Wild

by Jill Sorenson

  She placed her fingertips on his jaw, feeling the slight scrape of stubble there. Then she kissed his tense mouth in demurral. Yes, they should.

  He didn’t have to be talked in to it. Thank God. He kissed her back with only the slightest hesitation, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. She squirmed against him, lips parted in invitation. He slanted his mouth over hers and plunged his tongue inside. Stroking her, tasting her, filling her sweetly.

  She curled her tongue around his, trembling with excitement. He smelled faintly of smoke and chlorine, which was a strange aphrodisiac. It drove her crazy, nevertheless. She moaned into his mouth, wanting to lick his hot skin.

  His hands shifted to her bottom, cupping her through the silky fabric. He groaned, lifting her against his erection and letting her slide down. That was incredibly good. She gripped his neck and held on as he repeated the action. After three times, it was too much to bear. He turned her toward the bed, but he didn’t push her down. He broke the kiss, panting.

  Asking.

  She felt the edge of the mattress at the backs of her knees. His heart pounded against her chest and his erection throbbed against her lower abdomen. She didn’t want to let go of his neck, so she tugged him forward. He reclaimed her mouth as they fell across the bed together. The bounce reverberated through her injured thigh, but the discomfort was fleeting. He kissed it away, squeezing her satin-covered hip.

  They kissed for as long as they danced, or longer. He didn’t press for more. In fact, he stretched out on his back and brought her on top of him. This action took the weight off her leg and let her set the pace. Her dress inched up her thighs. His hands followed, exploring her bottom through the fabric of her panties. She was frustrated by the layers of clothing. She wanted nothing between them.

  His fingertips slid under her panties. The feel of his hand on her bare skin was electric. Escalating. He paused, as if gauging her response. She made it easy for him to interpret. Kissing him harder, she fumbled to release the buttons on his shirt. Posh as he looked, she was ready to rip the garment off of him.

  He chuckled at her eagerness. Removing his hand from her panties, he helped her with the buttons. When she pushed it off his arms and splayed her hands over his chest, he drew in a sharp breath. She grasped his shoulders and lay back against the pillows, urging him to get on top of her. He made a growling sound, deep in his throat, and covered her mouth with his. She parted her lips and spread her thighs for him.

  This position was a game-changer. The time for languid kissing had passed. He buried his tongue in her mouth and thrust against her. His erection nudged her swollen sex, sending sparks of pleasure through her body. She moaned and wrapped her legs around his waist, gripping his shoulders, begging for more. His hand traveled up her thigh, perhaps to divulge her of her panties. Instead, he encountered her bandage. And hesitated.

  He lifted his head to study her. His lips were wet from her mouth, his eyes black. She glanced at Emma, who was still sleeping. Then she returned her attention to Mateo. He was staring at the bodice of her dress, which had slipped down. She fumbled with the tie and tugged the dress over her head.

  He groaned at the sight of her in nothing but a bra and panties. The lace cups of her bra didn’t cover much, but she didn’t have much to cover. Their mouths met again, hot and eager. He shifted to his side and put his hands all over her, palming her hip and her breast. His thumb brushed her nipple. She shuddered with arousal.

  He kissed her neck, pushing the bra strap off her shoulder. When she didn’t protest, he tugged the fabric down completely, baring her breasts. He didn’t appear disappointed by her size. He moistened his lips in anticipation, as if her nipples were some rare exotic fruit. She tensed as he put his mouth on her, sucking gently.

  It felt odd. Especially the suction. She worried that her milk might let down. Which was ridiculous, as she hadn’t breast-fed for months.

  “No,” she said, uncomfortable. “Don’t.”

  He stopped at once, stricken.

  She didn’t know how to explain. In her experience, men had fragile egos about sex. Constant erections and fragile egos. Maybe that combination balanced out with age. Lyle had gotten defensive over the gentlest of corrections. Once he’d told her to shut up until he was finished, as if she was interfering with the porno playing in his mind. She’d felt more like a masturbatory aid than a partner.

  Mateo was clearly right here with her, not imagining someone else. But when he grabbed her discarded dress and gave it to her, she realized he’d misinterpreted her wishes. He thought she was calling a halt.

  She tossed the dress aside, hoping she hadn’t blown it. “I just meant…no mouth. Here.” She touched her nipples. “It feels like…” She glanced at Emma.

  Understanding dawned. “No mouth.”

  “Hands are okay.” She lifted his to her breast. “See?”

  “Sí.”

  “Mouth here,” he said, brushing his lips over hers.

  She melted against him. “Yes.”

  Oh, yes.

  They resumed kissing and touching, learning each other. She found that he had boundaries, too. He didn’t let her hands slip below his waist, and he kept his pants on. He seemed to want to focus on her pleasure.

  No one had ever done that for her.

  They didn’t have any condoms, so intercourse was out. She suspected that he was worried about her injured leg, because he was careful not to jostle her. His touch danced across her skin like magic. His mouth was bold and delicious. She clung to him, panting and aching and wanting more.

  It had been almost three years since she’d had sex. She hadn’t been comfortable with her body during the second half of her pregnancy, and neither had Lyle. Their encounters hadn’t been very satisfying before, either. The only way she’d reached climax with him was by her own hand. Did that count?

  Mateo murmured something to her and tugged at the waistband of her panties. She assisted him by taking them off. He slid one fingertip inside her, testing her heat. She gasped and spread her thighs wider.

  Please.

  He gave her what she wanted, at his own pace. His fingers caressed and penetrated, taking her to the brink. She trembled with anticipation as he circled her clitoris in slow motions. She gripped his wrist, almost there. As if sensing her capitulation, he covered her mouth with his. She came with a muffled cry, her eyes squeezed shut and her stomach quivering. Although she didn’t see stars, it was a near thing.

  Wow.

  When she opened her eyes, Mateo was watching her with a satisfied smile.

  “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” she said.

  “Claro.”

  She had her legs akimbo and her bra tangled around her waist, like a shameless hussy. It felt pretty great.

  “Otra vez?” he offered.

  She giggled, knowing what that meant. After checking on Emma, she reached for his belt. “What about you?”

  He didn’t stop her, but he seemed conflicted.

  “Just my hand,” she whispered.

  Easily convinced, he helped her with the fly of his pants. She decided that basic briefs were sexy. Especially when he was in them. He lowered the waistband for her.

  She curled her fingers around his shaft, thrilled. It had been a long time since she’d fondled a penis. He was bigger than Lyle, and he felt different in her hand. His erection didn’t slide through her closed fist the same way.

  Mateo covered her hand with his, demonstrating what he liked. She made a firmer grip. He worked her fist up and down.

  Oooh.

  He was hard and smooth and hot. Stroking him was easier than stroking Lyle, for whatever reason. She pumped faster, enjoying it. His eyes moved from her hand to her breasts, which jiggled as she pleasured him. That was hot, too. She liked watching him watch her. He seemed captivated by what she was doing. Mesmerized. She had this strong man in the palm of her hand, literally. Sweat broke out on his forehead and a crease formed between his brows. H
is abdomen clenched.

  He grabbed her discarded panties and spilled into them with a strangled groan. She kept her grip on his pulsing flesh. He didn’t soften much.

  When it was over, he tossed her panties aside and collapsed against the pillows, his fly still open. She snuggled up next to him. After a short rest, he went to the bathroom. Then he brought her the yoga pants and T-shirt, along with a bottle of water. He was very considerate, even after he came. She donned the clothes and sipped the water, smiling. He blew out the candles and joined her in bed, kissing her temple.

  She drifted off in his arms a few moments later, warm and content.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  HELENA WATCHED JOSH tear off the label and unscrew the cap.

  He took a measured sip, grimacing as he swallowed. Although he didn’t cough or sputter, his reaction wasn’t that of an accomplished drinker. Maybe he wasn’t used to straight alcohol without ice or soda.

  “Too strong?” she asked.

  “It’ll put hair on your chest,” he rasped, passing her the bottle.

  “Just what I need.” She studied the liquid inside the rim, wrinkling her nose when the fumes assailed her nostrils.

  “What are you doing, smelling it?”

  “Is that not recommended?”

  He shrugged.

  She tipped the bottle to her mouth, holding her elbow high and craning her neck forward. The whiskey tasted awful and burned her throat. She choked it down with a shudder and wiped her lips with the sleeve of her jacket.

  He laughed, taking the bottle back. “You drink like a girl.”

  “I am a girl.”

  “I know,” he said, smiling to himself.

  She didn’t think he meant to be flirtatious. It just came naturally to him. She wasn’t offended by his enjoyment of her “girlish” inexperience, or by his veiled reference to seeing her naked. His attention warmed her as much as the shot of whiskey. She liked his cocky sense of humor, his charming smile, the uneven stubble on his jaw. His honey-brown eyes. She studied the bandages on his arms, hoping the pain relievers had kicked in.

  “I forgot the antibiotic injection,” she said, straightening.

  He screwed the cap back on the bottle. “Fuck it.”

  “No, you’ll get an infection.”

  “Where does it go?”

  “Exactly where you think.”

  Swearing under his breath, he stood with her. She grabbed the lantern before they returned to the treatment area, aka “torture chamber,” where she found a new syringe and a vial of amoxicillin. “How much do you weigh?”

  “One-eighty.”

  More than she’d figured. After drawing up the proper amount, she turned to him. “Lower your pants a little.”

  He didn’t protest or make any sexual innuendoes. Sighing, he tugged down the waistband of his pants and boxer shorts, revealing most of his right buttock. He had a tan line across his lower back. Below, he was pale and firm.

  His muscle twitched as she stuck him, clenching the same way it would when he thrust inside a woman. The sight was enough to induce hot flashes. She removed the needle and pressed a cotton ball against the spot. “Hold this here for a minute.”

  His fingertips replaced hers. “Was it good for you?”

  She put the needle in the sharps container. “It wasn’t bad.”

  “I can’t say I enjoyed it.”

  “You tensed up, so that didn’t help.”

  “Rookie mistake.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, smiling.

  After he pulled his pants back up and tucked the cotton ball into his pocket, they returned to the staff lounge. She took a seat next to him, contemplating the whiskey bottle. Having another round wasn’t a good idea. He was hard enough to resist while they were sober. She couldn’t afford to get tipsy, and they had a lot to do tomorrow. On the other hand, if she drank to excess, her worries would fade and he’d leave her alone.

  She shook her head in disgust at this train of thought. Was she really so afraid of losing control—and making the wrong choice—that she’d choose oblivion instead? What a stupid plan. She might miscalculate the number of drinks, change her mind and jump on him. She might do that anyway.

  After months without sex, and a long stretch of feeling unwanted, she was vulnerable. Josh’s desire for her was a powerful aphrodisiac.

  He unscrewed the cap and helped himself, not conflicted in the least. When he offered her the bottle again, she declined. This didn’t faze him, either. He set the whiskey aside, amiable. He wasn’t trying to ply her with liquor. There was a clear difference between his knee-jerk flirting and his blatant sexual advances. She hadn’t considered it before, but now that she’d seen him in action, she understood. He didn’t mean anything by the former, and the latter was impossible to misinterpret.

  In her experience, people got easier to read as she became more comfortable with them. Josh was no exception. She doubted he’d curb all of his suggestive comments, but she trusted him to keep his hands to himself. He’d accepted her reasons for saying no, if only because he thought he’d have her later.

  She didn’t tell him that they’d never be together. He wasn’t appropriate for a one-night stand or a long-term relationship. It was better that they remain coworkers. She could even consider him a friend.

  “Why elephants?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you want to run away to the circus as a kid?”

  “Oh. No, not at all. I did see my first elephant at a circus, and he was in musth. You know what that is?”

  “In heat?”

  “It’s similar to estrus in females. A hormonal surge. Male elephants have glands near their eyes that weep during musth, so I thought he was crying. He looked sad, and the ringleader hit him with a bull-hook. I was horrified. My dad spent the rest of the evening trying to win me a stuffed animal.”

  “Did he?”

  “I can’t remember,” she said. “I know he bought me a candy apple, and I refused to ride on the Ferris wheel.”

  “He sounds like a fun dad.”

  She glanced away, uncomfortable with the subject. “I didn’t plan on working with elephants. I wanted to be an equine vet, but then I got interested in exotic animals. Zookeeping suited me better.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, look at the staff. We’re all a bunch of misfits.”

  He couldn’t argue that. After a pause, he picked up his cell phone and scrolled through some photos. Helena leaned closer and looked with him. There was a recent picture of his niece at the zoo. She was wearing a polka-dot sun hat, pointing at a giraffe.

  “I got mad at her the night before the earthquake,” he said, staring at the photo. “She’d climbed on my desk while Chloe was busy and found one of my comics. There were torn pages scattered all over the floor. I yelled at Emma, and she started crying. Chloe called me an asshole, and I slammed the door.”

  Her heart ached for him. “You’re not an asshole.”

  “I do a pretty good impression of one.”

  She wanted to put her arm around him and rest her head on his shoulder. They’d formed a bond over the past few days, which was unusual for her. The natural reserve that protected her from getting hurt by people also prevented her from connecting with them.

  Instead of reaching out to him, she picked up the whiskey bottle and unscrewed the cap. To hell with it. She took a sip and passed it on, coughing. He accepted the liquid comfort and tossed back a swig. They shared another round, drowning their sorrows. It went down a lot smoother on the third try than the first two.

  “I still don’t think they’re gone,” he said, recapping the bottle. “I have a gut feeling. Maybe it’s stupid to believe in that, but I do.”

  “It’s not stupid,” she said.

  “When your dad died, did you feel something?”

  As she considered that question, she was struck by an epiphany: her father’s death had left the empty place inside her. Mitch�
�s abandonment had made the hole bigger. She couldn’t believe she’d never thought of it that way before. But then, it was hard to examine the root of an unacknowledged problem.

  “I didn’t have a premonition or anything,” she said, replaying that awful morning in her mind. “Two men came to the door to break the news to my mom. Her face went white, and she sat down. When she told me what happened, I didn’t cry at first. But I felt the pain in my chest and I knew it was true.”

  Her story seemed to resonate with him. He hadn’t wavered in his belief that his sister and niece were alive. Although Helena didn’t trust her own gut feelings, she admired his faith in his. It wasn’t healthy to worry about things you couldn’t control, like he’d said earlier, and anticipating the worst was a miserable exercise.

  He put down his cell phone and they sat side by side, listening to the radio. Although they’d had a hard day, she wasn’t ready to end it. Sitting with him made her feel better. She was grateful for his company.

  “What kinds of comics do you read?” she asked.

  His brows rose at the question. “The superhero kind.”

  “Superman?”

  “Wonder Woman is my favorite.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why do you like her?”

  “She’s hot, and kicks ass.”

  She smiled at his description. “I didn’t know jocks read comic books.”

  “I’m secretly a geek.”

  “Since when?”

  “High school.”

  “You weren’t the star quarterback, dating the top cheerleader?”

  “I went on a lot of fantasy dates with Wonder Woman. That’s about it.”

  “No real girls?”

  “Not until the end of my senior year.”

  “That’s why you’re funny,” she said. If he’d been popular and dreamy as a teenager, he might not have developed the same personality.

  He shrugged.

  “What happened on these fantasy dates?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Is it dirty?” she asked, intrigued.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered there. “I’ll tell you, but you have to share one of your fantasies.”