantomiming sex. Contact sent a quiver through her arms, weakening her hold.
“Your surrender,” she said.
With a quick twist of his arms he tripped her balance and lifted her off his body.
“When I’m done―” He paused for a devilishly soft, breathy nibble on her neck. “―you won’t know or care about the difference.”
Her back rubbed against the carpet as he crawled astride her thighs like a lion claiming prey. He lowered his lips, picking up their kiss exactly where he’d left off. The harder he ground, the more her greed blotted out thought. Feverish and giddy, she was glad to be pinned underneath him once again.
“You said I didn’t look like a vanilla man, remember?”
Their eyes met.
“Yes,” she choked.
“I should warn you...I’m not.”
His words resonated deep in her stomach; her cunny muscles clenched. He thrust one hand underneath her crumpled skirt and ran his thumb over her crotch.
“Your panties are damp, Ms Welch.”
He yanked them down and left them tight around her thighs. He stuck a finger in her pussy. She mewed—an involuntary, plaintive noise.
“Filthy little sound.” He grinned. “Make it again.”
He stroked her clit, coaxing the illusive tendrils of orgasm to coalesce. She approached her release but he pulled away. She cried out in surprise and need.
He laughed and went to work on her blouse’s buttons.
“Not fair, I was almost—
“I know you were almost,” he interrupted. “You will come only when I want you to come. How I want you to come. Where I want you to come.” His eyes blazed with depravity and dominance. “We have all afternoon.”
One by one, he freed each button, moving with languid confidence. The silk fell open. Though he still straddled her legs, he lifted her until she was seated upright. As he slid his calloused fingertips over her hot flesh, excited shivers skipped up her spine.
His hands gave commands and she responded. He grazed her belly with his thumb. She shifted and he un-tucked her shirt. He ran his finger up her breasts’ outer curve. She opened her arms and he removed her blouse. He brushed his knuckle on her upper arm. She lifted her hands and he drew her cami over her head.
The rush of an air-conditioned breeze surprised as he slipped her bra straps from her shoulders. He leaned back and devoured her with his eyes. How had he rendered her half-naked without truly breaking their kiss?
She tugged at his shirt.
“Oh no you don’t,” he said, shaking his head.
His hands circled her wrists and he twisted her arms behind her back.
“Patience, Christina,” he said against her lips.
What did he want? To have her nake
d while he remained fully clothed? Helplessly, she jerked against his iron grip. With her face forced against his flexed pec, she inhaled the scent of her own arousal mixed with the scent of his sweat.
“Bryce,” she panted. “I need—”
“Shh, pet,” he murmured. “You’ll get your fucking, I swear.”
Christina’s blush seeped through her thighs and spread to her stomach, her breasts, her cheeks—full body mortification. She creamed. She hadn’t been this turned on since...since…
Fuck-all, she’d never been this turned on.
Her senses shimmered, her arm hair bristled. If he ordered her spread-eagle so he could deep-stroke her and withdraw, leaving her teetering on the edge until midnight, she would have obeyed without question. Whatever he’d give, she’d take. Her willing, submissive craving scared the shit out of her. She’d been aiming for his surrender, hadn’t she?
His heartbeat thudded fast and relentless in her ear, betraying the intensity of his own emotion, despite his leisurely pace.
Suddenly, his aim became crystal clear.
Stretching her arms until they ached...taking her to the edge, then drawing her back...remaining clothed while he rendered her naked—they were mere shadows of where they were going.
Not a vanilla man.
She squeezed breath from her lungs with a slow, dragging exhalation. This time, did she flush from embarrassment or desire? Did it matter? She knew what she wanted, and she might never again have the chance to explore with a man she at least moderately trusted. She inhaled, this time focusing on Bryce’s spicy male essence and savoring the heat of his body. Truth was, she trusted him not just moderately, but completely.
“You want me to surrender,” she said against his chest.
“I want to devour. I want to claim. You wished. Now, I command.” He caressed the back of her neck. “Unless you don’t really want to be fucked until you scream.”
He loosened his grip on her wrist, though he kept her pinned. She could have broken free, but she lacked the desire to try. The only thing she craved was him.
He drew small circles on her back with his knuckles. Stretched taut against his muscles, every sensation made her shiver.
She focused on the reassuring pace of his breath, the radiant calm of his heated skin. Her embarrassment faded with each stroke.