She Drives Me Crazy

by Leslie Kelly

His free hand moved instantly to the sleeve of her dress. She heard it tear as he pushed it away but didn’t care.

  “Tell me what you were thinking before you saw me standing there,” he muttered as he moved lower to press kisses against her jaw, her throat, her neck.

  She could barely think to answer. “I was hot…”

  “Steaming,” he hissed, his breath tickling her ear as he nibbled around her small gold earring.

  “Uncomfortable.”

  “Aching.”

  “I was aching for this,” she managed to whisper when he nipped at her neck.

  “I know.”

  Then he shut up and focused on ripping her dress the rest of the way off her body, until it fell apart and landed on the floor at their feet. She’d barely kicked it away when he ran one strong hand down her side, lingering along the curve of her backside, but not removing her panties. He stroked her thigh, then lower, until he could grab her leg at the knee. Lifting it, he hooked it over one of his lean hips, until her lower body arched into him.

  “Oh, yes,” she groaned as that hot, hungry, empty part of her met the thick erection his zipper could barely contain.

  With his arm supporting her around the waist, she leaned back, grinding into him, torturing them both. He responded with a groan before bending low over her, covering the tip of her breast with his mouth. The wet warmth of his tongue against the lace of her bra did crazy things to her nipple and sent sparks shooting down her body. Lower. Until she had to jerk against him to try to gain some relief from the ache between her legs.

  “You gonna come against me or with me?” he muttered before nudging her bra away from her breast with his mouth.

  “Both?” she asked.

  He chuckled, deep and evil-like, then sucked the sensitive tip of her breast, hard, flicking his tongue over her and drawing deep.

  Oh, mercy…she was being completely devoured. The pressure began to build to a fever pitch. Just his touch, his hands, his lips, and the feel of all that male heat hidden behind his clothes made Emma start to shake and quiver.

  Her response to his sexy question hadn’t been off the mark.

  Johnny let go of her leg long enough to unzip his pants and free himself from them. He tore her panties to the side, and when wet, moist flesh slid against hot, hard skin, Emma’s entire body shuddered with rolls and waves of pleasure. Endless, moan-inducing pleasure.

  “Do it,” he ordered.

  And she did.

  Returning his lips to hers, he took her orgasmic cries into his mouth as if tasting them, consuming them.

  Emma’s legs were rapidly turning to jelly, and he seemed to know it, because he pushed her back, until her calves met the sofa. Then farther, until she fell down upon it. She lay there, still gasping for breath as she recovered from her orgasm, and watched him strip off his shirt.

  Though it had just been sated, the intense need began to rebuild as more of his incredible body was revealed. The hard chest. Those arms. Strong, roped with muscle, like the rest of him. Her fingers tingled with the need to touch him, and her mouth grew dry wanting to sample the way his skin tasted.

  She lowered her gaze, her mouth falling open on a hitchy little cry as she saw him—that part of him—for the first time in the light of day. She’d lost her virginity to this man. But she’d never seen all he had to offer. “Oh, my God.”

  He was utterly delicious, hard and thick, protruding from his unzipped trousers, all that throbbing male heat within her grasp.

  So she grasped. Ignoring his groan, she cupped him, stroked him, squeezing his shaft until his groan turned into crazy, frenzied mutterings. He dropped his head back, his entire body growing tense, cords of muscle throbbing in his neck, his fists clenching at his sides. “Enough, Emma. Stop.”

  She knew what he was doing. Knew how close she was bringing him. That knowledge drove her nearly out of her mind. “Now, Johnny. I want it now.”

  He looked down, watching her through half-lowered lashes as he drew in several ragged breaths. Giving another of those wicked laughs, he reached for his belt. “You want it?”

  “Yeah. It. You. Everything. Right now.”

  “You’ve gotten mighty bossy, Emma Jean.”

  “And I’m about to get violent,” she said with an impatient growl as she reached for him again, helping him shove his pants and briefs down to his knees, not wanting to waste the few precious seconds it would take for him to get them all the way off.

  She began to shake in anticipation. Trying to pull him down, she reached for his hips and curled her legs open in invitation.

  “Wait, I don’t have…”

  “I’m on the pill,” she snapped.

  “Thank heaven,” he murmured.

  Then, instead of falling onto her, as she silently demanded, he knelt on the floor in front of the sofa. He pulled her up so she was sitting, facing him, then tugged her mouth toward his again. They exchanged another frantic kiss as he hooked his hands below her knees and pulled her closer, inch by inch, to the edge of the couch. Until finally she was within reach, not sitting on the seat, merely perched on the edge with her feet on the floor. Her thighs were wide, her sex open and wet and waiting.

  When he finally plunged into her, filling her to her very core, she let out a tiny wail. She closed her eyes, holding her breath, focused on the incredible sensations racking her body.

  He held her around the hips, supporting her above him, then began to move them both—pulling her down and pushing up to meet her until she caught his rhythm and began to meet him thrust for thrust. “Johnny, yes,” she said, dropping her head back and arching harder against him.

  “Satisfied? Now that you got it?”

  “It’s a start,” she mumbled, then moaned when he jerked into her again. Hard. Touching her so deep she didn’t know if he’d ever be able to find his way back out again.

  It continued like that. Fast, hard, intense, with her arms around his neck, his hands on her hips and thighs. The cold air coming from the window unit did nothing to cool them off as their bodies strained together, but Emma suddenly found she didn’t mind the heat now. Tasting the salty sheen of sweat on his skin, feeling the slickness growing between them, she decided she liked it. Liked it very much.

  “Is this what you were thinking when you were standing there touching yourself?” he asked, his voice thick and hoarse.

  She nodded, unable to lie. “I wanted you to fill me up completely.”

  “What would you have done if I hadn’t shown up?”

  She gave him a catlike grin and squeezed him, deep inside her body, wringing a groan from his lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Nodding, he slid a hand into her hair, cupping her head and drawing her mouth to his for a wet kiss. He slowed the pace, kissing her languorously, matching the slow, deep thrusts of his tongue with slow deep thrusts of his body. Then, when they drew apart, he whispered, “Yeah, I would like to know. You’ll have to show me sometime.”

  Oh, lordy, yes, she’d show him anything he wanted if only he didn’t stop, didn’t let this wonderful pleasure end.

  She mumbled something incoherent, then wrapped her legs tighter around his lean hips, rubbing her calf against that hard backside to tug him deep again. Oh, so deep.

  Emma began to shake, to moan and to quiver as another orgasm washed over her. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, and he held onto her while she shuddered through another intense climax.

  Then Johnny seemed to let go of his last bit of control because he thrust up into her, hard and insatiable. Capturing her mouth in another wet kiss, he stroked her inside out, finally groaning his own completion against her lips.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CORA DILLON had been thinking about it all week, but she still hadn’t come up with a solution to her problem. She’d stewed and prayed, she’d talked to Bob, knowing, of course, that he wasn’t listening, so she didn’t have to worry about him actually trying to tell her what to do.

  She was
fretting over her knowledge of Jimbo Boyd’s latest shenanigans, and cursing her own ability to ferret things out. Sometimes it caused too much confusion.

  Cora liked knowing things, liked sitting quietly in the diner listening to the conversations of the people behind her. Or at the hair salon, pretending her head was all the way up inside the dryer hood, but secretly hunkering down so she could pay attention to the stylists as they chatted back and forth.

  It wasn’t that she meant to do anything with the tidbits of knowledge she found out. She just liked to hold on to them, like sparkly pebbles she could hoard in her pocket and take out and giggle over when she was alone.

  At least, usually. Sometimes, as in the case with the Frasier girl, the things she learned deserved to be told. And hadn’t she been proved right? Look at what the truth had turned out to be—the girl hadn’t only sold dirty pictures up north, she’d been making them! Clara’d heard the story from a very reliable source at her church prayer meeting Wednesday night.

  But this Boyd information troubled her. Yes, indeedy, it troubled her mightily. Because though the daughter was a cheap bit of goods, Daneen Brady’s mother had been one of Cora’s closest friends. She couldn’t imagine what Lila would think of her little girl having a desktop affair with Mayor Jimbo Boyd.

  “I do appreciate you coming over at the last minute, Mrs. Dillon,” she heard from behind her as she finished waxing the tiled foyer floor of the Boyd house. “Especially on a Friday.”

  Straightening, she put a hand to the small of her back and looked at Hannah Boyd, Jimbo’s wife, who stood at the bottom of the stairs in the Boyd mansion. Well, not a mansion, but pretty dang big for this place where the average folks lived in 3/2 tract houses.

  Hannah was all trim and tidy, dressed in a decent, respectable gray dress with a tasteful strand of pearls around her neck. Ladylike. That described Hannah Boyd. She fit in here all right, into this house her daddy had left to her.

  Unlike her husband. The miserable cheater.

  “Friday night’s the same as any other,” Cora replied. “With the kids gone, me’n Bob usually eat frozen TV dinners on Friday nights, anyway.

  Hannah gave her a small smile that softened up her tight face a bit. The first lady had been a pretty girl when she was young, back before Jimbo’d gotten his beefy paws on her.

  “How very sweet, Cora. I didn’t mean to make you late for your date with your husband.”

  Cora merely shrugged. She hadn’t been about to turn down the extra work when the first lady of Joyful had called in a tizzy earlier today. Seems her regular housekeeper had come down sick and there was a speck of dust on Hannah Boyd’s dining room table. Or a smudge of a thumbprint on the mirror over her sofa. Heaven forbid Hannah not keep a perfect house.

  Cora had a feeling one’a them shrink fellas would say it was because Hannah couldn’t keep a perfect husband.

  “The mayor and I are hosting a prayer breakfast in the morning, you know,” Hannah said, folding her hands in front of her.

  Cora pursed out her lips. She could imagine the kind of praying Jimbo’d been doing with Daneen at work today. She’d bet anything he hadn’t been the one on his knees.

  “Well, you’re all ready then,” Cora said as she gathered up the cleaning supplies.

  As she prepared to leave, Hannah followed her into the kitchen, chatting about the weather and Cora’s grandchildren. Not for the first time—not for the twentieth—Cora felt sorry for the woman. She wondered what Hannah would do if she heard about Jimbo’s office wickedness.

  She also wondered what Chief Brady would say about his little girl being part of it.

  She wondered what Johnny Walker would do if he knew his brother’s boy was around such sordid goings-on. And if his brother might come to town to do something about it.

  She wondered what Daneen would have to say for herself.

  She wondered what Jimbo might offer to try to get her to keep quiet.

  And, most of all, she wondered which of them she was going to tell first.

  JOHNNY WAS the first to hear the knocking. After he and Emma had both gone as high as they could go, they’d sagged together onto the sofa, still joined. She lay limply beneath him, he half-knelt, half-lay atop her.

  At first he’d figured the knocking sound was just his heart banging against the walls of his chest. Or maybe his nuts cracking, wrung completely dry as he spent himself inside her.

  But no. The sound came from the front door.

  “Emma? Someone’s here.”

  Her eyes flew open immediately. “Oh, my God.”

  “Shh,” he replied, kissing the expression of panic off her lips. “We won’t answer.”

  He didn’t think he could answer. Or even move. Except, maybe, to pick her up and carry her to her bedroom. It was about damn time he and Emma Jean made love in a bed.

  He hadn’t come over here expecting this…nothing like this. But it had happened. Ten years of wondering and waiting and hungering had reached this explosive climax, and he wasn’t fool enough to question it.

  Johnny didn’t quite know what it meant, other than the fact that having had her once, he wouldn’t rest until he had her again. Beyond that…who knew? But they were different people now. They weren’t stupid teenagers acting on hormones and hurt feelings. No other people were involved.

  The future seemed…well, not bright, but at least possible. Emma Jean was back in Joyful. She’d come home of her own free will. Maybe, he had to wonder, because she, too, had realized she had some unfinished business to attend to.

  Whatever the reason, they were both responsible adults. Free to make their own choices. That she’d chosen Joyful…and him…said a lot about the way Emma had changed. She wasn’t the spoiled teenage kid anymore, hiding out from her parents, biding time until she could get away and be on her own.

  Which made him suddenly feel very positive.

  He didn’t have much opportunity to feel positive, however, because a moment later, he heard the knocking again. Apparently the person at the door didn’t much care if they answered or not. Before he could even think to suggest they get more comfortable—like, at least letting him take his pants all the way off—he heard the click of the knob as it started to turn.

  He hadn’t locked the door.

  Someone was about to get quite a sight. His bare ass, with her legs wrapped around him.

  Johnny leaped to his feet, yanking his pants up with one hand and grabbing for Emma with the other. He hauled her to her feet, feeling like a kid about to get caught making out by his parents.

  “Go,” he ordered, pushing her toward the hall as he got his pants in place and yanked at the zipper. That could’ve been dangerous considering his cock still felt like it was ready to explode. He had the feeling if they hadn’t been interrupted he could have started right back up again, without ever leaving Emma’s sweet, tight body.

  “Em, I know you’re here, I have to see you,” he heard a voice from behind him.

  He swung around just in time to see the front door open and Claire Deveaux enter the house, accompanied by her daughter.

  Claire’s pretty face was puffy, her eyes suspiciously bright. But the redness in her cheeks, he’d have to say, came after she realized what she’d walked in on. Her eyes grew to saucer proportions and her jaw dropped open.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she whispered, drawing a shaking hand to her mouth.

  Yeah. That about summed it up. Him shirtless, Emma’s torn dress on the floor, her bra hanging from the arm of the couch and her panties God only knew where. The room smelling like hot sweaty bodies and sex.

  Nope. There wasn’t much chance she was gonna mistake this for anything but wild monkey sex in the living room.

  “I’m so sorry,” Claire whispered, immediately backing toward the door. “I didn’t think…”

  “Give Emma a minute, okay?” he bit out, turning his attention to Eve, who was looking around the room with curiosity.

  If the kid found
Emma’s panties, he was gonna croak.

  “No, no, just tell her I stopped by.” Then Claire sucked her lower lip in. “Uh, tell her I’ll come back later.”

  “Mama, are you gonna get our suitcases out of the car soon? I want my Dora the Explorer doll.”

  Suitcases. Holy shit, suitcases? And that teary look on her face?

  Uh-oh. This was a marital crisis. He’d seen it enough to know. As much as he wanted to usher Claire out, making sure she took her wide-eyed, inquisitive daughter with her, he knew he couldn’t.

  Bending over, he grabbed his shirt off the floor and yanked it on. “Emma will be right back. Don’t go anywhere,” he ordered the other woman.

  Claire didn’t look ready to argue. She just continued to stare around the room, wide-eyed, particularly when her attention turned toward Emma’s torn dress.

  “Uh…”

  “I’ll be right back,” he snapped, grabbing for the dress and the bra as he headed for the doorway. He only hoped Emma’d had the presence of mind to shove her underwear under the cushions of the sofa because he didn’t see them.

  “Who was it?” Emma asked as soon as he found her standing at the top of the staircase, wearing a pink robe. Her embarrassed expression couldn’t entirely hide her amusement. “Tell me we didn’t get busted by somebody peddling religion.”

  He grinned. “Nah, though maybe it would’ve helped that you were crying out to the lord for mercy.”

  She lifted one lofty brow. “I think that was you.”

  “No, I was the one singing hallelujahs for window air conditioners and Georgia summers.”

  The smile slowly faded from her face and she shook her head in bemusement. “Oh, Johnny, what on earth have we done?”

  He quirked a brow. “You want the technical term?”

  “You want a black eye?” She ran a hand through her mass of curls, sending them tumbling all around, just begging to be touched and played with again.

  “We beat the heat,” he finally admitted. “And answered some questions that’d been floating around out there for the past ten years.”

  Like could it really have been as incredible as he remembered? Could she possibly have been that sweet, that tight, that good?