by J. Kenner
Almost an hour had passed, and they were talking about everything and nothing. Currently, about Tiffany's plan to run in the Capital 10K. "Since when are you a runner?"
"I'm a runner," she said indignantly. "I'm just not an experienced runner. But I'm getting better."
"Didn't we have a conversation about this time last year when you told me I was--how did you put it--battier than the bats under the bridge if I thought that running ten kilometers in the Texas heat sounded like a good time?"
"No contradiction at all," she said. "I'm obviously just as crazy as you are."
"Come here."
One eyebrow rose. "Why?"
"Come. Here."
She narrowed her eyes, but she stood, a little bit wobbly, and not in an Emily Post approved manner, either. But he didn't complain--even if the quick flash of her pale blue panties almost sent him over the edge.
He casually grabbed a pillow and put it on his lap, then pointed in front of him. She moved to stand there, but eyed him dubiously.
"What?"
He didn't answer. Just reached out and cupped his hand around her leg, just above the knee. Slowly, he slid his hand up, stroking her thigh, feeling the firm, taut muscles. Feeling her tremble.
"You're right," he said, his voice low. "Definitely a runner's leg."
She exhaled, a low, soft sound that curled inside of him. He wanted to hear more. He wanted to know all the little noises she made. And she wasn't stopping him. He could keep moving up and up and up, and dear God he was so tempted to touch every inch of her and--
A sharp knock at the door made them both jump, and she scrambled that way, not looking at him.
"Who is it?"
"Party patrol!"
She looked over her shoulder and tossed him a grin. He wondered if her thoughts tracked his--he was thinking that the patroller had just killed one potential party.
She opened the door. A neighbor he recognized--John? Maybe Jake?--stood there with an empty Lone Star beer bottle.
"Dude, you're missing out. We're about to play spin the bottle. We're totally going retro."
"Sounds great," Eric said. "We'll be down soon."
"Will we?" she asked, closing the door, and while her words sent shockwaves of anticipation scurrying through him like electrons, he wasn't sure if he was hearing what he thought he was hearing.
She came back, this time sitting on the couch beside him, so close he caught the scent of vanilla. "I'm surprised it's spin the bottle," she said. "I thought Never Have I Ever was all the rage now."
"I've been out of school for a couple of years now. Despite the west campus address, I'm pretty out of touch with those wacky kids today."
"But you know the game, right? You ask a question. And if you have done it, you drink. And in the version my friends and I've played, if you haven't done it, you have to eradicate that omission if at all possible, right then and there."
"Give me a for example."
"Never have I ever eaten ice cream," she said. "I have, so I drink." She finished off her margarita. "And then I'd have to eat ice cream. But don't make me," she added. "It wouldn't mix with the margie."
"You're in luck, because I don't have any. But you're also out of your drink."
She tilted her head. "Does that mean you want to play?"
"Why not?"
"Cool." She got up and went to the kitchen, then came back with the blender, with enough still in it for each of them to have a fresh glass. Then she sat down next to him on the couch, her glass in hand. "Okay, you go first."
"All right. Never have I ever kissed a girl." He took a long sip of his margarita and kept his eyes on her, amused at the way her brows rose.
"Diving right into the good stuff, huh? Or are you just trying to work up a good bedtime fantasy?"
He was still swallowing, and he almost choked on the last comment, but she just batted her eyes and looked innocent. Then she took a drink.
"Who?" he said.
"Marjorie Frederick. Fourth grade. We were practicing." She shrugged. "Sorry. Nothing very fantasy-like there."
"Damn, and I really hoped."
"Did you?"
He shook his head. "Not that I'd object. But that's not my fantasy of you."
Damn, but he was getting bolder. Maybe making the margaritas extra strong wasn't such a great idea after all. Then again, considering the heated way she was looking at him now, maybe it was his most brilliant move ever.
"Your turn."
She nodded, a pink flush staining her neck and cheeks. "Never have I ever had a secret crush." She drank. And so did he.
"Me again," he said, and decided it was now or never. He lifted his glass. "Never have I ever kissed my secret crush." And then he very firmly put it down without taking a sip.
A heartbeat passed. Then another. Then she set her glass down.
"So." He swallowed. "You said we're supposed to fix that if possible. Can you?"
For a second, she didn't answer. Then she nodded. "What about you?"
"Me, too."
"Oh." She licked her lips, and in that moment the only thing he wanted to do was suck on that plump, sweet lower lip. "Tiffany," he said, "I'm going to kiss you now."
A wide smile illuminated her face. "Not if I kiss you first."
Chapter Three
Tiffany had imagined this moment for over a year. The feel of his mouth on hers, the strength of his hand cupping her neck. The heat that curled through her blood, rushing to her lips, her breasts, her sex.
In her imagination, she'd felt every touch, every breath, every gentle stroke, every hard demand. She'd roamed her body with her own hands, and she'd arched up, crying out in wild abandon when the man in her fantasy had made her come.
The Eric in her dreams had taken her to soaring heights, reducing her to nothing but limp, satisfied ashes.
But that Eric had nothing on the man now touching her, his lips hard and demanding. His hands possessive and strong. She wanted to melt into him, to lay herself out as an offering and let him feast on her. On all of her.
His hand moved, coming to cup her face. He held her in place, taking the kiss the way he wanted. His tongue tasting all of her. His teeth clashing with hers. Drawing blood and heat and working them both into a wild frenzy that only got more desperate when his hand moved down to cup her breast roughly, then lower still to thigh. She spread her legs, and--finally--he slid his hand all the way up her leg until he reached her core and her blue panties that were surely now dark, wet from her own desire. Dripping with need.
He slid his finger along the band of her panties, teasing her by occasionally slipping beneath the material, his tongue thrusting deeper when he did so. And then, damn or bless him, he thrust his finger deep inside her, his tongue mimicking the thrusting motion of his finger until her mind was spinning and her body burning and she finally couldn't take it anymore. This onslaught. This wicked, wonderful assault on her senses.
"Stop," she finally said, impressed that he did so immediately, though the expression on his face was so confused and frustrated she almost wanted to laugh. Instead, she drew her breath in, calming herself as she put her finger to his lip. "I need something."
Again, confusion darkened his eyes. "Anything."
She stood up, then very slowly pulled the dress up over her head. For a moment, she couldn't see his face, but when her head popped free of the material she saw an expression of such pure desire it seemed like worship.
She thought she should be embarrassed, standing there in nothing but her bra and panties, but she wasn't. On the contrary, she saw the desire reflected in her eyes, and she felt powerful. Like a sensual creature that he'd come to worship.
Except it wasn't worship she was looking for. She didn't want a sweet encounter. She wanted wild. Rough, even.
She wanted him to claim her. To make her his. And she wanted it now.
Slowly, she stepped toward him. She'd long ago kicked off her sandals, and her body was so hyper-aware that i
t seemed as if she could feel every fiber of carpet beneath her feet. When she reached him, she held out her hand, and he stood. "I'm a little bit drunk, but I just want you to know that's not why I'm sleeping with you."
"No?" He had one hand on her waist, and the other was stroking her bare shoulder. Warmth flowed through her, originating with the sparks that the contact was generating and making it very hard to think.
She shook her head. "I've wanted this--you--for about forever. And thank goodness for liquid courage, because it's clearly doing the talking here. God knows I've been tongue-tied for months."
"Thank goodness is right," he said. "Because I've wanted you, too, and never worked up the nerve to do anything about it." He grinned. "Here's to my fabulous margaritas."
"Cheers to that." She bit her lower lip as the hand on her waist trailed up, and then made a small noise in her throat when both hands slipped behind her back to unfasten her bra, and then to gently tug it off.
"So beautiful."
She wasn't very big, barely a b-cup, but he didn't seem to mind. His look told her that as far as he was concerned, she was perfect. And that made her bold. "Sit back down. Watch me."
He did, and she put one bare foot on the couch between his legs, then touched her own breasts, watching the way his cock got hard under his jeans as she teased her nipples. Then how his hand moved to his fly when she slid one palm down slowly, lower and lower until her fingers grazed her panty line.
Their eyes were locked now, though she could see him stroking himself through his jeans, and oh, God, the sense of power, knowing that she was turning him on like that. She'd never done anything like this before. Sex was nice, but straightforward. With Eric she wanted twists and turns. She wanted to play. To explore.
She wanted, she realized, to have fun.
He lifted a brow, and she understood the question. She inclined her head just slightly, and he finished unzipping and took out his cock. She honestly wasn't an expert, but as far as she was concerned it was perfect. Thick and hard and looking as eager for her as she was to feel it inside her.
"Yes," she murmured, sliding her hand down to cup herself. She was so wet, and she thrust her two fingers inside, imagining it was Eric filling her. Eric telling her how good she felt, how tight she was.
"Please," she whispered. "I want it to be you."
"Take off your panties," he ordered, and she did, then walked naked in front of him. "Ride me," he said, taking her hand with her still slick fingers. And as she straddled him, still fully clothed--and oh, God, how hot was that?--he sucked her slick fingers as she rose and fell in a slow rhythm on his cock. A rhythm that got faster as she got closer--as she felt the tug of the rising orgasm rushing from his mouth on her fingers all the way down to her core.
"Yes," she cried, feeling her walls clench tight around his cock. "Eric, oh, please, oh, please."
But the plea died on her lips when his hands moved to her hips and stilled her. "Not just yet, baby," he said. And in one incredible motion, he stood up, one hand on her ass and the other on her back. And then, praise be, he carried her to the bedroom.
She was incredible.
That was all he could think. That she was incredible and that through some miracle, she was his. His to touch. To explore. To take.
And, oh, yes, he was going to take everything she gave, and more. He craved the feel of her, hungered to feel her tremble beneath him.
He wanted to take her right to the edge, leave her balanced there, and then, in one hard and final moment of bliss, to take her over and make them both break apart together.
That's what he wanted. But he wanted it slowly. And once he'd laid her out naked on the bed, he started at her ankle, then kissed his way up that beautiful calf to her runner's thigh, higher and higher along the soft skin of her inner thigh that twitched and jumped beneath his lips, fighting the sweet punishment he was administering.
He gave her just a hint, licking the soft area between her thigh and pussy before he teased her higher up, his tongue playing with her navel, his mouth sucking her breast, his lips brushing lightly over his collar bone. And through all of it, his cock was throbbing, rubbing the bedspread, then her legs, then her sweet, wet pussy.
"Pull your knees up," he ordered. "But keep them spread. And baby? I want you to look at me."
She did as he said, and he almost lost it just looking at her, wide and open and so ready for him. Then he rose over her, his hands on either side of her head as the tip of his cock teased her core and she made little whimpering sounds of need.
He bent forward and kissed her, wanting to taste those sounds, and she claimed his mouth so hungrily that the kiss deepened even as he thrust inside her. And then he couldn't stop. No power on earth could have made him stop. She was his, and this was their moment, and he thrust into her again and again, deeper, and then deeper still when she released one knee so that she could press her hand against the headboard.
She held her body steady as he ravaged her, going so deep they felt like one person. Until he was certain they were one person, because when he felt her start to go over, the contractions inside her milked his cock until he followed her out into space, lost and exhausted and feeling absolutely, deliciously wonderful.
He had no idea how long he lay like a man destroyed before reason returned. Then he stretched out beside her, their bodies touching, sharing her heat and feeling her heartbeat pound through him.
"That was so much better than my fantasies," she murmured.
"You have fantasies of me?"
She rolled over to face him. "Are you saying you didn't have any of me?"
"Hardly. I have a whole collection, all organized in my head according to theme."
She propped herself up on one elbow, the seductive well-fucked glow now mixing with the expression of an eager kitten. "Tell me."
"Too many to go through," he teased.
"A random sampling then."
"G, PG, R, or NC-17?"
"You have G-rated fantasies?"
"Ah, those are some of the best. A lazy afternoon in a boat or by the lake. Of course, that one can turn PG--or R--if it's set at Hippie Hollow," he added, referring to Austin's nude beach on Lake Travis.
"Only up to R?"
"No sex in the park. Otherwise..." He waggled his eyebrows and she laughed. "But other than shifts from G to Not-G, I think my favorite G-rated fantasy is making dinner with you--just experimenting, you know? And then sharing a bottle of wine in front of the television, your head in my lap and my finger stroking your hair."
"Sounds nice. What movie?"
"Casablanca."
"Oh, but she leaves. We need one where they're together at the end."
"I'll speak to the producers."
She nodded, as if that settled that. "And what about after? Does it stay G?"
"Oh, no. It moves on to NC-17. But we don't want to lose our rating. So that," he said with a quick kiss to her nose, "is the sequel."
"I like."
"And your fantasies?"
"A lot like this," she said. "And sometimes there are toys involved."
His cock stiffened at the thought, his mind going through all sorts of possibilities. "I do like the way your mind works."
She laughed, and he wondered how he got so lucky to have this woman in his life, especially when--
He closed his eyes, wishing his head hadn't started going in that direction. "Eric?"
"Sorry. Mind wandering."
"Yeah?" She brushed his jawline with her fingertips. "Where to?"
"It's just-- I mean-- Oh, hell. Do you think we should talk about before? About you and Ben?"
She tugged her hand away. "Um, now? Because he's a great guy and all, but I really don't want him in bed with us. Do you?"
"I only--"
But her hand had slid down, and now she'd captured his cock. She stroked him, the movements firm and even and so goddamn erotic. Then she started to move down the bed, her body disappearing under the sheet.
And before her head disappeared, she met his eyes and said once more. "Do you?"
And the only answer he had was--No.
Chapter Four
"You're really not going to tell me where we're going?" Tiffany asked.
"Nope. Because then you might chicken out."
She glanced into the back seat of his Jeep. "What's in the duffel?"
"Not telling."
She leaned back in her seat and huffed. "Beware how far you push me. You can withhold information, but I can withhold sex."
"A good point." They were heading south on Lamar from his place, and as soon as he crossed the river he turned right into the Zachary Scott Theater parking lot. "You've convinced me." He nodded at the duffel. "But if you peek, you'll ruin the surprise."
"I can live with that," she said, then lunged for the duffel, only to freeze with her hand on the zipper. After a moment, she plunked herself back into the seat, crossed her arms, and pretended to sulk. "It just better be good."
He laughed, something they'd been doing a lot of. They'd spent all day Monday in bed, with the exception of a quick jaunt outside when they sat outside by the pool reading and drinking cocktails. It seemed a good way to spend the first day of Spring Break, after all. Even if she was the only one still in school.
The only downside had been that the pool hadn't been cleaned for the season, and so they didn't actually swim. Which really was too bad, as the weather was unseasonably warm and the day had been as good as it gets. Or, it had seemed so until today, which started out fabulous and was fast approaching amazing.
They'd slept until nine, and then Tiffany had checked the weather. As soon as she'd seen the forecast, she'd made the calls--begging Lisa, a new server, to take her shift, and then calling Cam and telling him that she was in Eric's bed, and since this was partly his doing, he owed her. Which meant that he needed to cover Eric's shift that night.
She'd just ended the call when Eric opened his eyes and peered at her. "What did you do?"
"Wrangled us another day," she'd said. "You're welcome."
