Manhunting in Mississippi

by Stephanie Bond

  Still looking grim, Ian strode toward her and unlocked the passenger-side door.

  “Ian, I—”

  “Get in the car,” he said, nodding.

  She frowned. “I just wanted to say thanks.”

  His expression softened and he smiled. “Oh. You’re welcome.”

  Afraid he was going to kiss her on the spot, Piper ducked inside.

  Tension fogged the interior of the car until her ears felt plugged. They were nearly a mile down the road before either one of them spoke. Tingling with humiliation, she shifted in her seat. “I’m glad I ran into you.”

  “Me, too.”

  She laughed nervously. “Because you’ll never guess—I had a breakthrough today at home and I came up with the best chocolate cake you’ll ever eat.”

  “You baked the cake at home?”

  “Yeah,” she said, staring out the window. “I was going to bring it into the office tomorrow and call you, but…”

  “But since I’m taking you home anyway…”

  “I could offer you a little preview.”

  He was silent for so long Piper finally opened her mouth to recant her half-baked invitation, but before she did, he said, “I think that’s a great idea. Funny, I just realized, I’m still hungry.”

  Their gazes locked in the dark and Piper shivered. Once they arrived home, she would close the curtains, take the phone off the hook—anything to keep them from being interrupted during their…dessert.

  CHAPTER NINE

  No man will buy the cow if he can get the milk free.

  IAN FOLLOWED PIPER as they entered her house through the back door. She turned on a night-light above the sink, casting a low glow over the small room. Next to the trilling, chirping insects outside, the house seemed eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the hum of the refrigerator, the almost staticky noise of the cloying humidity and the bass thudding of his heart.

  Forget the dessert, he wanted her, he admitted unabashedly as he raked his gaze over her full-body profile. The black sleeveless dress molded to her curves, stopping midthigh on her bare, tanned legs. Black strappy sandals revealed pink-painted toes. Beautiful. She had dominated his thoughts all evening—hell, since the moment he met her, if truth be known.

  Her hands shook, he noticed, as she switched on a saucer-size fan sitting on the counter. Her hair blew back slightly from her face as the fan’s oscillating head passed over her. From the droop of her shoulders, she was either scared, or doubtful—or both—of what might happen before he left. The linoleum squeaked beneath his shoes as he walked up behind her. He slid his hands around her narrow waist, splaying his fingers over her stomach, and inhaled deeply behind her ear as he gently pulled her back against him.

  Piper gasped, covering his hands with hers and arching into him. Absurdly, he was already dreading the morning. This might be their only time together, ever. He turned her around in his arms and kissed her, moving his lips against hers in a slow, sensual ravage. Using his tongue, he probed with an intensity that promised later intimacies. He moaned in gratification when she sucked the column of his tongue, making pledges of her own.

  She exhaled puffs of hot air that he drew in and swallowed, wanting to possess the very essence of her. Her body fit against his perfectly and his hands itched to undo every one of those buttons that stood between her body and his gaze, her skin and his mouth. At last he lifted his head. Her eyes shone in the shadows.

  “I’ve wanted you,” he murmured, “since I saw you lying there in a puddle of water in the parking lot.”

  She laughed softly, then pushed gently at his chest. “Speaking of puddles…my cake!”

  “Piper,” he said, laughing and grabbing her hands. “You’re not serious about having dessert, are you?”

  “Yes,” she declared, pouting and pulling away. She pulled a pan forward and peeled back a napkin that had been covering the cakes. “Wha-lah!”

  He moved in behind her again, nibbling the back of her neck. “And I thought that was you that smelled so good. Wait a minute—” he sniffed her temple “—it is you.”

  “Ian,” she protested weakly. “It’ll just take me a minute to warm up the sauce—you’re going to love this, I know.”

  He sighed noisily. “Only if you’ll split it with me.”

  “That’s the idea—a dessert to share.” Pointing to the table, she ordered, “Sit.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” On the way, he spotted an aged radio on top of the refrigerator, circa 1960. “Nice. Does it work?”

  “Hmm? Oh, yeah, but you might have to play with it a little.”

  Might as well play with something, he thought. Ian flipped the power button and turned the knob all the way left, then all the way right until strains of Marvin Gaye drifted over their heads. “Perfect,” he pronounced. Since her hips started swaying to the sensual beat, he assumed she agreed.

  Relegated to the table, he sat down and watched her remove two bowls, presumably the sauces, from the refrigerator. She placed one bowl in the microwave, then rummaged in an overhead cabinet, giving him a nice glimpse of upper thigh. His body tightened and he gritted his teeth. Sitting out of range of the light and in near darkness, he drummed his fingers restlessly against the smooth surface of the table. “Anything I can do?”

  “Do you want some coffee?”

  He shook his head. “But you know what sounds good? A tall glass of water.”

  She grinned and pointed her elbow at the refrigerator. “Use the bottled water—it tastes better. I’ll have a glass, too.”

  While he pulled glasses from the cupboard and filled them from the water container, he watched her assemble the dessert with her small hands. She placed what appeared to be a large muffin with a sinkhole in the top, on a deep saucerlike dish with fluted edges. The heavy scent of chocolate, rich and nose-tingling, wafted around her. Carefully, she drizzled an unheated frothy sauce into the center until it oozed over the sides. She licked her fingers, causing him to set his jaw. Then she removed the bowl from the microwave and repeated the drizzling and the oozing with what appeared to be a thin, dark chocolate sauce.

  “Looks delicious,” he said, clasping her wrist. He lifted her hand to his mouth and licked the black chocolate from the tips of two fingers. When he released her, he grinned. “The cake looks good, too.”

  Her eyes looked slightly glazed, and Ian wondered if they’d be able to make it all the way through dessert before tearing off each other’s clothes. He carried their glasses to the table and sat down heavily. She followed, her high-heeled sandals tapping against the floor. She set the cake between the two glasses and he reached for her.

  “Do we get to eat with our hands?” he teased.

  She eluded him with a sidestep and veered back to the counter. “No,” she scoffed, holding up two spoons. “And here’s extra sauce—hot and cold.” She set the cold and warm toppings on the table. “Whipped cream?”

  “Sure,” he said, swallowing.

  She opened the refrigerator. “Cherries, too?”

  The woman was killing him. “Why not?”

  She carried her loot to the table, removed the lids and claimed the other chair. “Well, dig in.”

  He reached for her again, but she whacked him on the back of the hand with a spoon, so he decided to behave…for the time being. “What is it, exactly?” he asked, scooping up a dripping mouthful.

  “See if you can guess.” She chewed on her lower lip in the most delicious way.

  The flavor of the cake flowed pleasingly over this tongue, and he glanced down, impressed. “Mmm. Let’s see, I know that taste…it’s malt.”

  Piper nodded and leaned her elbow on the table. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s great,” he admitted, lowering his spoon for another bite. “Have a bite.” He held a spoonful to her lips. She hesitated for only a second, then opened her small mouth. He gently inserted the spoon, but still managed to dribble sauce on her chin.

  He stopped her hand in midair. “Let m
e.” When she swallowed, he leaned forward and licked the sauce from her chin, nipping along her jaw. Reaching past her, he found the bowl of dark chocolate and dipped his finger.

  Ian lifted his hand and stroked the chocolate down the side of her neck. “Oh, look,” he murmured, then dipped his head and licked off the streak, inch by delectable inch. The dessert abandoned, he gripped her chair by the seat and dragged her closer to him in the near darkness. He dipped his finger into the cold sauce next and painted the hollow of her collarbone, lapping it up a moment later.

  She moaned, swaying into him, then deftly undid the top few buttons on the little black dress with her fingers, giving him a glimpse of her lacy black bra and the hollow between her breasts. He crushed her to him, burying his face in her cleavage. His body leaped in response to her beauty and her curves.

  “Piper,” he whispered against her skin. “I want to make love to you.”

  She moaned in acquiescence, digging her hands into his hair, pressing his mouth against her. He dragged his tongue across the top of her breasts, then lifted his head and kissed her hard on the mouth. Throbbing with need, he twisted and set the cake and glasses safely out of harm’s way on the counter.

  Then in one motion, he stood and lifted her from the chair onto the table, standing between her spread knees, the dress straining at the lower buttons. He made short work of them, freeing her legs to open wider, revealing toned thighs and black panties. Groaning, he wrapped one arm around her back and pulled her sex against his with one hand, while freeing the rest of the buttons with the other.

  “Ambidextrous,” she mumbled, arching her back.

  “Hmm?”

  “You’re ambidextrous.”

  He smiled as the dress fell open, revealing her bra, her narrow waist and shallow navel, and the skimpiest pair of panties he’d ever seen. “Comes in handy sometimes.” He pulled her mouth to his in a grinding kiss and pushed the dress down over her shoulders.

  She unbuttoned his shirt and slipped her hands inside to thumb his nipples. Ian sucked in a sharp breath and shrugged out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. She tugged at the waist of his jeans, but he stopped her, knowing he had to pace himself, wanting to prolong her pleasure.

  Sweeping the dress from beneath her, he pressed her back on the table, feasting on the sight of her hills and valleys in the shallow light. Slender and fine-boned, she was simply incredible. Wildly anxious to see her naked, he forced himself to slow down. He dipped his fingers into the sauces and painted cold and warm squiggles across the tops of her breasts, over her rib cage, down her flat tummy and into her navel, then licked, sucked and nibbled it off, working in reverse. He paused at her mouth for a deep, bittersweet-chocolate kiss, but her clutching hands skimming over his bare chest sent him seeking other erogenous zones.

  Reaching beneath her, he unfastened the flimsy bra, freeing her breasts. Ian nearly fell apart just from the sight of her nipples, dark pink buds in the center of tan lines left by a skimpy bikini. He leaned over her and touched his tongue to a tender tip and she bucked beneath him. Her skin felt silken against his cheek.

  He held her hands above her head, clasping her wrists loosely. He laved one breast and latched on to her nipple, drawing it into his mouth, eliciting mewling noises from her throat. Half lying, half standing, he pressed the ridge of his erection against her open thighs.

  Impulsively, he lifted the bowl of warm dark chocolate and dribbled it over her firm round breasts and lower, to pool around her navel. He lapped the sticky sweetness from her navel first, dipping in his tongue, rimming the edge, then ate his way back to the other breast, where he feasted anew.

  When her skin glowed clean and moist, he kissed his way down to her waist, then ran his fingers around the lacy waistband of her panties. Stepping back, he lifted her hips and dragged off her panties, letting them fall from his fingers to join his shirt on the floor.

  Ian allowed himself one sweeping, mouth-drying gaze at her body, and nearly came undone. She lay on the table with her head and arms thrown back, looking at him through thick lashes. Her breasts jutted in the air, glistening from the bath he’d given them. The inward curve of her waist sloped into the outward curve of her hip with perfection that could only be found in nature. High-cut bathing-suit bottoms had left a V of pale skin at the fork of her thighs, outlining the center of her desire. She had one knee slightly raised, which Ian kissed while he slipped off her sandals.

  Mesmerized by her beauty, Ian reached for the open jar of maraschino cherries and tipped it to the side, drenching the tangle of dark curls between her thighs with the cold red juice. One perfect stemmed cherry slipped out and bounced against her nest, lingering there. She jerked spasmodically as the liquid pooled and traveled down the channel of her sex, dripping from her and onto the table.

  A neat person at the core, Ian bent to catch the remaining juice with his tongue.

  Piper felt like a bowl of melting ice cream, losing her hard edges and firm boundaries and simply flowing to meet whatever she happened to encounter. She didn’t think Ian could tease another nerve ending, could push another button, until she felt his hot breath on her thighs and his tongue removing the red, sticky sauce from her most sensitive folds.

  She yelled his name, and raised her arms above her head, searching for something to grab on to. Encountering the wall, she pushed against it, moving against his tongue. He lifted one leg and draped it over his shoulder, then probed her entrance with his fingers. With a sudden thrust of his arm, he filled her, massaging her, making love to her with his hand while removing the vestiges of the cherry syrup with long, hard strokes of his tongue.

  Piper remembered enough about sex to know she’d never had an orgasm like the one building in her loins. She felt totally wanton and selfish, wanting and needing the release only he could deliver. He moaned against her skin and hummed on the tender nub of her control, playing her like a mouth instrument. She urged him on with as much encouragement as she could form in her throat. As she drew near the pinnacle, she relied on guttural noises and frantic hip thrusts to let him know she was zooming closer. With two slashes of his plundering tongue, he sent her sailing over the edge. She convulsed around his fingers, and against his mouth, gasping his name, clawing at the wall behind her. He coaxed her down with soft strokes and soothing noises, withdrawing his fingers gently and kissing her sensitive thighs.

  His hands snaked behind her and slowly pulled her upright into a sitting position. In his teeth, he held the single cherry and offered her half in a slow juicy kiss. On his tongue she tasted chocolate, cherries and her own musk, a heady mix. She pressed her breasts against the width of his chest, reveling in the firm wall of muscle across his back. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she pulled herself to the edge of the table, gasping when the fabric of his jeans brushed against her sensitive, engorged skin.

  She reached around and ran her hands underneath the waistband of his boxers, squeezing his buttocks. When she put her hands on the snap below his flat stomach, he put his hand over hers.

  “Piper,” he whispered, “don’t do this unless you are absolutely sure.”

  A shiver ran through her, despite the heat and their fevered skin. “I’m sure,” she answered, and unzipped his jeans. He kicked off his shoes, and she pushed his jeans down over his thighs. He dragged them down his legs, then stepped out of them. His pale boxers did nothing to hide his fabric-straining erection.

  She greedily pulled down his waistband to free his arousal, the sight of his rigid member sending new moisture to dampen the wood beneath her. Clasping him firmly with both hands, she fell against him in a deep kiss, stroking him until beads of his moisture flowed down over her fingers.

  Pushing against his chest, she slid down his body until her feet touched the floor, then she urged him backward, until he had to sit in the chair she’d abandoned. As he sat, she fell to her knees, bringing the chocolate with her.

  She scooped up a palmful of the warm, sticky sauce and
slathered it on his straining member in long, milking strokes. He watched her with hooded eyes, and when she leaned forward to take him into her mouth, she saw his eyes roll back in ecstasy. She had never pleased a man with her mouth, and she loved it—the power to bring him to the brink, and let him ebb away, only to bring him closer the next time. He kneaded her shoulders, gasping and groaning through clenched teeth, while she devoured him.

  “Piper. Now—I need to make love to you now.”

  He stood and carried her, setting her on the table, then stooped and fished his wallet out of his jeans. With hurried hands, he removed a condom, ripped open the package and rolled it on. Panting heavily, he held the small of her back with one hand and positioned himself at her entrance with his other. She was so slick with fulfillment and renewed need, he entered her with one massive thrust. Piper gasped, then groaned her pleasure as he filled her completely. Wrapping her arms and legs around him, she followed his rhythm lead, her body already tuned for another explosion.

  He was a vocal lover, and she found his throaty exclamations an incredible turn-on. His hands never stilled during their lovemaking—he ran his fingers over her back and hips, into her hair, over her throat and neck and face. As his thrusts became quicker and harder, Piper felt her body start to hum. He responded to her frantic noises by shifting her backward slightly and caressing her nipples while plunging into her deep and hard.

  The orgasm hit her like the flash from a camera, startling and lingering. She cried his name over and over. When his own noises escalated, she urged him home. The muscles in his shoulders and stomach bunched, then he shuddered and gasped her name, his expression an intense mixture of pleasure and pain.

  In the few seconds of his utmost vulnerability, of his wild abandon, Piper felt a poignant loss, because during those few seconds, she loved Ian. For that moment in time, he wasn’t a virtual stranger from halfway across the country who would never accept someone like her into his life, and she wasn’t a lonely old maid who felt more affinity for a limestone house than for her own mother. For that moment in time, they were two star-crossed lovers who evoked extraordinary passion in each other, passion that overrode rationality and reason.