by Shaye Marlow
His hand slid into my pants, and I made a sound of surprise. He caught it, swallowed it, and continued to kiss the sense straight out of my head. That hand curved between my thighs, cupping me. Then, as his tongue slid alongside mine, making my world explode in a steamy mess, those quick fingers of his delved, parting my pussy lips, finding the source of heat and wetness he inspired.
And he stroked. Shocking pleasure drove me to the tips of my toes, jarring our mouths apart. I stared into his eyes as one of those fingers dipped into me.
I watched his face change, saw the sharp desire there. And he stroked. And he stroked. And he stroked.
My vision went hazy, and my head thumped back against the wall on a moan.
He shoved my shirt up, and suddenly my nipple was in his mouth. Through my bra, but it didn’t seem to matter. He drew on it, and the motion tightened something deep in my belly, setting up a counterpoint to the heated flutters spreading outward from my clit.
I gripped his shoulders, my hips rocking helplessly into his hand. He groaned when I squeezed his fingers, when I grew even wetter. I could feel it coming, the pressure building on itself, tripping higher and higher. My heart raced, tripping right along with it as I strained into his arms.
He let my nipple pop free, and as he stroked me deep inside, as dark pleasure stole through my limbs and my womb tightened helplessly, he looked directly into my eyes.
I thought he would kiss me, but he spoke instead. “I could make you cum, here.”
Oh god, he’s not going to? I clutched at him, feeling near panic at the thought of him pulling away. But his fingers continued to move, and my whole body shuddered. His touch wasn’t too gentle or too firm, too slow or too fast. It was perfect. Fucking perfect. Magical, the way he stroked my clit—continued to stroke my clit while curving his fingers deeper, rubbing a spot that made me groan in ecstasy. I wasn’t pushing him away anymore. I was clinging. Hanging from him. Waiting breathlessly for something I knew only he could give me.
“I could make you cum, there,” he whispered against my mouth. His chest brushed my nipples as I strained against him, hovering right on that precipice, breathless and tight as a wire.
“I could make you cum, anywhere.” He said it into my ear, growled it in that low, deep, amazing voice.
And I did, right there against the wall in my coffee shop. While someone pounded on the door.
J.D.
Thea was incredible. So warm and wet, so responsive, trying to muffle her cries in my shirt. Somehow, the threat of being discovered had driven her even higher; she’d gushed around my fingers.
And I was so hard I hurt. The devil on my shoulder said I could have her, could feel her squeezing around my cock, right now. It’d be so easy to drag her pants down and bend her over.
There were a lot of things I might have done if there hadn’t been someone at the door. I might have made her cum again, and again. I might have tasted her, might have spent another hour worshipping her perfect breasts. Or turned her around, to finally sink my teeth into her perfect ass.
But there was someone knocking, and I wasn’t a complete idiot. She had a job, she fancied herself a professional. We were in her place of business, and by interfering with her customers, I got the feeling I’d be taking it too far.
So, instead of doing any of those things, I backed off. I withdrew my hand—mourned as I did, but did it even so. I watched sense flood back into her dark eyes as I braced her against the wall. I tugged her shirt down over her flushed breasts, over the damp spot from my mouth, down over her smooth, quivering belly. She was beautiful when she came. Beautiful now, looking dazed, face glowing, her eyes wide and dark and wondering.
I held her until her quivering knees quit trying to bend, until she had her balance. Until a big, shit-eating grin bloomed on her face.
Hell, yes! If that guy hadn’t been knocking, I would’ve stayed. Would have done it all over again.
Instead, I let her go. I slid the window open, and pulled myself up and out.
“Wait!” she whispered as my feet hit the grass. She leaned out, and caught me by the shirt. As if she couldn’t get enough, with a familiarity that thrilled me, she kissed me.
I returned the favor, inhaling her, tasting her one last time. And laughed as she pulled me even closer, kissed me even more deeply. My cock strained, and a flash of heat swept through me as she sucked my tongue.
It was self-preservation that had me finally pulling back. “I gotta go,” I said, enjoying how easily I’d disoriented her once again. I stroked her cheek. “You need to make that addict some coffee, before he breaks down your door.”
“But…”
The guy knocked again. “Hello?” we heard, his impatient voice muffled.
I tucked her hair behind her ear, looking back and forth between those gorgeous eyes. “I’ll be back later,” I said. “I promise.”
“Sooner than later,” she said. “I have that damn Passion Party at three.”
“I could come by after,” I suggested.
“Come back before.” Her urgent request made my balls tighten up.
I pressed another kiss to her mouth, and went. I ran all the way back to my brothers’, glad that by the time I got there, my boner had subsided. I vaulted the steps, slammed through the screen, and found them in the kitchen.
“Condoms,” I said, breath heaving.
They both looked at me, brows raised. Of all the times to play dense…
“Do you,” I said, “have any condoms?” Of course they did. They were two healthy (read: perverted) males. They probably had a stockpile, sorted by texture and flavor. Knowing Rory, their condom collection would be in a high-tech bunker, climate controlled, voice activated, and possibly even with some new technology to roll the damn thing on while a disembodied voice crooned about how big and virile he was.
“For?” Rory asked.
I stared, waiting for him to realize how stupid that question was. His epiphany didn’t come. “Well,” I said, drawing out the word. “I’ve taken up balloon animals, and I really, really want to make a dog—a pretty poodle—but I’ve run out of balloons. Do you have pink, by chance?”
Zack was snickering, but Rory sorta looked like he believed me. Zack clapped him on the shoulder. “Pretty sure he wants sex,” he said.
“Oh.” Rory’s brow crinkled. “With another person?”
“Most likely,” Zack drawled.
Neither of them moved.
“My guess would be with the lovely Thea,” Zack continued.
“She did give him a seven out of ten,” Rory mused.
“And, he’s been panting after her all week.”
“Ineffectively,” Rory pointed out. “I mean, seriously, did you see how she was looking at him at Dotty’s? He could have had her right there on the couch.”
Zack shook his head mournfully. “But he blew his chance, didn’t press his advantage.”
“And went home alone,” Rory agreed.
“In shame,” Zack added.
Rory looked up at me. “Swear to us you’re not planning on having relations with anything but a woman.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Swallowed back a blast of profanities, and opened my mouth again. But I still couldn’t speak. What the hell did he think I was gonna do, go assault Suzy’s goat?
“He’s worried,” Zack explained, “because the ratio of men to women around here is about 10 to 1. Therefore, chances are—”
“Statistically speaking,” Rory said.
“—you want the condoms to have sex with a man. We’ve discussed, and I think as long as you’re pitching—and as long as the balls don’t touch—it’s fine. But the idea bothers Rory either which way. We want to make sure you want the condoms for manly pursuits. Satisfied of this, we’ll supply.”
Were anyone’s brothers this much of a pain in the ass? I thought about beating the condoms out of them, but was wary of messing up my chances with Thea. Sure, she wasn’t here, and she probably wouldn
’t find out about it, but I was this close to having her under me, and I wasn’t gonna fuck that up.
I took a nice, steadying breath. “I want the condoms, to have sex with a woman,” I said slowly.
“A live woman?” Rory asked.
I took a step toward him.
He held up his hands. “You’re right, you’re right, at this stage in your development, any woman will do.”
“But, if we’re going to give you these condoms,” Zack said, “you need to swear you’ll last more than ten seconds.”
“More than a minute would be better,” said Rory.
They nodded. “You’re family. Blood,” Zack said. “Therefore, your actions reflect on us, and we’re living here, will be here long after you go back home, and we have a rep to maintain.”
“Can you swear to us that you won’t be a disgrace, in bed?” Rory asked.
Oh. My. God. Nobody’d told me that not beating someone up would be such hard work. I trembled with the need to thrash them. But I didn’t move. Surely Thea would notice split knuckles, bruising on my hands.
“Condoms,” I pushed out through my teeth. They were bared, and I hoped to hell they realized it wasn’t a smile.
After about five more minutes of them messing with me, and of me not killing them, they finally gave me the condoms. I stuffed a whole handful in my pocket, started to turn, but then thought better of it and stuffed the other pocket as well.
Chapter Fourteen
J.D.
I jerked off.
I couldn’t help it. I managed to make it back to my shed, and then I simply couldn’t take it anymore. I had to release the pressure.
My brothers were right: I needed to last more than ten seconds when I finally got Thea into bed. And, in less than a minute, I exploded. It was good, but also kind of worrying. What would happen when the real thing was stretched out before me, when I could touch her, taste her at will?
Sitting alone in my cabin in the aftermath of my own orgasm, I worried about pleasing her. I was usually good with the ladies, but this was Thea. Thea, who had problems with orgasms. What if earlier had been a fluke? I needed to be on top of my game, to pay attention, to learn what she liked.
Thea filled my thoughts; her sounds, the taste of her skin. I loitered, trying to burn a couple hours, trying to appear less than completely desperate to see her again. She didn’t get off till one, but I still barely kept from dashing out the door.
I kept thinking of her, and every time I did, I got hard all over again. I was hard as I shaved, desperately trying not to cut my own throat with a straight razor. I couldn’t play video games—my brothers’d replaced the TV that morning—because I thought of Thea jumping to her feet, yelling obscenities as she tried to kill me. That memory quickly turned into a fantasy where I pushed her back on the couch and ate her pussy. I couldn’t work on the Jeep, because I remembered the way she’d stood over me, the way her legs went on forever. In my mind, she tossed the paper cup aside and straddled me, kissing me with pure lust, and we did it right there on the concrete floor. I couldn’t even walk across the yard, because I was dancing with her again. Except this time, I’d lifted her up, and she’d wrapped her legs around me, and… you get the idea.
I had it bad. I knew I needed to chill, but I couldn’t get her out of my head. Would it be so horrible if she knew how much I wanted her? Women ate that shit up, right?
It was almost one, she was almost off, and finally, I just couldn’t wait anymore. To hell with staying away.
I emptied my pockets of all but five condoms, and I came up with a plan: I was going to tell her how I felt about her. I’d go shirtless, ask her to massage my shoulder. She would, those small, strong hands tracing bare muscle, wandering over me, farther and farther off target. One thing would lead to another, and… The counter would do nicely for our next tryst, or that little pantry. Ideally, we’d make it to her bed, but it was good to have a contingency plan, just in case.
I picked her another handful of flowers, hoping the little star-shaped white ones would make her smile. Then I jogged through the woods, unable to resist my own stupid grin. I was giddy with anticipation as I approached her coffee shop. I smoothed my hair, and tried to beat back the erection that threatened to precede me.
I slowed as I heard her laugh through the propped-open door. I savored the sound, but then I heard voices—not just hers, but a man’s. It was an intimate rumble, in a tone that made my smile fall away. I almost stopped, almost turned away because I didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know.
I shook off my dread, chastised myself for being so fatalistic. She was just serving coffee, just being friendly. But my legs felt wooden as I walked closer.
The interior came into view, and it wasn’t what I’d thought.
It was worse. Thea was sitting at one of the little tables with Wreck, and she was holding his hand. She had her back to me, and didn’t look around—didn’t know I was there, or care.
My first instinct was to fly through the door like a wrestler and head-butt him right out of his chair. I’d take him to the ground, shamelessly using surprise to my advantage. I wanted, without thought or finesse, to beat the man to within an inch of his life. To roar with triumph as I pile-drove him right into the tile floor. I wanted to stomp on his crotch, to slam a 12-6 elbow into his head, to use all the moves I wasn’t normally allowed to.
I wanted to fight dirty, to make him hurt. Make him feel just as much pain as I was, standing there, watching my woman hold his hand.
But of course, Thea wouldn’t like that. And I cared about her feelings, probably too much. I didn’t want to upset her, didn’t want her to think I had no self-control. So I hesitated, because I didn’t know what to do.
As I loitered in the doorway, Wreck saw me, but he gave no indication to Thea that I was there. He just smiled a little wider, and his thumb caressed the back of her hand, which he was still holding.
He was taunting me. And I wanted to hurt him very, very badly. I needed to make him bleed. If I went in there, that’s exactly what I’d do.
Instead, I turned around, and walked away. My walk turned into a run. I dropped the flowers.
I sped all the way to my brothers’ cabin, and slammed my way inside.
Rory was missing, but Zack sat at the kitchen table. He leaned back, watching me, brows raised in question as I beelined for the fridge.
I grabbed the ice cream, and I couldn’t hold it in. “She—apparently—has chosen Wreck!” I said, slamming the freezer shut.
Zack shook his head. “J.D… what did we tell you? At the very beginning, what was it?”
I yanked the lid off the tub, fumbled it, and it tumbled to the floor. With a growl, I kicked it across the room.
Thea. Gorgeous, amazing, spectacular, always-on-my-mind Thea. I saw her again now, sitting at a table with Wreck, her hand in his. The smile in her voice, for him. Just hours after I’d made her cum. Just hours after I’d realized I loved her.
I yanked open the silverware drawer, and nearly sent that to the floor, too.
“We’re men,” Zack said. “We take what we want.”
I growled again, and stuffed a spoonful of cookies and cream in my mouth.
“And what the hell are you doing?” Zack asked. “Eating ice cream at a time like this?”
“I wanted ice cream,” I said, slamming the tub on the table. I dropped into a chair, and dug out another bite. I desperately needed something to cool me off. To ease the ache.
I could feel Zack’s eyes boring into me, but didn’t look up. Fuck him. Fuck this place. And fuck love.
“So… Should I go get you some nice, elastic-waist jammies, and a glass of red wine in which to drown your sorrows? I could turn on a soap opera,” he offered.
“Don’t mess with me right now.”
“Do you see yourself?” Zack demanded. “When men are angry, we hit something. We stomp around and fume and break things. We do not pout into a tub of ice cream.”
Nice deep breath. Let it out. “That’s not what I do,” I said. “I do not hit in anger.” Never too late to turn over a new leaf, right? Right?
“Oh-ho, says the guy who karate-chopped me in the friggin’ neck!”
I didn’t respond.
“And, I never said hit people. There’s a perfectly good punching bag out in the shop. Or hell, put your fist through a wall. Both very normal, very manly reactions.”
A vein in my forehead throbbed. I could feel my temperature rising, despite the frozen dessert I was shoveling in. Thea had chosen someone else—my arch-nemesis, no less—and Zack couldn’t leave it alone. Oh no, instead he had to harass me.
Zack’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. “So, tell me what happened.”
“She wants him, not me.” The scene flashed once more before my mind’s eye. Him, touching her. Her, flashing those gorgeous eyes at him, and fucking… smiling. I buried my face in my hands with a groan.
“How do you know?” Zack asked. He snagged the spoon from my loosened grip, and dug out his own bite. “Tell me what you saw.”
Briefly, painfully, I did.
“Hmm. And how does that make you feel?” Zack asked.
I glared at him from between my fingers.
He laughed. “Hey, you’re always pointing that bullshit our way. So, come on, champ: How does it make you feel?”
“Pissed off,” I said, stealing my spoon back.
“Mmm-hmm,” he said with pseudo-serious patience. “Tell me more,” he urged.
“I kinda want to rip his face off, and feed it to him.”
Zack’s brows shot up, and I could tell he was fighting a smile. But he just gave a thoughtful, encouraging, “Uh-huh.”
“He was wearing one of those man-scarves,” I said. “I kinda want to choke him with it. Stare into his eyes as his face turns blue.”
“Wow, J.D., got a bit of a mean streak going there,” Zack said. His tone was approving. “What else would you do to him?”