Gotta Have It

by Lori Wilde

What a rush.

  Without a word, Durango dropped his knee and the belt fell to the floor. He grabbed her by the waist and turned her around so that her bottom was nestled against his crotch. He leaned over her to whisper into her ear, his chest pressed against her back.

  “Is this what you want, Angel? Is this the kind of sexual adventure you’re looking for?”

  “Yes,” she whimpered. “Yes.”

  “Spread your legs wider.”

  She did, balancing precariously on her stilettos while he pushed her skirt up to bare her naked buttocks.

  He kept one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her steady while he kneaded her cheeks with his leather glove, then inched his hand lower and slipped his fingers between her legs.

  He playfully swatted her bottom and she hissed in a breath.

  “Do you like that?” he asked.

  “Yes, yes.”

  He lightly swatted her once more, his leather glove providing erotic padding. The pressure in her feminine core twisted hard and she whimpered. She wanted his cock inside her.

  Now.

  “You have such a beautiful ass.” He sighed and there was such rhapsody, such reverence in his voice that Abby’s heart crashed inside her rib cage.

  She hoped he wasn’t expecting anything more from her than sex and adventure. This interlude in Sedona was going to be just that. She would cut loose, enjoy a binge on the devil’s playground, then return to her life a better person for having gotten this passion nonsense out of her system.

  The last thing in this world she wanted to do was to hurt Durango again.

  But damn, he was an unselfish lover, thinking only of arousing her by any means possible, letting her excitement fuel his own.

  Slowly he dipped one gentle finger inside her, her nectar soaking the tip of his glove. He placed the end of his pinkie over her throbbing nub with only a hint of pressure and then softly slid it off.

  The slick friction, the slight force, the exquisite burst of sensation as the leather strummed her clit had Abby’s head spinning dizzily. She could not absorb it all. She splayed her palms against the wall in front of her to keep from losing her balance.

  He did it again. Faster, firm. Again and again. His concentration was a thing of amazing beauty, the way he was making love to her magically electric. She felt cared for, special.

  And that disturbed her almost as much as it pleased her.

  Each soft snap of leather shoved her closer and closer to the edge of insanity. His fingers manipulated her, controlled her. He alternated between flicking her straining hood with his pinkie and pushing his middle finger deeper inside her.

  He increased the tempo and she grew even wetter.

  They were getting down and dirty. And the fact that at any moment, any second, someone might push aside that curtain and see him pressing his leather-clad pelvis against her bare bottom made her certifiably insane with desire.

  More, more, more.

  Through the leather of his pants she could feel the rock-hard outline of his penis. Knowing how much he wanted her only made her want him more.

  His fingers pumped her. Faster, faster, faster.

  Inside the sexy haze, inside the heat of her own skin, Abby squeezed her eyes tightly closed and listened to the thumping piston of her heart and the thick ebb and flow of her blood rolling through her arms and legs.

  He was loving her body with his hand. Pushing her to places she’d never been, giving her new dreams to dream, fresh wings.

  Pleasure lit her nerve endings; delight flooded her brain, wanting blinded her.

  Lost. She was lost and could not see.

  But he offered the way, his fingers promising a joy beyond anything she’d ever known.

  Come.

  The beat from the music throbbed through her. She was surrounded in sensation.

  Leather, velvet, sweet air cooling her sizzling skin. She thrashed her head, crazy with longing, mad with lust.

  “Yes,” Durango whispered roughly, his voice a rasp against her ears. “Yes. Give in, surrender, let go. Passion is yours. Don’t deny it.”

  He pressed firmly on her clit one last time and she was lost.

  Abby felt heavy all over in a languid way, suspended in time, hung on the hook of the moment, impaled on ecstasy. Her thoughts were weighted, indolent. They trickled through her head like pellets slipping through the narrow neck of an hourglass, dripping one by one.

  He. She. Music. Sex.

  She didn’t even think in sentences, just word by word. One by one.

  Heat. Skin. Lips.

  Life. Passion. Pounding drums.

  Durango. Durango. Durango.

  There was no escaping the pleasurable sensations. She was trapped. A prisoner of passion. A slave to her own treacherous desires.

  She exploded.

  Her body burst into the most amazing orgasm she’d ever experienced. The music beyond the velvet curtain reached a crescendo at the same time she did, drowning out her cries of pleasure.

  Horns trumpeted. Drums banged. Guitars blared. Abby cried out Durango’s name.

  And came down hard in his arms.

  8

  RUBBER LEGGED and jittery with pent-up testosterone, Durango held Abby in the crook of one arm while he gently tugged her skirt back down over her bare bottom.

  He had reduced her to rubble.

  Was that satisfied vengeance he tasted on the back of his throat? He had corrupted Judge Archer’s daughter. He was getting even with her by using her sexuality against her.

  The flavor of revenge was sweet as ice wine on his tongue. Reprisal rolled down his throat warm and racy, but the aftertaste was supremely bitter. Suddenly Durango felt as if he’d eaten poisonous fruit.

  This wasn’t right. He should never have started this seduction.

  But he couldn’t turn back now. He was hooked. Addicted. Jonesing for her real bad. Right or wrong, he had to have her.

  It wasn’t about vengeance anymore. Or helping Abby unearth her passion. She was proving too quick a study for that.

  Somehow, without even meaning to, she’d turned the tables on him and he was the one falling.

  Abby’s breathing was raspy in the small confines of the alcove. She was trembling and her trembling grounded him in reality.

  The look she gave him vanquished his guilt. He hadn’t hurt her, in fact just the opposite. She was hungry and eager for more of his tutelage.

  That’s when he realized Abby was his redemption and not the other way around.

  He had mistakenly thought that by leading her to adventure she would discover the passionate woman who’d always been prowling beneath the cool surface. Instead, he was finding out she was taming him, drawing him back to the place he’d left behind all those years ago, making him want again to belong.

  Swallowing hard, he clenched his jaw. How had this happened? Why did he have an almost overpowering urge to mend fences with everyone in Silverton Heights so he could go back home and claim Abby for his very own?

  He stared at her, trying to figure out how in the hell she’d caused this change in him.

  Suddenly shy, she glanced away, unable to hold his stare.

  He saw her bafflement in the way she ducked her head. Heard it in the soft sneeze that shook his heart.

  Durango pulled a packet of travel tissue from his vest pocket, peeled one off and handed it to her. He’d bought the tissues that morning, knowing full well that pushing Abby beyond what she’d ever experienced could induce sneezes.

  But he wasn’t going to stop pushing her. This was what she needed. What they both needed to close the past and open the way for a new future.

  But what exactly did that future entail? She’d made it clear enough he was nothing more than a fling, a way for her to stretch her wings and clear her head.

  But that wasn’t enough for him. He wanted more. He wanted it all.

  At that moment he knew the answer. If he hoped to win her heart he had to break her completely away fr
om Silverton Heights. The minute she agreed to give up Phoenix and move to Sedona for him, that was when he could give up Sedona for her.

  And the only way to break her was to push her to the very limits of her passion.

  “I…I…” She dabbed delicately at her nose with the tissue.

  “Shh,” Durango murmured, and kissed her cheek. Excitement coursed though him at the thought of what was in store.

  He took off the leather gloves that smelled so seductively of her and tucked them in his hip pocket. He had the sudden urge to always keep them close. He would never forget what had happened behind the black velvet curtain in the secret alcove at the Conga Club.

  She was looking at him now, surreptitiously, in the dimness.

  Abby worked in public relations and he could see her mental wheels turning. She was trying to find a way to put a spin on this sexual adventure that would allow her to relinquish her embarrassment.

  He understood her conflict. She wanted what he had to offer, but she feared what would happen afterward. He had to show her the risk was worth the gamble.

  Durango wasn’t going to allow her one more second of vacillating or second-guessing. The time for action had arrived.

  “No regrets allowed,” he said, and then clasped her hand in his, moved aside the velvet curtain and led her back into the main part of the dance club.

  The joint was hopping.

  From the enthusiastic band playing the mambo to the clutch of lively dancers wriggling in the ambient lighting to the rich vibrant colors on the wall, the place screamed sex. It was why he’d chosen the location, but now he wished they were somewhere quieter, more private instead of at the most popular hot spot in Sedona.

  “Look,” Abby said. “It’s Tess and Jackson.”

  Indeed, her friend and the stuntman were seated at the bar downing shots of some wicked-looking brew.

  “Let’s go say hello.” Durango escorted her through the crowd.

  “Hey, mate!” Jackson spied Durango and raised a hand. “We’re having shots of Goldschläger. Pull up a stool and join us.”

  “Can’t,” Durango explained. “Designated driver.”

  “How ’bout you, love?” Jackson eyed Abby. “Wanna jolt? Tess is trying to get me drunk but I refuse to cooperate.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Tess said sarcastically.

  Uh-oh, trouble in paradise? Abby glanced from Tess to Jackson and back again. There was some kind of tension between them. Sexual chemistry was surging all around, but it seemed as if they’d just had an argument or were about to have one.

  “I’m a Chardonnay person,” Abby said.

  “It’s cinnamon schnapps,” Tess cajoled. “I know you like cinnamon. Go on. Try something different. Live a little. Since Jackson won’t cut loose with me, I’m in need of a drinking buddy.”

  Abby shot Durango a glance to see what he thought of her downing the schnapps.

  “Abandon to abandon,” he challenged.

  “Here,” Jackson said, pushing the shot glass toward Abby. “Have mine.”

  Tentatively Abby picked up the glass and stared at the thick liqueur. “There are gold flecks of something in here.”

  “Twenty-four-carat gold,” Jackson said, and grinned affectionately at Tess. “No cheap stuff for my lady.”

  Were those two fighting or not? It was hard reading their signals. But it wasn’t as if Abby wasn’t getting a few mixed messages herself from the enigmatic Mr. Creed.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Real gold? Is it safe to drink?”

  “Much as any drinkin’ is safe,” Jackson joked. “Down home, they call it liquid sex.”

  “Liquid sex? Why’s that?”

  “Try it and you’ll see.”

  Abby sniffed at the liqueur. It smelled strongly of cinnamon. She definitely needed something to take the edge off of her nervousness. Maybe this strange gold-flecked sex potion was exactly the ticket to set her free and give back to Durango as good as he’d dished out to her in that darkened alcove.

  The first taste of the cordial was sharp on her tongue, almost as if it were carbonated, and very sweet. It tasted like her favorite tin of cinnamon mints.

  “Down the hatch.” Durango winked.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?” She met his dark-eyed gaze. “It’s supposed to sex me up. Sure you can handle that?”

  He leaned close. “Angel,” he whispered. “If you get any more sexed up I’m gonna need a stamina transplant to keep up with you.”

  Her heart thumped.

  She had never considered herself particularly sexy. In fact, quite the opposite. But Durango was looking at her as if she was the most sexed-up sex goddess who had ever walked the face of the earth.

  Encouraged by the admiring expression in his eyes, Abby downed the rest of the schnapps, hoping it would give her the courage she lacked to ask for what she needed.

  Ho-boy.

  Immediately, she experienced a cozy flush in the dead center of her chest that was warmer than sunshine and twice as nice. The lush feeling curled deeper within, settling all the way to the bottom of her stomach. She felt snuggly, lovable. It was the liqueur equivalent of putting on a pair of socks hot out of the dryer on an icy-cold morning.

  Yum. Cinnamon-a-licious.

  Then a second wave of sensation washed over her. So much for the toasty, homey feeling. It vanished, leaving her ramped up, wired and ready to party.

  She licked her lips and studied Durango. He was talking to Jackson and didn’t realize she was sizing him up as if he was a juicy steak. She had a desperate urge to tie him down and lick his body from head to toe.

  He was, she decided, the most doable man in the room. In fact, she couldn’t wait to get out of here so they could go someplace private and finish what he’d started. She hadn’t had nearly enough.

  “What are you guys doing tonight?” Durango asked Jackson.

  “Tess and I are just hanging out, killing time until that paparazzi bloke gives up and leaves.”

  “Paparazzi?” Abby asked. Her voice hummed in her ears, sweet and mellow.

  “Yeah. That bloke from Cathedral Rock was hanging outside the club when we got here. Tess went to check a minute ago and he’s still sitting in a white, late-model Monte Carlo in the parking lot.”

  “Come on, baby,” Tess coaxed. “Let’s dance. That cinnamon schnapps has me revved up and I want to show you how well I can shake my booty.”

  Jackson eyed the booty in question. “I’ve seen you shaking it, luv.”

  “If you don’t dance with me, I’ll have to find someone who will,” she threatened.

  “Well, I can’t let that happen, now can I,” Jackson said, and took her out onto the dance floor.

  Abby watched them for a minute. They danced close, eyes locked, totally engaged with each other, but it seemed as if Tess wanted a wilder night on the town than Jackson wanted to give her.

  Durango turned to Abby. “You ready to get out of here?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “Getting bolder every day, Ms. Archer.”

  “Thanks to you.” Their gazes clicked and the way his eyes crinkled warmed her far more than the gold-flecked liqueur.

  “I’ve got my bike out front. You still scared of the Ducati?”

  A week ago she would have been terrified, but tonight, fortified with the afteraffects of the most taboo orgasm she’d ever had and the potent heat of liquid sex, Abby was ready to chuck caution to the wind. She’d gone hang gliding this morning for heaven’s sake. What was the big deal about riding on the back of a motorcycle?

  “I’m up for it,” she declared before she had time to think it through.

  He put his arm around her waist and they left the club. They wound through the parking lot toward his motorcycle and passed the white Monte Carlo.

  “Look,” Abby said. “Jackson’s paparazzi.”

  She caught the eye of the balding man in the driver’s seat. He appeared startled, then quickly glanced
away.

  She thought his behavior was odd, but she was feeling so dreamy and amicable she didn’t comment. They reached the Ducati and Durango unlocked his helmet from the handle bars and strapped it around her chin. It was too big and kept slipping down over her eyes.

  “You look adorable,” he said.

  “Rats, I wanted to look like a badass biker babe.”

  “In that leather, you already do.” He wriggled his eyebrows and made her laugh.

  “Hey, if I’m wearing your helmet, what are you gonna wear?”

  “I’ll go alfresco.”

  “What if we have a wreck? I’d hate for something to damage that handsome noggin of yours.”

  “Stop worrying.” He straddled the bike and held out his hand to help her swing on behind him.

  It was only after she spread her thighs and wrapped her arms around his waist that she remembered her panties were in her purse. The smooth leather molded like melted butter against her bare muff.

  You had to give her credit. When she went bad, she did it in a big way.

  Just like Cassandra.

  That thought dulled the afterglow of the Goldschläger. No, she wasn’t like Cassandra. She was having a good time, yes. She was exploring her sexuality, opening her heart to passion, but she wasn’t going to let it dominate her life.

  This was a one-time fling. That was the whole point of the affair. To prove she could do it and then walk away. When she went home everything would be normal. She was in full control.

  She knew she was imagining things, but she could have sworn she heard Cassandra laughing uproariously.

  Durango rumbled the Ducati from the parking lot, motor thrumming.

  The streets were dimly lit. Sedona had no public streetlamps and the moon looked eerie shrouded in black clouds. It was kind of thrilling, zipping around in the darkness, knowing something dangerous could be skulking in the shadows around the next corner. Abby squeezed Durango’s waist tightly and allowed herself to be carried away by sensation.

  She felt exhilarated. Liberated. Free.

  The wind rushed over her skin, raising goose bumps of pleasure. The pulsing engine between her legs felt like a living thing. Vibrating, strumming, sending a tingling heat throbbing up through her bottom and into her spine. Her fingers, laced across Durango’s rib cage, could make out every tight muscle in his honed six-pack.