Drop Dead Gorgeous

by Landish, Lauren

  Her breath mingles with mine, and her voice quavers. “I know, me too.”

  I growl, loving that even if she’s skittish emotionally, she’s physically affected by me. I honestly wasn’t sure if I was seeing things that weren’t there just because I wanted them to be.

  The kiss goes on forever, neither of us willing to come up for air as our hands explore. I feel her nails score across my shoulders and arch into her touch, letting my hands drop from her jaw . . . to her sides, teasing along the sides of her tits, to her hips.

  I grab her ass, pulling her against me, and she gasps when she feels the thick hardness of my cock. I use my grip to lift her, spinning her around to settle her on the island. “Couch is too far away,” I grunt, still kissing her because I never want to stop.

  I feel her smile against my lips, and she whispers, “That’s what I decided too.”

  I lick a long line up the tendon of her neck, pausing to lay a gentle kiss over her racing pulse so I can feel the proof of her excitement.

  “Zo, I promised you . . . no sex until we go on a date, but let me make you feel good?” My dick riots in my pants, throbbing in disagreement with my ‘no sex’ statement.

  Tension shoots through her body as she pulls back to look at me. “What?” Confusion curls her brows. “Isn’t that the opposite of what most guys want?”

  “I’m not most guys.” I kiss her parted lips. “You’re not most girls.” I tweak her nipple through her top and bra. “We’re us. And I know as well as you do that if I give in to this moment and slide inside you, it’ll be amazing. Life-changing, I predict.” I grind my cock against her core, feeling her heat, and we both groan. I cup her jaw, forcing her hazy eyes back to mine, which are clear with the intention I feel down to my soul. “But I won’t risk your running.”

  She makes a sound of disappointment and frustration, and though my own body echoes it, I’m strong enough to stand resolute as long as I’m standing between her thighs.

  “How do you know I’m not already running?” she breathes. But her hand is gripping at my hair, her hips are bucking against mine, and her breath is ragged.

  “You are . . . running toward me,” I say at the same time I pull the hem of her scrub top over her head.

  I don’t let her argue, not now when I’m seeing the most gorgeous pair of tits I’ve ever seen for the first time. She’s wearing a plain black cotton bra, intended for function, not seduction.

  But her tits swell up in the cups, pale, lush mounds I want to squeeze and taste.

  “Damn, Zo. So pretty,” I tell her, cupping her so that both of my hands are full. She arches, and I mold her flesh with my hands, teasing over the raised nipples I can feel beneath the fabric. I lay a path of kisses along the edge of her bra as my hands sneak around to her back to unclasp it, and Zoey shrugs her shoulders to help remove it.

  As the bra drops to the island, I finally fill in the blanks I’ve imagined, the slope of her breasts as they fall naturally, the tawny color of her nipples against her pale flesh, and as I bend down to taste her, the salty sweetness of her skin.

  “Mmm.” She moans as I twirl my tongue in a circle around the hard nub, copying the move with my thumb on the other breast. I suck and lick, nibble and tweak, taking my time as I learn what she likes and enjoying every little sound she makes.

  My hands find their way to her thighs, squeezing the strong muscles as I move higher toward her core. She spreads wider to give me room to work, and at the clear sign of permission, I untie her pants to slip my hand inside. Her panties feel like plain cotton too, no fancy lace or high-cut sexiness.

  But the idea that she’s as unprepared for this as I am is incredibly hot. I did not go to work this morning thinking I’d end up with Zoey Walker moaning and grinding on my kitchen island, but here we are. I cup her mound, shuddering at the wetness I find soaked through the cotton at her center.

  Though I’d love to taste it, I school myself to go slow and enjoy, keeping the finish line in sight.

  Zoey Walker, she’s my finish line. I can feel it. Romantic whimsy? Maybe. But it feels like a real possibility. And I’ve definitely been called worse things than romantic.

  So I slow down, kissing her even though she’s panting for breath and unable to kiss back, and rubbing her entire pussy through the cotton until she’s begging for more, needing me to focus on her clit. Only then do I slip my hand beneath the cotton to her bare pussy.

  “So wet, so hot, Zo,” I murmur in awe, and she cries out as I circle the spot where she needs me. I dip into her entrance, spreading her juices up to her clit once again, and she spasms with sensitivity. I do it again, even slower, as I suck her nipple back into my mouth. I guide her to lie back, and she drops to her elbows, her head falling back and tits arched high.

  I lick circles along her flesh, mimicking them over her clit. My kitchen island is now the altar where I worship her, and I’ll never make dinner again without remembering this moment—how gorgeous Zoey looks when she lets go, the sounds she makes as she gets closer and closer to coming, and finally, how fulfilled I feel that she’s letting me this close to her.

  For a woman not easy to know, I feel like a lucky sonofabitch.

  “Oh, God, I’m coming,” she says in a voice a solid octave higher than her usual tone. I don’t speed up or slow down. I keep at her exactly the same—sucking her tit, circling her clit—and enjoy every bit of her spasms and shudders as she bucks and whimpers.

  She sighs as she floats back to earth, her eyes blinking unseeingly as she sags to the island top. My fingers glance over her flesh, loving her silky slickness, and though I’m sad to no longer touch her, I need to taste. I bring my fingers to my mouth to lick and suck them clean. That gets her attention, and her eyes go bright and clear as she watches through a half-lidded gaze.

  “Your turn?” she says on rough vocal cords.

  I look at her mouth, wanting to feel her lips surround my cock, and let my eyes draw down her half-dressed body.

  “Not yet,” I tell her. My cock swells against my zipper, and even though they’re not denim, my slacks are uncomfortable as hell right now.

  Zoey sits up quickly, confusion swirling in her blue eyes. “What?” She grabs at her top, pulling it in front of her as though she can hide from me, and I realize she thinks I’m rejecting her.

  “Zoey,” I say firmly, grabbing her into a hug that pins her arms to her side and brings her eyes to me. I can see the redness staining her cheeks, different from the pink flush she wore a moment ago. “I want you. Don’t doubt that. I’ll be jacking off the literal instant you walk out the door tonight as I replay what we just did.”

  “Oh. Then why not . . . you know?” she lifts her chin, trying to gesture to my dick, but it’s pressed up against her and I’m not ready to let her go yet.

  “I’m trying really hard to be a gentleman here.”

  “A gentleman,” she repeats as if it’s a word she’s never heard before, or maybe even another language.

  “Yeah, but don’t get too excited. It’s all part of my evil plan to get you to agree to a date.”

  She blinks like an owl, and then her lips lift in increments until she’s got a full bloom of a smile. “That again?”

  “Always.”

  Somehow, that makes it all okay. She settles, and I hand her the bra that fell to the floor at some point. But before I give it to her, I stare pointedly at her chest for a second. “What are you doing?” she questions in amusement.

  “Memorizing for later usage. Your tits are my entire spank bank right now until I get to see more.”

  That might be a little too truthful, but thankfully, she laughs and arches a bit more to show off, even shimmying her shoulders a bit.

  I groan and palm my cock through my slacks. “Are you trying to kill me, Zo? I have zero blood flow in my brain right now, and it’s my best feature.”

  “Your best feature?” she teases, acting dubious. I hold the straps of her bra out, sadly letting her put he
r breasts away in her bra and then shirt.

  “Hey! You’ve seen my brain in action. Why do you think I invited you to trivia night if not to show off my mental flex?” I flex my biceps, showing them off a bit too because I’m a man who knows how to work my angles.

  “I believe your exact words were to ‘save your ass’.”

  “Yeah, maybe that backfired on me a bit because you did save us and probably think the rest of us are dumbasses.”

  She leans forward, kissing the tip of my nose. “I wouldn’t go that far. We just all have areas of specialty.”

  Now that’s exactly why I want her so much. Beauty, brains, and heart? Fuck me, she’s perfect. “Speaking of specialties, let me make us some dinner. You’re probably hungry after my last skill demonstration.”

  I give her my eyebrow, daring her to disagree, and she laughs. “You cook?”

  “Well, I’ll say yes because I figure if I heat it,” I say humbly as I take another step back to try and think of what there is to eat around here, “whether in the microwave, oven, or stovetop, I cooked it. If it’s edible, all the better.”

  Zoey hops down, nodding. “Fair point.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way,” I say as I open the refrigerator door to show her the plastic bins of prepared food stacked inside. “Like I said, I heat it.”

  “Are those frozen dinners?” she asks, aghast.

  “I’ll have you know these are made by the finest chefs, specially designed to maximize my macros, and delivered to my front door so I don’t eat takeout crap. You feeling chicken and broccoli or chicken and green beans?”

  “Is that really all you have?” Horror twists her lips.

  “Gotta keep my shape or Trey leaves my ass behind,” I tell her, patting my flat stomach. After a moment, I drag out, “Fine, you can have my turkey and sweet potatoes, but know that I’m sacrificing a lot. Sweet potatoes are the one carb I eat regularly.”

  “But you ate spaghetti?” she reminds me.

  I give her a look that says she’s totally missing the point. “You think I would pass up a chance to eat dinner with you? I’d eat Jeff Probst-delivered caterpillars on wood bark if it meant eating with you.”

  “Ew,” she says, her nose crinkled cutely. “Fine, chicken and green beans. I won’t take your sweet potato joy from you.”

  I pull the two trays out and pop the first one in the microwave. “I’d give you all my sweet potatoes, Miss Walker.”

  * * *

  It’s funny, eating dinner after the intense orgasm I gave Zoey, but at the same time nothing could be more normal for us. We heat up our dinners and find our way to the couch. We don’t even pull up anything on my TV but instead get back to researching heavy metals.

  Richard Horne, if you’re up there somewhere, listening in . . . I’m so sorry you died, but please know that something good is coming of it, I think as I tap at my keyboard. And also, what’s the deal with the heavy metals? Can I get a hint?

  Hmm, maybe Zoey’s talking to dead people is wearing off on me too. I grin, and Zoey looks over. “What is it?”

  “Just mentally thinking you’re rubbing off on me,” I admit. “I was just talking in my head to ol’ Dick Horne.”

  “Ah,” Zoey says, and I feel her warm a bit more. She gets it. If it works, it works.

  “What about his medical records? Do you have those to compare to? That would tell us if the metal exposure was recent or a long time ago,” I ask.

  Zoey shakes her head. “No. I don’t get that info because it could create bias. Unless the investigating sheriff wants my input on it. I bet Jeff didn’t even request it.”

  “I can,” I assure her.

  “Uh, there’re these little things called privacy laws,” Zoey says, and I chuckle. “What?”

  “Life insurance, Zoey. When you sign up, you agree to a full waiver that your insurance company gets any and all medical records that would be relevant to your coverage, benefits, and claims.”

  “Ah,” she says, seeing the reasoning behind it. “Okay, so if we can get those records, I can compare. That would let us know when we’re looking for something, even if we don’t know what we’re looking for yet.”

  “I’ll do that tomorrow and see if I can put a rush order on it so we can get some answers before the Widow Horne gets her panties in a bunch again.”

  With a plan in place, I can see Zoey psyching herself up to leave. That’s why she came here, after all. The rest was unplanned and spontaneous, and awesome.

  “I guess I should go?” It’s a question, showing her hand that she’s not as interested in running as she thinks she is.

  “Or you could stay?” I offer, knowing she won’t.

  “I can’t. I should get home . . . to Jacob, I mean,” she says, stumbling to find an excuse. Even though I’m pretty sure her . . . family member, I guess . . . would totally understand.

  “I understand. I’ve got to be up at sunrise anyway. Running with Trey,” I reply. It’s a weak excuse, honestly. I would skip every run, every morning for the rest of my life if it meant waking up with Zoey in my bed, and Trey would absolutely agree that it’s a good trade-off. He’d give me shit for going lazy and soft too, but he’d understand.

  But there’s a time to let pressure build and a time to let it off. And right now, Zoey needs to have that safety valve. She stands, and I stand with her, taking her hand in mine. I trace a line on the back of it with my thumb.

  “Tonight was . . .” I search for a word that will describe it while not scaring the shit out of her but come up empty. Gorgeous, powerful, best of my life, and I haven’t even been inside her yet . . . yeah, those have RUN written all over them for this woman.

  “Incredible,” she offers, and I nod. It’s good enough.

  “Definitely.” I smile, and she gives me a soft, sweet one back. “I’ll text you in the morning and then later, after I see what visiting the doctor nets us.”

  She nods and looks up at me. I bend slowly to kiss her once more. It’s deep and hungry, the fire building easily, and I could take her again. I want her . . . on my fingers, on my tongue, and eventually, on my cock.

  But too soon, she pulls back from me, her hands crinkling my shirt.

  “I should go.”

  I nod and walk her to the door. I manage to give her one more sweet peck and whisper, “Till tomorrow.”

  She leaves and I watch her walk down to her car before I shut the door, and true to my word, I whirl and lean up against the wood. I should wait until she’s actually pulled away, but I can’t hold back any longer. My cock’s already in my hand and I’m jerking furiously as I remember what she felt like . . . sounded like . . . tasted like.

  It only takes a few strokes, and I come on my hand, grunting out her name to the empty room. I’m still rock-hard, could go again and again with my thoughts of Zoey, but as I sag against the door, I hear quiet footsteps on the walk out front and then a car door.

  She came back.

  She listened.

  She heard me.

  I should be embarrassed or afraid it’ll scare her off.

  Instead, I think I’m a little closer to breaking down her walls, and I give myself one more stroke.

  Chapter 14

  Zoey

  I look at my phone, still not quite believing what I’m seeing. He texted me. I don’t know why I thought he might not when he said he would.

  Isn’t that what guys do? Get a little and then ghost?

  Holly says it is. She says it’s step five of her ‘F system’. Find, Flirt, Fun, Fuck, Fantom.

  She doesn’t let an inconsequential thing like proper spelling stop her.

  But Blake didn’t exactly get much, not until I was standing on the other side of the door, listening like a creeper. I’d tiptoed back up when I saw his door close, just to see if he was being honest. And he definitely was.

  I hope he didn’t hear me sneaking away.

  That would be mortifying.

  I am in so far over my
head that I don’t even know what to think, and that’s just about this whole Blake situation. Add in a mystery that the professional in me doesn’t like leaving unanswered, despite what Jeff thinks, and I’m mentally flittering around like a firefly on crack. I need someone to talk me down, bring me back to Earth and reality.

  Still in bed, and definitely not staring at Blake’s good morning, beautiful text, I call the one person I know will tell me the truth, whether I want to hear it or not.

  “Hello?” Holly’s frantic voice answers. “Hang on.” She pulls the phone away, but only slightly, to yell, “If you’re out of bed, knock on the wall three times.” I assume she’s talking to Olive because I’ve heard this test before. I’m quiet while I wait for Holly to listen for the answering knocks. “Love you too, honey. Now get a move on. We’re out the door in thirty minutes.” Coming back to the phone, and me, Holly says, “Sorry. What’s up?”

  I’m having second thoughts about making this call, but she’s the lesser of two evils. The worse option being Jacob’s graphic, too-personal interrogation. Although having a male opinion might provide insight about what’s running through Blake’s mind, but really, it’s his penis I’m thinking more about. And I can’t have adult relationship conversations with Jacob about my own sex life, though I’ve had the condom talk with him multiple times and unquestioningly restock the bathroom when I see the stock getting low.

  “Can I stop by this morning to talk for a second?” I ask nervously.

  “Uh, yeah. Of course. What’s wrong? Need me to kill someone and burn the body?” she asks, probably joking but also possibly serious. “Good morning, baby girl.”

  She doesn’t even pause to breathe, and I can hear her rummaging around, probably making Olive’s breakfast. At least, I’m pretty sure that last part was for Olive. I only answer the questions that were directed at me. “No murder or body disposal needed. But I saw Blake again last night.”

  “What?” she screeches, and then in her sweet mom voice, she says, “Eat that quick while Mommy talks to Aunt Zo-Zo, ’kay?”