by Maggie Wells
The second she confirmed his suspicions about her lingerie choices, he kissed her hard and fast and began moving inside of her. Slow at first, but building speed and strength like a hurricane swirling through the warm Gulf waters.
The play of unexpected muscles under taut, smooth skin was nearly sent her sailing, but she wouldn’t let go yet. Couldn’t. Not when his chest hair was rasping against the front of her dress. The sensation of skin hitching on fabric shouldn’t have been so exciting, but it was. All of it was.
She’d never done this before, loosened a few hooks and buttons and gone right to the main event. And damn, if it wasn’t intoxicating to know she could drive this man to the brink without removing a stitch. She even had her shoes on. Too turned on to resist, she let the heel of her trusty black pumps scrape down the leg of his suit pants. A violent shiver raced through him. She squeezed a handful of rounded ass and yanked her panties further aside, feeling the elastic strain and pop as Jake shifted his weight forward and drove into her with unrelenting downward thrusts.
Oh, but payback was delicious.
The change in angle brought the slick length of his cock in contact with her clit with every stroke. The leg of her panties cut into her ass. Time slowed, then sped as she splintered into bits and pieces. Pleasure. Pain. Smooth. Rough. Thrust, retreat. Pant, moan.
His belt buckle embedded itself in her thigh. She’d have to get Connie’s dress dry-cleaned. Better yet, she’d buy it from her so she could have the damn thing framed like a trophy. If a president could do it, so could she. This was America.
“Darla.”
She loved the way he said her name. Even on the most mundane days, his soft slurring of the final vowel made her feel quivery. This day was proving to be extraordinary. And so was the sound of Jake Dalton saying her name as he fucked her like a wild, bucking bronco.
“Oh, yes,” she crooned. “Harder. Oh, yeah. Harder.”
He complied, and she rewarded him by sliding her fingers along the crevice of his ass. The man all but leaped out of his skin. Then he burrowed deeper into her with a guttural growl, deepening his strokes and lowering his mouth to her ear.
“Is this how you like it?”
The clingy knit of her dress gave her no traction. With each short, powerful thrust he inched her across the bed. When they reached the abyss, she hooked her arm under his and gripped his shoulder in a half-hearted attempt to hold him back. But she didn’t want him restrained. She wanted him totally undone.
“Yes, that’s how I like it,” she panted. Abandoning her grip on her panties, she slid her hand over her clit and began to stroke herself in time with him. “I’ve thought about this. All week long, I thought about you.”
His groan sounded like she’d reached into him and pulled it up from the soles of his feet. She had a new favorite sound. His muscles bunched. Muscular arms quivered. He stared down at her, his bottomless eyes fixed on some spot so deep inside her she felt the first pulse of his climax as if it were her own.
Riding high on the spasms racking his powerful body, she stroked her own faster, harder. He dropped onto her, his chest heaving, and he blew like a thoroughbred after a race. Her fingernails bit into his shoulder, clutching him tight to her, unwilling to surrender the weight of him as she drove herself straight up the slick, steep cliff, determined to hurl herself off.
“Jesus, Darla,” he ground out.
“Oh, yeah,” she exhaled.
Her toes curled. She felt her muscles tighten around him. Beyond caring about anything but reaching her own climax, she rode his cock and her own hand until she cracked wide open. Every bit of lust or longing she’d ever felt for him raced through her body like a storm surge, sweeping away any shyness or shame she might have dredged up in her mad rush to completion.
Sliding her hand out from between them, she let it fall limp to the bed. There was only one thing more she needed. Turning her head toward his, she brushed her lips over his ear. “Say it again.”
“Hm?”
“Say my name again.”
He stirred. She blinked and suddenly she was staring into brown eyes alight with satisfaction. “Darla?”
“That’s me,” she retorted, trying to muster a little sass.
“Don’t think I forgot for even one second.” He grimaced as he pushed back to relieve her of some of his weight. Unfortunately, he took his cock with him. “Sorry.” This time, his reflexive apology made her smile. “I, uh, can’t use my hands and didn’t want to risk things getting, um, messy.”
She glanced down at the condom still stretched tight over him. “Need some help?”
He rolled his eyes and rocked back onto his knees, shaking his head. “I can handle the condom, if you could help….” He held his arms out and nodded toward the twisted knot of fabric binding his hands.
Feeling generous, Darla gave in and started to sort through the mass of white on white. “Okay, fine. But, for the record, I think you did fine without the use of your hands.”
“I need to work on my Houdini skills,” he murmured. A now-familiar furrow appeared between his brows as he watched her work. “I hate that I didn’t get you there.”
“Oh, you got me there.” She flashed him a reassuring smile. “I was right there, but then I started thinking about your arms and dry-cleaning and if I should buy a shadowbox for this dress, and I kind of lost the thread.”
At last, she managed to work the button free. Jake yanked his hand from the sleeve then sat back on his heels as he attacked the other. “Shadowbox?”
“One of those frame things for memorabilia. Like a keepsake.”
He tugged his other hand free then hurled the shirts across the room like an NFL quarterback launching a Hail Mary. “Stupid shirts.”
His petulant muttering made her smile even wider. How come no one ever told her there was nothing sexier than a rumpled man in a snit?
She was about to tease him a little, see if she could goad him into a full-on rant, but he knocked the wind right out of her by picking up the hand she’d used to touch herself and drawing her fingers to his mouth. Their eyes locked as he touched his lips to the center of her palm and inhaled as if testing the bouquet on a glass of fine wine.
“Next time, I’ll get you there.”
Her back bowed right off the bed when he drew the first finger into his mouth. Conflicting emotions swamped her. She wanted to pull her hand away. She wanted him inside her again. The curl of his tongue around her was maddening on its own, but when he closed his eyes and sucked as if he could pull the very essence of her from her skin, she rose up to meet him.
“Jake—”
He released her index finger with a pop, met her startled gaze, then drew her middle finger deep.
“Cheese and crackers, you have to stop.”
To her relief and dismay, he did. Releasing her hand, he tilted his head inquiringly. “Cheese and crackers?”
She blinked in confusion, then the tumblers clicked, unlocking a sheepish laugh. “Sorry. Parental hazard. Kids are wondrous things. They can categorically refuse to learn the words to ‘The Itsy Bitsy Spider’, but drop one F-bomb, and suddenly you’ve got a talking parrot on your hands.”
“Cheese and crackers,” he repeated, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Got ya.”
He planted a loud, smacking kiss on her lips and shoved himself off the bed. Hiking his pants up, he denied her a truly spectacular view as he turned on his heel and headed for the attached bath. “Be right back,” he called over his shoulder.
The second the door closed between them, Darla lifted her hand and stared, incredulous. “You are so grounded.”
“What?” Jake called from the other side of the door.
“Nothing!”
Casting a wary eye about her, she scooted off the seriously mussed bed and hurriedly started straightening her clothes. Shoes, dress, bra, slightly worse for wear panties. She jiggled and shook until she had everything
back where it belonged. By the time she heard the click of the latch, she was pulling the duvet smooth once more. There. No evidence left at the scene. Well, almost no evidence. Jake was missing his shirt and, if she wasn’t mistaken, she had a decent case of beard burn developing on her neck. The stinging was a minor discomfort—
“What are you doing?”
“Making the bed,” she replied, straightening from the task with an over-bright smile. “See? Good as new. You’ll sleep well tonight.”
His eyes narrowed, but Darla was finding it hard to keep her eyes up. The man had a nearly terminal case of the too-good-to-be-trues going on, and someone somewhere had once said something about seeing being believing—
“Why do I get the feeling you think you won’t be sleeping there with me?”
Again, she flashed a full set of teeth at him. “Well, you know.” She wrinkled her nose to indicate he really should know, but his implacable stare made it obvious he was going to make her spell everything out for him. “I think we’d be better off if you took me home.”
“Better off? Better for who?”
“Whom,” she corrected automatically. He quirked a thick brow, and she gave an apologetic shrug. “It’s actually better for whom.”
“I don’t think it’ll be good for anyone.” He started, stopped, sputtered a little, then pushed his hand through his hair so hard he left those irresistible furrows in the thick waves. “Crepes Suzette, Darla, we didn’t even get our clothes off!”
“Crepes Suzette?”
He shrugged. “Worth a try.”
There and then, she fell completely and utterly in love with Jake Dalton.
Which totally sucked because he was going to break her heart. A guy didn’t become one of the town’s most elusive bachelors by falling in love with broke, single moms. And men with strings of letters behind their names weren’t generally impressed with a woman who could boast a G.E.D. and some community college time. She needed to keep this real. Keep some boundaries. Darla’d learned a long time ago to be happy with what she could get.
“Jake, don’t make this more complicated,” she began.
“Complicated?” He stared at her as if she’d dropped out of a flying saucer and asked him to submit to a probe. “I’m the one trying to make everything less complicated.”
She shook her head. “How do you figure?”
“By giving us what we both want,” he shot back.
“Who says I want to sleep with you?”
He started toward her and she dodged. The move stopped him in his tracks. “So, I’m okay for sex, but not to sleep with?”
She opened her mouth and he held up a hand to stop her.
“So help me, if you’re going to tell me not to end a sentence with a preposition, I’m gonna—”
Her back straightened and she tipped her chin up. She’d dealt with bullies her whole life. She could certainly handle a sexy nerd suffering a case of injured pride. “What, Jake? What are you going to do?”
To her shock, he didn’t stop coming at her this time. The approach both thrilled and scared her. They stood toe to toe, both breathing heavier than two people with normal resting heart rates should. He was aggravated. She was aroused. And this date was anything but over, no matter how tough she wanted to pretend to be.
Logically, she knew she was falling victim to the same reckless impulse that got her in trouble in the first place. The one she’d been fighting since the day she read the result on that pregnancy test. Every night, she prayed her daughter hadn’t inherited this particular trait from her. Everything else was fine, but not this inexplicable need to see how far she could push. She wanted to keep Grace safe from this and from every other stupid thing she’d ever done. A hysterical need to laugh rose inside Darla as a stark realization smacked her upside the head. The protective barrier she’d built around Gracie and herself wasn’t to keep others out. It was a wall she’d put up in hopes of keeping herself safe inside.
But Jake looked wild. The cool, analytical man of science was nowhere to be seen. The guy standing in front of her, shirtless and disheveled, was anything but safe. He was wild. And he was right. Now, she’d had a taste, and she wanted more. She wanted to know exactly how far she could go before he tore her to shreds. Without giving herself time to think the better of touching him, she reached up to smooth his ruffled hair.
His hungry gaze dropped to her lips, then back up again.
Darla smiled and stared straight into those midnight eyes as she whispered the taunt one more time. “What are you going to do to me, Jake?”
Nostrils flaring with barely suppressed emotion, he lowered his head to kiss her. Telegraphing his intent. Giving her one last chance to turn tail and run.
But running was the last thing she wanted to do. She wanted this. Him. And this hot, angry kiss that left her feeling branded. His lips were soft, but the resolve behind the assault remained firm. Damn the man could kiss. Each pass of his tongue could only be classified as an assault on common sense. He was slow. Methodical, but not tedious. Thorough. A much better word. Commanding. Darla had to admit, it wasn’t an adjective she would have applied before this evening. But it fit. Oh, it fit.
Darla curved into him, desperate to line her much shorter body up with his. Needing to feel the tensile strength vibrating through him as his hand roamed freely over her. Gripping her ass in both hands, he helped her out by hauling her onto the tips of her toes as he changed the angle of the kiss. She moaned as those long, graceful fingers mapped her back, her ribs, and finally, her breasts. He palmed her, his thumbs running over her hardened nipples. She made a soft, mewling noise when he pressed a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth, then blazed a trail along her cheek to her ear.
“For the love of God, tell me where the damn zipper is,” he whispered in a ragged voice.
A breathy laugh escaped her. “No zipper.”
He fixed his mouth to the pulse point in her throat and she almost lost all capacity for speech. Thankfully, she found the words to get them where they needed to go.
“Stretchy. Up and over.”
Jake wasted no time following her directions. Still peppering her neck and jaw with fervent kisses, he gathered the hem of her skirt and pulled the fabric up to her breasts. Then, and only then, did he break contact to look down. His lips wet and parted, he let his gaze roam over her, taking in her too-short legs and never quite firm again belly.
Darla wanted to cringe and back away. At least lie down on the bed, where she could stretch out long and pretend motherhood and gravity hadn’t left a mark on her. A part of her wished he’d finish the job with the dress. At least then she’d be able to distract him with her tits. Most guys didn’t look too closely at anything else when the girls were available to entertain them.
“Up and over,” she repeated, hoping to spur him into action.
To her dismay, he didn’t comply. Instead, the confounded man seemed to forget about the dress altogether as he dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands sliding down to rest on her hips. Fire burned in her cheeks and heat pulsed between her legs when he pressed a wet open-mouth kiss to her belly.
“Stop. Don’t,” she whispered.
But he ignored her pleas. “God, you’re beautiful.” He trailed tiny little kisses over the rounded mound. “Like one of those paintings you see in art history classes. You should be sprawled out on a red velvet couch.” He dipped his tongue under the elastic of her panties and lingered for a moment. “Decadent. Satisfied.” Then he looked up at her. “I’d offer to feed you grapes after, but I don’t have any.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I hate grapes.”
His lips curved against her belly. “But you like wine.”
Unable to resist one second longer, she slid both hands into his hair. “The skins creep me out.”
“You have beautiful skin.”
Her dress slid down and nearly covered his head. He didn’t seem to mind, but
she did. The damn thing was blocking her view of Jake Dalton worshiping her, so it had to go.
Darla yanked the dress up, shimmying as she worked the fabric over her breasts, then tossed the dress to the floor as if it were loaded with spiders. Running a hand over her hair to smooth the curls back into place, she looked down to find Jake sitting back on his heels, a wide smile cutting brackets into his cheeks.
“I liked the little dance.” Leaning in again, he pressed his mouth to the logo printed on the front of her panties. “Do it again.”
Determined to mask the fact that her legs felt about as stable as a couple of gummy worms, she sniffed and stuck her nose in the air. “I don’t dance on demand.”
“No.” The man breathed the word into the polyester blend, and the warmth of his breath seeping through the thin barrier nearly undid her. “You are Wonder Woman,” he murmured, then started pressing kisses to each of the white stars spangling the cherry red background. “An Amazon warrior princess.”
He punctuated each descriptor with kisses. Darla planted her hands on his shoulders to catch her balance. And for a gratuitous grope. “Not much of a warrior,” she said, breathless.
Jake sat back. “You forget I saw you in action the night of the fundraiser. You are the fiercest of warriors.”
Heat flooded her cheeks, but she’d apologized for her behavior and she refused to do so again. “I haven’t been any kind of princess other than a cartoon character in more than a dozen years, and I’m hardly what anyone would call an Amazon.”
Her litany of denials barely left her lips before he hooked his fingers in the waistband and stripped the panties down her legs. Darla blinked, stunned by the swift decisiveness of the action.
“Wha—”
Jake cupped the back of one calf and ordered, “Lift.”
She did as she was told, and he divested her of one black pump and then the tightly furled nylon.
“I understand you wanting to keep things separate,” he said, his tone level and calm. He slid his hand up the back of her other leg and she lifted automatically. But instead of finishing the job, he simply looked up at her until he seemed satisfied he had her attention. “But our nights together are nights together. No wham-bam-thank-you-man.”
