Some Like It Hot

by Susan Andersen

  * * *

  IT COULD HAVE been the very first time as far as Harper was concerned. She went up in flames as if the fire between them had never been banked.

  God, he was such a good kisser, and he was so hot and hard and smelled so good, and she wanted, wanted, wanted him like crazy. Massaging the length of his spine, her hands eventually hit the waistband of his slacks, and she wiggled her fingers beneath it to the first knuckle, then the second, her fingertips dipping into the dimples just above the firm rise of his ass.

  Like a magpie after something sparkly, she reached for his butt.

  Ripping his mouth free, Max inched lower. She made a little sound of protest when her fingertips slid out of his pants.

  But his mouth on her throat was bliss incarnate, and she angled her jaw to give him more access as he kissed his way down it. Then he was pressing openmouthed kisses to her collarbone, her chest. His hands reached behind her to unfasten her bra, and as it fell free she wrestled it off and tossed it aside. It landed on the floor, and Max bit off a curse. She pushed up on both elbows to look down at him.

  “You’ve got the prettiest tits,” he murmured, cupping one. A flush tinted his cheekbones. “Breasts, I mean.”

  “I don’t care what you call them,” she said. “In all honesty...guy words kind of turn me on. But I’m more interested in touching you. In you touching me.”

  “I can do that.” He caught her nipple between thumb and finger and pinched. She sucked in a breath as a hot thrill zinged straight to ground zero and set off more of that clenching thing.

  Max glanced up from observing his handiwork to study her. “Guy words, huh? You like it when men talk dirty?”

  “I don’t know, no one ever has to me. But I’m thinking...possibly.” She shrugged helplessly. “I might, anyhow.”

  “I want to fuck you so bad.”

  Ca-lench!

  “Want to fuck you slow and deep—” he inserted a muscled thigh between hers “—until I feel you coming all over my cock.”

  “Oh. My. Gawd.”

  He dipped his head, pulled her nipple into his hot mouth and used his tongue to press it against his palate. And sucked. Releasing it with a pop barely an instant later, he looked up at her, all hot dark eyes. “Yeah,” he growled. “I’m thinking you like dirty talk.”

  “Maybe.” Was that her voice, all breathless? “Maybe not.”

  He snorted.

  “Okay, smart-ass. What makes you think so?”

  He brushed a few curls out of her face and gave her a slight smile. “Oh, I don’t know—the fact your panties are wet?”

  Oh, God, it was true. She’d locked her thighs around his like a horny Chihuahua, her hips subtly rocking her mound against its hardness. She forced herself to still, even though it damn near killed her.

  He pushed back and pulled her bikinis down her legs, dropping them over the side of the bed. Gliding his fingers into the slippery heat between her legs, he lowered his mouth back to her nipples, doing things that felt so wicked she couldn’t catch her breath. And in between the use of his tongue, his teeth and his fingers on what seemed like every erogenous zone she possessed, he talked dirty to her.

  Really dirty, telling her all the ways he was going to make her come.

  By the time he reached for his own waistband, she was nearly mindless with desire for one of those ways to push her over this raw edge of need he had her straddling. But she fumbled semi-upright to help.

  When her fingers brushed the back of his hands as he unfastened his fly, however, he turned a look on her that was almost feral. “Let me do it.”

  “Isn’t this supposed to be reciprocal? Because I’ve been doing all of the taking and none of the giving.”

  “You can reciprocate next time,” he said. “It’s been a while for me, and if you help me now I’m afraid it’ll be over before we get to the good stuff.”

  She flopped onto her side, propping her head in her hand. “We don’t want that.”

  His laugh was strained. “No, we don’t.” He pushed his slacks down his thighs and kicked them away. It left him in a pair of gray boxers with a navy waistband, and he began pushing those down as well, but paused to look at her.

  “You planning on watching?”

  “Heck, yeah! I might not be able to lend a hand, but there’s no way I’m not getting a look at the goods.”

  “As you wish, Buttercup.” He shoved the boxers down.

  “Whoa.” She sat up. Stared. Licked her lips. And helplessly repeated, “Whoa.”

  Buck naked, Max somehow appeared larger, not diminished in the least by the lack of clothing. She studied him so avidly, she was surprised her ardent perusal didn’t leave scorch marks in its wake as she ogled his wide shoulders and hard, lean abs, his big hands, bigger feet and long, hard legs.

  “Hoo,” she breathed softly. Because that wasn’t the only thing long and hard on the man. His sex stood proud, extended and thick.

  She squeezed her thighs together. “I want that. I want...you.”

  A flush rose in his cheeks. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Then he turned away to pull a handful of condoms from the drawer of his nightstand. Tossing all but one onto the stand’s top, he flopped onto his back to efficiently roll on the protection.

  “You’ve done this before, I see.” Well, duh. Of course he had. She hadn’t a doubt in the world he was light-years ahead of her, experience-wise.

  He dove atop her. “Not recently, I haven’t.” He stroked a hand down her hip. “I keep interrupting your pleasure. Let me just build you back up.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” She stared at him. “Enough foreplay—I want you inside me. Now.”

  He snaked his hand beneath her thigh and tugged her leg up. “I can do that. Oh, man, can I do that.”

  She hissed in a breath as she felt his erection slap against her lower stomach. She reached between them to wrap her hand around all that covered rigidity.

  Max froze at the first touch of her palm, of her fingers wrapping around him. “I wasn’t kidding when I told you it’s been a while,” he said hoarsely. “I’m on the ragged edge here.”

  “Which is exactly why I’m not doing what I really want to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “To squeeeeeze you through my hand from tip to root.”

  His penis pulsed, and she smiled at the knowledge that she could make him as crazy with a few words as he did her. She couldn’t stop herself entirely from stroking him...and even through latex it was incredible the way his skin shifted over pure hardness.

  “You haven’t let me do much of anything else— I am putting you in me.” She made an adjustment beneath him that brought them sex to sex and gently rubbed him up and down the slippery wetness between her legs, almost choking on the breath she sucked in as the head of his penis bumped over the inflexible little pearl of her clitoris.

  “Then you’d better do it now, before I explode and leave you in the dust.”

  She lined him up, but Max took over from there, easing all that rigidity inside her. “Tight,” he said through his teeth. “So damn tight.” He pulled back a little, then thrust forward again.

  The stretch to accommodate him pinched for an instant, then suddenly everything worked the way it was supposed to. Shuddering out a breath, she wrapped her legs around him.

  And immediately felt him bump against what could only be her G-spot. “Omigawd!” She raised her hips for more.

  He pulled almost all the way out of her, and she whimpered at the feel of sensitive tissues dragging against the retreating source of all that pleasure. Then he pumped back in with less gentleness than the time before.

  “Max?”

  He pulled out, surged back in.

  “Oh, God, Max? I’m not going to last. I’m so, so, so—”

  “Close?” Rearing up on his knees, he pressed her legs back against her chest and fell over her, catching the backs of her knees in the bend of his elbows before planting his hands on ei
ther side of her shoulders. It tilted her to an angle that made her even more sensitive as he slowly, tortuously, pulled out and thrust in. “You don’t have to hang on, baby,” he said and pulled out and slowly sank as far as a man could go once more.

  Hitting that spot with each reentry.

  “There’s been too much teasing for that.” He contorted himself to suck her nipple in his mouth, and she clenched hard around his sex. He swore, releasing her breast, and his hips began to piston in and out of her, picking up more speed and force with every propulsion. “Neither of us is gonna— Christ.” Gritting his teeth, he slammed his eyes shut.

  The next instant they were open, if heavy-lidded, as he looked down at her and licked his lips. “We’ve gotta get you yours, baby—fast. Because, Houston, we’re about to have lift off.” Balancing on one arm, he reached between them and slid his thumb into the wet slit between her legs. It slid over her clitoris and retreated.

  Then came back to lightly circle. “I’d planned to take my time licking this. Sucking it.”

  “Omi—” Her climax hit her in hard, fast contractions. “Omigawd, Max?” Then her ability to speak deserted her, and the only sound she could produce was a moan that kept growing higher and higher in pitch as she convulsed and convulsed and convulsed some more around him. Sinking her nails into his strong, damp back, she hung on.

  “Oh, fuck,” she vaguely heard him whisper, then he thrust deep one last time and held there. “That’s it, that’sit, that’sit. God, you feel so damn good coming all over me.” Then his voice degenerated into a long, raw groan, and his eyes went blind as he ground against her.

  An instant later he collapsed on her like a felled tree. Two hundred plus pounds of dead weight likely would have driven her right through the mattress, but the back of her thighs prevented him from dropping that hard.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled and helped her straighten out her legs. Then he lowered himself a little more cautiously atop her. “Thank you,” he mumbled into her hair.

  “Are you kidding?” She felt as if she were glowing from the inside out. “Thank you. That was the Best. Sex. Ever.”

  He lifted his head up and gave her a sleepy smile. “Nah. That was just the warm-up. Give me a few to recuperate, and I’ll show you the best sex ever.”

  He did a face-plant back into her hair. “Promise.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I’M GONNA MARRY this woman.

  Max was propped up on one elbow, watching Harper sleep next to him when the thought drifted unbidden through his head. He jerked upright.

  She startled, one sleep-blurred eye cracking open. “Wha—?” she mumbled.

  Soothingly, he stroked her shoulder where the sheet had slipped down. When her eyelid slid closed once again, he gently covered her, then pushed back to lean against the headboard. Christ. His damn heartbeat was tripping.

  “Whoa, dude,” he whispered, staring at a glimmer of diffused moonlight filtering through the thin cloud cover outside the open window. “Get ahead of yourself much?”

  But his gaze was drawn back to her all sprawled out on her stomach, one drawn-up knee poking the side of his leg, her crazy cool hair spiraling all over the place.

  And he admitted to himself that, okay, sure, what he felt with Harper—especially now that they’d had sex—was larger than anything he’d felt with anyone else. Ever. But he sure as hell hesitated to call it love. He was probably just grateful because of the sex thing. Damn, how long had it been, anyhow?

  Way too long, he was thinking, if he had to work this hard to remember the last time. Which only went to prove his point.

  Still, didn’t that explanation seem just a little too pat?

  “Dawg,” he muttered. “No. Sex three—count ’em, three—times. Grateful. You really need to say more?” With a shrug, he slid back down the mattress. No sense getting himself all bent out of shape.

  Like a heat-seeking missile, Harper immediately gravitated to him and he gathered her in, letting her situate herself as she would, but easing that wandering knee of hers a safer distance from the jewels. He wrapped an arm around her, and his hand found its natural resting place on the full curve of her hip. Holding her felt too good to be worrying over vagrant thoughts and what-ifs. And, hell, he had to work tomorrow, he needed some shut-eye.

  He could always hash out the details, if he absolutely felt the need, some other time.

  * * *

  “MOM,” HARPER SAID urgently into her cell phone in Max’s backyard the following morning, “this has gone on way too long. I know you have issues with the way I run my life, but will you please inform Cedar Village that they’ve been approved? To not do so is just plain—”

  Max stuck his head out the back door. “Breakfast’s ready,” he said, and she disconnected from the answering machine she’d been talking to.

  The good humor in his eyes dimmed a little as he looked at her. “Everything all right?”

  Giving him a strained smile, she said, “Yes, of course, fine.” She wasn’t sure why she was lying, though. There was no reason she couldn’t tell him the truth without telling him the complete truth. And she could see by his sudden stillness and the narrowing of his thick, dark lashes over even darker eyes, that he wasn’t buying the platitude, anyhow.

  “No, that’s not true.” She made a helpless gesture with the phone in her hand. “It’s my mom.”

  He stepped out onto the small back porch, his concern instant and genuine. “She sick or something?”

  “No, no, nothing like that.” She climbed the stairs and stepped past him into the mudroom, then turned to face him. “I just hate the way she hates the way I live my life.”

  He nodded his understanding. “I get that. You’ve heard my story, so you know my mom has issues with my choices, too.”

  Feeling her jaw drop, she snapped it shut. But no way could she also stop herself from saying indignantly, “It’s not bad enough that she encouraged you to be angry all your childhood, she has a problem with you being a responsible, upstanding citizen doing an important job, too?”

  He gave her one of those off-kilter half smiles that were more golden than anyone else’s full-out grin and slung an arm around her shoulders, hauling her against his side. He squeezed her in a warm, hard, much too brief hug before turning her loose. His hand moved to grip the back of his neck as he gazed down at her.

  “Nah,” he said. “My job’s never been her problem. Her big issue is me being friends with Jake.” His shoulders rose and fell in a whataya-gonna-do shrug.

  Then he made an impatient gesture. “But I’ve told you about that. Tell me about your mom’s issues. Were you close at one time?”

  “We were. We are.” She grimaced at her overemphatic tone. “Okay, maybe that came out a little too defensive.”

  “Maybe just a tad.” Max rubbed his hand over her hair in the same rough caress she’d seen him use occasionally on the boys at the Village. If they were anything like her, she’d bet they got all sorts of comfort from the gesture.

  Then he reached for her hand, linking their fingers. “C’mon in and have some breakfast. Everything’s better on a full stomach.”

  He ushered her through the kitchen and over to the little table on the other side of the counter. He’d set it for two, complete with paper towel placemats and a fistful of slightly scraggly flowers in that Wile E. Coyote jelly jar glass he’d mentioned the other night.

  And her heart melted around the edges.

  Releasing her hand, he thumped out a chair for her. “Sit. I’ll grab the food. You want OJ? Coffee? Or I’ve got some cocoa—I could make you a poor man’s mocha.”

  God, the best sex of her life aside, how could anyone not really, really like this guy? “I’ll try that last one.” She raised her voice slightly to project to where he was bent over the stove on the other side of the counter. “What’s on the menu?”

  “I made an omelet with—you’ll like this—some honest-to-God veggies. And I bought some Canadian bac
on at Costco in Silverdale, which is not only tasty but waaaay leaner than bacon.”

  “Oh, my God. You paid attention to my nutrition lessons?”

  “You bet.” The oven door closed, and he came around the counter, flashing her one of those gorgeous almost-smiles. He set the platters on the table in front of her. “Well, except maybe for when it comes to the potatoes. I used a little olive oil but added a big pat of butter. You’ll just have to muscle through it, though, because hash browns aren’t hash browns without butter.” He went back into the kitchen.

  “I never said you had to monitor every bite you put in your mouth,” she informed his muscular back. “The trick is to shoot for eating the good-for-you stuff more often that not.” She laughed. “Besides, any change you make is a huge improvement over your old diet.”

  “Smart-ass.” He set a steaming mug, redolent of both coffee and chocolate, in front of her and took the seat across the table. “Try that,” he ordered, tipping his chin at the mug, and reached for the omelet plate. After dishing them up with eggs and the Canadian bacon rounds, he passed her the hash browns platter.

  They dug in, and for a few moments it was quiet except for the click of cutlery, her murmured appreciation, first for Max’s homemade mocha, then for his breakfast at large, and his request for the pepper. When the edge was taken off their hunger, he looked at her across the table. “So, you were a daddy’s girl, huh?”

  She felt a little start of surprise. “I was. How did you know?”

  “You mentioned it at Jenny’s barbecue.”

  “And you remembered?” Her smile was no doubt as dazzled as she felt by the knowledge that he’d paid such close attention. “I thought you thought I was a ditz that night.”

  “Nah. I thought you were a well-educated rich girl.”

  “Oh. Well.” She flashed him her version of his lopsided smile. “I kind of was. My parents weren’t rich rich, but I certainly never wanted for anything.”

  “And that’s sure as hell not a bad thing. It’s just that I’ve never quite known how to talk to the silver-spoon girls. So I maybe came off as a little rigid.”