by Kari Gregg
"I haven't done it without a rubber before, either, but . . . ." She glanced away. Shy?
Christ, when his fingers still smelled of her and she'd already come for him twice?
But her cheeks pinked.
Her blush rocked his world.
"I'm on the pill. I won't get pregnant, and I'm clean, Mitch," she whispered, nibbling on that damned bottom lip 'til his pulse roared in his ears. "I don't mind. As long as it's you."
His lashes lowered. Urgent, demanding need gripped him hard. Coiled in his gut.
He was crazy. Certifiable to even think about screwing a woman on the flimsy promise that she was on the pill. How many babies were born every year because those promises, offered in the heat of the moment, turned out to be empty? A gazillion?
Liv and he both were born and bred trailer trash; he figured that quadrupled the odds against them exponentially. In Mitch's estimation, nothing spiked fertility like poverty and the brutal ugliness that went with it. They were lucky he hadn't knocked her up by breathing air in the same room.
And STDs . . . .
How many lovers had she had?
Mitch didn't want to think about that, but damn it, he had to. If even half of Rita's gossip had been true, neither one of them had been angels sprouting wings. Pretending otherwise was stupid. People didn't get infected with Herpes or HIV
because they forgot to cover a cough. They got sick and died because they didn't cover their dicks.
But . . . .
All the arguing in the world, no matter how much he wrestled with himself, none of it would change the one irrefutable fact that rendered those objections null and void.
This was Liv.
His Livvy.
He'd never had before, no, and he never would again.
But it was as beautiful and as terrible as she'd said.
He didn't mind.
As long as it was her.
He shifted his hips, probed her.
Her eyes snapped shut.
Her voice caught when she sighed his name.
His head lowered. He brushed his mouth over hers. "It's all right, Liv. It'll be okay," he breathed against her lips.
When he pushed into her, every neural synapse fired.
Her eyes flashed wide, a keening sound emerging from her throat. Hot.
Stupendously hot.
Unbearably tight.
She surrounded him.
Sweat slid down his spine. "It'll be amazing."
He thrust home. His cock filled her.
He threw his head back and his groan of bone-melting pleasure mixed with hers. It was . . . . Unbelievable.
"Wrap your legs around me, Liv. Hold on tight."
He eased out. She relaxed, responded to him beautifully, met him the next time he thrust. Like magic. They were attuned, their bodies synchronized as though they'd been fucking each other for years. The hard drive into her, the pumping of his hips . . . she knew exactly how to angle hers to make him sink mind-bendingly deeper. Every time he moved, her cunt fisted around him, dragging at his dick and sizzling his nerve endings like raw electric current.
The feeling was so crushingly new and vibrant, so frenetic, Mitch didn't want to come. He just wanted to keep on fucking, pump in and out of Liv forever, but it couldn't last. He couldn't. Mitch had already pushed his control too hard and for too long.
Thank God, Liv was with him.
She writhed under him, trying to brand herself into his skin. He hissed when her nails scratched stripes into his shoulder, but damn, it was good, that good. She was coming apart underneath him, taking him with her.
She moaned his name.
Her body clamped down on him.
Milked his cock.
He spilled into her and lost what little remained of his mind.
* * * * *
"You okay?" he asked when he was capable of forming words again. She hummed low in her throat.
One of her hands skimmed the damp skin of his back, the other anchored around his waist to hold him there.
Yeah, right.
Like he had any plans to leave the cradle of her thighs any time soon. Hell, he didn't think moving was physically possible. His stomach trembled. His legs wouldn't work. His arms seemed disconnected from him, separate from whatever instructions his brain might try to send them.
Maybe he'd be able to shift off her in a minute.
Just as soon as he re-gathered his fried brain cells.
Until then, he was content to breathe in the sweet, feminine scent at the crook of her neck. He'd tucked his head there, the spot that so fascinated him when his body had collapsed. Helpless. Used up and spent.
Liv sighed. "We didn't get our clothes off."
He grunted.
Nope.
His turtleneck trailed down one arm. Her pajamas and panties ringed her left ankle. He'd shoved her tank up and loosened her bra, but the underwire of one cup gouged his ribs. His jeans had slid down his hips to trap his thighs in sturdy denim. Hell, he hadn't even taken off his boots.
They were both a boneless, tangled mess.
He smiled. "You're welcome."
When she chuckled, her slick walls clamped around his dick and blew a few more hundred neural synapses. But hey, who needed brains? Not him. He ignored her nudge.
"I need to clean up, Mitch."
He could feel thick wet cum gluing their joined bodies, felt what he'd pumped into her seeping around his softening dick, but he ignored that, too.
"We're going to ruin your fancy suede blanket," she said, but the reluctant tone of her voice told him she wasn't ready to end the glorious, sated lethargy that had wrapped around them, either.
Eyes closed, still shaking, he kissed her velvety skin. "We already ruined it." He'd never get the stains out, not that he cared. "Am I too heavy?"
"No."
Mitch hadn't thought so or he would've somehow found the energy to roll off her. "Then I'm not going anywhere. I like it here."
She moved her hand up to finger his hair. Oh, didn't her after-sex petting curl something warm and wonderful in his belly, sap everything out of him? She'd tapped him out. Drained him dry. "Close your eyes, Livvy."
He drifted to sleep.
* * * * *
His hips were already rocking into her when he woke up. He didn't know how long he'd dozed, but couldn't have been more than a few minutes. Her fingers fisted in his hair, her body straining toward his.
Opening his eyes, he lifted over her.
Her lush mouth parted on a breathy gasp.
His dick hardened to stone.
Mitch ripped the turtleneck off his arm, and holding her to him, he rolled on the bed so that she lighted atop him. He tore her tank and her bra away, kicked at his boots. They'd have to get rid of his jeans later. Much later.
His hands settled at her hips. "Ride me," he said.
She did.
* * * * *
He threw his head back, gritted his teeth. Her black hair trailed over his thighs, whispered against his stomach. He pushed his spine into the headboard, desperately sucked in air, but her mouth didn't stop working him over. Her tongue slid over his cock, her lips providing the sweetest suction. His eyes slammed shut when he felt the sexy hum in her throat vibrate down the length of his dick. "Oh, Christ." She laughed.
He wanted to laugh with her. Really, he did, but he felt the tightening in his balls. His body had hit an unmistakable rhythm; a gentleman had to speak up. "Liv." One by one, he unclamped his fingers from the headboard, tunneled them into her hair to pull her head up. And panted out urgent need, barely controlling himself when she resisted. "Babe—"
Her fingernails raked his splayed thighs in mute warning.
He groaned, let his grip in her hair go lax.
Far be it from Mitch to disagree.
Instead, he palmed her skull, kept pace with the cadence she set. She ate him alive.
She set every cell of his body on fire, but she slowed. Toyed with him. Lit him up li
ke a frigging Christmas tree.
"Oh my God," he groaned, hips arching to thrust deeper into her hot, wet mouth.
"Please, honey. Please."
She reached beneath, gently kneading his balls.
Her lips hit the base of his cock.
His world exploded.
Chapter Four
Mitch awoke on a low moan, every nerve in his body aching from overstimulation and abuse. He threw his arm over his eyes, but it didn't help. The bedroom smelled of sex—good, hard sex and lots of it. How many times had he turned to her last night? He didn't know. Those hours had become a vague blur of fucking, resting, and fucking some more.
He groaned again, grateful he'd exhausted himself.
Almost.
The shower cut off in the room next door.
Livvy.
God, she had to be sore. Way too sore for the final round of morning-after sex his fertile and feverish mind immediately suggested. Liv was no dainty slip of a woman. She wouldn't break under a rough tumble, which was a relief because he hadn't exactly been gentle. Wincing at the bite she'd left on his forearm, Mitch figured that was fair. She hadn't shown him any mercy, either. Still, if his muscles were this stiff, hers had to be screaming. No way. Even if he could get hard again, no way.
He lifted his arm and propped himself on one elbow to watch her fidget with the towel she'd wrapped around herself as she crept on stealthy feet back into his bedroom.
"Morning, Liv."
She jerked, startled. Nearly lost the towel.
Forget what they'd done last night, the panicky sheen in her dark eyes when they focused on him sprawled on the bed was worth the price of admission.
"Good morning," she mumbled, ripping her glance away. "I used your shower. I hope you don't mind."
He grinned.
Mind?
She'd worked her mouth over his cock so thoroughly that Mitch was one hundred and ten percent sure he'd never get his brains back.
And she thought he'd be offended that she'd used his soap?
Women were the most contrary creatures in the universe.
"I don't mind."
She'd started picking at the clothes scattered over his bedroom floor, though, and that piqued his curiosity.
"What're you doing, baby?"
She flashed a nervous glance his way. "Getting dressed." She'd found the flannel shirt.
He shook his head. "I should've thrown that away years ago." He pointed. "Wear that."
Mitch swallowed a chuckle when she pulled his sweatshirt over her head and, only when it draped to her thighs, did she ease the towel from underneath. He wondered what she planned on doing about the panties crumpled under his right knee.
When her eyes widened and he knew she'd spotted her underwear, he snickered.
"Come here, Liv." He laughed harder at the suspicious glare she shot. "Honey, we're both hurting too much for either one of us to even think about fucking this morning. C'mon."
Her lips thinned. "Don't be crude."
He arched an eyebrow, opened his arms wide.
She slowly, reluctantly, crossed to the bed, but she did come to him. Sighing, she snuggled into his chest when he tucked her against him. He tipped her chin up and whispered a languid kiss over her mouth. Her lips parted so he let his tongue slide inside to stroke hers, sluggishly.
When he eased his mouth away, her eyes had closed, lashes a thick sooty blanket beneath, and her cheeks had flushed a charming pink.
That was more like it.
His forehead touched hers, the scent of his soap on her skin warming him from the inside out. "Good morning, Livvy."
The lips he'd kissed rosy curved. "Good morning, Mitch." His finger traced the line of her jaw. "I'm next in the shower." Her eyes opened.
"Coffee and filters are in the cupboard above the pot in the kitchen."
"Okay."
She kissed him, so warm and sexy, he reconsidered sex, just one last time, but he'd seen her wince. Hell, his dick felt so raw, it'd probably kill them both. "There's a pair of sweats with a drawstring waist in the third drawer," he said, sitting up when she moved to his dresser. He retrieved her panties from under his knee. Pink silk. Virginal white lace edged the waist and the high cuts for her legs. He waited until she found his sweatpants, then dangled the panties from a finger. "I'm keeping these." She pushed her foot into the first leg of his sweats and grinned. "You're welcome."
He laughed.
By the time he finished in the bathroom, the smell of freshly brewed coffee permeated the air. Not in his bedroom. That still reeked of sex. Liv was right. His suede comforter was thrashed. The nap of the fabric had stiffened with several noticeable smears, but Mitch would never take it to the dry cleaner.
He might have the damned thing bronzed.
He pulled fresh jeans over his hips and tucked his much-abused cock inside, eager to haul his ass into the kitchen. Not because he wanted to escape the stale sex smell—his stomach hadn't churned once—or even to grab his first cup of morning coffee.
No.
He wanted, desperately, to taste his coffee on her lips.
They'd have their coffee. He didn't have jack in the house for food so they'd have to go out for breakfast. He glanced at the glowing red numbers on his alarm clock. Okay, lunch.
The steakhouse down the road then.
Afterward, he'd take her back to her car at the trailer park, kiss Liv goodbye, and come back home to sleep off the best sex he'd had in years.
* * * * *
"There. The blue one."
His eyebrow arched as he pulled the truck alongside her crappy Mazda two blocks from the Winslow trailer. He'd seen her sister's sedan rusting in her dad's parking space yesterday so Liv had parked on a nearby street. "I know what your car looks like." He blocked the road, shoved the truck into park, turned to her. She bit her lip.
Oh damn, why'd she have to go and do that?
He reached forward 'til his thumb brushed it. "You going to be at your dad's next weekend?"
She nodded, blew out a quick breath. "Yes." She twisted his sweatshirt in her fingers. "You?"
"Every Friday." He leaned forward, angled his mouth over hers. Her tongue teased his lips, asked to come inside, and he let it twine with his. He lifted his head. "I'll follow you out."
She climbed from the truck, shut the door.
He watched her bend over the rust-spotted rear bumper of the Mazda and pry free a magnetic case underneath. She'd fired the engine with the spare key before he'd finished backing the truck to give her room to pull out.
She rolled down her window and waved.
He tipped his head to acknowledge her farewell.
When they reached the intersection running into town, her Mazda moved into the right lane. He stayed to make the left.
Then, she was gone.
Mitch returned home, stripped off his clothes, and stretched out naked on the twisted sheets that still smelled like her.
He slept.
* * * * *
Mitch thought about the sex all week.
He remembered her tits had spilled from his hands, as he stood in line to pay Gary's overdue electric bill on Monday. His dad was the Emperor of Assholes, but on that, the old man had been dead on the money: Liv's were magnificent. More than a mouthful, but not so big they reminded him of a frigging cow's udder. The rosy tips were so sensitive they seemed to have been hard-wired to her cunt, because when he'd finally gotten around to licking and sucking her nipples, she'd gone wild. And incredibly, mind-shatteringly wet.
Tuesday night, he brought her pink panties to his nose and inhaled, sure she couldn't have smelled as good as his memory insisted.
He was wrong.
The scent of her pussy was better, way better than he'd recalled. Wednesday, he held those panties in his left hand, his dick in his right, and cursed himself for not getting her phone number.
A delayed drywall delivery on Thursday left him too much time to nurse other, sweatier regrets.
He should've tied her up after her man-eating mouth had sucked him off. Taken her back to his place after lunch at the steakhouse. Fucked her in the shower. Hammered his cock into her sweet ass. Fucked her until they were both jelly-legged and wasted.
By Friday, he had a plan.
Friday, blessed Friday, he was burning so hot he didn't remember Gary's bottle of Jack Daniels until he parked in front of his father's decrepit trailer. He would've said to hell with the mean son of a bitch, but Gary wouldn't let him in the trailer without it. He shoved the truck into gear and doubled back to Elm.
And cursed when he passed her Mazda on the way out.
He didn't catch Liv before she got to her family's trailer, but there was no way in hell he'd risk missing her leave.
Even with the front door of the trailer wide open —and hadn't Rita bitched about that?— he couldn't see the Winslow trailer, though. He'd spotted Liv's car parked on one of the side streets when he'd returned with Gary's whisky. He stayed long enough to make sure his father wasn't selling his meds again and then he left. He pulled his truck into an empty place up the street from her Mazda and waited.
By the time he spotted her picking her way down the crumbling sidewalk, it was full dark. He gunned the engine to life, rolled down his window. She stiffened when she recognized his truck, seemed to halt for a heart-stuttering second, but slowly walked to meet him.
Liv must've come straight from work because she wore a long black dress coat to ward off the chill, the front unbuttoned and gaping to reveal a pencil-slim skirt and matching slate gray sweater. She'd gathered her hair into a neat knot at her nape. Sterling studs and a silver chain glittered from her ears and her neck. Her shoes were basic gray pumps.
She might as well have been wearing black lace and fuck-me stiletto heels. His blood roared. His pulse pounded in his head, and all he could think about was peeling her out of her neat, respectable gray.
"Get in."
She blinked at him. "Uh . . . listen. It's not that last week wasn't nice—"
