by Maggie Wells
“What? Where are you going?” she asked, grappling for him.
“Now who’s cocky?”
“No! Happy! Just happy!”
Steve crawled out from between her legs and knelt beside her on the bed. Her gaze fell to his glistening erection and Steve quirked one eyebrow. “Now do you want a taste?”
“Yes.”
He reached for two pillows and motioned for her to raise her head so he could slide them under her. Sara fell back against them, her hungry gaze locked on his straining cock. His thighs trembled as he touched the tip to her lips.
She kissed him sweetly. Her gaze held his when her lips parted. She closed her eyes and moaned around him, taking him in. It took every ounce of his control to hold himself in check, feeding his cock to her inch by inch.
He pushed a little deeper into her plush mouth. “Good? Do we taste good together, Sara?”
She hummed her approval, swirling her tongue over the head of his cock as he withdrew, and sucking hungrily when he slid against her tongue once more. His hips jerked, and she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock. Steve’s fingers closed around her wrist, prying her hand away.
“Don’t, darlin’,” he rasped. “Just let me... I won’t hurt you.”
Sara pressed her hand to his thigh, squeezing it as he moved in and out of her mouth. Their eyes met briefly before Steve’s closed. He laced his fingers through hers, holding her hand against the rock-hard muscle of his thigh.
“Oh, I’m gonna do this,” he vowed in a whisper.
He reached back with his free hand, and she raised her hips insistently. He massaged her clit, rubbing the hardened nub between his thumb and forefinger. Steve pushed first one and then two fingers into her wet pussy, curling them so he stroked her in time with his surging cock.
“You don’t know what I want to do with you.” He panted. She moaned around his cock and sucked harder. “I’ll give you what you want, Sara.” His voice rumbled from his chest, low and dangerous. “I will. Oh God, I will.”
He rocked into her mouth, pushing a little deeper as his fevered gaze focused on her. Sara grasped his ass with her free hand, guiding him deeper into her mouth and sucking fervently.
“I wanna come in your mouth,” Steve rasped. She moaned and took him deeper still. “Yes? Please, Sara, please,” he chanted, pushing his fingers into her harder and deeper, the heel of his hand brushing against her clit. “Say yes, Sara.”
She released him with a gasp, and her hand slid from his ass to his shaft, stroking him hard and fast. “Yes.”
“Suck me,” he ordered. “Suck me like you wanted to last night. Take me deep.”
Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes as she pulled him deeper, but he paid them no mind. She caressed him with her tongue, letting him set the pace. The walls of her pussy throbbed. He thrust his fingers into her again and again, and she moaned around his stiff cock in warning.
“I feel you.” He panted. “Tight and hot. Come on, baby.”
His own climax rippled the length of his cock and pooled in its head, begging for release. Her eyes opened wide. Panic flashed in their bright blue depths, but he couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to—and he didn’t want to.
Her orgasm gripped her, the muscles of her cunt clamping around his fingers, her cries stifled by his cock. His weren’t. A guttural shout bounced off of the walls as he came and he surged, spilling into her mouth.
She swallowed convulsively, her fingers tightening on his while she clasped his ass, holding him to her until she had taken all he had to give. “Sara,” he croaked and pulled away from her.
A tremulous smile toyed with her lips, her drowsy gaze meeting his when she brought their joined hands to her lips and brushed a soft kiss over his knuckles.
He pushed his legs out from under him and collapsed onto the bed beside her, resting his head on the inside of his arm. He stared at her in a daze.
“You okay?” she whispered. His laugh sounded breathless to his own ears, but he nodded with enthusiasm. “I did...It was okay?”
“Are you kidding me?” Hugging her close he whispered, “Sara, darlin’, you are incredible.”
Her smile widened. “I like the ‘darlin’.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m afraid you’re stuck with it.” He kissed her soundly, tasting himself on her lips and tongue. Rolling onto his back, Steve moved their still joined hands to his chest, holding hers against his pounding heart. He sighed, blinking up at the ceiling. “Sara.”
“What?”
“Just making sure,” he murmured, turning his head in her direction.
Their eyes met and held, years of affection passing between them, moments of lust stretching the connection as taut as a wire. Sara opened her mouth to speak, and the smoke alarm began to wail.
“Oh shit!” He extracted his hand from hers and rolled off the bed in one fluid movement.
She sat up, propping her weight on one hand and giggling as he ran buck naked into the kitchen. He muttered under his breath, tossing the pan onto the top of the stove then stomping down the hall to the smoke detector.
He cussed again, and she laughed harder as he fumbled with the plastic cover on the alarm. Finally, the obnoxious bleating stopped. He padded back into the room, tossing a nine volt battery up and catching it in his palm.
Sara grinned. “At least you didn’t burn anything important.”
He walked back over to the bed and dove onto the rumpled quilt next to her, the battery clutched in his palm. “Oh, but it was important, darlin’. That was dinner, and I’m starving.”
Chapter Seven
Sara barely slept a wink for three nights in a row. As the moon rose high in the sky, she forced her eyes to stay open, fighting the urge, afraid she’d miss something crucial.
Even in sleep, Steve was in constant motion, and she was fascinated. It shouldn’t have shocked her. He’d always been a live wire. Of course, he was fueled by the constant flow of caffeine and an internal combustion engine that barely slowed to a whir when he drifted off to sleep.
The past two nights had been exploratory missions designed to test how soundly he slept. Now she knew that nothing short of an explosion or the obnoxious chiming of his cell alarm would stir him. Lifting the arm that anchored her hip, she gently relocated it to the mattress between them and sat up. Moonlight flowed into the room. Pale blue-white beams slashed across his leg, turning his milky skin opalescent.
She trailed one finger through the cinnamon hair dusting his calf. The muscle twitched. His foot moved. He sighed in his sleep and burrowed into the pillow. Sara smiled, gratified by his instant response and pleased by the depth of his obvious comfort. She’d been watching this play of light each night and dreading the moonless nights to come.
Rolling back onto her side, she propped her head on her hand and studied his profile. They’d worn each other out, but still she couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t stop staring at him. She catalogued his long, straight nose, marveled at the slow sweep of his eyelashes, and ached to kiss his full lips.
Unable to resist, she stroked the chiseled line of his jaw, smiling when the red-gold stubble tickled her finger. Steve smacked his lips and moved closer. His breath stirred her hair, and the heat emanating from his body stirred memories.
They’d never had good timing. She met him just two months after she married Adam. She was newly married, finishing her last semester of college, and working part-time as a receptionist for the company Adam’s father had founded. She was also completely oblivious to all she might be missing in her life.
Still, she took up residence at a tiny table in her favorite coffee shop, certain she was living a fairy tale. Her first novel had been published six months before. Her second was nearing publication, and she was revising her third. All she needed to do was get her hero and heroine over one teeny, tiny, seemingly insurmountable hurdle, and everyone would live happily ever after.
She was scribbling in her notebook when the flood came.
“Oh God! I’m so sorry,” a man said in a rush.
She yelped and pushed her chair back, clutching the notebook to her chest. Coffee pooled on her table and she glared at the tall man with the dark red hair who had attempted assault with a hot beverage.
“Are you okay? Are you burnt?” he asked.
There may have been a sharp remark on the tip of her tongue, but the sincerity in his voice killed the impulse. She checked her notebook for damage while he placed the cup holding the balance of his beverage on the edge of her table and lunged for the nearest napkin dispenser. “I’m fine,” she replied coolly.
“I’m not usually so klutzy.” He piled napkins onto the expanding pool of brown liquid. “I’m glad I didn’t burn you.”
Sara smirked. “Yes, I hear coffee is hot.”
“So the courts say.” Still trying to corral and absorb the spill, he muttered, “I was living dangerously. I didn’t heed the warnings and ditched the lid.”
“So now you know you’re not just a danger to yourself but others too.”
His brown eyes widened as he looked right into hers. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” she scoffed, affronted.
“Sorry, automatic response to being chastised,” he said while he collected the sodden napkins. “Are you going to sue me?”
She cocked her head, homing in on the slight lilt in his voice. “Are you from the South?”
“Virginia.”
He cupped one large hand under the dripping mess and carried the saturated bundle of paper to the nearest trash bin to dump it. Sara watched him pluck more napkins from the dispenser and move back to her table.
When he finished cleaning the table, he paused to glance at her again. Recognition spawned a smile that flashed stunningly white teeth. “Hey, you work at Fairbanks, right?”
“How do you know that?” she asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.
“I spent the better part of last week there reconfiguring your network.”
It took a minute to click. “Oh, you’re the computer guy.”
Burnished copper eyebrows rose. “Yes, that’s me. ‘The’ is a family name. My parents were traditionalists.”
A blush warmed her cheeks. “I’m sorry; I don’t remember your name.”
He extended his hand to her with a smile. “When I’m not answering to ‘The Computer Guy’, I’m Steve Larson.”
“Sara Wright,” she replied, taking hold of his sticky hand and automatically responding to the openness of his smile. “What’s a guy from Virginia doing up here in the frozen tundra? Don’t you get The Weather Channel down there?”
“Sometimes the signal comes in if Mr. McBeevey is wearin’ his silver hat and Aunt Bea hasn’t hung the washin’ out,” he said, grossly exaggerating his drawl.
When he smiled again, Sara couldn’t help but mirror it with one of her own. “I meant... the winters up here are bad,” she said, knowing it sounded lame.
“My daddy went to DunforthCollege,” he explained, naming the prestigious private university in a nearby suburb. “And my daddy’s daddy before him.” His voice gentled, rolling over the words in a manner that only enhanced his charm. “I’m a rebel at heart. I took a shine to the place, so I stayed.”
Their eyes locked, and her smile widened instinctively. She saw the flicker of something more in the fathomless depths of his eyes. A tiny flame flared then burned steady and strong.
She knew she had to douse that flame with a bucket of water or turn tail and run if necessary. Adam’s face flashed in her mind. She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze to the notebook still clutched to her chest.
“Can I buy you a coffee?” he asked. “I’m gonna need a new one, and I figure I owe you.”
“I don’t drink coffee,” she answered without meeting his probing gaze.
“A Coke, then.” When she hesitated, he plunged ahead. “Tea?”
She reached for the backpack she’d looped over the back of the chair, shaking her head. “I should go. I have to meet somebody.”
“Oh?”
“My husband.” She stood up, meeting his gaze at last.
“Oh.” He backed up a step and the tips of his ears turned a most appealing shade of pink. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Sara Wright,” he said with a nod, then hurried for the door.
She had seen him around. It didn’t take long to figure out that Steve Larson was a hopeless caffeine junkie. The coffee shop she liked to frequent turned out to be the closest fix to his office. They passed a casual greeting the next time they ran into each other. Another time, she made a barbed comment about the lid on his cup when he’d walked by her favorite table.
One day she wheedled some free software tips from him in exchange for a triple shot of espresso. He gave her his card. She e-mailed him in a panic when her work-in-progress fell victim to a devastating virus. He recovered the file, patched the hole in her computer’s security settings, and their friendship took hold.
Sara sighed. Moonlight shimmered through the slats of her blinds, striping the bed where Steve now lay sprawled, his long, lanky frame eating up most of the space. She reached out and smoothed his rumpled hair over his ear, wondering if he had any clue how much of a hold he had on her.
Steve hummed softly and rolled over, raising his arm to reclaim her hip and hooking one heavy leg over hers. His voice was deep and gravel-laden. “Stop starin’ at me. Go to sleep.”
She giggled and pressed her lips to the Adam’s apple that bobbed in his throat.
“Nuh-uh.” He palmed the top of her head, pushing her down until she lay tucked under his chin. “Sleep.”
Sara smiled. Snuggling a little closer, she closed her eyes and did as she was told.
Chapter Eight
“What do you fantasize about?” Sara asked.
The question hung in the air. Steve knew their quiet Sunday evening in front of the tube was about to take a sharp turn. He sank deeper into the couch cushions. Without peeling his gaze from the television screen, he reached over to grab a handful of popcorn from the bowl cradled in her lap.
“You,” he answered before dumping the fluffy kernels into his mouth in hopes of avoiding the slippery slope in front of him.
The weight of Sara’s stare pressed on him. “Seriously,” she prompted.
He swallowed, and the popcorn scraped his parched throat. “I’m completely serious.”
“You’re not really helping me out here, you know. You’re supposed to be my muse.”
He shifted, trying to mask his discomfiture by rearranging the multitude of fussy throw pillows that seemed to multiply each time he came over. “Can’t we just watch the movie?”
Sara snatched the remote from the crevice of the cushions and paused the DVD. Her eyebrows rose in a clear challenge, and she turned to face him. “You don’t have to tell me about your hard-on for the green chick Kirk bagged. I already know about that,” she added with a smirk.
“Ha ha.” He shot her a dark glare. “I fantasize about watching an entire movie without your running commentary.”
“Wow, you dream big.”
“Go big or go home,” he said with a shrug.
“Never going to happen.”
Sara’s silky blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder when she bent her head to inspect the remaining kernels of corn in the bowl. Steve balled his fingers into fists to keep from stroking her spun-gold tresses. “What do you want to do that you’ve never done?”
The question knocked the breath out of him.
I want to hold you and kiss you and tell you I love you. I want you to love me back. I want to make love to you so slow and soft you’ll beg me for more. I want to fuck you so hard you scream. Repeatedly.
The ache in his jaw told him he had to unclench his teeth. Pressure built in his lungs, forcing the oxygen issue.
“You mean like skydiving?” he asked, attempting a lighter tone.
“I mean in bed.” Sara placed the popcorn bowl on the coffee
table. She brushed the curtain of golden hair over her shoulder and turned to face him. “Come on, tell me what your kink is,” she cajoled.
“Maybe I don’t have any kink.”
“No kink; got it.”
Steve felt his hackles rise, his masculine pride injured by her easy assumption. He gritted his teeth. The ball of uncertainty knotting in his stomach lodged like a rock, and the plush cushions of her couch became the proverbial hard place. “I said maybe,” he muttered, stalling for time.
“These are not hard questions,” she prodded. “What do you think about? What gets you hot? Is there something that scares you just enough to get you off?”
Weak. Her probing questions made him feel weak. How do you tell a woman with such a vivid imagination that your wildest fantasy includes waking up with her in the morning and the possibility of a passel of kids someday?
Not that he had anything against hot sex. He liked it. A lot. How could he possibly explain that he nearly incinerated each time she simply touched him? He had no good answer, so he made a desperate grab for the safety of argument. Fixing her with a pointed stare he drawled, “Sugar, just because I fantasize about doing something, doesn’t mean I haven’t already done it.”
Sara blinked. Confusion clouded her brilliant blue eyes only to be chased away by a flash of anger. “Fine.”
He bit back a smile. The waspish tone of her voice unleashed a smidgen of joy. Happiness was quickly squelched when, like a dog worrying a bone, she kept after him.
“What gets you hot?”
“You.” He met her frank stare, daring her to argue with his assertion.
Sara rolled her eyes, plucked the remote from her lap, and pointed it at the television. “Fine. Watch the stupid movie,” she muttered, lunging for the bowl again.
“I’m just being honest with you.”
“You’re being evasive.”
“I am not,” he scoffed. “You asked what gets me hot—you do. You want to know what scares me just enough to get me off; that’s you too. Fantasies? I’ve fantasized about being with you a thousand times, Sara, and that’s probably just in the last year.”
