“You know that for a fact?” he asked, his attention on the bed nearest the wall adjoining the bathroom.
“Yes. She’s my friend Rachel’s grandmother.” She sat down on the edge of the other bed. “The place isn’t much to look at…”
“It makes the Bates Motel look like the Waldorf Astoria,” he grumbled. “Who named it, anyway?”
“Mr. Tucker,” she said, taking off her coat. “Rach’s grandfather.”
He chuckled. “Tucker Inn,” he said. “I gave that name a whole other meaning.”
Her perfect brows drew together for a moment then relaxed. Her lips twitched. “You’ve got a dirty mind.”
He shrugged. “It was how I grew up,” he replied. He came around the foot of the bed and to the side, sat then swung his legs onto the mattress, bracing himself on his elbows. He groaned, then got up. “Lumpy as hell.”
“Can you find anything else to complain about?” she asked, flopping down on the other bed.
“You want a grocery list?” He shrugged out of his coat, hung it up in the little alcove where the bent-wire hanger barely held its weight. When he went back to the bed, he gingerly lay down and was a bit relieved the pillow wasn’t as soft as a marshmallow. He laced his fingers and put his hands behind his head, staring up at a ceiling that bore a remarkable resemblance to the one he’d had in his jail cell—fly specks and all.
She got up, he swung his gaze that way, and what she did next grabbed his full attention.
Without preamble, she pulled the sweater over her head. Her breasts bounced as she tossed the garment aside. The breath caught in his throat when she put her fingers to the waistband of her jeans, unbuttoned them then ran the zipper down.
“Mother Mary,” he whispered, his gaze following her every movement as she slid the jeans down her long legs and stepped out of them.
She was completely naked with her long, dark hair cascading in curls down to the curve of her hips.
The front of his jeans tented like a maypole.
“Wh-what are you doing?” he asked as she came to the foot of his bed.
“What would you like me to do?” she asked, her voice low and sultry.
“Melina…”
Not only his breath caught but his heart as well as she put a knee to the foot of the bed he was on and began a slow crawl toward him. Her hair draped over her shoulders like a cloak—hiding the creamy perfection of her breasts from his view.
“No,” he said.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He started to get up but she flung a leg over his, trapping him. He knew the moment he put his hands on her shit was going to go down that she wasn’t ready for. Opening his mouth to order her to stop, she dropped her weight on his leg then slithered up him like an eel.
Any other time the look in his eyes would have made her giggle. He was stunned by her actions, completely immobile, staring up at her with panic. Beneath her, he was as rigid as steel and the thick bulge at the center of his thighs couldn’t be missed.
“You want me,” she said.
“You know I do,” he replied. “But not here. Not in some smelly no-tell motel.”
“Then where, Kiwi?” she asked, running her hand along the underside of the tense biceps of his left arm. She trailed her fingers up his forearm then swirled her fingertips in a tight little circle on his wrist.
“The Room,” he said. He cleared his throat. “It has to be in the Room.”
She put her lips to the side of his neck. “What’s so special about the Room?”
He swallowed for she was moving her fingers down his forearm then across his biceps as she plied her lips to the column of his throat.
“Why the Room, Kiwi?” she asked.
“That’s where I have chosen to make you a woman,” he said and she wondered if that explanation sounded as lame and ridiculous to him as it did to her.
“I’m already a woman,” she said and planted kisses along his strong jawline.
“Not yet you aren’t,” he told her.
“Having a hymen does not a woman make,” she said.
“Well, yours is gonna be intact come morning so stop it,” he said. He lowered his arms and pushed her to her back.
He got off the bed while he still could and walked over to the long, scarred console that held the TV. He snatched up the ice bucket.
“You won’t last the entire thirty days, Kiwi,” she told him as he headed for the door.
“Watch me,” he said.
There was a fine mist of icy rain falling as he stomped down the cracked walkway to the ice-vending machine. Pushing up the lid, he wanted to crawl inside it for he thought it might be the only way he could put out the fire burning a hole in the front of his jeans. A cold shower wouldn’t hack it. He needed to be encased in ice in order to quell the need he had.
“Fuck,” he said as he scooped ice into the Styrofoam bucket. The black woman behind the check-in desk was peeking out at him from the office window. He knew as sure as he was standing there that she had recognized him.
Shoulders slumping, he set the bucket atop the ice, closed the lid then went to the office door. She was backing away as he opened it.
“How much will it take for you to keep your mouth shut?” he asked, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.
“I don’t want no trouble,” she said.
“I don’t want any trouble, either,” he said. He took out all the bills. “How much?”
She licked her lips. “Five hundred?”
“Make it a thousand and throw in a bottle of scotch and we’ll call it even. How’s that?”
She nodded. “Ain’t seen nobody here tonight,” she said, taking the bills he extended toward her. “Ain’t got no booze but I can go get you whatever you want.” She licked her lips again. “For another hundred and fifty.”
“Expensive hooch,” he muttered but he peeled off more bills. “That’s two hundred but I’m gonna give it to you with a little warning.”
“Don’t need no warning,” she said, lifting her chin.
“I’m gonna give you one anyway,” he said and put on the face he reserved for recalcitrant employees and waffling distributors. “If anyone—and I do mean anyone—shows up here tonight looking for me, I will make you wish you’d never seen me. Are we clear?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Ain’t no need for threats, Mr. Mc—”
“Not a threat, baby,” he said, cutting her off. “A promise. Pick up a big bag of waffle crisps…” He shook his head. “Waffle potato chips while you’re after it.”
After retrieving the ice bucket and buying two Cokes from the dilapidated vending machine, he went back to their room. He kicked the bottom of the door with the toe of his sneaker and it opened. She was standing behind it.
Still as naked as the day she was born.
“You are a shameless hussy,” he said.
“You were gone an awfully long time,” she said, worry showing in her eyes. “What were you doing?”
“Putting out a fire before it burned me to cinders,” he said.
Her eyes flared. “Someone recognized you?”
“I took care of it,” he said.
“Thankfully not with the gun in the pocket of your coat,” she said.
He stopped unwrapping the plastic cup in his hand and looked around. “You went through my pockets?”
“I was looking for your cell phone,” she said. “I didn’t want to risk calling out on the land line. I figured the cell phone would be safe.”
“Who the hell were you going to call at this time of night?” he demanded.
“Jonny,” she said. “I thought someone should know we were together and all right. Just in case he called my house or dropped by looking for you. There’s no need to make him worry.”
He looked at her and smiled. “That was thoughtful of you, Lina, but the phone is in the center console of my car. I called him before I left home. He knows I’m with you.” He popped a can of cola and poured th
em each a cup. “How ‘bout wrapping a towel around you, please? My cock can’t stand too much more of you parading around with your boobies and patch showing.”
“Spoil sport,” she said, going into the bathroom. She came out with a dingy white towel tucked around her. “Out of sight doesn’t mean out of mind.”
“Tell me about it,” he grumbled, wondering when she’d gotten so comfortable being nude around him. He asked her as much as he took several large gulps from his cup.
“You watch me all the time,” she said. “I know you do.”
“After the day I’ve had swimming around in a fishbowl being gawked at, I’ll have those cameras removed tomorrow,” he told her.
“No need,” she said. She went over to the bed he’d claimed for himself and scooted across it to the far side, propped a pillow behind her and leaned back. She patted the place beside her. “Shuck you clothes and—”
The knock at the door made her jump.
“It’s just the motel clerk with my order,” he said. At her quizzical look he grinned. “Putting out fires, remember?”
He went to the door, opened it, accepted a paper bag and a bag of potato chips from the clerk, thanked her then closed the door in her face.
“What if she calls the reporters?” she asked.
“She won’t,” he said. “Trust me on that.” He tossed her the bag of chips then slid the bottle of scotch—the very cheapest brand—from the paper bag and unscrewed the cap. He poured a hefty amount into his cup with the cola. He figured that would be the only way he could stand to drink the shitty booze. He held up the bottle and when she shook her head, he shrugged.
He could feel the heat of her eyes on him as he pulled off his T-shirt then sat on the edge of the bed to tug off his sneakers and socks.
“What’s wrong with your bed?” he asked as he retrieved his cup of scotch and cola then leaned back against the headboard.
“You’re not in it,” she said, popping open the bag of chips.
“Thought you said if I didn’t have on underwear I’d have to sleep alone.”
“You’re clothed,” she said.
“You’re not,” he replied. He was so aware—too aware—of her silky thigh close to his. “And I won’t be for long.” He tipped the cup to his lips.
“Crisp?” she said, holding the bag out to him.
“Chip,” he said as he plunged his hand into the bag.
“Potato, potahto,” she said. “Al.Lu.Min.E.Um. Luh. Bore. Ruh. Tory.”
He snorted. “I’ve been struggling to sound less Kiwi and more American,” he said. “You aren’t helping.”
“I think your accent is sexy,” she said. “Why change what ain’t broken, bloke?”
“Isn’t broken,” he corrected, munching away on a handful of chips.
“Tomato, tomahto,” she said with a saucy grin. She moved her foot over to his and wriggled her toes against his calf. She leaned over to lay her head on his shoulder.
He looked down at the top of her head. “I bet you liked to poke hornet’s nests when you were kid,” he said. He took the last gulp of the cheap whiskey, his eyes burning as he swallowed.
“Not me,” she said. “You must be thinking about yourself.” She ran her foot up his leg.
“Woman, you’d better be careful,” he said, putting his empty cup on the bedside table.
“And I should do that because…?”
He plucked the bag of chips from her hand, took the cup of cola from the other and set them on the table. The sweetest sound he’d heard all day was her gasp as he turned, hooked an arm around her waist and dragged her down the bed to cover one side of her body with his. He pinned her to the bed with his thigh planted firmly between her legs. He put his cheek to hers.
“You wanna play, baby?” he whispered in her ear.
“Bring it on, cowboy,” she replied.
He swiveled his hips on her, pushing the hard plane of his thigh tightly against her very core. The rough fabric of his jeans was touching the most intimate part of her and was causing friction that sent tingles of pleasure through her lower body. She was no stranger to orgasms. She was an adult, a woman well beyond the age when most had already lost their virginity. She’d given herself pleasure with the little finger-held vibrator many times. She knew the tell-tale signs of impending release but she wanted to prolong it as long as possible. The weight of him bearing her down to the bed was far too pleasurable to end quickly. Trying to shift away from the pressure he was putting on her clit, she only managed to place that ultra-sensitive part of her closer into contact with the rub of the denim.
“You like that?” he asked, staring down into her eyes, refusing to let her look away.
“You like riding me?” she countered.
He ground against her. “Baby, you ain’t been rode yet. Believe me you’ll know the difference between this and a full-out ride when I mount you.”
His words sent quivers of desire racing through her. The heaviness between her thighs increased and her body—having a mind of its own—arched her hips up to meet the swirl of his.
“There you go poking that nest again,” he said. “I think I need to teach you that could get you in deep shit.”
She started to laugh but then he began moving his thigh up and down at the vee of her legs. His hand went to her breast, his strong fingers kneading, and the stiff nap of the towel abrading her nipple as he massaging her. She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth to keep the threat of a moan from reaching his ears.
But he knew what he was doing to her. He was studying her face—his eyes caressing her as heatedly as his palm through the thin material of the towel—and there was satisfaction in his direct gaze. When he smiled, the most dastardly smile she’d seen cross his lips to date and glided his hand from her breast to the crook of her knee, lifted her leg and pressed his thigh tighter to her, a shudder rippled through her. He was bringing her more fully into contact with the hard surface of his thigh and the scrape of the denim along her naked folds.
“You like that?” he asked.
“Kiwi…” she said then arched her head back for he had increased the speed of his movement. Quaky expulsions of air left her lungs as she tried to squirm away from his insistent invasion of her senses.
“Unh, unh, baby,” he denied. His fingers tightened on the underside of her knee and he drew it up and to his side to brace it against his ribcage, leaving her more exposed to the rough slide of the denim. Once more he increased his speed.
“Please!” she whispered. The friction was doing what it was meant to do. She had handfuls of the spread clutched savagely between her fingers—holding on for dear life.
He was hard and his cock was stabbing into her opposite thigh as he made her ride his. Her toes curled and a strange itching began in her right heel. She stared up at him with her lips parted, dragging air into her lungs quicker and quicker as the release began to build.
“Oh, yeah. There you go, baby. Now you got it,” he said. He was gliding her up and down against the polyester bedspread with each thrust of his thigh, grinding his erection against her. He dipped his head to put his lips at the hollow of her throat.
“Kiwi!” she groaned and brought her hands up to his shoulders.
He shifted his body, shoved her legs wide apart and settled himself between them. He hooked his arms under her legs and lifted them to his shoulders. The massive erection pressing against the front of his jeans was now in direct contact with her cunt. She wedged her arms under his and clung to the flexing muscles of his back.
“Come for me, baby,” he said. His knees were pressing hard into the mattress as he rocked his lower body against her. “Come for your man.”
Mindless with the lust building within her she dug her fingers into his back, heard him grunt, and then extended her nails.
“Gouge me,” he ordered. “Dig your nails into me. Let me feel your need, baby.”
One part of her mind pressed at her to rake her nails down the smo
oth expanse of his back but another part warned her not to hurt him.
“Scratch me,” he snarled. “Do it! I want you to. I need you to!”
He was thrusting against her with senseless abandon—striving to make her come—and the bed beneath them was moving, the headboard striking the wall.
“Claw me, Melina!” he demanded and the moment she did, release broke over her and she cried out.
The orgasm seemed to go on and on as he pressed down hard on her exposed, responsive flesh. The towel had come undone at her breast and his naked chest was rubbing upon hers. He was making strange, gasping sounds then he stiffened and she knew.
She knew!
The heat, the wetness of his release touched her through the fabric of his jeans as a hard shudder undulated through his body. With her arms tight around him, her nails gouging into his back, she felt every ripple as it coursed through him.
With a groan she interpreted as embarrassment he collapsed atop her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice ragged. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” He tried to roll off her but she wouldn’t allow it. She held onto him as hard as she could.
“It’s okay,” she said.
“That was just wrong,” he whispered.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I will.”
She sighed. “Yeah, I know.”
He was mortally ashamed of allowing his body to betray him as it had. He had not meant to let it go that far. In wanting to give her pleasure, he had humiliated himself and no doubt shocked her to the core of her being. That she refused to allow him to ease off her puzzled him.
“Thank you,” she said.
He lifted his head from her shoulder and stared at her.
“That was a long time in coming,” she said. “Maybe now I won’t have to kick the leg of your timetable again anytime soon to get your attention.”
Her words hit him like a ton of brick. Understanding shot through him.
“You did that on purpose,” he accused.
She smiled, snaked her arm from under his and put her hand to his cheek. “Sometimes you need to get the ball rolling down the alley before it gets too heavy in your hand, Kiwi,” she said.
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