by Linda Howard
“I thought they were lying,” she gasped, barely aware that she was even speaking.
“Who?” he asked against her throat.
“Women. About this.”
“This?” He didn’t sound very interested. He found that sensitive place on her neck again, and held it with his teeth.
“The way it feels. This.”
“How does it feel?” he whispered.
“I. . . throb.” She could barely get the words out. “Between my legs.”
A rough sound burst out of his throat and a shudder ran through him, his erection pulsing against her. “I’ll make it stop,” he said, his tone so low and rough the words were barely intelligible.
He slid his hands up her legs, tugging the close-fitting dress up as he went until the fabric was bunched over his forearms and his hands were inside her panties, his hot palms cupping her bottom for a moment, just a moment; then he moved them down, down, his fingers delving into her closed cleft and finding her opening. Daisy gasped, the sound strangling in her throat as her whole body seemed to seize, waiting, frozen in anticipation. Then he pushed two big fingers up into her and all her nerve endings rioted, arching her against him in a mindless search for more. Oh, God. She was stretched, penetrated—and it wasn’t enough.
Her hips began to move, surging like the tide. “More,” she managed to say, begging, whimpering the word. “More.”
She couldn’t seem to do anything except cling to him as he stripped her panties down and off, retrieved a condom from his pocket, then kicked off his shoes and fought his way out of the rest of his clothing. Naked, holding her to him, he stumbled back to sit on the couch and pull her over him, arranging her legs so that she straddled his lap. He put on the condom with quick, jerky movements, then grasped her hips and guided her into position.
Abruptly, time slowed. She gripped his shoulders at the feel of his penis probing between her legs, not inside her but nudging, as if enticing her to open and admit him.
Her breath came in quick little gasps; his bellowed out of his lungs. His jaw was set, his neck corded with strain, and yet he remained still and let her set the pace. The wonder of it suffused her. She moved back and forth in a subtle motion, caressing herself with the hard length, lifting and moving and—ah. He slipped into her, just a little, but enough to make him clench his teeth on another rough sound. His fingers bit into her buttocks, then relaxed.
Entranced, the expression in her eyes distant as she concentrated on the sensation of heat and stretching and fullness, Daisy lifted herself once more, settled, and took the broad head fully inside her. Jack groaned, his face twisted as if he were in pain. He shifted so his hips were on the edge of the cushion, stretching out his legs so she could take him at a deeper angle. She rose and fell, her eyes closing, savoring the slow, slow impalement as she squirmed and adjusted and finally, finally, he was completely inside her.
Magic.
That’s what it felt like, her body not her own any-more but moving with a will of its own, twisting, seeking. She reveled in his size and nakedness, in the way she felt him deep inside where she had never been touched before. She loved the harsh sounds he made, loved the growing desperation of his grip, loved the increasing tension and heat of her own body as sensation wound tighter and tighter, and she leaned forward to kiss him, as everything suddenly reached critical mass and her senses exploded. The world dimmed around her. She heard herself shrieking and sobbing, felt her hips frantically surging against him; then abruptly she was on her back and he was pounding into her and she climaxed again just moments before he stiffened and heaved in his own orgasm.
In the aftermath she lay limply under his heavy body, comfortable on the overstuffed cabbage rose cushions. The cool air fanned against her sides, while perspiration glued their fronts together. She nuzzled her face against his throat, inhaling his heady, musky scent. He pressed a kiss to her temple.
“You had a condom in your pocket in church,” she managed to say weakly, suddenly bemused by the thought.
“Yeah. I kept waiting for lightning to strike.” His voice sounded hoarse, as if he could barely speak.
She smoothed her hand down his muscled back, over the coolness of his buttocks. “Did you just have one?” she whispered.
He lifted his head and smiled down at her, his eyes heavy-lidded, his hair dark with sweat. “You still have the PartyPak, don’t you?”
FIFTEEN
The afternoon was her dream come true. First he decided he needed sustenance, so she slapped an ice cream bar into his hand and led him to the bedroom. He licked the last bit of vanilla off the stick while she turned back the covers. Then she pushed and he toppled and she jumped on top of him, rubbing herself like a cat against his strong, naked body. She felt his reaction twitching between her legs and curiosity overtook her. She rolled off and knelt beside him, wrapping both hands around his erection and studying it in delight.
Because the afternoon was her dream and she had always wondered, she leaned down and took him in her mouth. He tasted salty and smelled of musk, and she loved the way his penis pulsed and thickened. Entranced, she experimented with licks and swirls, then began investigating the underside leading down to his testicles
Maybe she was going too fast, because he said, “My turn,” and dumped her on her back. In a flash he was on her, pinning her down, settling between her thighs. Then he propped on his elbows and grinned down at her. “I’ll let you have your way with me later, I promise. Just not right now.”
The weight of him was delicious. She squirmed just a little, loving the way his hips fit between her legs and how naturally her thighs had parted for him. The position was wonderful and comfortable and exciting. “Why not right now?”
“Because I want to do it to you, and I’m bigger.”
So he did, kissing his way down her body and lingering at all the right places. When he finally worked down to where she really wanted him, she thought she would die from the intensity of her climax. Oral sex was every bit as stupendous as an article in Cosmo had said it was, and Jack was very good at what he did. While she was still quivering in the aftermath, he crawled up so that his penis was nudging her again. “Where’s the PartyPak? We need it now.”
“Let me up,” she panted, both exhausted and eager. “I’ll get it.”
He rolled off, and she staggered to the closet, where she had put the PartyPak on the shelf under the box containing her sea shell collection. She pulled it free and began tearing at the cellophane wrapping. Without looking, she grabbed out a condom and handed it to him.
A peculiar expression crossed his face. “I’m not wearing a purple condom,” he said, handing it back.
She looked down at the condom. “It’s grape.”
“I don’t care if it’s tutti-frutti; I’m not wearing a purple condom.”
She dropped the offending condom on the rug and took out another one. Blueberry. She looked at it and wrinkled her nose, then dropped it.
“What’s wrong with blue?”
“It would make you look... frozen.”
“Trust me, it isn’t frozen.” But he didn’t pick up the blue condom. She took out a cherry one, of a particularly violent shade of red, and shook her head.
“What’s wrong with that one?”
“Nothing, if you want to look infected.”
“Jesus.” He flopped back on the bed and stared imploringly at the ceiling. “Isn’t there a nice pink one in there? The bubble gum flavor?”
“I guess that would be the fuchsia,” she said doubtfully, taking it out and examining it. She’d never seen any bubble gum that particular shade. She sniffed it; a faint scent came through the wrapper. Definitely not bubble gum, though she wasn’t certain exactly what it was. Strawberry, maybe; whatever it was, she didn’t care for it. She rooted around in the box, but couldn’t find anything that could possibly be bubble gum flavored. “I’ve been stiffed. There’s no bubble gum in here.”
“Swear out a warrant tomorro
w,” he said in growing desperation. “Try the watermelon.”
Sure enough, the watermelon condom was green. Daisy gave him an appalled look. “Gangrene.”
He lunged off the bed, grabbed the purple condom from the floor, and tore off the clear wrapper. “If you ever tell anyone I wore a purple condom—”
“I won’t,” she promised, eyes wide; then he tossed her onto the bed and entered her with a quick, hard thrust, and they both forgot about colors.
It was so wonderful being naked with a man that she didn’t even think of being modest. She simply enjoyed him and marveled at the pleasure she had been missing all these years, not just the intensity of making love but lying together afterward with her head cradled on his shoulder and his arms around her. She couldn’t keep her hands off him; every time she tried, her palms started itching, so she just gave in and stroked him to her heart’s content. “You’re so hard,” she marveled, sleeking her hand down his washboard stomach. “You must work out all the time.”
“It gets to be a habit. When you’re on the Teams, you have to stay in condition. And it isn’t ‘all the time’; I maintain with an hour a day.”
“ ‘Teams’?”
“SWAT. In both Chicago and New York.”
She propped up on an elbow. “SWAT? You mean the guys who wear black and carry big guns?”
He grinned. “Yeah, one of those.”
“And you left that to come to a little town like Hillsboro?”
“I got tired of the pressure. Aunt Bessie died, I inherited her house, and I decided I wanted to try small-town life as an adult.”
“No transition problems?”
“Just language problems,” he said, and grinned again. “Now I can almost say ‘y’all’ like a native.”
“Uh—-no, you can’t.”
“What? Are you saying my ‘y’all isn’t authentic?”
“I suppose it’s an authentic Yankee trying to do a southern accent.”
Just like that she found herself beneath him again; the man could move like a cat. “How about an authentic Yankee doing a southern woman?” he murmured against her throat.
She looped her arms around his neck. “You’ve got that down perfect.”
He turned his head and looked at the “Froot Loops” array of condoms on the floor. “I don’t want to wear purple again. How about the yellow? That would be banana flavored, wouldn’t it?”
Daisy made a face. “Euww. Not yellow.”
Exasperated, he said, “Why did you buy colored ones if you don’t like the colors?”
“Oh, I never meant to use them,” she said, blinking at him. “They were just for show, “You know. For Mrs. Clud to tell her friends that I bought them, so they’d tell their friends, and some of the single men in town were bound to hear and be interested enough to ask me out. Then you ruined that by giving her the impression we were involved.”
The expression on his face was indescribable. He coughed, strangled a little, and cleared his throat. “That was . . . ingenious.”
“I thought so. It wouldn’t have worked if I’d bought them at Wal-Mart or a chain pharmacy, but Barbara Clud is one of the biggest gossips in town, and she always tells what their customers bought. Did you know Mr. McGinnis takes Viagra?”
He coughed again, thinking of the bluff and hearty city councilman. “Uh, no, I didn’t.”
“Mrs. Clud told everyone. So I knew she’d tell about my condoms.”
He buried his face against her shoulder, breathing deeply. He was shaking a little, and Daisy snuggled him close. “There, there. It’s just small-town life. You’ll adjust.”
He lifted his head to see the humor sparkling in her eyes, and he gave up attempting to control his laughter. “If I ever need Viagra, remind me not to go to Clud’s Pharmacy.”
She considered the firmness pressed against her inner thigh. “I don’t think you’ll need it anytime soon. I didn’t think you were supposed to be able to get hard again so fast. All the articles I read—”
He kissed her, and she stopped talking to taste the honey. His eyes were heavy-lidded when he lifted his head. “Maybe I’ve been inspired. Or provoked.”
She took exception to that. “If anyone’s been provoking, it’s you—”
“I didn’t buy seventy-two condoms.”
She was silent a moment, digesting the meaning behind that; then a satisfied smile broke across her face. “So my plan worked, didn’t it? After a fashion.”
“It worked,” he said gruffly. “I kept thinking about the bubble gum flavor.”
The phone rang, interrupting them. Daisy scowled; she didn’t want to talk on the telephone; she wanted to play with Jack. She hesitated long enough that he said, “Answer it. It might be your mother, and we don’t want them coming over to check on you.”
She sighed and stretched beneath him, snagging the receiver and bringing it to her ear. “Daisy Minor.”
“Hello, sweetie. How did the hunt go last night?”
It was Todd, and normally she loved gossiping with him, but not right now. “There was another fight, and I left early. I think I’ll go to another club next time.” Uhoh; she hadn’t meant to say that in front of Jack. She deliberately didn’t look at him.
“I’ll ask around, find out which places are best. So there weren’t any prospects?”
“Not yet. I only got to dance three times.” She turned her head away from the mouthpiece and said, as if she were talking to someone else in the room, “I won’t be long. Y’all get started without me.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to interrupt you while you have company,” Todd said instantly. “I’ll call back later.”
“Oh, no, it’s okay,” Daisy said, feeling guilty about her little deception but definitely not wanting to talk on the telephone when she could be making love.
“Enjoy your company,” he said gently. “Bye.”
“Bye,” she echoed, and fumbled the receiver back into place.
“Pretending to have company,” Jack chided, propping himself on his elbows so he could look down at her. “Slick.”
“I do have company. You.”
“But you definitely don’t want me to get started without you.”
“Definitely not.”
“So someone else is in on your husband-hunting scheme. Who is it?”
“Todd Lawrence,” she said, stroking her hands over his arms and shoulders. “He helped me with my hair and makeup and clothes.”
Jack lifted his eyebrows. “Todd.”
If she wasn’t mistaken, there was the slightest hint of jealousy in his tone. Daisy was thrilled, but at the same time she hastened to say, “Oh, he’s gay.”
“No he isn’t,” Jack said, startling her.
She blinked. “Of course he is.”
“If it’s the Todd Lawrence I know, lives in that big Victorian and owns an antiques store in Huntsville, he isn’t gay.”
“That’s Todd,” Daisy said, frowning. “But he’s definitely gay.”
“He’s definitely not.”
“How would you know?”
“Trust me. I know. And I don’t care if he did pass the puce test”
“He’s great at shopping,” she said, defending her position.
“Hell, I’m great at shopping, too, so long as you’re shopping for a car or a handgun, something like that.”
“He’s great at shopping for clothes. And he knows how to accessorize,” she finished triumphantly.
“You’ve got me there,” he admitted. “But he isn’t gay”
“Yes, he is! What makes you think he isn’t?”
Jack shrugged. “I saw him with a woman.”
She was momentarily flabbergasted; then the explanation occurred to her. “He was probably going shopping with her. I’m a woman, and he spent the entire day with me.”
“He had his tongue down her throat.”
Her mouth fell open. “But—but why would he pretend to be gay if he isn’t?”
&n
bsp; “Beats me. He can pretend to be from Mars if he wants.”
She shook her head, bewildered. “He even likes Barbra Streisand; I saw the CDs in his den.”
“Straight guys can like Streisand.”
“Really. What kind of music do you like?”
“Creedence Clearwater. Chicago. Three Dog Night. You know, the classics.”
She buried her face against his shoulder and giggled. He smiled, liking the sound. “I’m a Golden Oldies kind of guy. What about you? No, let me guess: You like the old classics.”
“No fair. You saw my music collection on the shelves in the living room.”
“I was in there, what, a minute, while you called your mother? I didn’t examine your music collection.’
“You’re a cop. You’re trained to observe things.”
“Give me a break. All I was thinking about was getting in your pants.”
“What color is my couch?”
“Blue with big flowers on it. You think I wouldn’t notice? We were naked on that couch.”
She sighed blissfully. “I know.”
“But you’re right about one thing: because I’m a cop, I’m very observant. For instance, which club were you thinking about going to next time?”
Drat! He’d noticed. “I don’t know,” she said vaguely. “I haven’t decided.”
“Well, when you decide, I expect to know.” There was a hard edge to his voice that she hadn’t heard before. “I mean it, Daisy. If you’re going out alone, I want to know where you are.”
She chewed her bottom lip. What if he showed up wherever she went and scared off anyone who asked her to dance? On the other hand, he was right about the safety issue; she had to be intelligent about the matter. Besides, she was in a difficult position, literally: flat on her back, naked, pinned down.
“Promise me,” he insisted.
“I promise.”
He didn’t ask if she would keep her promise; he knew she would. He pressed his forehead against hers. “I want you safe,” he whispered, and kissed her.
As usual, one kiss led to another, and soon she was clinging to him, giddy with arousal. She wound her legs around his hips, and with a groan he sank into her, thrusting several times before suddenly cursing and pulling out. He leaned over the edge of the bed and blindly scrabbled for a condom. “I don’t care what color it is,” he said hoarsely.