Burn It Up

by Cara McKenna

James had laid that on her, spat those words in the midst of the fight that had her leaving him for good. Nothing stung quite like the truth. Nothing cut with so jagged an edge. She did love to feel wanted. It went beyond vanity, went someplace darker and deeper and uglier, but she hungered for that. Craved that power that no girl with her unassuming smarts or charms or looks would ever be expected to possess.

  “Never give a man everything he’s after,” her grandmother had told her. “There’s far worse words for a girl to be called than ‘tease.’ Hold a little something back. Dogs are happiest when they’re hunting, so don’t get caught until it’s on your terms.”

  She tried to imagine explaining this philosophy to Raina, on one of those nights back when they’d worked together. While Raina intimidated the crap out of her, she was also a bit in awe of how her old boss managed to go through the world caring so little what others thought. Saying what she liked, needing nobody. What would Raina counter her grandma’s wisdom with?

  Hey, if you want to date dogs, by all means, knock yourself out. I’ll just be over here, fucking a grown-ass man.

  Yeah, that sounded about right. And was probably fair. But Raina had more leverage in this world than Abilene did—looks, means, confidence, an established role in the place she called home. Playing games with guys might be deceitful and manipulative, but when it was the only tool you had . . .

  Still, Abilene had no desire to play those games with Casey. There was no future for them, nothing at stake. Nothing standing in the way.

  She kissed him deeper, welcomed his tongue. Imagined that he was her first boyfriend, that everything was how it should be. A do-over to fix her entire sexual history, make it all right.

  She touched his face and hair, fascinated. He was so much more than good-looking to her. This was the first man—the first person—who’d held her daughter, the first face Mercy ever saw, first voice she’d heard. Maybe those things were making her project more onto this attraction than was wise, but it felt so good, she just wanted to stay lost in the rush. Never come up for air.

  His hand roamed down her side, then eased up beneath her sweater to rest at the middle of her back. Through her shirt she felt the warmth of his skin—he radiated heat like no one she’d ever met. Like a permanent fever. She touched him in turn, rubbing his chest, tugging at the snaps of his shirt one by one, until she had it spread open and his blazing bare skin was under her palm. His breaths quickened and his kisses grew stilted, distracted.

  “Take your sweater off, honey,” he murmured, pulling back.

  She did, tugging her long-sleeved tee back down over her belly. He wrapped his arms around her, kneaded at her back, his mouth hot on her neck, beard tickling. She held his head and shut her eyes, replayed every moan and cuss he’d let her hear when they’d first messed around.

  What’s changed? she had to wonder. This man panting at her throat was different. While on Monday he’d been hesitant, even a little resistant, now he felt eager and possessive. Hungry.

  She drew her fingers through his hair, mesmerized. “Tell me what you need.”

  “I don’t even know.” His words were all but lost against her neck. “Just you. Here.”

  Her own needs, exactly. Just to feel this, in the midst of everything else that was happening. Something simple, primal, to banish the chaos for a little while.

  She slid lower along his body, leveling their hips. He kissed her while she admired him, her hands taking in the curve of his back, the firm muscle of his butt, the heat of his skin beneath his shirt. Her thigh was locked around his, and when he began to move, she felt him—excited and hard behind his jeans.

  For a long moment, everything was friction and heat. Then all at once, Casey stilled, pulling away enough to meet her eyes.

  “The baby,” he murmured, nodding to the corner as he caught his breath.

  “It’s fine.”

  “It’s weird. Isn’t it?”

  “Parents have been doing it for centuries. She can’t even see.” There was a blanket draped over the side of the crib to block the glow of the reading lamp. “Just try to stay quiet.” Abilene was aching to see that, actually—the strain on Casey’s face as he struggled to stifle his sounds, his excitement.

  “It’ll be dinner soon. Someone could knock.”

  “Christine almost never does—it’s too likely me or the baby are napping.” And precisely who was this man, suddenly so concerned with propriety?

  “But when she doesn’t see either of us,” Casey said, “she might get worried.”

  She sensed it was a different person’s worries that had him hesitating—his own. She’d seen this look in too many men’s eyes to mistake it. The look of a guy who didn’t always do the right thing trying desperately to figure out just how out-of-bounds things were about to get. And whatever he might say on the matter, this man was better than most. But she couldn’t bear it if he chose to be good tonight.

  Bad always felt so damn much better.

  “Please, don’t make this stop.” She was begging—it was in her voice, probably in her eyes as well. “It feels too nice.” Too real and easy, while reality was so uncertain.

  Casey hesitated. “I guess we have a little while, still . . .”

  She took that as a green light, drawing his mouth back to hers. And no matter his concerns, he was still stiff when she cupped her hand between them. He moaned against her lips, and his hips pressed him harder along her palm.

  She worried he’d halt her when she went for his belt, but he didn’t. Once the buckle was freed and she was fussing with the button of his fly, he surprised her. Edged her hand away and did the job himself, then pushed his jeans low on his hips. He led her back to his cock, wrapping her fingers around him through his shorts. He made a sound, a pained little sigh, as she stroked him, then put his mouth to her neck once again, kissing roughly between hungry breaths.

  “You feel good,” she whispered.

  “So do you. Just tell me where I can touch you. Please. I fucking love your body.”

  She blushed, hot with nerves and pleasure. “I’m not sure. I guess, wherever you like, and I’ll just tell you if it’s too much. Just . . . just through my clothes, for now.” Only one other time in her life had she felt this insecure about being naked before a man, and that had been with James. Though the circumstances—and indeed her physical flaws—couldn’t be more different.

  “Your breasts?”

  They weren’t as oversensitive as they had been, though the thought still gave her pause. “You can try, if you’re gentle. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

  His hand slid from her collarbone to her breast, cupping, nothing more. The heat of him alone sent a shockwave through her, tensing her body atop the covers and her fingers around his cock.

  “Too much?”

  She shook her head, managed a nearly noiseless, “No.”

  He offered a soft squeeze, and pleasure bloomed, if shyly.

  “That’s nice.”

  “Good. You feel nice.” His touch echoed his words, full of reverence and care and curiosity. She settled into the caresses, letting the last of her worry melt away against him.

  Her own hand had gone still on his cock, and she could feel his hips flexing, aching for more but not forcing it. She gave him a long, light stroke, reveling in his reaction. His entire body tensed, then softened, breath coming quicker. She offered a slow pull, squeezing him tighter and earning a moan.

  “Fuck, it’s hot.” He stripped his shirt clean away. His skin was fair, flushed pink here and there, just as she’d imagined.

  “Here,” he breathed, and reached between them to push the front of his shorts down and release his bare cock into her hand. His skin was hot and smooth, flesh hard. Her body responded, hunger rousing deep in her belly. Everything intensified as he cupped her breast once more—his sounds, his caresses, every muscle. Those hips pushed him deep into each of her strokes, mimicking sex, setting her on fire.

  “Casey.”<
br />
  “Too much?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “Can I take your pants off?”

  She hesitated. “I feel a little weird about my body. It’s so different, since the baby. I’m not saying no, just—”

  “Would you feel better if we got under the covers, maybe?”

  She considered it, nodded. “Yeah.”

  They wrestled their way beneath the blanket, and she did feel more secure, more protected, as they pulled it up to their armpits.

  Casey got his jeans kicked away, and when his hands went to her waistband, her fly, she didn’t stop him. Let him ease her corduroys down her thighs, then pushed them the rest of the way off with her toes. She was okay with her legs, but the tee was staying on. Even in the dark, even under the covers, even with this man . . . she wasn’t there yet. Maybe especially with this man. The stakes hadn’t ever felt so high with a guy before.

  You’ve never been with one who treats you like this one does. Who treated her like a grown woman, instead of some lost girl in need of rescue or exploitation.

  He got above her, planting his knees between her legs. “Okay?”

  All she could do was nod. It took her breath away, this feeling—shocked her, like a full-body memory. To be spread open like this, and to feel a man’s excitement there, with the safety of their underwear still in place. She could handle this blunt and muted contact better than the explicit, focused attention of his fingers or mouth. She didn’t want to be mastered or taught by a lover anymore. She wanted this. Exploring and experimenting, trying things out, seeing what felt good.

  And this felt wonderful. A deeper desire was stirring, a first taste of that aggressive, almost angry sensation between her legs. The urgency of sexual need. But even more intoxicating than that was the promise of what it meant—that she could still feel these things, things she’d set aside for months. For nearly a year of her life, after having been a highly sexual person for so long.

  He was braced on straight arms, and she stroked the muscles there, memorizing the shapes of his biceps and forearms and shoulders. She hugged his hips with her thighs and urged him to move. When he did, she shut her eyes and fantasized.

  Images flashed, the sorts of thoughts she hadn’t entertained so vividly in so long. How a man looked, during sex. The way his hips flexed and his chest muscles tightened, the way his arms and face strained as his cock rushed in and out, again and again. The way his lips parted, and the dark shadows that marked the joining of two bodies. Not romance—biology. More pornography than valentine, and so exactly what she’d been needing to take back, to reclaim.

  Her softer feelings for Casey had never faded, but this . . . All this, she’d missed. The ferocity of attraction. That thing that castrated reason and had her wanting far more than she’d planned on—their underwear shoved away and his cock inside her, his body hammering. No thoughts of condoms or any other smart thing, just beastly need.

  It was only her deepest self-conscious worries that held her back. That, and the very real reminder of what consequences came with such recklessness—the biggest and most life-changing consequence she’d ever weathered, asleep only paces away. That held her back from pure abandon. But it didn’t quell the need to see this man, precisely this way.

  She urged his hips with her hands. “You feel amazing.”

  “And you’re driving me fucking crazy,” he whispered, then took her mouth in a moment’s messy, hungry kiss.

  She spoke against his lips. “I wish I could give you more.”

  He straightened, shaking his head, eyes shut. “You’re perfect. This is perfect.”

  “I’m imagining more,” she confessed.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve imagined everything, with you. Before the baby, and now again. I forgot how good it feels, wanting someone so much.”

  “Honey.” He muttered it like an oath, like a dirty little prayer, and his body seemed to speed of its own will. “We can do anything you want. Anything you’re up for.”

  “Tell me what you want. Even if I can’t go there . . . I want to hear you say it.” Just like when he’d been merely a boss and coworker to her, when the most contact they shared was his hand on her back as he slipped behind her to grab a glass or reach the register. She’d wondered then if he still wanted her, ever. If he still thought of her that way, and what he might want to do with her. “Tell me. Anything.”

  He lowered to his forearms, elbows tucked up tight beside her ribs, hips pumping fast. He was so hard, he had to be aching.

  “I want to fuck you. You have to know that.”

  She had, once upon a time, before he’d found out she was pregnant. But he’d done so well to suppress it, since.

  Yet it was still true, wasn’t it? Even after everything they’d been through. She’d never have imagined any man short of a husband could muster the loyalty to go there.

  Guess I didn’t count on Casey Grossier.

  “Bet you’re soft,” he whispered, lips barely an inch above hers, his breath sweet. “And warm. And wet.”

  Right now she was all three. But there were things she wasn’t, anymore. That awful, loaded little word she’d both coveted and resented, formed by too many lovers’ lips. Tight.

  Such an ugly adjective, yet entrenched so deeply with what she represented to the men she attracted—innocence, some promise that her defiling was theirs alone to bestow. That word came part and parcel when you looked younger than your years, when you had a small frame and a sugary accent, when you were born with eyes that sent messages without your blessing, telling the world you were one way. James was the first man she’d been with who’d not treated her like some virginal cherub—and with good reason. The way they’d met, she hadn’t exactly been the picture of purity.

  “I’d die to be inside you,” Casey murmured, voice low and strained.

  It was with both bravery and fear that she spoke the truth. “I’m not ready for that yet. I’m sorry.” Much as she wanted to see, even feel it, much as she wanted to please him, she couldn’t. Not yet.

  He smiled down at her, body stilling. “Don’t be sorry. Last thing I want is to do something you’re not into.”

  “Thanks.” It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been with men who’d been content with the opposite. “I like making you feel good. It feels as good as sex to me, just now.”

  “Can I keep going?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  He paused to get his shorts off, and when the blanket slipped away, she seized that moment to memorize his naked body in the low light. He pulled the covers back over them, surely for discretion and not warmth—the room felt about a hundred degrees now.

  He stroked against her, and the motions of his body and the friction through her underwear was as explicit as actual sex, after walling these feelings off for so long.

  “Does it feel okay for you?” he whispered.

  “It feels amazing.” Truly amazing—she’d forgotten the way the desire gathered, spurred by every sense. Beyond the thrill of his rushing cock, there was the feel of his bare skin under her palms, the weight and heat of him above her, the sounds of his panting, the smell of him, the divine spectacle of his strained face. She drew that face close and kissed his mouth, needing to taste him. He groaned softly, hips speeding.

  And all at once, she felt it—a rushing, building pressure, that warm wash of sensation.

  Holy shit. She was going to come. She hugged his waist a little higher, seeking the friction that had the pleasure rushing low and hot and frantic.

  “Casey.”

  She had no other words. She could only clasp the back of his neck and grip his arm, and hold on tight. He caught on in a blink—realized what was happening. His body tightened and the motions intensified, his pursuit going from pleasure-seeking to a focused mission. His every breath was a stifled moan now, desperate little seething huffs escaping in time with his racing hips. Her shirt had ridden up, and his head glanced her belly with every thru
st. She could feel slickness there, evidence of how close he had to be himself. And that was what did her in, in the end.

  “Casey.” She held him tight and shut her eyes, lost to it—a rushing, rising force, as startling as it was pleasurable. It came to a head at the point where his hard cock stroked her seam, dropped her from the sky and back into her body. She came down breathing hard. Panting. Shocked and exhilarated and thrilled.

  Her nails were dug into his skin and she let him go in an instant. “Sorry.” Shame chased the pleasure as the dusk chased the day—inevitably, inextricably.

  “Don’t be sorry. Did you . . . ?”

  “Yeah,” she murmured, barely able to believe it. “Yeah, I did.”

  “Awesome.”

  She laughed, feeling tipsy now. Like the orgasm had been a shot of something strong, leaving a warm buzz in her muscles and her head. Even as a very young, deeply religious girl, she’d had a hard time believing God had made her body capable of feeling this good, only to proclaim it a sin. “I just need a minute.” A minute for the burn of the shame to mellow, and a minute for her clit to recover enough for Casey to continue.

  But for now . . . “Here.” She reached between them, and Casey scooted up, straddling her thighs so she could clasp him. He groaned as her fingers closed around him, his hips jerking. She pumped him slowly in her fist.

  “Fuck, that feels good. Little tighter.”

  She gave him that, trying to ignore an ugly pang as her brain fixated on that word once again. It didn’t warrant dwelling on. She turned her focus to this moment, to watching his excitement mount.

  “Could you . . .” He trailed off, looking lost to the pleasure.

  “Anything,” she prompted.

  “Spit in your hand,” he said. “I want to imagine it.”

  Imagine us actually having sex, she thought as she wet her palm. She slicked it along his shaft, then again. The rubbing became gliding, and she didn’t know how anything could ever feel even half as intimate as this.

  He put his hand over hers, speeding her touch. Showed her what he liked, curling her fingers around him just under his crown, working him in tight, short pulls. “Like that. Exactly like that.”