Shame the Devil (Portland Devils Book 3)

by Rosalind James

  Some more red in her cheeks. Some more embarrassment.

  He shifted his weight to one hand and put the other one over her mouth. “Jennifer,” he said, making it stern, because she loved it. “It’s my birthday. Remember?”

  She nodded over his hand, and he sent that hand down and palmed a breast, then let it go and moved down her body. He lowered himself again, and this time, he was sucking on a hard pink nipple. The second he started, she jerked beneath him, and now, he heard the gasp. He let her go and said, “Listen to me. Listen hard. I thought I made this clear, but I obviously need to tell you again. Exactly what you’re going to give me for my birthday.”

  “Wh-what?” she asked. Her hands were running over his arms now. Feeling the muscles that would be standing out there, because he’d been up here doing this plank for a long time. It was burning some, and he didn’t care.

  He lowered himself again, sucked on the other nipple for a while longer while she shifted beneath him and started to moan, and then he let her go long enough to tell her.

  “It’s pretty simple,” he said. “I want to use you like you’re mine. I want to make you come until you can’t do anything but shake, until you think you’re going to lose your mind. And then I want to fuck your brains out.”

  He wasn’t kidding. He was taking his time. His mouth, his hands were everywhere. Stroking down her arms, kissing her neck. He stayed on her breasts for a good long while, until she was clutching his shoulders, until her good leg was wrapped around his waist, until she was pulling him into her in frustration.

  She said, when she needed to say something, when she needed everything, “Come on. Come on. I’m ready.”

  His lazy voice was saying, “I don’t think so,” but he was moving lower. Holding her waist in his big hands, kissing her navel, drifting his slow, leisurely way south. She was gasping, and she was also holding her breath.

  He wouldn’t really do all that. Not for long. He wouldn’t want to …

  The fire was warm, the light flickering at the corner of her vision. His shoulders were damp, because he was sweating. He smelled like darkness and sin. And he had both hands on her thighs, sliding them down, then up again. He shifted some more and kissed a slow path up her inner thigh, then pushed her thighs slowly apart. And … looked.

  She tried to close her legs. He said, his voice a little rough, “What did I say?”

  “Ah …” She tried to get her thoughts together. It wasn’t easy. Her head was spinning.

  He said, “I’m going to put a couple pillows under you. Leave your legs just like that. We’re not hurting that foot.”

  She thought, confusedly, That’s good, I guess. Pillows. Even though the last thing she cared about right now was her head. Or her foot.

  He was stretching over her, and she reached for him, ran her hands greedily over his chest, his flanks. His thighs. And, finally, closed her hand around him. He jerked against her and said, his voice strained, “I thought I told you not to do that. I’m going to lift your hips up. Use your good foot and help me out.”

  One pillow under her hips. Another one. And then he got his palms on either side of her thighs and started in on her.

  Too slow.

  Too slow.

  She had her hands in his hair, trying to get hold of it, but it was too short, and she couldn’t. She was so far past embarrassment now, except that she wasn’t, because when she started calling out, she tried to choke the sound back. She was trying to pull his head into her, trying to get him to go faster, but he didn’t seem to hear her.

  She said, “Please. Please,” and tried to do it again, and this time, he lifted his head.

  Did he promise her he’d hurry up? No, he didn’t. He said, “You’re kind of a slow learner, aren’t you?”

  “Hurry. I can’t … I can’t wait any longer.”

  He said, “Oh, yeah. You can. You only had one rule. I’m afraid I’m going to have to take care of that, baby.” He grabbed her hands in his and shoved them against her thighs. And then he pushed her legs farther apart, almost to the point of discomfort, and way past the point of helplessness. And he still had her hands. She tried to pull them away, and he tightened his grip.

  “That’s better,” he told her. “But you just made it last longer. That’s what happens when you don’t mind.”

  He worked her over until she was shaking. Until she was trembling. Until she was calling his name. Until she was begging. And then he got both her wrists in one hand, held them tight, slid a finger into her, and started to suck.

  The circles inside her got tighter, then tighter still. All there was in the world was this. His mouth. His finger. He wound her up, and the closer she got, the more he slowed down. He got a second finger in there, and his hands were so big. She was keening, her hips rocking, her wrists held fast.

  And he stopped.

  He said, “Are you going to be good?”

  “Yes,” she gasped. “Yes.”

  “How good?” he asked. His grip tightened on her wrists, and his fingers were still moving inside her. Finding the spot, the one she’d never believed in, and she was … she was …

  “How good?” he said again.

  She couldn’t answer. She was over the edge, her head starting to bang against the mattress. The waves took her, and they tossed her. Over and over and over, and when he set his mouth to her again …

  She wailed.

  She was shaking. She was trembling. She was trying to form words, and she couldn’t do it. And all he wanted in this world was to stand her up, bend her over, grab her wrists, and fuck her hard from behind.

  She wanted exciting. She wanted wild. He wanted it, too. And he knew exactly how to do it.

  But there was that foot.

  He fumbled in the bedside table, found the box of condoms he’d thought he’d never get a chance to use, and got one on in a great big hurry. And then he got on his knees and sat over her, took her ankles in his hands, and spread her wide.

  Flat on her back. Legs in the air.

  She was squirming, saying, “Harlan.” He let her do it. He got up close, pulled her in by the ankles, and said, “You want another one of those?”

  “Y-yes,” she said. “Yes.”

  “Then take it,” he said. “Show me how you do it.” He had one hell of a view. There she was, spread as wide as a woman could get, and she couldn’t do anything about it.

  “Only if … you do it, too.”

  “Do what?”

  She was trying to scowl. It was so cute. Tumbled red hair, white skin flushed with the force of that orgasm, her breasts heaving, that curvy mouth twisting. “You’ve just … teased,” she said. “Over and over.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I have.” He pushed her legs a little farther towards her face and moved in until he was straddling her. Almost there. So close. “All you’ve got to do is tell me. Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”

  “I want you … inside me.” It was a gasp, and she was trying her best to squirm closer.

  “Not good enough,” he said. “Get your hand down there. Time to use that skill of yours. Time to show me what you’ve got.”

  He was an idiot. He needed to be inside her more than he’d ever needed anything, she was begging him to do it, and he was still holding back.

  He said, “Do what I tell you.”

  Her face was flaming. He was willing to bet that she’d never masturbated in front of a man in her life. She sure as hell hadn’t done it when she was wet and slick and swollen, propped up on pillows, and displayed for him, when her ankles were in his hands.

  She did it. And she was right. She was good at it. And when he couldn’t stand it a single second more, he slid inside her.

  Hot. Tight. Wet.

  He tried to keep it slow. He tried to drag it out a little more. But he was watching it all happen, and …

  Oh, yeah. But he wasn’t ready yet. He still needed to make her say it.

  She was getting closer. Her eyes clo
sing, her mouth opening. He was moving faster, too, because despite his best intentions, despite his discipline, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

  Her keening breath. His hands tight around her thighs now, pulling her into him with every thrust. He said, “Tell me.” Barely able to get the words out.

  He could see her back arching, her thighs tensing, one arm flung over her head, clutching at the sheet. The fabric twisting in her fist as she tried to hold on.

  She opened her eyes. Gold in the firelight. Wide. Focused only on him.

  He said, “Yeah. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Tell me what I want to hear.”

  She said, “Harlan. Harlan. Fuck me. Please.”

  Going so deep inside her, her inner walls squeezing him tight. Her eyes on him, watching him the same way he was watching her. Knowing that what she saw was exciting her more. Hearing her say things she’d never said, watching her do things she’d never done.

  It felt so good, it hurt. He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t …

  He forgot to be slow. He forgot to be careful. He took her hard.

  He made her come, and then she kept on doing it, and he was slamming into her like a wrecking ball, his arms wrapped tight around her thighs, his voice groaning out her name. And when he was finally there …

  He honestly thought he was going to die.

  28

  Everybody’s Fine

  She couldn’t catch her breath.

  Harlan was still over her, but he’d slid up and lowered himself down to kiss her. Deep and hot and possessive, the same way he’d felt inside her. She tasted herself on him, and despite the two most mind-blowing orgasms of her life, just tasting that, and knowing he wanted her to, made her go even more warm and liquid inside.

  And then he rolled off her and said, “Shit.” And not in a I-can’t-believe-how-good-that-was way. In an I-just-bounced-a-check way. Which was not what she’d been expecting.

  “What?” she asked, and tried to joke, even though it didn’t feel one bit funny. “No good, even with all those rules?”

  He said, “Condom broke.” And she realized that the liquid wasn’t just arousal. It was … liquid.

  “Hang on,” he told her, and headed into the bathroom. When he came back, he was holding a hand towel, and she was struggling up to sit. Which wasn’t easy, because her foot hurt. A lot.

  “Here,” he said, put an arm behind her shoulders, and helped her up. “Don’t move. I’ve got it.”

  He wiped her down and cleaned her up, his touch gentle, something that should have embarrassed her, that would have embarrassed her, but how could she be embarrassed after all that? He asked, “How’s the foot?”

  “Hurts,” she admitted.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m not surprised. Where are those pills the doctor gave you?”

  “In my bathrobe pocket. I don’t think I should take them, though. I don’t want to get … stupid again.” In fact, she felt a little like crying. She’d thought, in some part of her, that he’d hold her, would cuddle her and kiss her and tell her she was beautiful. She’d thought this would be romantic, even though she’d known that wasn’t what they were doing here.

  “You won’t,” he said. “This is an NSAID. Non-narcotic. It’ll make you sleepy, that’s all.” He switched on the bedside light, found the little sample pack, and shook out a pill, then handed it to her with a glass of water. “Drink the water, too. Bleeding’s dehydrating.” All business.

  She pulled her bathrobe the rest of the way out from underneath her, tried to get it on without hurting her foot, and couldn’t. “If you’ll help me with this,” she said, hearing how tight her voice was coming out and unable to make it be any other way, “and help me back to the new room, wherever it is, we can both get some sleep.” She’d shared enough today. She’d shared too much. She wasn’t going to let him see her cry.

  “Jennifer,” he said, his hand on the robe, not helping her put it on, “what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I wanted sex. I asked you for sex. I got sex. Nothing’s wrong. And don’t worry. I’ve been on the pill.” She’d missed a couple in there right after the breakup, in the sort of, “What’s the point in this” that tended to happen, but she’d taken an extra one as soon as rational thought had returned. She didn’t tell Harlan that, because there was no point in that, either. Instead, she said, “And Mark—my boyfriend—I’m sure he didn’t cheat. Cheating would have required effort. You’re safe from me.” Which all sounded bitter, but she was past caring.

  He was looking worried anyway, no matter what she’d said. “Hey,” he said. “Come here.” He pulled her into him, and she resisted for a minute, but then she went. His arms were around her, her head was against his chest, and in his arms was a solid place to be. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. She just breathed in his scent, tried to get her emotions under control, and failed completely.

  He said, “Hey. Hey, now,” and rocked with her some. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  She was choking up. She couldn’t stop it happening. “See,” she tried to joke, “this is why I don’t have …” She had to breathe to get the words out. “Casual sex. How embarrassing. I think I’m supposed to get dressed after you fall asleep, and then slip out of the room. I only know that, though, because … movies. I told you. No experience.”

  “Shh,” he said. “Come on, now. It’s OK.” He was petting her hair, his touch so soothing. “It’s been a rough day, and sex can bring up some emotion.”

  “There’s a word for it,” she said, trying to be rational. Trying to be the kind of woman who could be blasé after that kind of experience. Trying to be a woman she absolutely wasn’t. “I can’t remember it, but it means, ‘Sad after sex.’ I read it in an article. It’s never happened to me, though. Maybe because it’s never been that … intense.”

  “Maybe we don’t have to know the name,” he said. “Maybe we just shifted gears too fast. Maybe we just have to hold each other a while.”

  “Except that you’re not sad.”

  He kissed her hair and held her tighter. “I could be a little sad.”

  Because it had been just this once, he meant, and they were done. She got it.

  They sat quietly a minute more, and then he said, “Would it be insensitive right now to say that you blew my mind, though?”

  She had to laugh, it was so unexpected. She pulled back to smile up at him, and he grinned at her and said, “Because, yeah. You did.”

  “I don’t see how,” she said. “Since you wouldn’t let me do anything.”

  “Mm.” He dropped a kiss onto her lips that was nothing but sweet. “You know? I think that was part of it. I didn’t want you to hurt your foot, but that was oddly hot. Nothing like giving a woman a little … limitation. But it wasn’t the only reason. I think it was you.”

  That gave her a glow, and never mind if she shouldn’t feel it. She did feel it. She said, feeling shy, “I guess you know that you did, too. Blew my mind. I’ve never, ah …” She tried to go on, and got stuck. “I’m not sure how to finish this sentence.”

  “Aw,” he said, “don’t leave me hanging. Give me the postgame review.”

  “I’ve never … done anything like that. Or had anybody …” Oh, boy. She couldn’t.

  “Tickle your feet?” he suggested. “Put you in a sex swing? What?”

  Now, she was laughing, and so was he. “Oh, man,” she said, “a sex swing. I barely even know they exist.”

  “Nah,” he said. “Nothing but props for guys who can’t hold a woman up by themselves.” And she was laughing some more.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ve never had a man spend that much attention on me, then. I’ve never had anybody talk that way to me. I’ve never done a lot of positions.”

  “We didn’t exactly burn it down,” he said. “One position.”

  “Hey,” she said, “don’t rain on my parade.”

  He grinned and kissed her and teased her some more. It was so silly, she
couldn’t stop smiling. It was so sweet, it hurt. And at some point, possibly in the middle of a sentence, she fell asleep in his arms.

  He was in trouble.

  It was what he’d told her, maybe. Too long a day. Too much emotion, and he didn’t do emotion. He did casual, and he did fun. He was a real good time, and that was all. He stayed where he was safe, but when she’d been trying not to cry and he’d been holding her, that hadn’t felt safe. And when he’d realized the condom had broken, it really hadn’t felt safe. Holding her while she slept against him, all soft and warm and trusting, didn’t feel all that safe, either.

  Maybe none of it should have happened, but he couldn’t be sorry. He’d be taking her home tomorrow. They’d helped each other through a rocky few days, and that was good. That was fine. She was fine, and so was he.

  They were both fine.

  29

  With a Whimper

  It was raining in Portland. You could say that was because it was April, but it wasn’t really true. It rained a lot in Portland.

  Harlan was running anyway. In the Forest Park, which meant in the mud, which had the dual advantage of being good for your fitness and reducing the crowds. There were still people out here despite the downpour, because it was Portland, and it was Saturday, and he veered around a jogger with a yellow Labrador, whose tail wagged the whole time like rain was Big Fun. After that, he picked up his speed for the homestretch. The last piece of the mud-slog, and a half-mile along the winding street to his house.

  He’d grab a swim to stretch out, get a shower, and tackle some investment research he needed to finish before his trip to L.A. on Monday to shoot a few cologne ads and a deodorant commercial. He was the new face of Feral’s line of male toiletries, which meant he was going to be spending time climbing in and out of sports cars, coming out of the water carrying a surfboard (and pretending he knew how to surf), wearing his pants too tight, and staring broodingly at women.