by Angel Payne
Meaning, if either of us had any sense, we’d abort the mission immediately.
But the communication link to my brain was nothing but static.
Blissful, giddy, sexually charged static.
Chapter Seven
Mac
Finally, we were back at Taylor’s. She’d seen the wisdom of doing things my way, and I planned on continuing that trend all the way into her bed and then between her incredible silken thighs.
As soon as fucking possible.
I was confident about accomplishing the quest. Like in chess, victory was about strategy, and mine had begun before we took our first bite of pizza. The plan hadn’t been tough to execute. Being with this woman was invigorating…intoxicating. And unless I was misreading every one of her signs, the sentiment was very much reciprocated. Now, our stomachs were full and our happy buzzes still going—but best of all, there was a sexy blonde still tucked under my arm.
Oh, yeah. That was definitely the best of all.
She fumbled with her apartment keys, though I wasn’t making the task easy with my ardent kisses behind her ear. Could I be blamed? Never had I been with a woman possessing a more hypnotizing neck. Every time my lips came near it, I longed to go full beast mode, riddling her white skin with my ravenous bites.
“Open the door already.” I nuzzled her earlobe before biting it hard.
She gasped but then giggled out, “Sssshhhh! And stop that, or you’ll make me scream.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“My neighbors will turn the lights on.” Another sweet giggle. “Hmmm. That actually might be fun. Showtime, folks!”
I joined my low laugh to her string of snort-snickers. Jesus, her little shaking body felt so good against mine. Intoxicating might have to be escalated. She was jacking me to the realm of high. Euphoric. And reveling in every second. I hadn’t expected her to be so silly after a few drinks, but her giddiness was a sheer delight, heightened by the ticklish spots I kept finding all over her body. Her slender frame seemed filled with them, and I’d stopped trying to control my hands from launching search after search for them all. Why stop heaven, when it existed in the form of her girlish little squeals?
And yep…there was another one. The middle of the back of her arm. I stroked her there again, just to be sure…
“Mac!”
I answered her gasp with a savoring growl. “I love the sound of your laugh.” I finally took the keys from her hands before pinning them low alongside her thighs. As an easy silence thickened between us, I pressed my forehead to hers, waiting expectantly for her gaze to angle up.
“Look at me, girl,” I dictated, threading my low voice with sexual promise.
She swiveled her head from side to side. “I don’t want to,” she whispered into my chest.
“Why not?”
“Because it hurts.”
“To look at me?” I punched it with incredulity.
“You’re too handsome.” A she-devil’s grin spread across her lips. “For a clown, I mean.”
I was tempted to retort a number of things, but in the end I just repeated, lower than before, “Look at me, Taylor.”
It was hard as hell to stay the course on serious when she wanted to keep up with the sexy and playful, but it was time to gauge her readiness for this—to verify that the arousal flowing off her in tidal waves was true craving for me, not just a product of the cold beer and the steamy night. I wasn’t taking our earlier activities as any indication she wouldn’t bolt now. Confronting bald realities, especially when it came to claiming her own fulfillment, seemed to be a missing chip in this woman’s mainframe.
Finally, she looked up with those enormous blue eyes. Her lashes were fresh and long, her skin dewy and flawless without makeup. As I studied her, it hurt to breathe. I forced words to my lips anyway.
“So perfect,” I told her, stroking hair off her cheek with the backs of my fingers. “And so damn pretty, little love.”
She opened her mouth, clearly at work on a protest, but I stopped her useless words by pressing a kiss to each of her eyelids. She kept them closed, making it possible for me to sweep my lips over the fans of her lashes before brushing back over the tip of her nose…and tenderly nibbling her a little there. How could I resist? She was like dessert to me. One delectable taste deserved another…
“Mac…” The word left her on a serrated breath. “That feels…so…”
But if she had a word in mind, I stole it from her with the solid mesh of my kiss. She moaned as I fitted my mouth over hers, pushing my way inside her mouth in my next hot sweep of motion. She tasted as sweet as honey, infused with slight bitterness from the lager we’d drunk with our pizza. Fuck. Pure ambrosia.
I could have sampled her all night like this—but so much more was in store. At least I hoped so. Prayed so. “Shit, sassy. Beer tastes really good on you.”
“Mmmm,” she hummed, her lips curving with dreamy languor. “You too.”
I kissed her again but deliberately truncated the move. Sucking face like that first time wasn’t wise if I wanted to keep us from being her neighbors’ popcorn attraction for the night. Besides, I had something substantial to say.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” She reopened her eyes, those gorgeous lapis depths lending me boldness.
“I have a cool idea.”
Her lips quirked. “No, I’ve not read the Kama Sutra, nor am I interested in doing so.”
Thinking better of telling her I’d studied the thing a number of times, I stuck to my original subject. “Let’s go to Oktoberfest next month. I bet they do a pretty decent one around here somewhere. Maybe a few.” Just like that, the ping-pong balls in my brain activated. “Though officially, Oktoberfest starts in September. And you’re supposed to wear a fuzzy hat. That’s the status symbol at the festival. The fuzzier the hat, the wealthier the drinker, you know. Though that’s in Munich, where the average temperature in late September is only—”
“Whoa.” She giggled it out. “Uhhh, clown?”
“I’m going to regret asking what, aren’t I?”
She grinned, alcohol obviously still soaking her with more courage. “Oktoberfest? Errr—Septemberfest?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Okay, whatever. Doesn’t matter. Big, un-overlookable detail, dude. You live in another state.”
“Minor detail.”
“Minor?”
I narrowed my gaze while lowering my head. “So, they have this modern-day thing called an airplane. Crazy contraptions, really.” I kissed her again, lingering this time, licking ardently at the seam of her closed lips. When she wouldn’t succumb, I growled, “Open.”
She jerked back. “No. Let’s go inside. Mrs. Franklin just appeared in her window. You’ll give her a heart attack with that obscene hard-on.”
“Think it’s obscene, do you?” I swiveled my hips into her belly. She sighed, appearing on the edge of letting me do much worse, Mrs. Franklin or not, but then pivoted, keys back in hand, and feverishly opened her door.
The second we were inside, I kicked the warped wood back into place with one foot while using the other for leverage to shove her backward, into the opposite wall of her “foyer.” Score another point in the “plus” column for the small apartment. In two seconds I was all over her again, ramming my mouth to hers, taking over without asking permission—though she willingly granted it anyway, opening for me with a rough sigh, letting me plunge into all the recesses of her sweet, hot mouth.
We easily found a rhythm, our tongues twirling, sucking and tasting for several incredible minutes, until I finally forced myself back from her.
“Show me your bedroom.” Honestly, my intent was to make it a question, but my roaring senses turned it into a heated demand. My cock clamored with just as much need, stretching my fly to capacity, already preparing for the heaven ahead.
“No.”
Her breathless pant made me rear back. “No?” A heavy breath escaped my lungs. “Are you really
saying—”
“No.” She threw it out but huffed hard, shaking her head. “I mean no, I’m not saying no.”
“Huh?”
She aligned her hands on my chest, at both sides of the heart using my chest cavity as a punching bag. “I couldn’t say no if I wanted to, Mac. I’m just saying…not in my room.”
Clearly, she meant it as an explanation. All it served up for me was more confusion. “Damn it, woman. How many ways do I have to say it? I don’t care if shit is messy, or the bed isn’t made or it’s covered in weird little stuffed animals.”
She openly grimaced. “Stuffed animals?”
“Or whatever,” I mumbled, grabbing for her waist again.
She smacked at my hands. “It’s not that.”
Christ.
“Okay.” It was an impatient bite but much better than the snarl begging for release instead. I stepped back, scrubbing a hand across my head and then pacing into the living room to attempt clearing things up more. “Want to tell me what’s really going on here? You have some creepy grandma in there? Is she sitting in the corner in a rocking chair, knitting cobwebs into baby booties for your stuffed animals?”
“Stop!” But she laughed it out, balancing the tension in the air a little. “I don’t have stuffed animals, okay? Or a grandma, creepy or otherwise.”
I waited for her to go on. She only shook her head and let silence take over once more.
“So tell me what’s going on.” Now I meant the demand in my voice.
She tossed her gaze to the floor. “I—I just don’t have sex in my bed. I don’t want to talk about it, and I sure as hell don’t want to explain it. It’s just my thing. You can deal with it or call for another car. I’m—I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I meant the leniency too. Hell, I wanted to push her, not force her. “What’s going to make this right?”
Anything but asking me to leave…
“We can do it out here. On the floor. On the sofa. Wherever.”
Maybe anything but that.
“Taylor.”
“Mac?”
“You’re serious?” I returned her nod with a disbelieving grunt. “For fuck’s sake, I’m not making love to you on the floor of an apartment you rent.”
Shitty thing was, it really was for fuck’s sake. I couldn’t get down with this plan—bad pun included—for twenty different reasons, despite how stridently my cock battled to raise my consciousness above the situation. A for effort, Fail for execution. Number one, and most importantly, she deserved better than to be screwed like a hooker on top of fifteen-year-old shag pile. But how the hell did I explain that to her?
“You aren’t making love to me, period. We’re fucking, all right?”
And suddenly, “explain” went out of the door as a realistic verb. “Fine,” I barked. “I also refuse to fuck you on a sofa older than both of us. Combined.” I jerked my head toward the monstrosity still daring to call itself livable furniture. “You know there’s probably more DNA on that thing than on the floor of a liquor store bathroom, right?”
She held both hands up. “Okay, okay. I get it. The germs thing is an issue. You’re a doctor, and—”
“I’m a human.” I blew out heavy air. “Honest to shit, am I really the first guy you’ve brought home to have an issue with this?”
“How many people do you think I bring home?”
“I didn’t mean—” Or maybe I did, which was unnerving on an entirely new level. It wasn’t just the idea of her on that couch with someone else. It was the vision of her porcelain body tangled with anyone else’s, period, let alone some loser asshole, that had the edges of my vision turning red.
“All right, let’s just relax. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t usually come back here with guys.”
Her tone was so nonchalant, the red changed from a thin haze to a crimson mass. If I didn’t know any better—and thank God I did—I’d think my incredulity had become a goddamn hemorrhage. “So where does that leave us?”
“Why are you making such a big deal about this? You’ve killed the mood.”
“I’ve killed the mood?” I raked my hands through my hair, exasperated as hell and still horny as fuck. “Says the girl who won’t have sex in her bed?”
“You want a bed?” She spread her arms. “So let’s make one out here.”
I blinked the red from my sights. Clarity swept in, along with relief. “You mean, drag your bedding and lay it down here instead?”
She smiled with adorable ease. “Like a campout. With better s’mores.”
“You’re good with that?” I had to be sure before giving my cock permission to hope again.
She nodded, tossing cute chunks of hair into her face. “This is an amenable deal, clown,” she declared, not bothering to shoo the strands away. That was good because I wanted to do it. Fuck, do I want to do so many things to her tonight…
“Thank God,” I growled, grinning as she giggled. I shot into action, not giving her the chance to think twice or back out.
“Nest.” She repeated it with a note of whimsy, biting her bottom lip. “Yes. I like that.” Less than one second skipped by before her next protest was issued. “Wait!”
Just as I reached for her bedroom door knob, I froze with her command. “What is it now?”
“I’ll get the bedding. Why don’t you grab us something to drink?”
She was really serious about this bedroom thing. The very realization should’ve had me making excuses to get out of here, on my way to the hotel and a cold shower, because clearly this woman was carting more crazy on the brain than I had time or sanity for—but right now, I was just scarily thankful the whole night hadn’t gone up in flames. At least not the crappy kind of flames…
She burst into her bedroom, so hell-bent on accomplishing her higher purpose that she didn’t even flip the lights on. The light from the living room illuminated the space well enough for her to grab most of the bedding. She headed back for one more load, snaring a couple of pillows, the bed’s second blanket, while I stood speechlessly watching her frenzy.
In the living room, I had placed two fresh beers on the side table and then spread the comforter across the floor, already making a more welcoming scene. I could see the pattern of her comforter—a simple leaf pattern in shades of green, perfectly matching her soft but strong character.
I let the pillows plunk to the area near my feet before toeing off my shoes and leaving them near the door. When I turned back to our little “nest,” Taylor was already sitting in the middle, her shoes kicked off, her bare feet tucked under her sexy little rear. As I approached, her teeth sneaked out over her lower lip.
I stopped at the edge of the comforter.
She lifted her head, locking her gaze to mine.
With our stares still tangled, she unhooked each side of her overalls, letting them fall around her hips. The white T-shirt she wore beneath was imprinted with some sort of band or clothing logo—who the fuck cared at that point—and her perky tits pushed against the thin fabric, distorting the image more. Damn. If the band—or whoever—behind that shirt could see her now, she’d be signed as their fucking spokesmodel, after they got past my dead body. Because as long as I was alive, I wasn’t sharing a moment like this with a single other person on the planet.
My dick completely concurred.
I had to rub the aching length right through my pants, hoping for some relief, though even that effort was useless as she popped free the silver buttons that held the overalls at her hips. My breath congealed into a hard ball in my throat as she lifted to a tall kneel, scooting the pants down to her knees. At once I dropped to the blanket, mirroring her pose. Now she was just inches away, and I was a bull seeing nothing but a red flag. I reached, unable to resist her milky skin a second longer—but just as I brushed the paradise of her warm body, she eased backward onto her bottom again, pushing her overalls off the rest of the way.
“Jesus,” I groaned.
Her l
egs were bent at the knee, her heels flat on the floor, just a strip of taut porcelain skin between her little white half shirt and her insanely sexy cotton panties. The only part missing from this fulfillment of my dirtiest fantasy were athletic knee socks, the kind with two red stripes around the top. Yeah, she even wore an impish, almost virginal grin on her full pink mouth.
“Hmmm. Not sure he’s around,” she murmured in response to my call on the Almighty.
“No?” I countered. “Well, look harder, because I’m damn sure I’ve died and gone to heaven.” My cock was raging now. Leaking. Swelling. Needing. Does the woman have any fucking idea how mesmerizing she is? Yeah, she probably did. My crotch was a damn circus tent now. My stare felt like it was on fire. My mouth, hanging open, likely made me look like a baboon on LSD.
“Are there other clowns in heaven with you, or are you there all by yourself?”
“No. Just me. This clown doesn’t play well with others.”
“Why am I not surprised? But…a one-clown circus?”
I winked. She liked it when I did that. The new hardening of her nipples confirmed that right away. “Damn straight.”
“Sure you can handle all the entertainment yourself? That’s a lot of tricks for one little clown.”
I palmed my crotch harder. Our banter had just rounded a new turn—mental stimulation that took instant effect through my body. No other woman made me leap through flaming verbal hoops like this. My brain reveled. My body raced.
“Little?” I volleyed with a snort. “You may want to reconsider your word choice, missy.”
Taylor pushed to her elbows and jerked up her chin, confronting my gaze with all the boldness of her beauty. “Why don’t you make me, mister?”
I snarled low but gave her no more words—at least not while standing and then unbuttoning my slacks. Watching her as she watched me was a sight I’d remember on my damn deathbed. She knew my cock would deliver and had even commented about it earlier, but the awe in her gaze brought a stirring mix of humility and victory.
Time to put you in your place, sassy girl.