“Holy shit,” he groaned into her hair.
“Do more,” she said sleepily, and he groaned again. “Later, I mean.”
“How about next week? I ought to recover by then. You’re a firecracker, Red.”
“No, I’m not,” she said seriously. She was stroking the back of his neck. He was heavy, but it was a good weight, comforting. Not frightening at all. “I didn’t do anything. You did most of the work.”
“Umm. Yeah, it was a real hardship, touching that white, soft skin, and kissing that lush mouth of yours, going down on the sweetest-smelling pussy on the planet, and feeling your legs wrap around my back and your heels dig into my spine.”
“Thank you,” she replied politely, hoping he couldn’t see her blush in the dark. She yawned, glanced at the clock… and had to look again. A quarter to four! They’d been at it for over an hour!
“Wow!”
“My thought exactly,” he said, and rolled to his side, pulling her with him until they were cuddled together.
Chapter Eight
Peter opened his eyes and stared at the cobweb in the corner of the ceiling. Had to have been a dream. Had to. There was no way in hell a rich, classy dame like Lori would ask him to bed her. No way. A dream, for sure. The best wet dream of his life. The—
She turned in her sleep, and reddish-blond strands fell across his chest. Her face was pressed against his bicep and she snored lightly.
“Holy shit!” he said, and her eyes flew open. She sat up and he had a moment to admire the way the sunlight splashed against her breasts. Her nipples were bubble-gum pink. Yum.
“What? What?”
“Sorry. I had—never mind, it’ll sound dumb.”
“I’m sure it will, but you could tell me anyway,” she said, then smirked at him.
He caught her gently by the hair and pulled her down to him. “Wiseass. How you feeling?”
“Wonderful.” She stretched, her long body writhing against him in a most interesting way. “I’m so glad I forced you to come to bed with me.”
He snorted. “Yeah, someone a foot shorter can always push me around.”
“Well… I did, didn’t I?” She rested her chin on his chest. “Did you really lose your virginity when you were twelve?”
“Sure. Only thing I was ever good at,” he said truthfully.
“That’s not true. You’re good at—uh—” Her eyes went faraway as she tried to think of something.
“Thanks, Red. Never mind. How about you?”
“Oh, I’m good at lots of things,” she assured him solemnly.
“Very funny. How old were you?”
“You’ll laugh.”
“Prob’ly.”
“It was last year.”
He did laugh, then grunted when she made a fist and smacked him in the ribs. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Shit, you’re a baby! I turned thirty-nine last year.”
“So you’re actually forty.”
“Oh, shut up,” he grumbled.
“Peter Random, vain about his age!” She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggle.
“You’re gonna love coughing up a lung, you don’t get off this.”
She smiled at him. “Sure, tough guy.”
“Why’d you wait so long?”
Her smile disappeared, and her eyes actually seemed to darken. “I had… some problems at home.”
“With your stepfa—with your mother’s husband?” He felt his hands lock into fists, and forced himself to unclench.
“No.” She shook her head. “With his son. He was a couple years older than me, and I—I—” He saw with concern that the color was rapidly falling out of her face; she was almost the color of the sheets.
“Never mind. You don’t have to go into all the gory details. Fought him off, didya?”
“My mom got home in time. And nothing happened after, for a long time. But I never felt safe in the house again, not if she was gone. And her hours—she was a doctor, y’know? When I finally got up the courage to tell her what had happened—what had almost happened—she kicked him out of the house. But it took a while for her to catch on that her husband was just as bad as the son.”
“He didn’t try to stick up for his kid?”
“No. That would have gotten my mom’s wind up. It would have ruined his plans.”
He took her hand, which had curled into a fist of its own, gently opened it, and rubbed her palm where her fingernails had dug into the soft flesh. “I take it your mom was pretty happy to be married to this guy?”
“I couldn’t wreck that for her. I—she was so lonely before, and we didn’t know—she couldn’t see how bad they were. I was home alone with them, and they thought I was stupid, so I saw, but I was weak, and—and—” Her chest began to hitch, but her expression never changed.
“Shit, Lori, you were a kid. That’s too much to ask of anyone. A whiney, annoying kid, prob’ly, but a kid just the same.”
She laughed unwillingly.
“And now you’re getting the last laugh, right? Giving all that money away?” He groaned inwardly at the thought, but made sure none of it showed. He wasn’t the only one in this bed with a poker face. “The money’s probably the whole reason they came into your life in the first place. Right?”
Lori smirked, and a bit of color came back into her face. She pulled the sheet loose and flung it over her shoulders, like a cape. “You’re right. You should have heard Ed hectoring my mother about the money all the time. After they’d been married a year or so, he started in on her.” She bounded off the bed and marched back and forth, the sheet flapping behind her. “The money, the money, the money. He couldn’t believe she wasn’t spending it, had just dumped it in a trust for me. It was always, ‘Lori’s too young for the responsibility, let me help, at least make me the guardian of the trust, blah-blah-blah.”
“Well.” He crossed his arms behind his head and enjoyed the view. Lori looked like a naked superhero in his old sheet. “Let’s go to your lawyer’s office, get that checkbook, and spend some of it.”
“All of it,” she corrected.
“Almost all of it,” he corrected back.
She scowled. “Fine, fine.” She wriggled in the sheet. “Gah, I’m all sticky from last night.”
“Really?” he asked, interested. “Because I’m hard from this morning.” He tugged her toward him. The sheet hit the floor, and his erection slapped his stomach. “See?”
“I could hardly miss it.”
Trying to sound as hopeful as he felt, he asked, “Want to practice with condoms again?”
With a wicked grin, she held up a silver packet. He nearly fell off the bed in surprise. “Now, when did you grab that?”
“You just never mind.”
She got the rubber on him in record time—so nice to know a girl with talents—and then pounced on him.
“Let’s fly some more.”
“What?”
“That’s what it was like,” she said stubbornly, anticipating his laugh. “Flying.”
“Awww, you’re so cute.” He rolled her over until she was on her stomach, then caressed the fine globes of her excellent butt. He nudged her, forcing her up on her knees a bit, and stroked the damp curls between her legs. She was squirming against his hand, but when he slipped two fingers inside her, she went still as a rabbit, except for the occasional quiver.
He worked her until she was good and slick, marveling at how she felt, slippery and silky at once, and then spread her wide and slowly entered her. She backed up to meet him, and in less than a second he was fully seated within her, and biting back a groan.
“Flying,” she whispered.
He put a hand in the middle of her back while was weak, and—and—Her chest began to hitch, but her expression never changed.
“Shit, Lori, you were a kid. That’s too much to ask of anyone. A whiney, annoying kid, prob’ly, but a kid just the same.”
She laugh
ed unwillingly.
“And now you’re getting the last laugh, right? Giving all that money away?” He groaned inwardly at the thought, but made sure none of it showed. He wasn’t the only one in this bed with a poker face. “The money’s probably the whole reason they came into your life in the first place. Right?”
Lori smirked, and a bit of color came back into her face. She pulled the sheet loose and flung it over her shoulders, like a cape. “You’re right. You should have heard Ed hectoring my mother about the money all the time. After they’d been married a year or so, he started in on her.” She bounded off the bed and marched back and forth, the sheet flapping behind her. “The money, the money, the money. He couldn’t believe she wasn’t spending it, had just dumped it in a trust for me. It was always, ‘Lori’s too young for the responsibility, let me help, at least make me the guardian of the trust,’ blah-blah-blah.”
“Well.” He crossed his arms behind his head and enjoyed the view. Lori looked like a naked superhero in his old sheet. “Let’s go to your lawyer’s office, get that checkbook, and spend some of it.”
“All of it,” she corrected.
“Almost all of it,” he corrected back.
She scowled. “Fine, fine.” She wriggled in the sheet. “Gah, I’m all sticky from last night.”
“Really?” he asked, interested. “Because I’m hard from this morning.” He tugged her toward him. The sheet hit the floor, and his erection slapped his stomach. “See?”
“I could hardly miss it.”
Trying to sound as hopeful as he felt, he asked, “Want to practice with condoms again?”
With a wicked grin, she held up a silver packet. He nearly fell off the bed in surprise. “Now, when did you grab that?”
“You just never mind.”
She got the rubber on him in record time—so nice to know a girl with talents—and then pounced on him.
“Let’s fly some more.”
“What?”
“That’s what it was like,” she said stubbornly, anticipating his laugh. “Flying.”
“Awww, you’re so cute.” He rolled her over until she was on her stomach, then caressed the fine globes of her excellent butt. He nudged her, forcing her up on her knees a bit, and stroked the damp curls between her legs. She was squirming against his hand, but when he slipped two fingers inside her, she went still as a rabbit, except for the occasional quiver.
He worked her until she was good and slick, marveling at how she felt, slippery and silky at once, and then spread her wide and slowly entered her. She backed up to meet him, and in less than a second he was fully seated within her, and biting back a groan.
“Flying,” she whispered.
He put a hand in the middle of her back while he thrust, in case she got more ideas about going anywhere, while he stroked her inner thighs with his other hand.
Lori was groaning into the pillow, her hips jerking against his, and he actually felt the temperature change when she popped off around him. Her silky walls gripped him with unbearable sweetness for a moment, and then he tipped over the edge and emptied himself into her.
He collapsed, breathing hard. Was the room naturally this dim, or was there something wrong with his eyes after that fine fuck?
“I really have to insist,” Lori groaned, “that you get off me. I’m having trouble breathing.”
“Picky picky,” he replied, but did as she asked and rolled over on his back. “Now we both need a shower.”
“Not to mention a nap. That was amazing. No one ever—I never felt like that before.”
“Oh, I’m full of surprises.”
“Yes, indeed.” She laughed at him, and he chased her to the shower.
“I’ll only be a moment,” she said, already unbuckling her seat belt.
“I’m coming with you.” He shut off the car and met her on the sidewalk. They were in one of the worst neighborhoods in St Paul. He swore he could hear gunfire if he listened hard enough. Not that this bothered him. Made him kind of homesick, in fact.
“Jesus Christ!” he said, when she got all the locks undone and they stepped inside. “Who got beaten to death in here?”
“I haven’t had much time to clean up,” she said defensively.
“You live,” he observed, stepping over a mound of laundry that twitched when he approached, “in a hole.”
“Well.” It was a one-room studio, and she was busy in the corner, pulling clothes out of her bureau and stuffing them into her gym bag. “I had to get away from my mother’s husband, didn’t I? D’you think he’d come looking for an heiress here? Besides, it’s kind of fun, cooking for myself and doing my own laundry.”
“I see no evidence of the latter. I guess it’s a good plan, though. And if anyone did come looking for you here, they’d never be seen again. Eyecchh!”
“Oh, cut it out, you big baby.”
“Hey, even I got standards, Red.”
“More than you know,” she muttered.
“What?”
“I said, time to go.”
He let it drop, and broke several speed laws putting distance between her nasty apartment and the lawyer’s office in Edina. He might have grown up in the Minneapolis version of Hell’s Kitchen, but his mama would have beaten any germ that dared show its face in their home.
They pulled up outside the law offices of Gretch and Gretch—
“Don’t start He can’t help his name.”
—and he held the door open for her. She swept through like a runway model and flashed him a smile that he felt somewhere around his balls.
“Lori!”
The smile vanished and she actually swayed on her feet. He caught her elbow before she could do a nosedive into the tasteful gray carpet and spotted the guy pacing in the reception area. No receptionist; just a sign propped up on the computer that read, BE RIGHT BACK!
“Oh,” Lori said faintly, and gently pulled her elbow out of Peter’s grasp. “It’s you. And I’m dumb enough to be surprised.”
The guy stepped up, too far into Lori’s space. He was at least a head taller and had at least sixty pounds on her, most of it football muscle going to flab. The thought of having this lug on top of Lori, trying to force her, was nightmarish. For the first time in forever, Peter had goose bumps. Or, in his case, pissed-off bumps.
He raised a finger. Try to be nice. We’re in a lawyer’s office. “Uh… buddy…”
“Cut all the shit, Lori. You know the money belongs to my dad.”
Peter had this guy’s number in about a nanosecond. Big, broody. Blond hair, piggy brown eyes. Solid, but the type who would go to fat within a decade. Thought PMS jokes were the height of wit. A real stud in high school, and only now waking up to the fact that being a big shot in school meant diddly shit in the real world. Waking up to it, and frightened of it. And lashing out at the most convenient targets.
Pound him, his inner voice whispered enthusiastically. He’s got it coming. This was the guy Lori was having a nightmare about! Blacken both those eyes and knock out half his teeth. It’ll be fun. And a good deed!
Peter cracked his knuckles and smiled in anticipation. Unlike most people, Peter had only a devil on his shoulder; his angel had packed up and hit the trail years ago.
“Peter, this is Conrad Burle,” Lori was saying, ever the polite broad. “My mother’s stepson.”
“Meetcha, Burle,” Peter grunted. Where first? Body work was good, and the grunts of pain would be satisfying, but maybe he should just break the guy’s nose instead. A few shots to the ribs would be OK—he could crack one, and Burle-baby wouldn’t sneeze without major pain until Easter. It was a buffet of felony assault!
“Conrad,” he-who-would-soon-be-bleeding corrected peevishly.
“Huh?”
“It’s just Conrad,” Lori explained quietly.
“Like Madonna,” Conrad added, sounding ridiculously proud. “Or Cher.”
“Or asshole,” Peter suggested. Eh, Red would probably get pissed if I
beat him up here, anyway. Plus, the lawyer’s probably around here somewhere. Some other time. For sure. “OK, Connie, now that we all know everyone’s name, why don’t you hit the bricks?”
Conrad pointed at Lori. “Not without her.”
“Forget it.” Lori, Peter saw, wasn’t even looking at her stepbrother. Just staring over his shoulder with cool disinterest. “Go away, Conrad. Go away now.”
Conrad lunged forward and grabbed Lori’s arm. “Damn it, Lori, I’m your husband!”
Peter was so startled, he forgot to break Conrad’s wrist.
Chapter Nine
“You’re her what?” Peter swung around and speared her with a furious glare. “Did we forget a few more details yesterday, Red?”
“He certainly is not my husband,” she snapped. “Not legally. And you can just stop looking at me like that right this minute, Peter Random!”
He gaped at her. She supposed a man his size wasn’t used to being yelled at. Too damned bad. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. It was infinitely less nerve-racking than glaring at Conrad. She supposed it was hard to ever get over your childhood nightmares, no matter how ridiculous they became in maturity.
Peter’s jaw, which had been unhinged, snapped closed. “He’s not?”
Conrad, ever needing to be the center of attention, squeezed. Lori refused to let herself wince, though the feeling of her wrist bones grinding against each other was just short of excruciating. “Damn it, Lori, you’re my wife. You know you are!”
How tiresome he was! Frightening—she knew his father was a high-functioning sociopath, and suspected his son might be one as well—but tiresome. “I didn’t sign the marriage certificate, and you damned well know it.” She turned to Peter. “It was the last thing they tried, right before I disappeared. However, it’s not legal without all the appropriate signatures. But they were desperate and assumed I was stupid.”
“Compared to my dad, you are,” Conrad muttered.
Lori ignored the interruption. “Besides, Conrad was always a sore loser, and not terribly bright. Also, he’s still holding my arm.”
Under Cover (v1.1) Page 11
