Hellion

by Shannon McKenna

The pool house was connected with the garage, and Eric stopped for a moment to admire her dad’s special toy, gleaming darkly in the shadows. The Porsche GT3 991.

  Eric looked impressed. “Whoa,” he murmured. “Sweet ride.”

  She gave the car an unfriendly glance. “Yeah, he loves that thing. You’d have thought he’d use it for the road trip with my mom, right? What with the gorgeous weather and the beautiful mountain roads? Mom loves riding in it. But no. It’s Dad’s bad boy car, and she doesn’t fit that picture for him. He drives his Volvo station wagon when he’s with Mom.”

  Eric’s eyes narrowed. “I see,” he said. “Bitter much?”

  “I guess so. Sorry. That’s my version of the weird shit that we won’t talk about tonight. Like your thing at work. My parents’ issues don’t get any air time.”

  “Tonight’s just for us,” he said. “Fuck all the rest of it.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” She switched off the light and led him into the kitchen.

  He turned around, taking it all in. “You could feed an army with this kitchen.”

  “My mom did a lot of entertaining when I was a kid,” she said. “Not so much anymore. I grew up watching her set a buffet for sixty people like it was nothing. It’s one of the things that got me interested in cooking. Speaking of which.” She gestured toward the fridge. “I could make you a drink. Are you thirsty, or hungry, or—”

  “For you.”

  She cut off her hostess blather and laughed. “Okay. That’s fine, too.”

  “You really think you can shimmy around in front of me in a backless dress with no bra and then offer me cookies and tea?”

  She shrugged. “I was thinking more in terms of a sandwich and a beer.”

  “No,” he said. “Just get me a couple of shot glasses and some salt. And a plate for the lime.” He took a knife from the knife-block on the island and sliced one into wedges.

  “Shots?” she said. “Already? The evening is young.”

  “I’m calling the vibe tonight. And it’s not going to be cookies and tea.”

  Her hands shook with delicious nervousness as she set out two shot glasses and a plate and poured a little salt into saucer. He still seemed different today.

  As dangerously sexy as always, but with more emphasis on the danger.

  Maybe it was what had happened at work. Maybe it was just the Vaughan house, working its twisted bad magic on him. Maybe it had been a mistake to invite him here. Having him in her family’s home underscored the differences between their backgrounds. It unleashed complicated feelings that neither one of them was ready to deal with.

  This dark, angry energy from him was unsettling. Still arousing, though. But everything about him aroused her. Even the way he poured the tequila into shot glasses.

  “So, ah...” She tried to keep her voice steady. “Tour of the house?”

  “Yeah, if it’s straight to your bedroom with no detours.” He put the pinch of salt on his hand, licked it off, tossed back his shot glass and bit the lime. Then he took her hand, kissed it and put salt on it. He held up her glass.

  “Lick it off,” he said softly.

  The command felt erotic, almost dirty. Cascades of images of the waterfall pool and what he’d done to her there rushed through her mind. What they’d done in the car.

  She licked the salt. Drank the shot. Bit the lime. Salty, bitter, sour. Then he seized her, dragging her into a ravenous kiss. So incredibly hot and sweet. It melted her.

  She lost herself in it, arching and moaning. The shot glass fell from her hand.

  Eric snagged it in mid-air without even looking. “I’ll hang onto this for later,” he said. “Your room. Lead the way.”

  “Okay.” Her voice was quavering.

  She noticed the phenomenon again as she led him through the various rooms of the house. He moved so silently. In spite of the cracking, popping and creaking floorboards in the aged Victorian mansion, in spite of his size, his feet made no sound.

  But she didn’t need to hear him to know that he was back there.

  His sexual energy pressed against her like heat from a raging bonfire.

  12

  Eric focused on Demi’s stunning ass as she went up the stairs in front of him. The sway of her hips and that sexy rounded shape was fucking hypnotizing. Her skimpy dress was almost sheer, and was backless, scooping down almost to the cleft of her ass cheeks.

  A beautiful expanse of smooth, perfect tanned skin.

  And he was about to touch it. Every inch of her, he would touch and kiss and lick.

  She left a trail of her own sweet scent wafting behind her. He tried to breathe every last molecule, hating to waste it. The fuzzy ringlets of her freshly-washed, scented hair bounced and swung over the dips and curves of her tanned back.

  There was a little triangle of moles on her left shoulder-blade. Her skin was so fine textured. Amazingly smooth. Just that bikini strap band right across her back, of creamy paleness. Her shoulder-blades were delicate. Her spine elegantly curved.

  His hands burned to touch and handle every flare and dip and swell and shadow. Delve inside all the tender inside places. He wanted to know it all. Claim it all.

  Cool it. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Breathe and wait.

  He focused on Demi, since the dollhouse-like perfection of their home bothered him. All the expensive antique furniture, ceramics and art. Puffy brocade chairs and couches. Persian rugs, hardwood floors, molded tin ceilings, fancy woodwork, stained glass insets. It was like being in a fucking jewel box.

  It was safer just to look at her. He made an exception for the photos on the stairway. They were mostly of Demi at various times in her life, and she’d been beautiful since babyhood. No surprise there. Those amazing eyes.

  Once upstairs, she led him down to the end of the upstairs corridor and into a large bedroom, which was pretty much like what he’d expected. Old-fashioned, super-girly. A wooden four-poster with a frilly lace canopy and coverlet. A heap of piled up decorative pillows. An old-time doll with a frilly bonnet over her brown curls sat right in the middle propped against a pillow. She stared at him balefully with round, glassy blue eyes.

  Demi made a sound of annoyance and laid down the salt and limes on her dresser before snatching up the doll and stowing her on a shelf.

  “My mom keeps putting her back on the bed,” she said. “Plus all these damn pillows. A freaking mountain of them, every time my back is turned. I’m always knocking them off and tripping over them.”

  “It’s fine.” He was amused at her embarrassment. “Doesn’t bother me.”

  “It bothers me,” she said heatedly. “I feel like I’m stuck in a nineteenth century novel. And there’s the privacy thing. But whatever. Her house, her rules. It’s only a few more weeks.”

  Eric set the tequila down on a white-painted vanity that was crowded with make-up and perfume bottles. “I’ll drink to that. Give me your hand.”

  He poured out their shots, stopping to suck tenderly on her fingertips until she was gasping for breath. He finally anointed their hands with salt and held up her shot glass.

  “To freedom,” he said.

  “God, yes.” She took it, and drank. “Whew,” she sputtered. “Strong.”

  Eric took the shot glass from her hands, set it on the vanity and faced her.

  Breathe and wait. He just held her gaze and let the silence build.

  Demi had been about to speak, but it looked as if she’d forgotten what she wanted to say. She gazed back at him, eyes wide. Lips parted. Breathing fast.

  She swayed toward him, opening the dance.

  He hooked the thin shoulder straps of her dress in his fingers. Barely a tug made them fall. The neckline caught on her taut nipples.

  A twitch of his fingers freed it and the bodice fell to her waist. Ahhh.

  He’d seen her naked. He’d touched and kissed and licked and fucked her, but her beauty poleaxed him all over again. It always reduced him to a stammering, slack-jawed beg
inner. His smooth technique went straight to hell. Every damn time.

  It was like she was lit up from the inside. She glowed like a star. Her nipples were so tight and dark against the creamy skin of her breasts.

  He cupped them reverently. The contact put his fingertips into a state of shock all their own. So flower-petal soft. Springy and yielding. She shuddered and moaned.

  He gestured at the bench in front of the vanity. “You think that will hold us both?”

  “No idea. It’s never been tested.”

  “We’re about to find out. I like the mirror. I want to look at you from every angle at once.” He pulled the bench out farther and straddled it, with a leg on either side, facing the mirror. He held out his hand. “Mount up.”

  Demi licked her full bottom lip, hitched up her skirt and swung her tanned, shapely leg over his, setting her warm, soft weight right against the bulge of his erection. Her gorgeous bare breasts, full and soft, were right in his face.

  That was a surefire way to take his mind off his problems. Nothing could occupy his mind while Demi’s nipple was in his mouth, her pussy pressing his aching erection.

  He caressed her with his mouth, nuzzling and licking and sucking. Deep, slow, caressing pulls. She moved against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He felt her breath shuddering and catching in her lungs as she rode him, rising and falling. Wiggling and writhing. Rubbing her melting heat against his aching hardness. Slowly…slowly.

  He could do this forever. Rocking, heaving, holding her, suckling her…

  She threw her head back and went rigid in his arms as her first orgasm wrenched through her. He almost came in his pants as he felt the pleasure pulsate through her body.

  But he held back. Rode it out. Not yet. He eased himself back from the danger zone, eyes squeezed shut as he slowly…breathed…it…down. Save it, goddamnit.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered. “Eric. That was so good.”

  “I’ll drink to that. No, don’t move. I’ll do it from here.”

  Demi steadied herself by clutching his shoulders as he reached around her to pour the shots. He committed every detail of her to memory while he set her up with the salt and the lime. The drops of moisture beading her hairline, the way her throat moved when she drank. The gleam of moisture on her lips after she bit into the lime, gasping and laughing at the intense tastes. Her pink tongue licking away salt crystals and tangy lime juice.

  The evening sunshine coming in her window lit up her hair. It glowed like a halo.

  He set his glass back down and seized her. Kissed her like he was afraid she would be snatched away. But tonight was no time for doubts or fears. His or hers.

  Tonight, he’d keep her busy like a runaway train. Too busy to worry or wonder.

  Crack.

  Eric was already on his feet, cupping her ass. Holding her up as he kicked away the bench that had given way beneath them. A leg had snapped off.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. “We broke your bench. Sorry.”

  “Oops,” she murmured, her thighs tightening around him, arms winding around his neck. “It’s okay. Look at you, Eric. Those are some serious reflexes you’ve got there.”

  “I guess. I’ll take a look at it after. Fix it for you before your folks come back.”

  “Let’s worry about that later.”

  “Fair enough.” He kicked the bench away and turned her to face the mirror, setting her back down on her feet. He clamped her against his body. He tugged her skirt up until it was barely more than a sash of twisted fabric around her waist. Beneath it, she wore a burgundy lace thong. He kissed her neck. “Lose the panties,” he murmured into her ear.

  The heat inside him jacked up still higher as her panties dropped around her ankles. He admired the bikini tan line on her hip, the paleness around the swatch of pussy hair.

  “Demi,” he said thickly. “You’re perfect.”

  “Ah…thanks.” She licked her lips. “You’re hot yourself. You’re burning me up.”

  “I have barely begun to burn you up. Put your foot up on the vanity.”

  She gave him a puzzled look but obliged, perching her foot against the vanity. Her toenails were painted a pale color that caught the light like mother of pearl.

  He seized her knee with his hand and pulled her leg out, opening her wide. “Show me,” he said. “I want to see your pussy. It’s so beautiful.”

  She laughed, embarrassed. “Well, there I am. Look your fill.”

  And that was it for coherent words. The sight of her all open to him rendered him non-verbal. He just stared, feeling the crazy triple-time drum of his heartbeat.

  Her pussy was all different shades of shining hot pink, furled up like the petals of a tropical orchid. The darker inner lips poking out, flushed and gleaming.

  Look your fill, hah. Like he could ever get enough. In a lifetime.

  Eric pressed his mouth to the side of her neck, kissing and nuzzling while he reached down to worship her with his hands. One delicately working her clit, the other stroking her pussy lips. Easing his finger into hot, clinging perfection.

  He could have petted her for hours. She barely lasted for a couple of minutes before she went taut in his arms, crying out. Her pussy gripped his fingers as rhythmic pulsations of pleasure shuddered through her.

  They echoed through him. It felt almost as if he was coming along with her. He loved it. His pulsing erection pressed against her ass, desperate for action.

  “I was going to pour a shot whenever you came,” he murmured into her ear. “But you’re on a hair trigger tonight. We have to pace ourselves.”

  “How about when you come? Let’s drink to that.”

  “In good time. I want you primed. I want it to be so fucking good for you.”

  “It already is.” She turned around, reaching for the buttons on his jeans. “And it’s about to get better. Let’s get these off you.”

  He dropped the jeans, and Demi made a low, pleased sound in her throat as his stiff penis rose up into her hand. Hot and hard and eager for her touch. “Oh, Eric,” she whispered, squeezing and stroking. “You’re gorgeous.”

  He kicked off his sandals and pulled her dress down until it dropped to the carpet.

  “That’s better,” he said, turning her to face the mirror again. He couldn’t stop dividing his passionate admiration between the front view and the back. He wanted to touch everything at once.

  Their eyes locked in the mirror. Demi smiled at him, and shifted her weight. She bent forward, placing her hand against the vanity. Widening her legs, arching her back.

  Her hair slid over her bare shoulders as she turned to look back at him. Lips curved in a sultry smile of invitation.

  Eric dug into the bag he’d brought with him for the condoms with hands that shook. He sheathed himself in record time and positioned himself behind her. Stroking her ass cheeks. Petting her pussy lips first with his fingertips, then with his dick.

  He slid it up and down her labia, spreading her slippery lube all around to ease his way. Drawing back when she pushed back against him.

  Not yet. No rush.

  “Goddamnit, Eric,” she said, breathless and impatient. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Not waiting. Just enjoying the moment. I like petting you with my dick…just like this. Does that feel good?”

  Shudders of pleasure racked her. “You’re playing power games.”

  “Maybe,” he admitted. “Whatever makes you hot. Whatever makes you wet. Whatever makes you come. That’s what I’ll do. Count on it.” He reached around her, taking her clit in the cleft between his fingers, squeezing it tenderly as he eased the end of his penis slowly inside.

  She jerked, gasping. Her pussy muscles fluttering around his cockhead, hugging him.

  “Eric,” she whispered, shakily. “Please.”

  His control snapped. He made a harsh sound in his throat and drove inside her.

  13

  She cried out at the delicious invasion. Surging deep
, sliding out. Slow, deliberate thrusts. Each one made her softer, took him deeper.

  Like every time, she was taken over by a wild energy. Possessed by desire that sprang up from someplace deep inside herself. A place that was newly discovered. Every time, she got a startling glimpse of something huge, infinite, magnificent. Unknown.

  She heard sounds, and realized that she was the one making them. The stuff on her vanity was rattling in tempo. Makeup tubes, lotion bottles, jolting to the rhythms of his thrusts. Perfume bottles and lipsticks tumbled and rolled. Some hit the carpet.

  The dance of their bodies was all that existed, the skillful thrust and swivel and glide of his penis inside her. He kept the pace relentlessly slow, controlling it utterly. His hands gripped her hips. Every maddening, pumping stroke primed her for the next.

  He drove her to a yelling, writhing frenzy before he relented, and fucked her harder, with all the intensity they both craved. Driving her over the top.

  Her climax was huge, wrenching and sweet. Pulsing ripples of delicious warmth that felt endless. After, a shimmering glow like moonlight on water. So sweet.

  She met his eyes in the mirror sometime later when she became conscious that he was still inside her. Motionless. Still completely erect. “You didn’t come?”

  He slid out of her, shaking his head, then pulled her body upright, close against his. He gently bit her shoulder, then licked it. “I’m saving it,” he said softly in her ear.

  He had the faraway look in his eyes again. She didn’t like it.

  “You’re playing games with me,” she told him.

  “Am I?” His smile flashed. “Tell me all about it.”

  “The lofty sex god from on high. Making me come over and over, but never giving up your own self-control. I love your self-control, don’t get me wrong. You’re amazing. But I want to see you lose it. I want to see you explode.”

  He was silent for a moment, nuzzling her hair. “It’s not so simple,” he said. “I’ve never felt like this before with anyone. I have to fight to stay on top of myself. I don’t want to hurt you or scare you. I’m not holding back to spite you.”