by Jody Wallace
When she held out her hand, he gave her the soap. To his disappointment she used it on her face instead of him. He took it back and started washing her front, rubbing away traces of the muck, telling her how dirty she was. It had gotten on her neck, so he washed her neck. Her stomach, so he washed her stomach.
It hadn’t gotten on her breasts, but he washed them anyway, rubbing around and around until she was leaning against the wall, her hands clutching his shoulders. Water sprinkled her face like diamonds. When she closed her eyes and sighed, he pinched both nipples at the same time. Her grip on his shoulders tightened, and Harry decided the foreplay was over.
He dipped his head and captured her lips. Their tongues touched. Curled. He pressed her against the wall and kissed her deeply, still plucking her breasts.
With soapy hands she caressed his shoulders, down his arms, around his hips. He loved how much smaller she was, how soft, how she yielded to him. Her hair clung to her head and neck in dark ringlets. When she kissed, she tasted him as much as he did her, nibbling and licking. Her teeth against his throat, her tongue on his neck, her hands pulling his body into hers.
Rather unexpectedly, June rubbed the bar of soap down his ass. It slid between his cheeks, grazing him from behind. His cock surged against her. She soaped up and down, fondling and exploring, until he could feel every inch of flesh as if it were raw.
His balls tightened as he thrust against the hot gloss of her skin. When her fingers closed on his cock and pumped, he nearly climaxed before he had a chance to appreciate the sensation.
He latched on to her wrist. “Too much.”
“Really?” She squinted through the spray. Her free hand swiped him again before squeezing the head.
He grabbed her other wrist. A few more touches like that and he’d come before they could properly consummate their relationship. He wasn’t a one-blow Joe, but it would take time to regroup. Instant erections were the only thing he missed about being seventeen.
She licked her lips, angling her face out of the spray. He slowly stretched her wrists above her head, watching her for her reaction. Some women liked to be overpowered. Some got pissed off. Yesterday she’d had qualms about sex with him she shouldn’t have now, so her responses would be more genuine.
Instead of moaning or struggling, she twisted her lower body against his cock. It didn’t have the same effect as her hot little hand, but it would eventually.
“So that’s how you want to play?” He bent his knees and slid between her thighs, prodding her folds. If she was going to tease, he was going to return the favor. She clamped around him tightly.
When he thrust, the friction felt pretty close to the real thing.
The water gushed over them as Harry moved. His cock bumped her clit. The moisture between her legs became silkier, and he caught the scent of arousal. When she tilted her hips, the head of his cock nearly entered her body. Her feminine heat seared him. He froze there, neither pushing nor withdrawing. He ached so much every miniscule shift of her softness against him was torturous delight.
He could take her here. Now. He was one thrust away from paradise. His grip tightened on her wrists.
June licked water from her lips. “How close are you?”
He inched forward, pressuring her with his cock. “Why do you ask?”
“I want you inside me but…”
He didn’t wait for the rest of the sentence. He pushed into her molten smoothness. They both groaned. At this angle, the penetration wasn’t deep, but it was so, so tight. He bent his knees a little more and she slid onto him like a glove.
June’s eyes flew open. Their gazes locked as they connected physically, emotionally. Her lips moved, forming a word.
Alas, it wasn’t yes.
“Condom.”
She was right. But God, this was hot. Water poured down their bodies. Steam surrounded them. She was pinned to the wall, panting. Soaked. Her sheath tightened. He sank into her another half an inch.
“Do you have any?” He didn’t mind them, but they weren’t in reach, and her body was.
He spread her arms farther apart, sliding along the wet wall, and she swallowed. “They’re put away. You’re the skirt chaser. Don’t you have something?”
“I didn’t think I’d need any for movie night,” he gritted out. He slipped almost out of her body.
But not quite. June whimpered and her inner walls squeezed him. Her hard nipples rubbed his chest.
If he dropped her wrists he was going to lift her up and shove her all the way onto his cock. But restraining her was its own kind of turn-on. The knowledge she was alpha only made him want to take her more.
“Kiss me,” she said. “Don’t move your hips.”
Harry complied. The kissing grew quickly out of hand, their tongues doing what their bodies couldn’t risk. Water cooled as the heater drained. He concentrated on the way her warmth clasped the tip of his cock like a hot mouth, the way she moaned, the way her slender wrists felt in his fists.
June tugged her arms. His cock swelled as she struggled to free herself. Harry growled. His urge to dominate broke through the surface.
To his surprise, hers did too. He could feel it all over.
She squirmed, and he held tight. Pushed her body against the wall. The result of her resistance wasn’t her freedom. It was more kisses. Frantic kisses. Her breathing became ragged, as did his. Her hips jerked as she fought him and kissed him at the same time.
His peak approached, and he willed himself to withdraw, to be safe, but June took control. She twisted a leg around his hips, pushing him deep.
Ah, God.
“Harry, it feels so good,” she whispered.
It was about to feel better. Harry dropped one of her wrists, reached between their bodies and pressed his fingers on her clit.
Rubbing. Rubbing. Holding still and rubbing. Her scent sharpened. Her breathing caught.
With a choked cry, June convulsed. Her muscles clenched him. Loosened. Tightened. She sighed and gasped. Called his name. Her reaction almost undid him.
Baseball. Bass fishing. Blue balls.
Her eyelids opened. “More.”
“No.” He held himself even stiffer than his cock. “I’m not going to be that guy.” His knees started to tremble. She was shorter than he was, and their pelvises did not line up.
She blew out a breath. “What guy?”
Their shower went from lukewarm to cold. “The one who talks you out of a condom when you ask him to use one.”
“We don’t have one handy.” She smoothed her palm across his chest, her fingertip rounding his nipple. “I’m not fertile this week, and STDs aren’t an issue. Can’t you just—”
“No.” Harry pulled out. His cock popped free, bobbing against her stomach.
“I’m sorry.” She rested her cheek against him, breathing deeply. “This can’t be satisfying for you. Again.”
“Oh, it will be. Let’s go to bed.” Lack of a condom didn’t mean they had to cancel the festivities. It just meant they had to get creative. “The water’s cold.”
“You can handle it.” June pushed him into the spray and ran her hands down his chest. She followed the hair until her hands rested on either side of his cock.
“June?” If he weren’t mistaken, her alpha had just come back out to play. He could sense her strong will pushing him along with her hands.
She smiled. “I’ll take the edge off.”
He plucked a tendril of wet hair out of her face. “What do you mean?”
“Guess.” She grasped his heft in one palm, stroking. Her other hand cupped his testicles. Before Harry could answer, she dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth.
Shock flooded him, and he nearly bent over double. The chilly water splashed past him into her face. She spluttered, releasing his cock. Goose bumps broke out across her flesh.
“Sorry, sorry.” He reached behind him and twisted the faucets off. June shoved him against the cold wall and raked her fing
ers down his thighs.
“Bad werewolf. Now I’ll have to punish you.” This time she lapped the head of his penis, her tongue twirling around the opening and sensitive underside. Harry clenched his fists—not in her hair—and willed himself not to unload until he got to enjoy this for at least ninety seconds. Maybe two minutes. His last affair had been months ago, with a schoolteacher from Wheeling now engaged to the auto-parts salesman he’d introduced her to.
June toyed with him, tasting every inch. She placed soft kisses along his length and flicked her tongue across the head. While he’d rather be face to face, pounding in and out of her body, getting head ranked high on his list of Fun Things To Do With Women.
With pursed lips, she enveloped his cock. She took the tip, part of the shaft. Her eyelids closed as she relaxed her throat. Her head moved back and forth, a moist suction that drove him to the verge. Waves of tension built as his climax neared.
She grabbed the base of his cock with one wet hand. Her teeth grazed the underside, and his hips jolted. Her breath feathered the wet skin.
When she patted his rump, he thought she would head for the bed. But she didn’t. Instead she practically swallowed his cock and began to suck him at such a fierce tempo, Harry’s orgasm came out of nowhere in a blinding flash of pleasure.
June sucked until he had to pull her away, too sensitive to handle the treatment. She released him and stood, her lips swollen and red. Her nipples were hard as pebbles. She was obviously aroused.
He ripped open the shower curtain and dragged her into her bedroom. The sheets were still rumpled. Gavin’s scent hadn’t marked her room so much it was a distraction. Harry threw her onto the bed and covered her with his body.
This was going to be good. Every inch of their naked flesh pressed together. He poised over her, trying to decide where to start. The water droplets on her skin? Her rosy lips? Her breasts?
Her knees rose to cradle his hips, bringing her in contact with his half-hard cock. He watched her, not speaking, allowing the anticipation to build. Extending his senses, he detected a car on the highway, birds in the trees, the fridge humming in the kitchen.
Nothing between them. Nothing around them. Nothing to stop them from making love for the next twenty-four hours.
Okay, a few hours. June would need to sleep so she could cloak their getaway car.
Before Harry could make up his mind what part of her most needed his attention, the telephone rang, shrill and insistent beside the bed.
Chapter Thirteen
June closed her eyes, but it did nothing to silence the telephone.
Closing her eyes didn’t ease her arousal, either. Harry’s weight pressed her into the mattress. His penis nestled between her legs. Her animal simmered inside her, but she no longer feared it would break free.
It had surged through her veins at her climax, but it only intensified her pleasure. She was wholly in control.
The phone rang again.
“Are you going to get that?” he asked. “It might be your coven.”
“I’d rather not talk to them. They’ll ask too many questions.” She and Harry watched the phone as if it were going to jump off the hook and into June’s hand. Neither could reach it without crawling across the bed.
He squinted. “It shows up as a local number on caller ID. Timothy Manns. Isn’t he the chief of police?” The phone rang again. Her answering service would kick in after five rings.
“That’s his home number, not work.” She pushed at Harry’s shoulders. Why would the cops be at the Mannses’ house instead of the station?
He rolled off her until he could reach the unit. “Want me to unplug it?”
“I know what I can tell him.” When he handed it to her, June clicked the on button. “Hello?”
Static crackled across the line.
“Who’s there?” she said, irritation bleeding into her tone. She had better things she could be doing, like having sex for the first time in two years. When your disguise was a senior citizen, your choices of partner were coven members and other senior citizens. Unfortunately, her tastes at this stage of her life ran to younger men, and no local witches interested her. One of the downsides of a witch’s cyclic age discrepancies.
“Miss Sandie?” said a female voice she didn’t recognize.
“Speaking.” June altered her pitch to resemble an elderly human. Harry watched with his eyebrows raised.
“It’s Donna Manns, your neighbor.”
“Donna. Hi, honey,” June said with a quaver. She’d seen Donna yesterday at the tea room. The Mannses lived on the same street she did, a mile down the road.
“Are you all right?” Donna sounded different on the phone, more measured. “I heard the sirens. I was worried.”
“I’m fine.”
“So what’s going on?” Donna knew everything that happened to everyone. If Tim hadn’t clued her in about the break-in, she’d be frantic to find out before lunchtime.
“Nothing important.” Vague answers were safer, not that she could explain the truth to Donna anyway. In fact, she was surprised Donna had called. She and Donna had more of a baker-customer relationship than a gossip-sharing relationship.
“It didn’t sound like nothing.”
“I’m almost embarrassed to say,” June protested. Come on, Donna—take a hint. Don’t badger the nice old lady.
“No need to be embarrassed,” the woman said. “You can trust me.”
June couldn’t, but to balk now would raise flags. Well, the tittle-tattle—and Sandie’s alibi—could start here.
“I heard men outside the house this morning.” Whatever she told Donna needed to mesh with the information the chief would share with his wife later. “I called 9-1-1 and hid down the road a piece. The police were gone before I got back.”
“Do they know who did it? What they were looking for?”
“There’s nothing missing. Tim got here in time. I need to bake him a cake.”
“I don’t know who’d break into your house, not with Bert Macabee out of the territory.” Donna’s statement perked at the end, as if Bert’s absence pleased her.
Territory was an odd word for her to use. Perhaps it was a cop’s wife thing.
“Your husband sure does a good job,” June complimented her.
“If he has the right clues,” Donna agreed. “Do you have any secret enemies?”
June tried to mimic her Sandie laugh. “My pie beat yours at the county fair last year. Maybe it was you, looking for the recipe.”
Donna forced a laugh too. “Ha, ha, ha. Are you there alone?”
“No.” Why did she want to know that?
“Is Harry over there?”
“Harry who?” June and Harry hadn’t concealed their friendship from anybody, but it seemed an odd question for Donna to ask.
“Harry Smith. From the tea room.”
“That Harry.” June widened her eyes and shrugged at Harry, who rolled closer until their bodies touched. “He’s not here.”
“Then who is there? You shouldn’t be alone after that scare.”
“A repairman.” Harry did repairs for her sometimes.
“Have you seen Harry since yesterday?”
“No,” June lied. Harry began to draw circles around her breasts with his finger. “Is there a problem?”
“You were my last hope.” Donna sighed, disappointment evident. “I need to track him down. A business thing, you know. It’s that church bus again. If I can’t find him, I’ll have to hire a second-rate mechanic. Too bad it won’t be Harry Smith. He was perfect.”
She sounded more disappointed than a woman in need of a mechanic ought to be. The phone rasped as if a solid object had rubbed across the mouthpiece. Donna spoke to somebody on the other end, muffled. Then she returned. “Do you know if he was going out of town?”
“Let me think.” What would she have told Donna two days ago, before Bianca decided to ruin Harry’s life? “He travels to Wheeling a lot.”
H
arry leaned down and sucked her nipple into his mouth. June squeaked.
“What did you say?”
“I sneezed. Bless me.” June knew her voice was an octave too high. She smacked Harry away but he only switched to the other side.
Warmth began to curl through her insides as he licked. And Donna kept talking.
“It’s important I find him soon.”
“I bet.”
“There are other mechanics.”
June couldn’t respond, unable to form words as Harry’s lips closed around her nipple.
“I know it’s a long shot, but if you see him, could you give me a call on my cell?” She rattled off a number. “I’ll be out the rest of the day.”
“Of course.”
“Don’t you want to write it down?”
“I did. Bye now.” June disconnected and clonked Harry in the head with the phone. “You devil!”
He leaned on his arm. “Did you know I went out with her when she was Donna Partin?”
June could name most of the women he’d dated in the past eight years, and she had no wish to discuss his past conquests when she was naked in bed with him. “Why?”
“Because I don’t work on her church’s bus.”
“Are you sure?” June frowned at the caller ID. Donna had never called her at home before. Donna had seen Harry in the tea room yesterday, being pursued by Bianca, wife of the recently arrested Bert Macabee. Donna had asked several strange, pointed questions.
Donna used to date Harry.
“I’m sure,” he answered. “I don’t work on buses, period.”
June clicked through the recent calls in the memory. Manns, unknown name and number, coven, coven, coven, unknown name and number, coven, coven, her mom in California, coven. No new voice mails since last night.
The thought of Harry and Donna, of Harry and any woman, made June want to bite somebody. Green-apple jealousy was an unexpected component to their changed relationship. Before, she’d had libido dampeners and a general acceptance it could never be.
