All She Wants

by Anna Cruise

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Too bad,” I said, opening the door and sliding out. I felt the skirt of the dress ride up over my hips and knew he was getting an eyeful. I leaned forward and lifted my ass up and off the seat, hoping to score him an even better view.

  An almost inaudible sound emanated from him.

  “You're welcome to come with me,” I said, twirling around so I was facing him.

  “Not sure that would be the best idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I'd like to see more of San Diego than your bedroom.”

  I bit back a satisfied smile. Good. We were on the same page, after all. I was just a few sentences ahead.

  “If you say so,” I told him. “Be right back.”

  I hurried to the front door and let myself in, tossing the keys on the side table in the hall as I flew up the stairs. I stripped out of the dress and tossed it immediately into the trash. I might need to burn it later. I scanned my closet, then yanked open dresser drawers, searching for something to wear. I wanted provocative. I wanted to drive him insane. I wanted him to ache with wanting me.

  I dug out the skimpiest casual skirt I owned, dark blue denim that couldn't have been more than a scrap of fabric. I pulled it up, not bothering with panties. I turned to my closet and grabbed a leopard print halter top. The built-in bra pushed my tits almost to my collarbone. I closed the bedroom door and looked in the mirror. I needed to touch up my make-up and get rid of the last remnants of the God-awful pink lipstick I'd borrowed and then I'd be set.

  Five minutes later, I was back outside, sauntering toward the car. If Stuart was watching me, he didn't let on. His head was cocked to the side, leaning slightly against the head rest.

  I opened the driver's side door and he startled.

  “Were you sleeping?” I asked.

  He grinned. “I might have dozed off...”

  “Unbelievable.” I backed the car out of the driveway.

  “I had a rough night,” he said.

  “Oh, really?” I smirked. “Too much Jack for you?”

  “No,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Not enough bed. Actually, no bed at all, come to think of it.”

  I gunned it at the green light and we sailed through the intersection. “There was plenty of room.”

  “Maybe.” He turned to look at me. “But I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have slept at all if I'd gotten into that bed last night.”

  “Damn right you wouldn't have.”

  He didn't say anything, just stared at me with those whiskey colored eyes. Finally, he grinned. “Alright, Miss-San-Diego-Is-The-Best. Show me this fine city of yours.”

  I decided to give him one last chance. “You sure you don't just want to go back to your room?”

  He hesitated and a burst of hope—and lust—shot through my veins.

  But he just grinned wider and settled back in his seat. “Nope. Not a chance.”

  TWELVE

  “I'm not getting on that thing.”

  I turned to look at Stuart. “You're afraid of roller coasters?”

  “No. I'm afraid of dying.”

  We were in the heart of Mission Beach, staring at a behemoth roller coaster a block away from the sand. I ignored his remark and turned right on Ventura, pulling into an empty parking space in the lot next to the Big Dipper roller coaster, San Diego's finest—and oldest—wooden roller coaster. It was in Belmont Park, a boardwalk amusement area I'd visited more times than I could count. Not for the rides, although there were tons of carnival-style, not-really-safe rides to choose from, but for the scenery: plenty of hot guys hung out at Belmont and, before I'd had a fake ID and could get into bars, it was my prime spot for picking up guys.

  “Come on,” I said, dropping my keys in my purse and hopping out of the car. “You wanted to see the city, remember?”

  He folded his arms across his chest and, even though he was wearing sunglasses, I could tell his eyes were trained on the coaster in front of us. “That is not the city,” he informed me. “That is a death trap.”

  “Wrong.” I slammed my door shut. In a voice loud enough so he could still hear me, I said, “You'll get a perfect view of San Diego. Bar none. I promise.”

  I leaned up against the car and waited.

  Stuart reluctantly exited the car. “Won't see much of anything if I have my eyes squeezed shut.”

  He stared up at the roller coaster. It really was magnificent, the iconic white and red wooden roller coaster just steps away from the beach. I'd loved riding it as a kid, breathing in the salty sea breeze as my hair whipped across my cheeks, forcing my eyes open so I could look out at the ocean and the city as I whizzed through the air. There was nothing like it. When I was little, I'd convince Dad to bring me down and buy me a wristband so I could ride it over and over again. I never got tired of it, the anticipation and the thrill that came with every dip and every drop.

  “It'll be fun,” I said.

  “I'm not going.”

  “Well, I'm not taking a picture for you from up there.”

  “What?”

  “You want to see this city, you're coming with me.”

  “Nope.” He followed me across the parking lot and toward one of the ticket booths. “I'll watch you but I'm not getting on that thing.”

  I ignored him. “Two, please,” I told the guy behind the counter. I handed him a twenty and he thrust two tickets and a wad of ones back at me.

  I turned to Stuart and handed him a ticket. “I won't take no for an answer.”

  He lifted his sunglasses and set them on top of his head. “Are you always so insistent?”

  “Pretty much.”

  He glanced at the coaster again. “I get sick.”

  “What? On roller coasters?”

  He nodded. “Since I was a kid.”

  “When was the last time you rode one?”

  He thought for a minute, his eyes still on the coaster. “I don't know. Ten? Maybe fifteen years?”

  I rolled my eyes and reached for his hand. “Oh my God. That was practically a lifetime ago. You'll be fine.”

  “No,” he said, pulling his hand free of mine.

  I re-grabbed it. “Don't be such a baby.”

  “I'm not a baby. I'm a realist. And I'm going to vomit all over you if I get on this thing.”

  I ignored him and dragged him to the end of the line. There were a dozen or so people in front of us, a family with two young kids and a group of teenagers, couples holding hands, guys with their arms looped around their girlfriends' necks. I smiled. I'd been one of those girls. Many, many times.

  The roller coaster car creaked and groaned above us and I looked up, watching as the chain began to turn, groaning loudly as it carried the car up to the first pinnacle. I watched as it careened down, grinning as the riders whooped and screamed, lifting and turning my head to feel the rush of wind as it whooshed past.

  “This is going to be awesome,” I said, smiling at Stuart, squeezing his hand.

  He just frowned and shook his head.

  The car returned to the loading dock and the line of people surged forward. I handed the tickets to the ride attendee and he motioned to the back row. He lowered the bar, tugged on it, then repeated the motion as he worked his way down the row of cars linked together.

  The car jostled and shifted and we lumbered out of the dock and suddenly we were horizontal, the chain pulling us up the first pinnacle. I glanced over at Stuart.

  “See? You're doing fine,” I said.

  We crested the hill and sat suspended for just a second before careening down the first dip. I shrieked and threw my hands up in the air, daring the wind to whisk me away. I stole a glance at Stuart. His eyes were closed, his lips pressed together.

  “Nothing to worry about,” I yelled, smiling.

  He didn't answer.

  “Open your eyes! You're going to miss the view.”

  To my surprise, he actually opened his eyes. His lips parted an
d I thought he was going to answer me. But he leaned forward and a fountain of warm liquid splashed my legs and pooled in my sandals.

  “Oh my God!” I shrieked, staring in horror at the chunks of half-digested crackers clinging to my legs.

  Stuart just closed his eyes and smiled.

  I couldn't get off the ride fast enough.

  “I can't believe you threw up,” I said. I lifted myself out of the seat and tried not to think about the stomach acid coating my legs.

  The attendant made a face and motioned to the ride operator. He sighed and flipped a switch and I knew they'd have to shut down for clean up.

  A chunk of something slid off my leg and into my sandal.

  “I told you I'd get sick,” Stuart said matter-of-factly.

  I glared at him. He didn't look sick at all. He looked perfectly fine, not at all like he'd just launched his entire lunch into my lap.

  I walked gingerly, trying to keep the goo from running further down my legs. I needed to clean up. Immediately. I turned to the ride operator, who was walking toward the car with a bottle of cleaner and a roll of paper towels.

  “Can you spare some?” I asked him.

  He tore off a handful of paper and handed them to me.

  I motioned to the bottle. “Can you squirt some of that on my legs?” I asked hopefully.

  The kid shook his head. “It's, like, toxic. I think.”

  “And this isn't?” I asked, waving a hand at the pinkish slime on my shins. “Pretty sure I'm a walking biohazard here.”

  He shrugged and handed me the spray bottle. “Suit yourself.”

  I squirted some on my legs and dabbed at the concoction of chemical spray and half-eaten food. Stuart just watched, his arms folded over his chest, an amused expression on his face.

  “Don't look so smug,” I snapped. “This is all your fault.”

  “Mine?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “You're the one who didn't listen.”

  I rubbed furiously at my legs, a little alarmed at the burning sensation the spray was causing.

  “I told you I'd get sick,” Stuart said.

  I handed the bottle back to the kid and tossed the soiled paper towels into the trash. “I thought you might be, I don't know, exaggerating.”

  “Nope.”

  I could still feel the sensation of warm, chunky liquid adhering to my legs. I cast a sideways glance at Stuart. “Um...are you okay?”

  “Don't worry. I won't vomit on you again.”

  “That's not what I meant.”

  A look of surprise crossed his face. “Oh? Are you worried about me?”

  “No,” I said, but it came out too quickly to be believable.

  “Hmm. Maybe there is a soft side to you.”

  “The only soft side to me is this,” I said, wiggling my ass in his direction. “And even that's pretty firm.”

  Stuart chuckled. “I don't believe you.” Before I could offer a response, he waved a hand in the direction of the parking lot. “Anyway, I'm starving now that my stomach's empty. That Roberto's place any good?” he asked, nodding toward the taco shop across the street.

  “The best,” I said. “But we're not eating there.”

  “Why not?”

  I motioned to my legs. “Because the flesh on my legs is burning off.”

  THIRTEEN

  I stepped into the shower in Stuart's room and let the water sluice over my aching, reddened legs. The vomit was long gone but my skin was a mottled red, raised bumps dotting the surface. I didn't touch them, just positioned myself so the water could run over them and hopefully wash away the chemicals I'd stupidly used.

  “Are you okay?” Stuart called from the living room.

  “Yeah.” I squeezed my eyes shut and ducked my head under the water. “I'm fine.”

  I wasn't fine. I'd been puked on. I had chemical burns on my legs. And I was in a motel room with a guy who I was pretty sure was attracted to me but who'd made it perfectly clear that he didn't want to sleep with me.

  It was something that had never happened before. Not the being vomited on or chemical burns—although those were firsts, too. But a guy who didn't want me? That had never happened.

  That wasn't entirely true. I thought back to a night two years earlier. The night with West. He hadn't wanted me. But there'd been a reason. A good one. He was dating my sister and I'd moved in on him, pretending to be her. Even though we were identical twins, even when I did my best to imitate her, to be her, he could tell something wasn't right. He'd known.

  I pushed the memory out of my head. Going after West had not been one of my finer moments. I'd gotten together with plenty of guys my sister had been interested in and I'd never had any remorse. Guys were guys and I knew what they wanted. I also knew what my sister wouldn't give. But West? He'd been different. They'd connected, they'd formed a history, a relationship. And I'd tried to ruin it.

  I picked up the bar of soap on the soap dish and scrubbed my arms, working it over my breasts, smoothing it across my stomach. What happened with West didn't matter. It was over and done with, water under the bridge. They'd moved on and had mostly forgiven. And I did feel bad. Sort of.

  I slid the soap between my legs and my thoughts returned to Stuart. He was clearly attracted to me. I knew that without a doubt. I'd seen his reactions to me; he wanted me. So why wasn't he taking the bait?

  Maybe he had some policy of not getting involved with people he was working with. Those professional boundaries people talked about...and boundaries Sheridan had warned me to keep. But I wasn't his employee. All I was doing was driving him around.

  And I wanted to drive him mad. With wanting me.

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, letting the water pelt my scalp. I'd find a way. Before he left for good, I'd find a way to get him into bed.

  The shower curtain pushed open and my eyes flew open. A pair of hands grabbed me. Stuart stood outside the tub, his mouth set in a firm line, his eyes hot. His fingers dug into my arms, holding me in place. My gaze traveled down the length of him, past his smooth, naked chest and muscled torso, locking on...the rest of him.

  I was right about one thing.

  Based on the sword-like appendage about to pierce my thigh, he was attracted to me.

  I dropped the soap.

  “About time,” I said, smiling.

  He didn't answer. He stepped into the shower, crushing me to him, his lips pressing down on mine. His fingers tightened and I gasped against his mouth.

  “Oooh, you like it rough?” I asked. I plunged my hands in his hair and tugged on his brown locks.

  “Stop talking,” he growled. His lips moved across my cheek, then my jaw. He nipped my neck, his teeth stinging my skin.

  I pushed into him. “Why?”

  His mouth traveled lower, biting my throat, then my collarbone. “Because I fucking said so.”

  “I wanna tell you all the things I'm going to do to you,” I said, raking my hands down his back, slicing his skin with my fingernails. “I'm gonna—”

  He reared up, crushing his mouth to mine. His arms wrapped around me and he dug his own nails into my back. I winced at the pain.

  “No,” he said. He pulled back and his eyes were hot with desire. And anger. “You're used to being in control. But guess what? You're not. I am.”

  My smile was more of a smirk. “Oh, really?”

  He had no idea who he was dealing with. No one seduced me or controlled me. No one.

  I snaked my hand between his legs and grabbed on to him. He was warm and thick and I slowly slid my hand up and down, caressing him. His eyes closed briefly, his mouth forming a perfect O. But then his eyes snapped open and he pulled out of my grasp.

  “Really,” he growled.

  He slammed me up against the shower wall, his hands on my breasts, squeezing them, his fingers tugging on my nipples. He shoved his cock between my legs, teasing me. I tried to wrap my legs around him, tried to find a way to get him inside of me, to ease the ache that gnawed a
t me, but he swatted them away.

  “I'm in control,” he repeated. He grabbed my arms and pinned them to the wall, his mouth sucking at my neck.

  I was the aggressor in sex. The one in control. Guys liked it and so did I.

  But this was different.

  His mouth worked its way down my neck, his tongue flicking at each of my nipples as he dropped to my breasts, my arms still pinned above me in his strong, unrelenting grasp. I thrust my chest outward, aching for him to suck harder. I felt his lips curve into a smile, ignoring me. He took his time, his tongue dancing slow, tantalizing circles on my skin, his sole purpose to drive me crazy with wanting.

  “Please,” I whispered, arching higher.

  “Please?” He lifted his mouth and looked at me. “You're gonna beg?”

  The water rained down on me, drops of water blurring my vision. I didn't care. I didn't want to see; I wanted to feel. I nodded, strands of wet hair clinging to my cheeks. “Please.”

  His mouth moved lower, trailing biting kisses down my stomach. The steam from the hot water swirled around us but his lips were hotter, wetter. His tongue licked at the wet skin below my waist. I moaned and moved my left leg to the side, making room for him.

  “Good girl,” he murmured.

  His tongue plunged into me and I cried out at the welcome invasion. My entire body went slack as he devoured me and I moaned again, louder this time. His hands loosened from my wrists, sliding down my slick stomach, gripping my thighs, then cupping my ass. I dropped my hands to his hair and pushed his face against me, arching my back, bracing my head against the tile.

  His tongue pulsed inside of me, setting every nerve ending in my body on fire and I knew he was right. He was in control. The heat built between my legs and I closed my eyes and bucked into him, desperate for release.

  “Yes,” I cried out. “Now.”

  He stopped. I opened my eyes, my vision unfocused, blurry. He stood, his hands on my waist. I planted my hands on his shoulders and tried to push him back down but he stood firm, his legs spread, his arousal pushing into my abdomen.

  “What the—?”