by Julia Harper
Just for tonight.
She drew back a little and bit his chin, scraping her teeth against his stubble. He inhaled but didn’t say anything. He tilted his head back. She softly, gently licked his throat and felt his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed.
“The key is on the bedside table.” His voice was gravelly. “Unlock me.”
“No.”
She sat up and watched him. His brows were drawn together over his blue eyes, and his jaw flexed like he was grinding his teeth. She smiled. And began unbuttoning his shirt. It was a white oxford, nothing special. She slipped a finger underneath the placket and slowly drew a button through the little hole. She felt the corner of her smile tilt up. John had chest hair.
“Turner—”
She parted the shirt between the next two buttons and leaned down to poke her tongue through the hole. She could taste a bit of salt, feel the hair tickling her tongue.
“Jesus.” It was a low growl.
She spread both palms over his pectorals and felt his heat through the shirt cloth. The trousers where she sat were probably damp by now, but she didn’t care. She brought her hands together in the center of his chest and trailed them down to his pants. And paused. He inhaled sharply. She gently unbuckled his worn leather belt and left it hanging. When she pulled the zipper, the rasp was loud in the room. Carefully she opened the fly to his trousers and almost giggled.
Navy boxers.
“What’s so funny?” he muttered.
“I figured tighty-whities.”
“Ouch.” But his voice was distracted. Because even through the boxers, he was standing outside the fly.
“Raise your hips,” she ordered.
She had to get on her knees to accommodate him, but she was able to pull the trousers and boxers down to midthigh even so. Then she sat back down on his bare legs and almost gasped. His hot skin against her wet flesh felt wonderful. And decadent. It had been so long. And usually this was when she started getting the willies. Instead, she just wanted to . . .
She bent and licked across the head of his cock. She heard his harsh gasp but didn’t bother looking up. His cock was beautiful, tight and veined with a shaft that was thicker than the head. It was quite thick overall, actually. His pubic hair was dark with a sprinkling of gray that she found sexy somehow. She licked again, tasting him, and then she took him into her mouth and sucked. Just the head, while she played with the shaft and his balls.
Another gasp. “Turner—”
She hummed with him in her mouth.
“Christ.” His voice was guttural. “Condoms in my back pocket.”
Well, now, that was interesting news. He’d been that sure of her, had he? She looked up, his cock still between her lips, and narrowed her eyes at him. His cheeks had flushed and his face was harder than ever; his pale eyes sparked with a hunger that echoed her own.
“Would you prefer that I didn’t have them?”
He had a point. And besides, she really wanted him inside her. She dug under his thigh until she found a square packet and unwrapped it. She carefully fitted the condom over his erection. She expected him to ask her again to let him go, but he didn’t. He just watched her handle him with intense ghost eyes, his arms strained over his head. When he was covered, she inched forward until her vulva lay over his cock. Oh, Lord. She shuddered at the feel of him beneath her. Sooo good. Oh, so good. She moved slowly, grinding herself back and forth along his length, made slippery by her fluids. She reached his tip and aligned it with her clitoris, then flattened herself against him and sought his mouth with hers.
His tongue was rough, his kiss almost violent. He hadn’t made a murmur as she pleasured herself on him, but she knew he must be at his limit. She ground down again.
“Put me in you, baby,” he growled against her lips. “Fuck me.”
She shuddered at his coarse words. She tore open his shirt, spreading the halves so she could have access to his bare chest, before rising and positioning him at her entrance.
Then she lowered herself.
The first inch or so slipped in easily, but then she had to push. She braced her hands on his chest, felt the hairs beneath her palms, and bore down. It had been years, and John was thick, maybe thicker than any man she’d ever had before. She gasped. She felt each inch of his flesh invading hers, parting and stretching her.
“Easy,” John whispered huskily. “Easy, baby. Take it slow.”
She slid up on his cock and sat again, taking a little more of him into her. Repeated the movement. And again. He thrust up at her on the fourth try. She moaned as she felt him enter her entirely, his length sliding home and filling her.
“Is it okay?” John gasped. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Yes, I—”
But her words were lost as he thrust within her. She had to lean forward and clutch at his shoulders again, he was humping up at her so roughly. His erection shoved back and forth inside her.
He watched her beneath nearly closed eyes. “Kiss me.”
So she kissed him as she rode his pelvis and his penis. She thrust against him and kissed him until his mouth went slack beneath hers. And then she had to raise her head to look.
To watch John as he came.
It was such an intimate thing, watching a man fall apart, literally lose himself in her. John’s face was flushed, his teeth gritted. He closed his eyes and grunted. Then she felt him jerking within her. His shoulder muscles beneath her palms were bunched and rock hard as he convulsed.
A feeling of tenderness—of love—filled her. Tears beaded in her eyes.
He grunted again, and his thrusts became weaker until he went lax beneath her. Turner kissed him, little light kisses that just touched his face. He was still in her, partially hard, and she didn’t want to separate from him.
He sighed, his eyes closed. “You didn’t come.”
“Don’t worry,” she said quickly. “It doesn’t matter. I—”
“It matters to me.” He opened his eyes and smiled at her. The lines around his mouth had finally softened.
She was embarrassed now. As if she’d failed at some test that everyone else passed easily. “No, really—”
“No, really, it does matter to me.”
He bumped her with his hips, and she gasped at the feeling. She was sensitive down there after his lovemaking.
“I thought so,” he whispered. “Now, as I see it we have two options.”
She stared at him, half-shy, half-aroused. She couldn’t believe they were talking about—
“You can climb up here and sit on my face,” he drawled conversationally. “And I can lick you until you scream.”
Her eyes widened. There was no way she was going to—
“Or you can move on me like you were doing before I entered you.”
She wanted to hide her face. “I-I can take care of it myself—”
“I know you can, baby.” He’d lost his smile. “But I want you to do it with me.”
Oh, goodness. She couldn’t do this. In front of someone else? She just couldn’t.
But John was watching her, waiting. And she wanted to please him. She closed her eyes and tilted down until her clitoris was in contact with him. He was still inside her, not quite hard, and she knew if she moved too much he would slip out. And somehow she wanted him in her when she . . .
This was so intimate it was almost unbearable. She ground against him, knowing that he was watching her, knowing that he could see every emotion cross her face. She leaned farther and the tips of her breasts accidentally brushed his chest. She gasped. His chest hair scraping against her sensitive nipples was . . . She brushed her breasts against him again and ground faster, pushing out of her mind the reasons why she couldn’t do this. Instead, she thought about John, about how she had felt when he’d come in front of her.
“That’s the way, baby.” She heard his voice through a haze, encouraging her. “Do it for me.”
She felt like fire, like a storm building. She fel
t . . .
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “So sexy. Come for me. God, you’re making me hard again.”
She knew she must not look elegant or pretty right now. She was moving almost frantically on him, her face contorted uncontrollably.
“I’ve never seen anything in my life as erotic as you are right now.” His voice was relentless. “I’m going to have to make love to you again. Once won’t be enough. Come for me, baby.”
There was moisture on her upper lip, and she was making sounds. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was . . .
“Turner.”
She moaned, her voice loud in the room, and opened her eyes as the feeling broke and crested over her. Overwhelming. Nearly frightening. And she found John watching her, his face hard again and possessive—and something else. But she couldn’t fully analyze his expression, because she was arching and panting and coming. Coming in front of him, her eyes helplessly locked with his. She knew suddenly that there was no going back from this point. Her world would never be the same again—her life had just been roughly turned upside-down, and maybe she liked it that way, all cockeyed and crazy and off balance, as long as John was with her. John.
Tears ran down her face.
Chapter Thirty-five
W hich way would you pick to die?” Nald panted as he stumbled over a root. Why did there have to be so many trees in the forest? “Four giant snakes attack you and each gets, like, an arm or a leg, and they pull back and forth, back and forth until your arms and legs rip off midair and your little stumpy body falls to the ground and you’re like, ah! ah! ah! unable to move until one of the snakes bites off your head, or—” He shoved aside a branch. It whipped back and hit him in the face, nearly taking out his eye. “Or you’re attacked by a huge purple squid thing and it shoots one of its arms down your throat and you’re like, urk! urk! urk! and then the arm grows more tentacles inside you and explodes out your stomach and back all at once?”
“What the fuck are you asking me this for?” Fish muttered from in front.
“It’s a question—”
“I know it’s a question, douchebag!” Fish stopped and whirled, one shoulder down and the other up like that hunchback church dude. His yellow mesh tank was hanging in strips from the neck, thanks to Bucky, and he had deep scratches all over his hairy belly.
Nald had always thought that Bucky, as a team whatchamacallit—mascot—was a little wussy. No more, dude. Now, as far as Nald was concerned, Bucky was one baaad mascot. But if you mentioned Bucky at all, Fish started twitching. Which was why he’d found a new subject. “Well, I—”
“I don’t need questions! I don’t want questions! Why are you asking me questions?”
Nald stopped to think. They’d come to a little clearing in the woods that was covered in these tall green plants. ’Course, most plants were green. The morning sunshine was really bright. It shone kinda pretty through the long leaves of the plants, though. “Well, it’s like talking—”
“D’oh!” Fish screamed. “Of course questions are like talking! What are you, a-a—”
Nald scratched his chest and watched Fish’s eyes bug out even more. If Fish did much more eye-bugging, his eyeballs were going to fall right out of his head. He decided to help Fish. “A cool dude?”
“No!”
“Bad dude?”
“No!”
“Wicked dude?”
“No! No! No!” Fish screamed, totally losing it. “You’re the biggest, dumbest, smelliest fuckass on the entire planet!”
Nald felt insulted. “Hey—”
Fish flung wide his arms, banging the falling-apart bag of money against a long-leaved plant and knocking it over.
“Why? Why? Why?” he screamed. “Why me? Why am I lost in a fucking forest with a fucking guy, carrying fucking inked-up money and being fucking attacked by fucking wild animals? How could my fucking life get any more fucked up than this?”
“Well, you could—” Nald started.
“It’s not a fucking question!” Fish bellowed.
“Then why’d you ask it?” Nald bellowed back.
“I didn’t!” Fish screamed, just before he fell over and disappeared into the tall plants. The plants waved frantically, like they were having a spaz-attack, and then Fish reappeared, still angry. “I can’t fucking believe—”
“Hey,” Nald said. “These plants look kind of familiar—”
“That I took you along—”
Nald plucked a branch. The long leaves looked like a hand with too many fingers. Where had he seen—?
“On a fucking bank heist—”
Nald sniffed the plant.
“When I could’ve—”
“Weed!”
“Huh?” said Fish.
“Weed!” Nald waved the plant branch in front of Fish’s face.
“I know that’s a weed, you dumb—”
“No,” Nald explained patiently. “Not a weed. Weed.”
Fish slumped his head into his hands. “I’m in the woods with fucking Rain Man.”
Nald got impatient. “Weed. Grass—”
“Grass isn’t a weed,” Fish objected.
“This grass is!” Nald thrust the leaves beneath Fish’s nose.
A look of wonder dawned across Fish’s face. Kind of like the time they’d gone to the topless and bottomless girlie show in Superior and a redhead had come out on stage and bent over backward and put her hands on the floor behind her. A look that said, The world is a strange and beautiful place.
“We’re standing in a field of weed!” Fish shouted.
“Yup,” Nald said.
“It’s enough weed to smoke for years!”
“Yup,” Nald said.
“It’s enough weed to make us rich!” Fish said, doing a little hopping dance.
“Yup,” Nald said.
“And it’s all ours!”
“Nope,” another voice said, and it was accompanied by the cha-chink of a shell being chambered into a shotgun.
Nald slowly turned around.
A short, round woman with long gray braids stood behind them. She had a shotgun at her shoulder.
“That’s my weed,” she said.
Nald started to smile, because she was only an old woman, and besides, most women liked him. But then she fired the shotgun, busting that thought all to hell.
BOOM! A whole row of plants lost their heads.
Nald ducked and felt his own head to make sure it was still there.
“Run!” Fish yelled, which was the smartest thing he’d said all day. Maybe all week.
Nald galloped for the woods.
Behind him, the shotgun went cha-chink and then BOOM!
“Head for the highway!” Fish panted. He darted past Nald, even though his legs were much shorter. His garbage bag of money seemed to have a hole. Tufts of paper cash were flying out behind him, catching on the underbrush and getting trampled underfoot. “Run!”
Cha-chink. BOOM!
Nald ducked and zigzagged through the trees, heading for the light that meant the highway. He was gulping air.
Cha-chink. BOOM!
A twenty from Fish’s bag plastered itself across Nald’s eyes. He brushed it away into the woods. He was almost at the light—
BOOM!
Nald hit the ditch right behind Fish and kept going. They ran up the small incline to the highway, and Nald passed Fish like he was standing still. He ran like his feet were on fire. He ran so fast it took him a while to hear Fish yelling behind him.
“Stop! Shit! Stop, man!”
Nald stumbled to a halt, his chest heaving for air and a stitch starting on his side. He turned to look. Behind him, Fish was on his back on the highway, his arms and legs kicking in the air kind of like a newborn baby.
But that wasn’t what made Nald stare.
No, it was the money he was looking at openmouthed. Because all along the road behind him, for quite a ways, really, was a cloud of cash. The twenty-dollar bills floated in
the air, being blown higher in swirls by the playful breeze, alighting in the tops of trees like a flock of green starlings and sticking to the gluey asphalt on the road.
Nald suddenly realized that his garbage bag felt light. He looked down at the tattered rag in his hand and opened what was left of it. One purple-ink-stained bill lay at the bottom. He lifted the bag to peer at it, and as he watched, the bill rose like a miniature helicopter and flew into the air to dance with its brothers. It looked kind of happy.
Then the cop car drove by.
Chapter Thirty-six
J ohn woke when Turner left the bed early the next morning. Thursday morning. Actually, it wasn’t the first time he’d woken. She’d gotten up several times during the night to visit the bathroom, and each time he’d been aware of her movements, of where she was in the room and the rate of her breathing. But this time after she came back from the bathroom, she began dressing.
He lay still and watched her. Last night, after they’d made love, after Turner had come so heartbreakingly on him, after she’d lain against him, recovering, she’d carefully unlocked the handcuffs and freed him. He’d finally been able to put his arms around her. To hold her close and spoon with her all night, the luxury nearly overcoming him. The cuddling, for him at least, had been almost as satisfying as the sex.
Now she pulled on panties, slipping the pale pink cotton fabric over her hips and adjusting the band at her waist. She picked up a white bra from her suitcase and put it on. It was funny how women always bent from the waist to fit the cups over their breasts when they put on a bra. He could see the curve of her back and the little bumps of her spine as she leaned over. John watched and found her motion erotic in a tender way. It was a feminine action—putting on a bra—and a very intimate one. Only when a man was a woman’s lover was he allowed to see her perform that mundane task. It made his heart ache.
Squeaky got up and stretched, his long forelegs braced before him. He yawned loudly, then padded over to greet her.
“Shh,” Turner whispered at the dog. She glanced worriedly over at him in the bed.
A twinge of irritation ran through him. Did she think he was some kind of idiot who’d sleep while she ran away from him? Ran without even saying good-bye? He waited until she’d finished dressing and had gathered her things. She was pulling the bureau from in front of the door when he spoke.