The Irresistible Curves Collection

by Christa Wick

  Shane fought to pull back from all that heat.

  Until her soft moan salted his cheek.

  Chapter 8

  After the needy groan left her body, Velda wanted to slap a lock on her mouth and hide the key for the remainder of their thirty-day deal. Instead, she scurried backward like the small mouse she had disturbed earlier.

  Stripping off her latex gloves, she snarled at Shane.

  "We're not doing that!"

  His near black eyes glittered with need as he answered.

  "Doing what?"

  Damn him, he wasn't going to get in her panties with that dark gaze of his. It wouldn't work on her anymore. She wouldn't let it.

  She dropped her voice to a whisper.

  "Fucking."

  He tilted his head, studied her body intently as he removed his gloves. The way he looked at Velda made her acutely aware of how her flesh had instantly responded to his touch. It was as if every encounter, every position they had ever enjoyed together, had flashed through her mind all at once.

  Neurons fired, nerves twitched. Her pussy flooded. Her breathing went sideways, suffocating her with so much need that she started to hyperventilate.

  Shane slid forward, molded his hands around her cheeks.

  "Breathe, baby."

  Ah, damn, her mind railed. He had no right to call her that. No right to touch her.

  "You should have let me fall," she squeezed out, her allotment of words exhausted. She had no air left to order him to release his hold on her head, to stop touching her.

  He dropped his hands to massage her shoulders.

  "There could have been knives or busted glass in those bags."

  She shook her head, tried to stop the cycle of rapid breathing.

  Shane mirrored the head shake. His dark eyes sparked with mischief, the other half of his expression hiding behind the thick beard.

  "You used to save the hyperventilating until I had you climaxing for the third straight time," he teased. "If you're going to pass out, don't you at least want an orgasm first?"

  Oh, fuck no! He did not just say that!

  His face suddenly corkscrewed in consternation.

  "Baby, if you don't stop gasping like that, you really are going to pass out."

  He scanned the attic, searched for something Velda could breathe into and restore her balance of oxygen and carbon dioxide. Finding no viable container, he peeled his shirt off, placed it on the ground then deftly rolled Velda onto it.

  The weight of his body draped over hers forced Velda to slow her breathing. She closed her eyes, pretended a bunch of sandbags covered her instead of the strong, muscular body she had masturbated to the night before.

  Shane caressed her face as she began to tremble.

  "It's okay, baby. You're almost there. Just keep breathing slow and steady. In through the nose, out through the mouth."

  The shaking wouldn't stop.

  Tears followed.

  "No, baby." He pressed his lips against a fallen tear then eased away.

  She hooked her index fingers around the belt loops on his jeans.

  "Velda," he warned. "You have to open your eyes."

  Not trusting herself to speak, she shook her head.

  A heartbeat later, Shane completely robbed her of speech. His lips touched hers, his tongue slid past. She pushed her hips upward and moaned into his mouth, the sound a lusty vibration.

  He broke the kiss, nipped once at her chin before sucking at her neck.

  "No marks," she groaned, her hands abandoning his belt loops so she could run her fingers over his broad, muscular back.

  Her thighs parted, trapped his lean hips between them. The thick cock that had often driven her past breathlessness pressed hard against her mound. Her pulse throbbed along her clit, begged her to grind.

  Shane pulled down her shirt collar to kiss and suck where no one would see the marks he made. His hand pushed between their bodies, gripping and squeezing at the plump labia still cloistered within her jeans.

  Eyes closed, teeth mangling her bottom lip, Velda pretended she was in the tub manipulating her flesh instead of capitulating to the man she had sworn never to love again.

  Shane broke contact.

  "Look at me, baby."

  She resisted for one second, maybe two. When Velda obeyed, she saw him staring down at her body. The old fear that he would find her lacking flashed through her mind. His hungry expression smashed that fear.

  He grabbed the waistband of her jeans, fingers nimble as he unthreaded the button then slid the zipper all the way down.

  Ah, damn, was this happening? Did she want it?

  Her pussy answered with a hungry squeeze.

  Yeah, she wanted it, would hate herself later. But the need was too much to deny.

  Shane peeled the jeans and panties down her thighs, past her knees—then stopped.

  There was a moment Velda felt her soul being dipped in ice as she thought he would pull away, leave with a laugh, tell her to enjoy spending the check because getting her all hot and dripping for him then leaving her cold was the only revenge he needed.

  But that wasn't why Shane stopped. His gaze surveilled the piles of garbage, the dirty floor, how her back and bottom were protected only by the t-shirt he had placed beneath her.

  He flashed his sexy grin, bowed low and threaded his head between her thighs. Confused, she tried to move her legs. Wrapped around her ankles, the jeans kept her body locked in position.

  "What are you doing?" she gasped, the question asked despite the clear intent heating his gaze.

  "Appetizer," Shane whispered, lips pressed against her mound.

  Firm and forceful, his tongue pushed between the thick labia to flick her swollen clit. Her spine curved at the contact, lifted her ass. He cupped her cheeks, squeezed them, burrowed deeper against her flesh.

  He licked, he sucked. His thumbs slid from the top of her thighs to her dripping core. Finding her drenched, he pushed both digits inside. Clamping down, Velda milked their thickness.

  Shane growled against her pussy.

  "Breasts."

  She jerked her shirt up, unhooked the front clasp on her bra. Shane groaned against her sex, his gaze locked on the proud pout of nipples. As fat and hard as thimbles, they hurt when she plucked at them, but it was an exquisite pain instantly rewarded by the heat flaring in Shane's gaze.

  Keeping his eyes locked on how Velda squeezed and pinched, he pulled his thumbs from her slick pussy and pushed in a hard triangle of fingers.

  A moan shuddered past her lips. Then another as he began to slide and twist within her depths. The man knew how to work her sex, knew when to be relentless and when to turn gentle.

  She moved against the intrusion, gripping him from within and grinding against his mouth. His teeth tortured and his tongue lavished her clit, nipping and licking in time with Velda's own thrusts. Planting her elbows on the floor, she lifted her upper torso, her full, heavy breasts overflowing her hands as she stared at him.

  In and out, Shane pushed. His tongue flashed red and wet against her labia. His beard sparkled with her juices. Ecstasy forced Velda's eyes shut, collapsed the muscles holding her head up. Her ass wiggled desperately against the t-shirt, bunching it around her flesh as she pressed harder against Shane's mouth and the approaching orgasm that tightened her core, made her inner flesh clutch and throttle his fingers.

  Her breathing came in choppy waves, but she wasn't afraid of passing out. That had only happened a couple of times, and only while his cock had been in her, filling her insides with its heavy weight, its unrelenting girth and length.

  Okay, she thought, her entire body trembling. Maybe she would pass out. Maybe she would pass out because she didn't have his cock in her and she desperately wanted to feel him, to mold around him, to press her lips to his and stare into the endless night of his gaze as he drove all the way in, his shaft pulsing with his release.

  Velda stopped quivering. The muscles holding her upright
collapsed, all her energy suddenly concentrated on her pussy as a climax thundered through. Air escaped her in a wheeze. Her flesh buzzed around Shane's fingers as they fucked her flooding channel.

  Sensing she could take no more, he slowly pulled out. But he didn't stop, not completely. His tongue took over with tender ministrations. Licking, cleaning, soothing.

  When her body finally quieted, he disentangled and rested his length alongside hers. With one hand gently cupping her mound, he kissed her shoulder.

  Then he spoke and reality flooded in, ruining what remained of the moment.

  "Come to my hotel tonight."

  It wasn't a command, not exactly. The tone was too gentle. Neither was it an entreaty.

  Head spinning, Velda reached down, eased Shane's hand out of the way and pulled up her jeans and underwear, then fastened her bra and lowered her shirt.

  "That felt like a 'no,'" he said, his tone wary.

  She pressed the palms of both hands against her mouth, curled her fingers up toward her ears. Her gaze ping-ponged left and right, never settling on anything as the gears churned inside her head.

  What was Shane's agenda? Why had he showed up at the shelter?

  Don't be stupid, she reminded herself. Shane tipped his hand the day he appeared with the check. It was all there in the scenario he had painted, the words he used.

  No matter how legitimate the lust that had played over his face, Shane made the journey so he could personally rub her nose in his success. Getting her to surrender sexually was icing on the cake.

  "Velda—"

  He tried to touch her. Just his hand on her arm, but it felt like acid.

  "We need boundaries," she rasped as she scooted away.

  "I know, baby. Anyone could have caught us."

  A wave of nausea washed over her. She had entirely different boundaries in mind, but now she couldn't escape how indiscriminately she had acted. She not only let Shane finger fuck her, she did it on the floor with the attic's ladder down and the opening exposed.

  With HER opening exposed, she thought with a bitter laugh.

  "Velda, you..." He stalled, mouth swishing the words around before spitting them out. "We need to get control of our emotions."

  She lifted her hand, signaled him to shut up.

  "You mean I need to get control of my emotions. You're absolutely right."

  Finding her shoelaces undone, she focused on tying them as she laid down the law.

  "We aren't doing that or anything like that again. Apologies if that means you're not getting your money's worth, but—"

  Shane interrupted with a growl. "I wouldn't try to buy you."

  "No," she growled. "It's clear you intended no more than a thirty-day lease."

  Getting to his feet, Shane paced, his big hands girdling his hips. He punctuated each turn around the limited space by cutting a sharp glance in Velda's direction. She could see his brain attacking the problem. In a way, his process was like diagramming a sentence or a piece of code. Object. Action. Command. Submit.

  Except she was throwing a monkey wrench into it by not submitting. No way in hell was she going to his hotel room. If she did, he would own her and, just as surely as before, he would forget he had her.

  "Boundaries," she repeated. "I'm not saying your touch was unwelcome—"

  He cut into her assurance with a sharp snort.

  "But there will be no more touching," she continued just as sharply. "If you can't agree to that…"

  He stopped pacing, rolled his eyes.

  "Let me guess, you'll return the check?"

  Throat dry at the prospect, Velda swallowed roughly.

  "No, you bought your thirty days volunteering at the shelter," she answered after quickly thinking through her limited options. "You didn't buy my presence while you're here. If you don't agree to keep your distance, Frankie will take over managing the property for the remainder of the term."

  Watching from the corner of her eye, she tried to gauge Shane's reaction. If push came to shove, she was certain Frank Delvecchio would step in. He had already jumped through all the hoops with the insurance company and the state regulators to be Velda's emergency backup.

  And it wouldn't take but a few days before Shane realized the game was over. He wouldn't tough it out. In no time at all, he would return to his company and the coding that had so captivated him when they were a couple.

  "Who's Frankie?"

  Smiling sweetly, Velda stood and walked over to the ladder. She started down, pausing just before her head dipped out of sight.

  "Keep pushing," she warned, "and you'll find out."

  Chapter 9

  Shane strolled into the kitchen the following morning, a bag full of coffee pods in one hand and a boxed espresso machine in the other. He nodded at Georgia Carter, part of the resident-on-duty team, and another woman he had never encountered. The second woman relieved him of the bag then thrust her hand at him as soon as he placed the box on the counter.

  "Mr. Wehr, I'm Stefan's mom."

  He shook her hand but drew a blank on which child she meant.

  "I am so sorry about the shoe incident."

  Recalling the lanky teen wielding a flip-flop, Shane chuckled as he pulled back from the handshake.

  "Nothing to apologize over. He and his friend were worried about Miss Pace's safety," he explained. "I'm glad to know she has people looking out for her."

  "Only right," the woman responded. "Her whole life seems to be looking after us."

  Georgia Carter bobbed her head in agreement.

  "I'm Melanie Adams, by the way."

  She held her hand out again. Shane shook it a second time, part of his mind growing wary. Stefan's mom was close to Velda's age. She had an unblemished Latina complexion and vivacious brown eyes. She dressed like the other women around the shelter—jeans and a t-shirt, clean but worn and probably plucked from a donation bin. Take her to a salon, wrap her in upscale clothing, and no one would guess she had lived any part of her life in a shelter or this section of downtown Jacksonville.

  Stated more simply, she probably knew she could turn heads. That was fine on its own, but a great many women had wasted inordinate amounts of Shane's time trying to turn his head. Velda was the only woman who had.

  "It's nice to meet you, Miss Adams," he said, recovering his hand and redirecting his attention to the box holding the espresso machine.

  "Stefan really loves computers," Melanie continued as Shane cut through the tape. "He's really good at them, too."

  He nodded, glanced toward Georgia, but the woman had buried her nose in one of Velda's binders in what looked like a clear attempt to extricate herself from whatever agenda Melanie was trying to push.

  "Well," he said, plugging the machine in. "There should be new computers here today."

  He glanced at his watch. Delivery had been promised by nine.

  "Within the hour," he continued, filling the water tank. "If he's not busy, he can help set them up. I told Miss Pace it would be done by sundown."

  "Soon as he gets back from cans, I'll send him over," she agreed.

  He cut her a look, then Georgia.

  "Not the film festival, Mr. Wehr." Georgia laughed. "This part of the city doesn't get much trash pickup on the street receptacles. Stefan and Reggie fish the aluminum cans out with barbecue tongs then take them to the recyclers."

  "Doesn't seem worth the risk," Melanie clucked. "A hundred cans is only worth about two bucks."

  Admiring the boys' self-direction, he shrugged. "But it's their two bucks. I imagine that's the distinction."

  Melanie bobbed her head like the same thought had been brewing inside it. Shane's early warning system buzzed again. Looking at Georgia, he smiled.

  "You know where I might find an empty cup?"

  She turned to one of the floor-to-ceiling cupboards, opened the door and pulled out a cup colored a cobalt blue with writing on the side. Reading the text as he accepted the mug, Shane grinned.

 
DON'T ASK ME—SHE'S THE BOSS.

  Georgia matched his grin and added a wink. "Only person not allowed to use that is Velda."

  Still smiling, he finished making an espresso then gestured at the machine and the bag next to it.

  "It's all there for anyone to enjoy," he said before leaving the kitchen and heading to what Velda had quaintly—and quite erroneously—referred to as the computer lab.

  The computer equipment arrived at a quarter-to-nine. The driver had to make seven trips with his dolly before the delivery was complete. Finding a box cutter, Shane settled in for the long haul.

  Instead of replacing the five busted desktops with similar configurations, he had ordered nine laptops, three of them MacBooks and the others PCs. He hadn't been needling Velda when he mentioned that the old units would not help the women gain job skills. Neither would learning on just one operating system and said system's standard software. MS Office would run on all nine under the license he had also purchased, but the Macs would expose the women and teens to Apple's included word processing and spreadsheet programs.

  He also ordered three new printers, one color and two black-and-white. Plenty of supplies for all three. Physical locks for the laptops so the kids could only check them out with official permission and nine lifetime licenses to his company's full anti-virus suite.

  Unlike the espresso machine, nothing was plug-and-play. Getting the machines set up and networked with the printers and new router would take the better part of the day, longer if he had to endure any "help."

  Mindful of the trap Velda had set in assigning him the original computer task, Shane forced himself to take a break after everything was out of its box. He took the long way to the kitchen, hoping the extra steps would lead him past wherever Velda was working.

  Coming up empty, he brewed another espresso then returned to the computer room. Before settling down to work, he set an alarm on his phone for ninety minutes, found the most annoying of the chimes, and turned the volume all the way up so he couldn't ignore it.

  It still took Shane two minutes of the alarm sounding an hour-and-a-half later before he silenced it. This time, he left the building for fresh air, his ears alert for some sign that Velda was outside.