Operation G-Spot

by Jodi Lynn Copeland

  Grabbing a handful of his hair, she yanked. “Unless you want a pool stick shoved up your ass, get the hell off me.”

  His attention shifted from her crotch to her face. His eyebrows came together, and his hot look faded to disbelief. “You’re fucking with me. You don’t want me to stop.”

  She leaned to the side and grabbed the pool stick resting against the end of the table. She waved it at him. “Touch me again and you’ll see how much I’m fucking with you. You had your chance, Marr. You blew it.”

  Dusty straightened and took a step back. “I didn’t blow a damned thing. You were about to come before Matt came out of the back.” He glanced back at her crotch and smirked. “Way you’re dripping, it’s clear you still want to.”

  With a raucous laugh, she snapped her thighs together and pushed off the table, smoothing the dress down unsteady legs. “Get over yourself. The only reason I’m wet is because I have a real man waiting for me outside. One who knows how to get the job done.”

  He stared at her a moment, then said, “You honestly have a guy outside while you’re in here letting me go down on you?” She nodded, and he shook his head. “You’re an even bigger nutcase than I thought.”

  Self-loathing slid through Liz. She hated the way he was looking at her—as if she was deplorable for getting with two men in one night. She held little doubt he’d done the same with women many times. For the sake of her reputation, bogus though it might be, she cast aside her unease. “Maybe so, but at least I won’t be relying on my own hand to get me off tonight.”

  3

  Fiona: Hell-o, ladies. Guess who just had one of the best orgasms of her life? God bless you, Kristi. I don’t know what I’d do if you hadn’t hooked me up with Simon.

  Kristi: Singing King Simon’s praises again. I take it that means Saturday night’s blind date was a bomb?

  Fiona: You could say that. The guy was three inches shorter than me (you know about my height hang-up) and had a serious foot fetish. He spent the whole night staring at my feet, talking about licking my toes. Halfway through dinner I couldn’t handle it anymore and told him I had an oozing blister. Worked like a charm.

  Liz: Lovely imagery.

  Fiona: Hey, woman. Long time, no talk. So, did you take my advice and give the sure thing another go? Please tell me you did. Kristi isn’t putting any effort into finding Mr. G, and frankly it’s making me feel alone in the quest.

  Kristi: Like you have room to talk, Ms. I Love My Dildo Better Than Any Man.

  Liz: She’s got you there, Fi. For the record, I’m glad to hear Simon’s still doing the job. Ah, fuck it, I am not glad. I’m jealous as hell.

  Fiona: Is it just me, or did you notice Liz ignored my question, Kristi? You aren’t holding out on us, are you, Liz? You know I have Old World connections, ways of making people talk. Spill, or swim with the fishes.

  Liz: You have me shaking here. Probably wet myself from the fear.

  Kristi: C’mon, Liz. Stop being gross and tell. Did you hook up with Dusty again?

  Liz: It wasn’t exactly a hookup, and it also wasn’t worth it. No O…the story of my life.

  Kristi: Oh, honey, that blows. Did he at least get you wet again?

  Liz: No. Yes. A little. Okay, so a lot. But he couldn’t finish the job.

  Fiona: Why? The lawyer in me detects there’s more to it.

  Liz: The lawyer in you can stick it up your derriere.

  Fiona: Ah-ha, gotcha. Can we say guilty with a capital G? So, what happened?

  Liz: Another damned interruption.

  Kristi: Oy. Colin walked in on you guys again?

  Liz: No. It was, um, one of Dusty’s employees. We were kinda getting down and dirty on the pool table at his bar and…And the point is I was close, sooo incredibly close, and the idiot guy comes out of the back and pulls this “I didn’t know you weren’t alone” crap.

  Kristi: Pool table, huh? Lots of ball handling going on.

  Liz: Ha-ha, and no. Dusty was fully clothed, and his hands were hardly involved.

  Fiona: I’ll take that to mean he was doing you with his mouth. You know they say, it’s harder for most women to come that way. If he had you that close with just a few licks, imagine what’ll happen if you give him another chance when you’re both naked. Don’t give up on this guy. He’s got your number.

  Kristi: Ooh…is it 69?

  Kristi: Okay, so I can hear the groans all the way to Seattle. ’Nough with the bad jokes. Seriously, Liz, Fi is right. Either give him another try or hand him over. I wasn’t joking when I said I should come to Atlanta and meet him. If you aren’t going to go for the big O with stud man, I will.

  Liz sat back in her chair and stuck her tongue out at her laptop monitor. Dusty had accused her of being a nutcase last night, but the true nutsos were Kristi and Fiona. Had they forgotten every bad word she’d ever typed about Dusty, or why were they encouraging her to give him yet another try? Maybe there was a chance of him making her come if they could get together without any interruptions, but all that would accomplish was her hating herself after the fact.

  He wasn’t just a player—that she could handle—he was an unscrupulous man-whore. One who was not, under any circumstances, getting his hands or his tongue back on her body.

  As for Kristi’s desire to do him…The thought of Dusty sleeping with her friend tightened her belly into knots. It was sympathy for Kristi to blame. The woman came across as the type to fall hard once she found a guy who could do her right. If she hooked up with Dusty, bad things would surely happen. Liz’s duty as a friend was to tell Kristi to stay away from Dusty. Unfortunately, her duty as a woman who’d vowed to help the others locate a man capable of finding their G-spot and providing them with the big O outweighed that. Aching belly or not, she had only one option….

  Liz: You want him, you got him, Kristi. Just let me know when you can come to town and you’re as good as fucked.

  Dusty stepped out of his truck and hustled from the parking lot to the community center. Thanks to having to break up an argument at the bar before it could escalate into a physical fight, he was five minutes late. He would be damned if he would be any later. Tonight was all about impressions, and every second counted.

  Three days had passed since Liz walked out on him, orgasmless yet again. He should have spent that time worrying over how getting caught messing around at work would affect his relationship with his employees; he’d never intended for things to move beyond a little kissing and groping. Instead the idea that Liz might have had another man waiting for her in the parking lot had goaded him day and night. If she’d had another man lined up and still allowed Dusty to stick his tongue in her, then she’d expected him to fail to make her climax the whole time.

  He’d failed at a number of things in life, hundreds of things depending on who you asked. When it came to sex, he wouldn’t be a failure in anyone’s eyes, damnit.

  Sex was his forte. The one area his ego had every reason to soar. He sure as hell knew how to find a woman’s G-spot, knew exactly what buttons to push to have her creaming in his hands. And he would prove it to Liz. He had to prove it to her. He now knew for a fact that she was to blame for his recent celibacy streak. She was the first person to threaten his self-confidence on any level since he’d moved to Georgia, and that threat would linger until it was quashed.

  Reaching the community center, Dusty pulled open the door and headed into the room across from the entrance. The cooking class was a mix of women and men, young and old; it was also the perfect way to get closer to Liz and convince her to give him another chance at pleasuring her, this time the right way.

  Guilt edged up with the idea that what he was about to do bordered on deceitful—he didn’t believe in luring a woman into his arms. Then again, you could hardly lure the willing. Even if she’d had another man waiting for her three nights ago (hell, he didn’t want to buy that claim), Dusty didn’t believe that man had been the cause of her wetness. Liz had been hot for Dusty and Dust
y alone. How he treated her over the next hour and a half might sway the evening’s outcome in his favor; but if it ended with her inviting him back between her legs for some prime shag time, it would be because she wanted him there 100 percent.

  Dusty spotted Liz in the back of the open room, pulling bowls from a floor cupboard. She wasn’t facing him, and she didn’t need to be. He’d know that tight ass, hugged to testosterone-tormenting perfection in a pair of faded black jeans, anywhere.

  His dick stirred to life with the memory of filling his hands with her supple backside. That a mere thought could have such a strong effect on his libido made one thing clear: It had been far too long since he’d gotten laid. If this night didn’t end with him screwing Liz, then it would end with him screwing some other woman, regardless if she was a challenge to get into bed and a bolster to his ego, or just another easy, feel-good lay.

  Pulling his thoughts from his boxers, Dusty caught the instructor’s eye and nodded a hello. A middle-aged man with close-cut, thinning brown hair and a black apron emblazoned with red and green jalapenos, the guy worked his way around the room, answering questions and assisting students at their work stations. Each station consisted of a stove, refrigerator, sink, and several cupboards.

  Liz went to the refrigerator in her station, opened the door, and fished around inside. Dusty quickly crossed the room to stand on the other side of the refrigerator door. Several seconds passed and the door closed. He knew the instant she spotted him—her face registered shock, and the eggs in her right hand exploded in her fist, sending shell flying and thick yellow and white liquid dripping onto the floor.

  Checking his amusement, he grabbed a washcloth from next to the sink and bent down to clean up the mess. He glanced up at her as he worked. “Nervous?”

  Her eyes narrowed, shock fading to revulsion. “No. It’s an anxious tic I get whenever I’m about to kick someone’s ass. What are you doing here, Marr?”

  Standing, he dropped the egg mess into the sink and washed his hands. He reached into the refrigerator for two fresh eggs, then set them on the counter next to the bowls she’d set out. “Cooking. Isn’t that what people do in cooking class?”

  Liz’s gaze narrowed further, suspicion alive in every line of her body. “This class has been going on for almost two months. It’s also full. I have a hard time believing even you could sweet-talk your way past those factors.”

  Dusty grinned. She would be surprised how much a little sweet-talking could accomplish. Since he didn’t come here to talk sex, at least not yet, he shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal. I know the instructor’s sister.”

  With a knowing look, she grabbed a container of flour from the cupboard and set it on the counter. “Yeah. I bet you do.”

  “Her husband was an acquaintance of mine before I moved here.”

  She whirled to face him. Incredulity shot through her eyes. “Ohmigawd! You slept with a married woman!”

  Dusty felt a dozen sets of eyes land on him with the blurted words. He could pretend he wanted to set Liz straight for the sake of getting closer to her and then getting back in her pants. The truth was he had a real problem with her or anyone else thinking so lowly of him. Yeah, he loved sex and women’s bodies in general—be they thin, chunky, or somewhere in between—but he would never mess with a married woman. “Amazingly, I don’t sleep with every woman I meet,” he said rigidly, and then nodded at the ingredients she’d laid out. “What are we making?”

  Liz continued to look at him for a few seconds, as if she wasn’t sure if she should believe him, but then dismissed the subject. Turning back to the counter, she unwrapped a stick of softened butter and tossed it into a bowl. “I’m making pecan pumpkin pie. Thanks to you, I’m already behind the rest of the class on getting the crust together.”

  He’d learned enough about the class to know each student worked at their own pace. Since her lie worked in his favor, he let it slide. “In that case, let me help you get caught up.” He grabbed the two eggs in one hand. Tapping them against the edge of the bowl, he broke them cleanly down the center. The yolks and whites emptied into the bowl, and he tossed the shells into the sink.

  “You’ve done that before.” Accusation rang in Liz’s voice.

  Before Liz’s brother had met his girlfriend, Colin had shown up at Dusty’s Backroom several nights a week in an attempt to escape what he called Liz’s god-awful cooking. While Dusty wasn’t ready to win any cook-offs, teaching her what he did know was as good a way as any to get on her good side. “I do some of the cooking at Dusty’s.”

  “Right,” she said dryly, “the extra crispy char burgers.”

  “What can I say, they’re my specialty.”

  Without responding, she returned to the refrigerator and pulled out the egg carton. She set it on the counter and grabbed two eggs. The recipe didn’t call for any more, so obviously she was cracking them to prove a point, namely that she could do anything he could and, likely in her obstinate mind, far better.

  Fisting the eggs, Liz struck them against the side of a clean bowl. Shell splintered into a dozen pieces, most of which landed in the bowl along with whatever yolk and whites didn’t splatter onto her hand and apron.

  Curling her egg-slicked hand into a fist, she scowled. “They obviously had defective shells.”

  With an inward laugh, Dusty grabbed two more eggs from the carton. “I’ll show you.”

  “I don’t want your—”

  “Like you said, this classroom’s equipped for a dozen students. I make thirteen. To get in, I had to agree to hook up with someone already assigned. That would be you.” Hearing her sharp intake of breath, he hurried to change the subject. “As for the eggs…” He moved behind her, enjoying the sensual slide of her bottom against his groin as he slid his arms under hers.

  A low growl rolled from her lips. Before she could follow the feral sound up with words, he took her right hand in his, turned it palm-side up, and uncurled the fist. “Watch and learn.” He placed two eggs onto her palm, purposefully stroking the tips of his fingers along her skin, sending waves of heat dancing up his arm and, no doubt, into hers. He folded his hand over hers and brought his mouth inches from her ear. Gently, he used their joined hands to strike the eggs against the lip of the bowl. The shells broke down the center, emptying their contents into the bowl. “It’s all in the wrist.”

  Liz cocked her head to the side, assuring the warm whisper of his breath against the delicate flesh of her earlobe hadn’t gone unnoticed. She tugged at the hand he held and pushed against him, attempting to move away. When he refused to budge, she turned and glared. “You honestly said I would be your partner?”

  Dusty’s attention fell to her mouth. She hadn’t worn the ruby-red lipstick tonight or the three-inch heels, but her lips were still damned full and dangerously close to his. His vision from three nights ago surfaced: The erotic image of Liz on her knees, swallowing his cock to the hilt while her tongue licked from base to pre-cum oozing tip. The stirring he’d felt in his boxers upon first entering the classroom and spotting her shapely rear end returned, sending his dick into an almost instant state of hardness.

  Resisting the urge to adjust his cramped erection, he forced himself to focus on her tone. It held irritation, but not the usual in-your-face bluntness. Obviously this class meant something to her. Good. For some perverse reason, he generally enjoyed Liz’s bitchy behavior, but it would be far easier to get on her good side without it.

  Dusty shifted far enough back that she wouldn’t feel his hard-on and placed two more eggs in her hand. “Your turn.” He folded his hand over hers. “I’ll guide you, but the breaking’s all up to you.”

  The inside of his arm rubbed against the outer swell of her breast and she tensed. “I don’t—” she started, sounding like she wanted to break something, all right.

  “Know how?” he finished, purposely misunderstanding her. “Then I suggest you watch closer this time.”

  Once more he broke the eggs clea
nly into the dish. “Like I said,” he breathed centimeters from her neck, “all about the wrist.”

  This time, a helpless little sigh accompanied the cocking of her neck. Not about to push things so early on, he released her hand and stepped back. “As much as I enjoy breaking eggs, we should probably get back to the pie.” He glanced toward the front of the room, where the pie crust recipe was written on a blackboard, and reached for a measuring cup.

  Using her hip, Liz butted him out of the way and grabbed the measuring cup from his hand. After filling the cup with water, she poured the water into the bowl, then grabbed a wooden spoon and started mixing. In a hushed voice, she said, “If you’re taking this class just to get in my pants, allow me to assure you, the only thing that’s going to get blown is your time.”

  Dusty raised an eyebrow. “Who has the ego problem now? I own a bar with a full lunch and dinner menu. Since I didn’t have a chance to learn how to cook growing up the way I did, doing so now makes good business sense.”

  She continued to add the last of the ingredients, stirring them into a sticky dough and then pressing the dough into a pie pan. Setting the pan aside, she returned to the cupboard and retrieved a bowl for the pie filling. “I don’t care.”

  He lifted his gaze from the curve of her ass. “Don’t care about what?”

  “How you grew up.” She set the bowl on the counter and looked at him. “You think I want to know, but I don’t.”

  “My upbringing’s the last thing I want to talk about.” And it for damned sure was.

  Liz was to blame for his making a comment on his past. Ever since she’d taken that shot at his ability to please a woman, he’d been reliving moments from his youth, all the many ways he’d managed to fail in his parents’ eyes. “I was making small talk.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t bother. We’re here to cook, not socialize.”

  For once Dusty was glad for her brusque attitude toward him. Allowing silence to reign, they worked together until the pie filling and the whipped cream that would top the finished product were done. Liz poured the filling into the crust, topped it with a handful of pecan shavings, and placed it in the oven.