Playing For Fun: Stewart Island Book 6

by Alvarez, Tracey

  “Keep the jacket,” he said. “I’ll come by tonight and pick it up.”

  Euphemism for sex scene part two?

  Holly narrowed her eyes, ignoring the hot little squeeze her womb gave. “Don’t bother. I don’t melt either, and…” Inspiration strikes. “And Dixie stays up late, watching Sunday night theatre tonight. You clomping around upstairs will keep her awake.”

  His lips curved, flashing straight white teeth.

  Before he could say something flirty-dirty-hot, Holly tossed the leather jacket at him, which landed perfectly—covering his face and muffling his flirty-dirty-hot laughter.

  Chapter 14

  The risk of being sprung making a late-night booty call in downtown Oban on a Sunday night was pretty damn slim. Yet Ford only just managed to duck behind a tree after spotting Ben walking his daughters’ little Chihuahua-spaniel-cross, Sparky.

  Once Ben ambled past, Ford checked his watch again. Quarter past eleven. He hunched his shoulders, turning his face into the collar of his leather jacket, which still carried faint traces of Holly’s scent. It was driving him nuts.

  He’d continued to work on Malcolm’s muffler that afternoon, which had taken his mind off her for, hell, all of two minutes, then he’d paced around his house for hours afterward. Hoping like a love-sick teen she’d text, call—hell, tag him on a Facebook post. His brain was fried. One taste of her and he was a goner.

  Addicted.

  But he wasn’t quite so thick as to not understand he’d likely get a door slammed in his face. He’d hurt Holly this afternoon by striving to spare her from the crappier details of his past. A past that, no matter how hard he tried, wouldn’t stay dead.

  He’d hurt her, and a hurt Holly shut down. She didn’t do the hissy-fit, throwing plates or hurling accusations. She bailed and retreated to lick her wounds in private. The way she’d always done as her family’s youngest. “Youngest” in her family didn’t mean “babied”.

  He stared at the sliver of light showing through Holly’s living room drapes. Clenching his fists until his knuckles ached, he paused at the fence, fighting the urge to turn and walk home again.

  Because this wasn’t a simple booty call. He’d already allowed her a glimpse of his Achilles’ heel, the part of him that remained the weak, little runt Pania accused him of being. Turning up at Holly’s door now only proved his weakness, demonstrating how he wanted her so much more than she wanted him. Needy, much?

  Yet Ford couldn’t prevent his feet from moving along the path to her front door.

  Sensor lights blasted on—as he’d known they would—taking the decision to continue out of his hands. He curled stiff fingers to knock. He was here now. And if talking was the entrance fee back into her good graces, guess he’d have to talk.

  Then Holly swung open the front door, and his tongue knotted helplessly.

  “You’ve got to stop sneaking around my house late at night.” She popped out a navy-striped-pajama-covered hip and slapped her hand on it. “It’s creepy.”

  A déjà vu moment with her woolly rugby socks and mussed hair. Only this time, when his gaze returned to Holly’s face her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright and alert. This time, there was no trace of a friendzone lack of interest.

  “Why are you here, anyway?” Her breasts shifted under the black Supernatural tee shirt he’d bought her for last year’s birthday. Bare breasts with two welcoming little nipples pebbled beneath the soft cotton.

  Ford cocked his ear, caught a line of dialogue from Holly’s TV. Definitely Supernatural season three. Season three equalled safe but approach with caution.

  Holly huffed out a sigh. “What? Are you planning to tell me in interpretive dance? Jeez. I’m shutting this door in three…two—”

  Ford was in the door with Holly pinned to the hallway wall, his mouth crushing the “one” from her lips before she could finish. She tasted of rich, dark chocolate, the stuff she’d suck on until it melted all over her tongue—and that thought popping into his brain made him rock hard in an instant.

  Her palms scrabbled on his chest, trying to find purchase, so he snatched up her wrists and pinned them above her head. God, the feel of her in his arms, her tongue stroking along his, her soft whimpers as he thrust his leg between hers to press closer.

  Ford pulled away, teasing out her lush lower lip a tiny bit with his teeth, letting it go and then burying his face in the curve of her throat. He drank in the smell of her—chocolate and fruity bodywash—ran the tip of his tongue down the column of her throat to see if she tasted as good as she smelled. She passed with flying colors. His fingers itched to go all Wolverine on her clothes and taste the rest of her.

  “Ford?”

  Her voice was sex-siren husky, and he hardened even further.

  He let go of her wrists, dropping his hands to the exposed strip of skin at her waist. She kept her arms above her head and arched away from the wall so the cradle of her hips grazed his groin. He groaned, or maybe it was a growl. He couldn’t hear anything now except her choppy breaths near his ear and more of those soft whimpers as he slid a hand under her shirt and cupped her breast.

  He rolled one already-erect nipple between thumb and forefinger, and she squeaked.

  “Ford! We have to be quiet.”

  Ford gently pinched her nipple, and she mewled like a kitten, hips returning to grind against him like a heat-seeking missile. He kicked the front door shut and stripped off her tee shirt.

  A flush of goose bumps stippled her bare breasts. He traced a finger over her pretty pink nipple; the fragility of her combined with a sudden gut-shot of lust pushed him over the edge.

  “I can be quiet, but if you want to just talk…”

  His genitals threatening instant mutiny, Ford hoped she was on board with the whole sex-up-against-the-wall idea.

  “No talking.” She dropped her hands to his shoulders, dragged them down his arms—stopping to squeeze his biceps—before she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans. “Just tell me you’ve got condoms.”

  “Back right pocket.”

  “Good man,” she said and unhooked the button of his jeans.

  Before he embarrassed himself by mimicking one of her breathy moans, Ford got a firm grip on her butt and lifted her into his arms, taking her mouth again.

  “Hey,” she complained once he let her come up for air. “I was just about to get my hands on the good stuff.”

  He grinned down at her. “Baby, I want you all over my good stuff, but since I intend to make this last longer than five minutes, and your good stuff is covered in goose bumps, how about we shift this party to the bedroom.”

  Her mouth—so sexy with lips turned rosy from his kisses—tipped down. “Um. I’m not the tidiest person in the world.”

  Ford gave her butt another squeeze. “Like I care what state your room is in.”

  The legs she’d wrapped around his hips tightened, pressing him tighter against her warm softness. He carried her down the hallway, nudged open the door to her darkened room and dropped her onto the center of her bed. The metal frame beneath the queen-sized mattress let out a shriek.

  They were so not doing this quietly.

  Holly smiled up at him, long, dark hair fanning out on the rumpled sheet. The duvet was bunched at the end of the bed, and she kicked it off. Ford grabbed an ankle and stripped off her sock—repeating with the other foot and pausing to stroke his thumb down her arch.

  Holly wriggled out from his grasp and rolled to the side of the bed. “Hey, foot-fetish dude—lose your clothes already.”

  Ford peeled off his hoodie and shirt, dumping them onto the floor. He wrestled with his jeans, hard-on springing free the second he unzipped himself, and shucked them and his boxers down.

  He crawled onto the bed—which gave another protesting squawk. Freezing at the halfway mark, Ford glanced at Holly, whose gaze was locked on his junk. If she kept looking at him like that, they’d definitely break her damn bed.

  He st
retched out gingerly, patting the mattress between them. “Come over here.”

  Completely ignoring him, Holly touched a finger to the head of him, tracing the contours and sensitive edge, making his eyes squeeze shut in pure bliss. Muscles quivered across his shoulders as she continued to run just one finger up and down the length of him. When she slid her hand lower to cup his balls he could’ve sworn his eyes crossed.

  “Hol,” he gritted between clenched teeth. “Take off your pants.”

  She made a humming sound in her throat and resumed her torturous, one-fingered exploration. Before he could open his mouth and do something humiliating like beg her to stop before he came like a horny teenager, she released him.

  He rolled onto his back, watching her wriggle out of her pyjama bottoms, a swatch of hallway light spilling over her creamy skin. The diamond belly button ring winked at him as she rolled up to her knees and straddled his thighs. With her moist pink folds spread wide open within easy reach, Ford gripped her knee with one hand, used the other to touch warm, wet woman.

  “Wet for me again,” he murmured. “And this time, I get to touch.”

  But he only managed to skim a finger through her folds before she shifted out of his reach.

  “Not yet,” she said and fisted him in one hand, lowering her face to within inches of his erection.

  His heart stopped. Then began beating like mad—every litre of blood in his body headed straight to his dick, which strained toward Holly’s slightly parted mouth.

  “My turn to taste.” She leaned forward, her dark curtain of hair momentarily blocking his view as her mouth closed over him.

  Pleasure scoured through him, and Ford’s hips arched off the bed. The wet warmth moved up and down in torturously slow movements. He brushed the hair away from her cheeks, but the sight of Holly sucking his dick, her eyes dreamily closed, one hand wrapped around him to keep him steady as she worked on him, the other gently massaging his balls, nearly made him blow his load there and then.

  He propped himself up on one elbow and stroked her head. “You’re killing me.”

  The sexiest slurping sound in the world as she released him and smiled. “I know.”

  “I want to be inside you. Now.”

  Her eyes narrowed at the order then softened again. “Maybe I’m not ready for you to be inside me.”

  He sat up straighter, sliding a hand over her butt cheek to dip into slickness, quickly finding her swollen flesh. He circled the little bundle of nerves then slipped his first two fingers deep into her tight channel. Her internal muscles clenched, and she gave another breathy moan, moving herself up and down. Pleasuring herself on his fingers instead of him. Ford pulled back—and what willpower that took—and gave her butt cheek a gentle slap. Her eyes flew wide, locking with his.

  “You’re ready,” he said.

  With a toss of her hair, she slid off the bed and retrieved the small foil packet from his jeans. She ripped it open, and driving him half insane again, sheathed him. Then she climbed on top, bracing her palms on his chest and grazing herself along his length. His balls tightened, pulsing with the need to thrust up into all that tight wetness.

  Ford snaked a hand down his belly, once again finding her swollen bud, now clearly exposed since she’d split her delicate folds over his girth.

  “Like this?” he said and captured the bundle of nerves between his thumb and forefinger, gently squeezing and working it between them.

  Holly threw back her head with a cry, lifting her hips to give him better access. He positioned himself at her entrance then let her take control. She sank down, internal muscles drawing him farther into her slick heat. Every cell, every nerve, every atom of his body focused only on her sweetness enveloping him. And when he lodged home, angling his pelvis until he filled her completely?

  It was the closest he’d come to a religious experience.

  She rocked into him, grinding her wetness against the base of him. He stroked the bud of her again, slid through her folds deeper until he touched the evidence of their connection. She arched her body, switching her hands from his chest to brace against his legs as she rode him hard.

  Second hottest thing he’d seen today.

  He let her take her pleasure until his control eroded to wire thin then he grabbed hold of her and rolled, tucking her beneath him.

  “Too wild for you?” she gasped, wrapping her legs around him and digging her heels into his ass.

  Ford needed to catch his breath before passing out, so he grinned and snagged her wrists, guiding her hands to the metal rungs that made up the bed’s headboard.

  “Things are about to get wilder. Get a good grip.”

  Holly white-knuckled the headboard while Ford nuzzled the soft skin of her throat. He dragged one of her knees higher, driving himself deeper, more fully into her.

  The bed’s struts creaked in protest.

  He withdrew and thrust again, this time watching as Holly undulated beneath him, her mouth parting to whisper his name.

  Another loud creak.

  Holly’s eyes slitted open.

  “Yeah,” Ford said. “This bed is gonna make a lot of noise in a moment. Deal with it.”

  “So screw me ‘til we both scream, sweet.”

  Ford bent to take her mouth in another blistering kiss, rolling his hips to grind against her. He thrust into her again and again, loving the shift and flow of her moving under him—with him—drawing him away from his demons to get lost in her.

  She came hard, clenching and moaning under him, and a stinging spot appeared on his shoulder where her teeth sank in. A cry slipped past her teeth anyway, rivalling the shriek of metal. His balls tightened as he erupted into her, the type of orgasm that felt as if his dick was stroking out. An oh-damn-keep-away-from-the-white-light orgasm.

  For an eternity, he clung to her, face buried in the damp skin of her throat, her pulse throbbing against his lips. He kissed her there, shipwrecked and adrift, the pounding of her heart the one strong and steady thing to hold fast to.

  Probably moments away from suffocating her, Ford rolled off and climbed out of the bed, making his way down the hallway to her bathroom to clean up. After a quick detour to her living room to turn off the TV, Ford returned to her bedroom. She was curled onto her side, a hand propped under her head. She smoothed a palm down the wrinkled sheets.

  “Are you staying tonight?” Her gaze roamed down his body, checked out his junk then returned to his face.

  Ford scooped the duvet off the floor and spread it over the bed, his stomach knotting. “Do you want me to?”

  She flipped the edge of the covers off the bed in invitation. “Someone has to fix my bed in the morning.”

  “We may’ve broken your damn bed by morning,” he grumbled and slid in beside her.

  She snuggled into his side, resting her head on his shoulder, draping her leg across his thigh, her knee momentarily brushing his balls.

  His dick twitched.

  Holly’s mouth curved into a smile against the side of his chest. She skimmed a hand down his belly and wrapped her fingers around his hardening flesh. “You forgot the hallway light.”

  Everything in him clenched for a moment, and Holly’s hand, which had been slowly stroking him, stilled.

  Ford cleared his throat. “I usually keep the hall light on at night. I’ll turn it off—”

  Holly stopped him from rolling out of bed by tightening her grip. She pushed herself up on her elbow and bent down to deliver the sweetest, softest kiss.

  “Leave it.” She wriggled to lie completely on top of him. “I need the light to see your cum-face.”

  The tension seeped out of his bones. “Bring it on, then.”

  Bring it all on. The heat, the wanting, the feels—as Holly called it. What was it about this woman that completely undid him? How did she simultaneously make him feel as weak as a kitten and as strong as Superman?

  Ford grabbed two handfuls of her perfect ass. He’d figure it out—along with
how he’d squeeze in repairing her damn bed—in the morning.

  * * *

  As a general rule, in Holly’s world view, Monday mornings sucked. The amendment to that rule was waking with a man-shaped pillow at your back, and the beginnings of a hello-baby erection stiffening against your bottom.

  Holly cracked open an eye at the window drapes—dull grey, pre-dawn sky slipped through the gap. A head-to-toe internal scan revealed she was A, pleasurably achy in all the right places but not achy enough that she wouldn’t consider waking Ford for another orgasm intervention. And B, her belly had started quivering again.

  Big time.

  Because she hadn’t expected that being with Ford—even after yesterday’s workshop sex-anigans—would be so…so… Holly squinched her eye shut again, better to concentrate on inventing the perfect adjective to describe something light years from “good” or “a-maz-ing”.

  “Holly…?”

  Her name called from below, rising weakly through the floorboards, sent frost skimming down her spine.

  Holly stiffened, her eyes popping open, her head lifting from the pillow so her ears could strain. Maybe she’d imagined it?

  Then it came again, faint but unmistakable.

  Dixie’s voice.

  Holly swore and scrambled out of bed, dropping to her knees. “Dixie, I’m coming!”

  Sheets rustled behind her.

  Holly snatched up her pajama bottoms and half turned toward Ford. “Dixie’s calling out for me.”

  For a guy who’d been virtually comatose only moments before, Ford moved fast. By the time she dragged on her pants, Ford was dressed in his jeans, holding out his tee shirt. “Quick. Put this on while I grab your spare keys.”

  He left the bedroom at a run while Holly tugged on the shirt and slid her bare feet into her Uggs. Together, they stepped outside in the misty chill air.

  “Just before five,” he said as they hustled along the concrete path that led down in a gentle slope to Dixie’s.