by P. J. Mellor
He leaned down to brush her lips with his. They were cool and tasted like strawberry jam. She ran her tongue around her lips and he groaned.
He dotted cream on the tip of each breast then licked it away. She arched her back, shameless in her desire for more prolonged contact.
He chuckled and dipped the fruit into the cream again.
“Know what I’m talking about?” She shook her head, practically mindless with need. “You don’t?” He pulled a mock frown. “Think, Royce. You discussed it at length on your last show.”
She wracked her brain. There were so many callers and she’d had such a hard time keeping her mind on the words instead of on Jack. Impotence? That couldn’t be it. Premature ejaculation? Definitely not. She squirmed again and arched her back. Why did he want to discuss her show now, of all times?
Jack tsked and shook his head. The sun, dipping low across the gulf, cast a golden glow across his magnificent chest.
“I guess I’ll just have to refresh your memory,” he said, scooting back enough and bending so he was at eye level with her exposed femininity. “So pretty,” he whispered against her folds, causing her hips to buck off of the bed. “So moist and eager. But not quite ready.”
The guttural sound coming from deep in her throat surprised her. Almost as much as the cool touch of the tip of the strawberry and whipped cream on her vagina.
He teased her for a moment, sliding the tip of the berry in and out of her opening, the tiny outer seeds creating a friction that lodged her breath in her lungs.
Every nerve ending focused on the spot receiving his undivided attention. In and out. The delicate scrapings sent shivers coursing down her arms and legs. Her fingers and toes tingled.
He tossed the berry aside, eliciting a moan from her at its absence. She needn’t have worried. His hot mouth replaced the cool fruit, his tongue taking up where the berry left off. In and out it plunged, dragging along one side, then the other. Deep within her, he moved his tongue in inflaming little circles.
Her multiple climaxes surprised her, washing over her like a tidal wave, one right after the other, drowning her in satiation.
She may have screamed.
Jack could stand no more. When her juices filled his mouth, he’d almost lost his barely held composure. He wanted to be buried deep within her when he came.
He fumbled for a condom. He knew he’d placed a pile of them right by the edge. He almost wept with relief when his hand finally closed around the little foil packet.
The damn thing couldn’t roll on fast enough. Finally, he paused, his cock throbbing with eagerness at her slick opening.
Their eyes met.
“Royce,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Jack,” she said on a breath.
He plunged into her. The shapely legs he’d lusted after for so long wrapped around his waist, clinging, pulling him impossibly deeper within her heat.
“Royce!” he shouted, inhaling great breaths through his nose in his effort to prolong the sensations.
Her body began its inner clamping which spelled the beginning of the end for his endurance.
With a window-rattling shout—it may have been her name again—he drove deeper into her willing body and shuddered his release.
When his heart began beating again, he became aware of her drawing agonizing little patterns with her fingernail on the still sensitive skin of his back.
With Herculean effort, he immediately rolled away, lying on his back with his arm thrown over his eyes. A sexual encounter had never affected him like that. Totally wiped out. Maybe he was getting old.
Beside him, Royce snuggled closer, wedging her shoulder against his ribs, her arm slung possessively across his still clenching abs.
“Jack?”
He peered from beneath his arm. “What?”
“That was…unbelievable.”
He could only grunt in response.
“Jack?”
“Hmm?”
“You like me, don’t you? At least a little bit?”
Uh-oh. What was it with women? Best to play dumb. If she was half as exhausted as he was, she’d doze off before they could engage in any “meaningful” conversation.
“What do you mean?”
Beneath his arm, she shrugged. “You called my name. Twice.”
“You said mine, too. Twice.”
She sat up; his side felt suddenly cold.
“Wasn’t that what you wanted?”
There it was. The problem with sleeping with smart women. They were determined to analyze everything you said and did.
“Of course,” he said, reaching for his shorts. He tugged them on as he stood. “I wanted to make sure you knew who you were screwing.”
7
Royce lay watching the lazy shadow of the ceiling fan, biting her lip until she was sure Jack had let himself out of her house.
A tear trickled from the corner of her eye and traveled around until it pooled in her ear. Tears were too good for Jack McMillan. Heck, right now castration was what he deserved.
Why hadn’t she seen it coming? His rolling away from her and covering his face should have been the first giveaway. She was trained to spot these things. His body language had practically screamed his emotional distance. Yet, she’d persisted.
Another tear escaped. She deserved every miserable rotten thing he heaped on her. After all, she knew his reputation. Knew of his commitment phobia. Had it daunted her in her quest to finally grab the gusto with Jack-the-ripper? Nope.
She glanced at the remains of their impromptu feast and groaned.
She’d never eat a steak or a strawberry again.
Jack lowered his emotionally charged body into the churning hot tub and popped the top on his first beer of the day. It wasn’t emotions charging his body, he told himself—it was just the aftershocks of mind-blowing sex. That was why his hands shook and his knees were weak. He wasn’t used to so much sexual activity in such a short span of time. He was out of shape.
He glanced at Royce’s darkened house and wondered what she was doing, what she was thinking after his less than stellar exit line.
Did he really think she’d had so many lovers that she needed to be reminded of whose cock was in her? He snorted. After all, it was Royce he was talking about here. Of course she did. Didn’t she?
He took a long draw of the cold beer and let his head rest on the side of the tub, concentrating on the soothing sounds of the surf. Tonight it didn’t work.
He set the beer aside. He of all people should know the dangers of drinking while in a hot tub. He dared another glance at Royce’s house. Still dark.
Maybe she was in her whirlpool tub. Women liked to bathe after sex. Maybe she didn’t know the peril of mixing alcohol with heat and had a heart attack.
Fear lanced through him.
He was a physician, after all. It would be irresponsible of him not to go check on her.
Royce arched her stiff back and let the churning bubbles of her tub work their magic. On a side table, one fat candle flickered a low glow across the room. She idly watched the wisps of steam rise from the water.
Dreams were like that, she philosophized. Insubstantial wisps. Sort of like her dreams of a future with Jack.
She closed her eyes and willed away the tears.
After playing the part of fast and loose for so many years in an effort to capture Jack’s attention, what had she expected? Still, the pain hung there, lodged in her chest, when she thought of his parting words.
Relaxation techniques she’d learned years ago finally worked. The tenseness eased from her body a millimeter at a time until she lolled her head against the bath pillow and drifted off.
Jack eased up Royce’s stairs, thankful he’d had the foresight to leave her door unlocked.
From the master bath came the distinct sounds of a whirlpool. His heart clenched.
He paused in the doorway.
Royce reclined in her tub, her head relaxed against an
inflatable pillow, dark hair piled high on top of her head, a few escaping tendrils sticking to the sides of her neck.
“Royce?” Was she unconscious or merely asleep?
He rushed to the tub and lifted her limp hand, his fingers seeking her pulse. It beat strong and sure. Weak with relief, he sank to the edge of the tub.
Within seconds, she opened her eyes. After a start, she settled lower in the tub.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her mouth scarcely clearing the churning water. “Didn’t you say all you had to say earlier?”
His cheeks heated with shame as much as the steam rising from her bath. “Ah, no. I mean yes. Shit.” He raked his hand across his close-cropped hair. “Royce, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
“But you meant it.” Her voice was quiet. Flat. Devoid of emotion.
“What? Hell, no! I don’t know what got into me. Can you forgive me?”
She tugged a towel from beneath his leg and stood, wrapping as she rose from the water. Depriving his hungry eyes of the sight of her body. A body he knew intimately and already craved again.
“You need to leave, Jack.”
“Not until you say you forgive me. Or at least that you understand.”
“Sure.” She shouldered her way past him and walked into the bedroom.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He trailed behind her, his fingers itching to rip the towel from her and stroke every inch of her gorgeous, responsive body until he forced her to admit…what? That she’d truly forgiven him? That she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her?
Or did he need her to tell him he meant something to her? Something more than hot sex—a willing, available and able cock?
Shit.
She turned a cool eye on him while he all but vibrated with a need he refused to identify.
“It means,” she finally answered, “I understand.”
“You understand?”
She nodded and reached for the ugliest purple robe he’d ever seen. “Jack, I’ve known you for more than six years.”
“So?”
“So, I also know your…shall we say, limitations?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” He stalked toward her, but stopped before he got close enough to reach out and touch her.
After pulling the ugly robe around her, she reached under and pulled out the towel. “Jack, you’re the poster boy for commitment phobia.” She walked back past him and tossed the towel into a tall wicker basket in the bathroom.
He stood in the bathroom doorway, blocking her path with a hand on each side of the door frame. “Is that what you’re after, Royce? Commitment?” Good God, what would he do if she said yes?
“From you?” She snorted and pushed past him. “Hardly.”
“Then what is it that you want?”
“You mean other than your body?” He nodded. Her mouth flattened into a grim line. “Just your respect, Jack. While we’re together, I expect—no, I demand—your respect.”
“You got it.” She sidestepped his advance.
“That means,” she continued, “for the duration of our time together, I expect you to be faithful.”
“I can do that.” Hell, all other women paled beside the hellion standing before him anyway. It would be a piece of cake to be with just her. He reached out to stroke the tip of her breast through her robe with his index finger. A surge of satisfaction shot through him when her nipple immediately puckered beneath the purple silk. “What about after that?”
She shrugged and stepped back, breaking contact. “After I’m through with you, I don’t care what you do.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “I thought I asked you to leave.”
“What if I’m not ready to go?” He advanced until he had her backed against the railing at the top of the stairs.
He snagged the belt tie and dragged it from her voluminous robe. The garment fell around her slight frame like a giant purple tent, only touching her shoulders.
Bending his knees slightly, he gathered the silk in his hands and straightened, raising the robe until he’d bared her to her bodacious breasts.
With a flick of his wrists, the robe fluttered down into the great room.
Royce’s chest rose and fell more rapidly with each breath, but she didn’t break eye contact.
Interpreting her body language as a positive sign, he reached down and let his trunks fall to the carpeted landing with a soft thud.
His knees weakened when he closed the distance and gathered her in his arms, the feel of her back against his palms like warm silk.
Easy, boy. He closed his eyes and breathed in her unique scent, willing his body to take it slow and easy.
Against his chest, her breasts flattened, the erect nipples sending shock waves of arousal through his extremities.
He swallowed a groan.
She stretched to lightly kiss his chin. He shivered.
“I thought you were leaving,” she whispered.
“I will. Soon.” He nudged his erection between her legs.
Marveling at her fine bone structure, he lifted her until she perched on the railing, her breasts at his eye level.
She tensed, her hands gripping his shoulders. “Jack. Get me down. Please. I’m not kidding. We’re going to fall.”
“I’ve got you, babe. Don’t worry.” He laved first one erect nipple, then the other, with the tip of his tongue before taking the morsel deeply into his mouth.
He began sucking and she must have forgotten her fear, because she arched her back and gave that sex-kitten growl from the back of her throat that always drove him wild.
Pulling her legs around his hips, he aligned his cock with her opening and plunged into the welcoming heat.
She screamed and tensed.
It took a moment for his passion-fogged brain to register that her scream was not from pleasure.
8
Jack’s heart skipped a beat. Royce was falling. He clutched her to him. Her arms closed around his neck with viselike strength.
Still buried deep within her, he stepped back, away from the danger. He was closer to the stairstep than he thought.
Cool air surrounded his heated body seconds before his back met the hard edge of the carpeted stairway. Instinctively, he curled around Royce, taking the brunt of the fall down the steps.
Downward they plunged. Pain shot up and down his spine as it connected with each riser. Keep your head forward so your fool brains don’t get bashed in.
An eternity, or seconds, later, the back of his head met the hard surface of the tiled floor.
He heard Royce’s distressed exclamation right before the world went black.
Time was meaningless. He had no idea how long he’d been out. From the way Royce was crying and clutching him, he suspected no more than a few minutes.
A tentative move of his head elicited a groan.
Royce shrieked and released her grip on his shoulders. His skull bounced on the hard tile, doing nothing for his headache.
“You’re alive!” She leaned close to peer through tear-spiked lashes. “Are you okay?”
He rolled to his side and sat up, arching the kinks out of his back. “I appear to be in one piece.” Rubbing his neck did nothing to alleviate his headache. He rubbed the bump on the back of his head. “No thanks to you.”
She sat back on her heels. When had she put on a robe? “Me? You were the one who had the bright idea of having sex on the handrail. We’re lucky we weren’t both killed.”
She tossed his trunks to land on his lap.
“When did you have time to grab these? On our way down?” He bit back a wince as he shoved his leg into the bathing suit.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Despite her harsh sound, she reached to stabilize him while he pulled up his trunks. “When I saw you’d been knocked out, I ran up and got them when I got my robe. Excuse me, but I thought I was doing you a favor by protecting your modesty from the ambulance drivers.”
“Ambulance?” The word scarcely passed hip lips before a siren sounded in the distance.
She nodded and walked to the window. “I called nine-one-one. They’re on their way.”
“Why’d you do that? You should’ve known I wasn’t seriously hurt. My God, you’re a doctor.” Deep down, he knew she’d only done it in an effort to help, yet the knowledge did nothing to quell his irritation.
“Yes, I’m a doctor—but a PhD. I wasn’t qualified to—”
“Can you take a pulse?”
“Of course I can.”
“Do you know how to check pupil dilation?”
“Yes, and I did, but—”
“Then you should have known I was all right!” He stalked toward the door but had to grab hold of the edge of the sofa when a wave of dizziness washed over him.
She appeared in front of him and pushed him down none-too-gently to the soft cushions. “Just sit here a minute and let the EMS confirm you’re all right.” Her hands fisted on her silk-covered hips. “And what about a possible fractured skull? Or broken bones? I had no way to tell about those things, not to mention the possibility of internal injuries.”
A knock sounded on the patio door a second before a young man, dressed in white with a red EMS logo on his shirt, stuck in his close-cropped head and said, “EMS. You called?”
“Come on in,” Royce directed, tying her belt tighter. “Here’s your patient. He knocked himself out when he fell down those stairs.” She pointed at the staircase, then the tiled landing. “He hit his head when he landed there.”
The young man dropped his bag and knelt before Jack as two others appeared at the door with a gurney.
A few minutes later the attendant dropped his stethoscope into his bag and ripped the blood-pressure cuff from Jack’s arm, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
“Everything seems fine, Dr. St. Claire.” He leaned closer to Jack and spoke a little louder, sending shards of fresh pain through Jack’s temple. “Do you want to go get checked out at the hospital, Dr. McMillan?”
“No, I don’t,” Jack all but growled. “And stop shouting. My head hurts enough as it is.” He stood.
