Then he was kissing her the way he’d been craving. Oh, the kisses at Nauset Beach had come close, but that was before Suzanne had actually said the words he needed to hear, the ones that unleashed the side of him he normally kept under tight control. He devoured her, staked a claim on that sweet, sensual mouth. She tasted as good as prime rib and whiskey, as good as Christmas, as good as the first cup of coffee on a winter morning or the first cold beer after a long shift on a hot day. She tasted like more, and Neil took more.
She made little, happy mewling noises around his invading tongue and ground her body against him. He pressed his leg between hers and she took the not-too-subtle hint eagerly, straddling his thigh to grind against it. Need surged through him at her responsiveness, her obvious desire.
He could channel that. Use that against her in ways that would ultimately be for her, for both of them.
He could have taken her to the bedroom. He even knew where the toy bag lived, and which toys Sam didn’t mind visiting friends using as long as they got cleaned. But his blood was boiling, his hands tingling with the need to touch Suzanne, manhandle her more, spank her. The kitchen would do for now.
There was a handy container of wooden spoons and spatulas on the counter. He had his suspicions about those spoons; there were an awful lot of them for a guy who lived mostly on frozen dinners and sandwiches. Neil knew all about that trick. He liked to cook, but he had more of certain kinds of kitchen tools than he needed because they doubled as excellent and inexpensive toys.
His cock strained so hard against his fly that he swore he could count each tooth of the zipper as it pressed against him. He eased away from the kiss, but only far enough to slide his hands to the hem of her shirt. “I want you naked,” he said, and it sounded like a groan and a prayer wrapped together with hemp rope.
“I want to be naked. And I wanted you out of those clothes about five seconds after I met you.” She clamped her lips together as soon as she said it; as if she was astonished the words had come from her mouth. But her eyes sparkled, and she wriggled, helping Neil pull her shirt over her head.
Her bra was off-white, plain, not the kind of bra a woman wore on a hot date. He still thought it looked beautiful, or maybe more like she was beautiful and the bra, like her clothes, was irrelevant.
Her breasts would look better with his hands cupping them, not the bra.
Evidently she agreed, because Suzanne twisted her arms behind her back and the bra fell to the floor. “Normally I like to set the pace, undress you myself,” Neil said, “or tell you to do so. But I appreciate your enthusiasm. And the view.” Her breasts were neither model-perky nor model-huge. A little softness there, but like the subtle lines around her eyes, he liked that proof she wasn’t a girl, but a woman who knew what she wanted and had the experience to back up her choices. Her skin was fair, her stiff, deep rose nipples contrasting starkly. He could see the faded tan lines from the summer; although she had the body to rock a skimpy bikini, Suzanne was apparently a one-piece woman. He hoped it was because she was the type of person who didn’t want to worry about sand rash or one more place to protect a redhead’s sensitive skin, not the kind who was ashamed of a belly that had a slight curve to it, a hint of softness that he, personally, found sexy as hell. (Not that there was anything wrong with a more athletic build, either. Face it, he just liked women’s bodies.)
Neil moved behind her. The kitchen was narrow, the sort you found in older houses where they worried more about function than form, and she had to step closer to the counter to allow him to do it. He didn’t need to say anything. She seemed to read his body language, his need. Yeah, her experience with kink might be years ago, but she had the right instincts. She could anticipate his needs and wishes from his body language, and they barely knew each other.
Hot like a jalapeño.
He reached around, cupping her breasts to pull her close, her bare back pressed against his chest. Dammit. He liked the mental game of stripping her while he stayed dressed, setting up a power dichotomy for their games, but right now, he wished he’d given up the mindfuck for that bit of extra skin-on-skin contact.
He cupped her breasts. Soft, soft skin, so warm, and her nipples were already at attention. He brushed them gently at first, reveling in her sudden intake of breath. Then he pinched, harder than he would the first time touching someone one hundred percent vanilla, and was rewarded with a gasp as her body undulated against him.
“You like that?” Way to ask a question with an obvious answer.
“Love it.” She turned her head and looked up at him. Her eyes were huge, the pupils dilated by lust so they looked almost black. “More please. Maybe harder.”
He could do that. With pleasure. Soon, though, he was regretting the position he’d put them in. The noises she made wove into a symphony of moans and hisses and gasps, but he wanted to watch the sensations pass over her face. He urged her around by grasping one nipple firmly and pulling it to the left while pushing her right hip forward. She laughed as she turned, not a girl’s uneasy giggle, but the full, throaty sound of a woman having the time of her life.
Her nipples were reddened, swollen. A few bruises blossomed where he’d pinched the pale, sweetly curved flesh. Her eyes were glazed, and she smiled dreamily. “More?” It wasn’t begging—more like how a cat would demand more petting if it could talk—but at the moment, he wasn’t holding that against her. He didn’t know if she’d enjoy a higher protocol, or if she’d like to try it at least, and this wasn’t going to be a time for detailed negotiations and long discussions of likes, dislikes, and fantasies. That could come later. This time they’d learn by doing and ask the most important questions as they went along.
“More as in more of this, or more as more intensity, more sensation?”
She grinned as she replied. “Yes!” Then she laughed, this time sounding more girlish and silly. “I mean I really enjoy what you’re doing, but I’d also love to try something more intense.” She hesitated. “I think, anyway. Like I said, I’m out of practice. I know how much I want, but not how much I can actually take.”
Oh shit. Callahan, you idiot, you forgot to discuss safewords. “If it’s too much, but you don’t want to stop, just tone it down or take a breather, say yellow.”
“And if I really need to stop something, I’d say red, right? I may be out of the loop, but I’ve been reading a lot lately.”
Neil found himself breathing a little easier. He nodded. “Exactly.” If they’d played again, he might encourage her to come up with her own safewords if she wanted, words that resonated for her, but the old standbys worked for now.
He ran his hands over the fullness of her breasts gently this time, watching her face. Excitement. Arousal. A flicker of doubt—maybe at his unexpected gentleness, maybe at herself. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, as if the weight of desire was forcing them shut, but still held a spark of curiosity that pleased him.
When he pinched again, she sighed, arched her back to push her breasts toward him as if to beg for more.
For a few minutes, he alternated between gentle, soothing strokes and pinches.
When he judged she was ready—when her face was flushed with lust and, even when he pinched, her eyes were screwed shut with need—he slapped her right breast. Not too hard, but hard enough that the flesh jumped and so did she.
Her eyes shot open, and she yelped. He could tell when the sudden pain transmuted to pleasure. Her face softened, and a dizzy smile broke out. “Thank you,” she murmured.
He said you’re welcome by hitting the other breast, waiting for her to process the sensation, then repeating on the other side.
After four slaps on each side, she had lovely red handprints on those pale breasts. Her eyes were wide again, glazed, and her breath was coming in short gasps. She’d made a sound each time that might have been protest, except it was too laden with desire, too needy. Too delicious.
And with each slap, she’d thanked him, her voice sounding less articulate each time.
She was ready for more, he judged. And God knew he was.
“Take off your jeans.” His voice barely sounded human to his own ears. “Then turn around and put your hands on the counter.”
Chapter Seven
As she toed off her sneakers and wriggled out of her jeans, Suzanne came back to what normally passed as reality to think I’m getting my breasts abused by a guy fifteen years younger than me, a guy I just met today. And we’re doing it in a stranger’s kitchen, which makes the whole thing even more surreal.
So did the reason they were in that kitchen, as opposed to her place or Neil’s or some motel, but she wasn’t going to go there right now.
Instead she rooted herself in the moment by asking what seemed like a more timely question, if less important in the big picture, than why someone had been stalking them. “Underwear too?” She found herself wishing she’d worn something less utilitarian than Hanes Her Way, but they’d been her last clean pair; she really had needed to do laundry on her afternoon off.
Neil didn’t seem to care about the lack of pretty lingerie. “Underwear too. Good girl for asking.”
The plain pale blue underwear, thoroughly damp at the crotch, flew over by the front door.
She wasn’t sure she’d want to explain to anyone except Neil himself how much those simple words moved her.
Being called a good girl sent a jolt of pleasure through her whole body, even if, or maybe because, she hadn’t been a girl in decades. It started at her toes and tingled all the way up to her scalp. Most of it, though lingered between her legs, adding to the wet, delicious throbbing.
It put her in a strange space, half insane with lust and wanting to go faster and harder right now, half so intrigued by what was happening that she’d like to slow everything down and study it like a beautiful but confusing foreign film.
She started to turn, but Neil reached out. “Not so fast.” His blue eyes narrowed as he studied her body, and he nodded slightly as if in approval. Then his gaze seemed to focus on what she knew must be a glint of silver between her legs. He reached out, gently touched her recently healed clit-hood piercing. “Now this is a nice surprise.”
“Part of coming back to life. I was numb after Frank died, and then I realized I’d been numb for years anyway. This was a way of waking myself up, getting reacquainted with my wild side.” She swallowed hard and decided she’d tell him a little more. “Sometimes I put a ribbon or something through it and imagine that it’s a leash.” Her face was flaming, but at the same time, she didn’t feel embarrassed so much as freed by saying it.
“We’re going to have so much fun.” He smiled, shaking his head. “Open your legs.” When she obeyed, he ran two fingers over her lips, catching her moisture. “You’re so wet.” His fingers dove into her, just long enough to make her clench. “I can’t wait to lick that lovely pussy and play with that ring. Can’t wait to fuck you. But first, I’m going to do something I’ve been dreaming about ever since I saw you bent over the Mustang. Turn around so I can spank your beautiful ass. Assuming that’s something you want to try, of course.”
Heart pounding, breath caught in her throat, Suzanne obeyed, bracing herself against the counter.
She prepared herself for a resounding thwack, but as he’d done with her breasts, he started with a light caress, running his big hands over the skin until every bit of it tingled to life.
She pushed her ass back at him and moaned. He rewarded her with a hard spank.
Surprisingly hard. She’d been prepared, she thought, but it had been a long time. “Ouch!” she exclaimed, then added quickly as the heat spread from her affronted bottom throughout her body, “But not yellow. Just startled.”
He stroked the tender skin for a second then struck again. This time, she managed not to yell, though she did bounce in place on her toes and instinctively pull her hips forward.
She immediately pushed them back at Neil and the spanking continued.
It stung like the devil, but at the same time, the pain suffused her with heat and need. Her clit throbbed. Her pussy ached as it got even wetter. The ring in her labia felt like a great, teasing, delicious weight. At first she tried to count the blows, but soon her brain refused to deal with anything that mundane and lost itself in the cycle of sting and sensual fire. Her hips rocked back and forth. Her head swam. Neil was crooning something as he spanked her, but while the words sounded sweet and dirty, she couldn’t focus on them.
When he switched from his hand to a wooden spoon, she yelped, but more because she was startled than anything. That felt great too—a different, more concentrated sensation, less intimate than Neil’s hand, but exciting in the way it packed the sensation into one small area. “Is that good?” Neil asked.
“Yes,” she moaned, surprised by how husky her voice sounded, how much like a woman already having an orgasm rather than spiraling toward one. “Oh, yes. Wouldn’t mind harder.”
A flurry of sharp wood blows followed, light but stinging. She danced in place, flinching instinctively, yet delighting in the blows, in the way pain and pleasure blurred.
Without warning, Neil switched back to his hand, one solid, thuddy spank. The warmth of his hand seared into her beautifully abused skin and reached places inside her she hadn’t even known existed.
Her body convulsed. Her cunt contracted around nothing. Her knees started to buckle from the force of an unexpected orgasm. She caught herself on the counter, still wobbling. Then Neil wrapped his arms around her, pressed himself over her body.
As she started to calm down, he pressed harder, the roughness of his jeans emphasizing how tender her ass was. One hand snaked between her legs to tug gently on her piercing then circle her clit.
Suzanne detonated again, crying out his name.
Neil didn’t even bother to undress, just opened his fly and, after a few minutes of rummaging that seemed like hours, put on a condom.
She didn’t ask where the condom came from, didn’t especially care. She wished she’d gotten a good look at his cock, but right now what mattered was he was in her, long and thick and fierce. It felt like she’d been waiting for this all her life. One hand pressed on her upper back, pushing her onto the counter, the other gripped her hip almost savagely. He didn’t bother starting slow or building up gradually. Just pistoned into her and it was just what she needed at that moment. The slap of his hips against her sore ass, the slight abrasion of the zipper, reminded her over and over again of the spanking. She couldn’t move, just feel and react, and that was just fine with her.
The hand that had been holding her against the counter grabbed her ponytail, forcing her head back. She arched, clenching even more. “I want to feel you come on my cock.” Neil’s voice shivered on her skin, rough and beautiful. “Can you do that for me?”
“God, yes. Soon.” She couldn’t remember ever coming this much in such a short time, not unless it was just her, her trusty Hitachi and a book, but another orgasm was building quickly. The arch of her back, the firm tug on her hair, Neil’s control over her movement and the delightful soreness of her ass all contributed. He thrust and pulled back over and over again, riding an exquisite line between brutality and gentleness that she’d never realized she needed.
Her inner muscles gripped at him. His thrusts sped up, pumped into her until she thought, ridiculously, of the pistons of a V8 engine. His body seemed to tense. “Come for me,” he ordered. “Now!”
An orgasm ripped through her. While she was still convulsing, Neil cried out, a harsh, guttural noise without words, and he exploded into her.
She was dimly aware tears were streaming down her face, though she couldn’t remember when she’d felt better, happier. “You okay?” Neil asked, turning her around.
“Never better.” She actually giggled, then laughed more when she
realized how silly and girlish she sounded. “Just…letting go, I guess.”
“It happens,” he said quietly, then brushed away tears. “Let go as much as you need to. I’m right here.” He pulled her close and she snuggled against his chest. The damn tears kept welling up and she didn’t understand why.
Oh, yes she did.
Everything she and Frank hadn’t shared she’d just tasted with a guy she’d met only that morning.
All the things she’d finally found the guts to say to Frank but never had a chance to because the bastard died.
Nerves because of the freaky things that happened today. Nerves of an entirely different kind because she felt like she was about to take off and fly, or burst out of a cocoon, or something equally scary and beautiful.
And it all started because she decided it was time to get rid of Frank’s precious freaking Mustang.
Though at this point, she might just keep it. Might not be the best idea with people apparently following them, but she’d had no idea how much fun it would be to drive. Or how much fun it would be to be driven by someone like Neil Callahan.
Still tearing up, she started to laugh.
And when she finally managed to explain to Neil, at least about the Mustang, he started laughing too.
* * * * *
They stumbled into the living room, curled up together on an overly firm navy couch, wrapped in the Patriots fleece blanket that had been folded over the back. Suzanne hadn’t thought she was cold, not after a warm day and hot sex, but the blanket was comforting, almost as much as Neil’s arms.
She must have dozed for a while, because she woke to find Neil sitting across the room in a lounge chair, also navy but much cushier than the sofa and obviously his friend’s TV chair from its placement, phone in hand. “Hi, sleepy head. I checked the plates. The SUV in your driveway was reported stolen in Wellesley a few days ago. The one at the beach is registered to a company called—” he glanced at the phone for a second “—White Imports, which sounds phony. I haven’t been able to find any information about it, but cyber-investigations aren’t my specialty. The description of our two creepy friends didn’t ring any bells with my department but I’ve got a call into Bellwood as well. They’ve put another BOLO out on the stolen car—there already was one, but we’ve added a description of the driver. And that’s all I’ve been able to find out so far except there’s a restaurant called Fisherman Jim’s up the road that’ll deliver fried fish by the fuck-ton. That or pizza sound better?”
Drive: Cougars, Cars and Kink, Book 1 Page 5
