by Dawn Atkins
Jackson spun, then shoved open the shower door. “Heidi?”
“Sorry. I didn’t realize you were in here.”
That was so obviously not true, but Jackson didn’t seem to care. Her goofy appearance didn’t deter his stare, either, and his face lit with desire. “Did I wake you?”
She shook her head.
“Are you feeling okay?” Meaning, was she in her right mind? He looked as though he was fighting some terrific inner battle.
Again she shook her head.
“Then come here,” he said, his voice rough with need, succumbing to something. He shoved the door open so hard it clunked the wall and bounced back. He blocked it with his arm and held out his hand for her. Again. He was always offering her a boost. She liked that, independence be damned.
She let him pull her closer to the shower door. Spray bounced off his body into the air between them, making a rainbow in the mist. The water hissed and splashed in a glory of white noise.
And there Jackson stood, startlingly erect. Her past sexual forays—furtive and cramped on a sofa, a car, a guy’s twin bed—hadn’t allowed her to really examine an aroused penis before. Here was Jackson’s in full view. It wasn’t beautiful—she’d never found the male member beautiful—but it was dramatic and promising and proud of itself and the pleasure it could give to him and his lover, who was about to be her.
“Come here,” he growled again and tugged her into the stall. Water poured down her body, soaking her hair and clothes. Jackson’s gaze poured down, too, and she shivered with a hot chill.
“You’re driving me nuts,” he said roughly.
A thrill coursed through her. Jackson had slept with lots of women, but she, Heidi Fields, was making him crazy. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do.”
“Then I hope you’re happy.” And he crushed her to him, kissing her so fiercely she could barely stay upright. She was finally getting what she’d wanted.
He tilted her chin to get at her mouth, alternating between a soft brush of his lips and a deep dip, his tongue sweeping over hers, taking it, taking her mouth. The way she took his.
They kissed and kissed, warm water rushing down in a private waterfall, until he finally broke off, still holding her tight. She was vividly aware of his erection through her shorts. “You sure you’re okay?” He sounded winded and looked as dazed as she felt.
She managed a dizzy nod.
He nodded back, then stared at the silver tube top. “This has to go,” he said, tugging the fabric up.
She lifted her arms so he could yank it off her body, the metal threads light scraping her skin, and toss it over the stall wall. The entire time, he kept his eyes on the prize—her breasts. Her tiny breasts. With the nipples tightened to knots, they looked even tinier, she knew. She had the urge to cover them with her hands and turn to show him her best feature, still encased in the circulation-compromising shorts, but Jackson looked at her as though her little offerings held the secret of eternal bliss.
He cupped them tenderly, as if they were precious and delicate and he’d worked forever to get at them. “Beautiful,” he murmured.
“You exaggerate.”
“Huh-uh. They’re perfect for you.” He ducked his head to reverently kiss the top of each one in turn.
She smiled.
Then he sucked a nipple into his mouth and she thought she might collapse from the glory of it. She moaned, heat rushing through her, feeling like pure womanhood. Instinctively, she arched her back, tightening her breasts so they tingled and ached, especially the one Jackson held in his mouth. Warm water stroked her skin, heating it, while Jackson’s mouth turned her insides molten. Along with first one nipple and then the other.
They were going to have sex right here in the shower, standing up. What about protection? She had to say something before she lost her mind altogether. “I’m on the pill,” she murmured. “Are there…health issues?”
He stopped what he was doing to her breast and raised his gaze. “None here.”
“Good then,” she said. “So we don’t need condoms.”
“No,” he said, then lowered himself to his knees before her, his eyes following down her body until he was looking at her abdomen. “We don’t need condoms.” He rolled her shorts down her hips, down her thighs, until they dropped to her insteps, and she stood naked before him.
He looked up at her face, his expression full of hunger and promise, letting her see that he would have her until he was good and finished.
Lust coursed through her and her legs went from rubber to syrup. If he weren’t holding her hips, she’d have landed on her best feature on the stall floor.
He returned his eyes to her stomach, bracing her bottom with spread fingers. His lips parted, his tongue emerged, signaling his intent to kiss her there.
She held her breath and closed her eyes, waiting for the exquisite moment. Yes, oh, yes. He touched her spot dead on with the tip of his tongue. A charge jolted through her, shooting everywhere, flying out her fingers and toes and bursting out the top of her head.
“Oh…Jackson…oh,” she cried, breathless and happy, but nervous, too. He was going to try to make her come, she knew, and this was so sudden…so new.
He sensed her tension, because he stopped and looked up at her. “Let me make you feel good.” He massaged her butt. Mmm.
His confidence melted her doubts the way his touch melted her bones. She nodded down at him, water bouncing from her hair to his face, and she gave herself over to him and his tongue and hands.
He squeezed her bottom at the same time he flattened his entire tongue against her clitoris like a hot, wet cloth that he somehow rolled over it, skimming and swirling. She began to jerk and rock uncontrollably. She reached down for his hair, something to keep her tied to earth before she flew away completely. She leaned back against the bumpy solidity of the tile wall.
For her, this act had always been hasty or clumsy or cursory, but Jackson buried his face in her, digging in as if to extract every ounce of pleasure for them both.
Then his tongue slid lower, more intimately, easing into her entrance, so that she had the warm pressure of the width of his tongue on her clit, while the pointed tip pushed inside. Meanwhile his hands massaged the area around where his mouth was working. Sparks shot off in wild directions.
She made garbled sounds and jerked convulsively, like a puppet shaken from above. She was embarrassed by the rawness of her reaction, tried to tone it down, but she could only let go, release, respond the way her body insisted. She was in his hands…and beneath his tongue…. And he was on his knees before her, worshiping at her center.
She was going to come. She realized it suddenly and it was the most natural thing in the world. She often struggled for an orgasm, inhibited by the tension, the rush and—now that she was in Jackson’s deft hands, she realized—the ineptitude of previous lovers.
He seemed to sense how close she was and shifted to quick, short squeezes and licking her full length with more pressure.
Her climax hit in a huge wave, rolling through her, rippling outward from her core. Jackson held very still, while she rocked and bumped and cried out, her voice echoing against the tiles, sounding like several women at once. She felt like several women. The newly independent person who’d left home for her own life. The innocent young thing who’d just discovered what sex was all about. And the powerful sexual creature who could bring a man to his knees.
She gasped for air and sagged against the wall. They’d used up the heat so that the water cascading over her skin was tepid. Inside she burned. “That was…amazing,” she breathed.
“Mmm-hmm.” Jackson rose and kissed her, his erection urgent against her stomach. Reaching under her arms, he lifted her off her feet, bracing her against the tile. His turn. “I want in.”
“Oh, please.” She wrapped her legs around him and held onto his neck. He positioned her bottom so he was nudging her entrance with the head of his penis. She was wet and slick
and he slid in easily.
“That is so…good.” Like the greatest itch in the world had just begun to be scratched.
“Yeah.” He thrust upward, filling her, the angle such that his shaft bumped her clit, tightening that marvelous muscle that was greedy for more. He moved just right—not too much pressure, not too much speed—in an even rhythm, his face tight with withheld urgency. He looked as if he’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her. “Am I hurting you?” he gasped.
“No. This is perfect.”
“Yeah, perfect.” His mouth seized hers and wouldn’t let go. He’d trapped her against the wall, pinned her in place with his body. She felt powerful and helpless at the same time. No matter how she struggled, he would have her, had to have her. And she would have him.
Her nerves sang with electricity, her sex pulsed with a need that ticked higher and higher, tighter and tighter. Her skin began to prickle and she felt another orgasm on its way.
She broke off the kiss and cried out so that the sound seemed to crash from the walls into her ears again, “Jackson, oh, I’m—”
“Coming,” he finished for her, his body tensing, too. She felt the throb of his climax just as her own release arrived. His body jerked, pushing up into her, giving in, giving out, giving up all he had. The thought of him succumbing to her aroused her like nothing else. She had this strong man desperate to have her.
Jackson clutched her to him, wrapping his arms around her as though she were a pillow he wanted all to himself or a child he wanted to protect, while he lifted her away from the wall. The steamy air smelled of shampoo and soap and sex. It was heaven.
They just stood there for a few seconds—suspended in the miracle of it. The perfection of what they’d done. Slowly, Jackson slid from her body and she dropped her legs to the floor. It had been so wonderful. It had been how she expected to feel with someone she loved. Of course she barely knew Jackson. This was her breakaway sex. But the feeling stayed, puzzling her. Worrying her a little, too.
“You happy?” He grinned. “Now that you’ve had your way with me?”
“Oh, yes.” She was happy. And triumphant. And uncertain how to act next. Would they keep going? Do it again? Talk about it?
Jackson’s face flickered with confusion. Maybe he felt the same. He reached past her to punch the faucet off. The misty atmosphere and dreamlike sound faded and the air cooled. She heard the unromantic gurgle of water down the drain.
“That’ll be some water bill,” Jackson said. He gave an awkward laugh.
“I feel clean enough for two days’ worth,” she said, staying light.
Now what? Surely they wouldn’t stop doing something that felt so incredibly good. She wanted to try new positions, reciprocate with oral sex, make love in a bed, on the floor, in the kitchen. She wanted it all.
Jackson jumped out of the shower and grabbed two towels, one of which he thrust at her. Kind of brusque. As if they’d reached the end of a workout.
She just stood there, holding the towel, not sure what to say.
He stopped scrubbing himself and scrutinized her. “You okay?”
“Of course. I’m great. Just a little…”
“Woozy? Sure. All that steam and all…Plus, you had dental surgery yesterday.” He took the towel she clutched and pulled it around her, tucking it tight between her breasts, as though she were a package he was wrapping for UPS, all snug and sealed. “I’m sorry if I—If that was too much.”
“Don’t apologize. I told you it was what I wanted.”
“Good,” he said, sounding relieved. “Let’s get you lying down, get your blood pressure back.” He swung her into his arms.
“I’m not going to faint. I’m fine.” Come with me to bed. I want more. She couldn’t quite say it.
He lowered her onto her mattress, checked her towel, then backed away like he thought she might explode. “I’ll sop up the mess.”
Since when did Jackson care about a little water? No, he wanted to escape. He did not want to talk about it, do it again or plan for next time. That was that. All done, mopped up and over with. She’d promised him not to act weird. Was wanting more weird? It shouldn’t be. It should be as natural as breathing.
Except for that strange feeling of belonging. That surge of emotion and closeness. Hell, maybe she was getting weird.
Nothing in her new life was turning out as she’d planned.
JACKSON LOOKED DOWN on the scene from his DJ booth, feeling like the king of all he surveyed. He loved it up here, where he could watch the customers reacting to the dancers, feed into the energy that ebbed and flowed, depending on how the dancer grooved to the music he chose. The effect was subtle, but he swore his selections were tuned to each dancer’s strengths, sometimes even their moods. For Jasmine, he went sinuous and playful. Autumn was hard-driving rock, with classic Stones. Nevada needed fast, popular riffs, along with athletic salsa.
The door to his booth opened and he turned to see Duke walk in.
“Busy night,” Duke said. “Stan thinks Taylor needs some help behind the bar. I agree.”
“The ad in New Times brought in more customers, but Taylor’s handling it fine.” He didn’t appreciate Duke’s sleazy nephew giving staffing advice. “We hired a new waitress. She’ll pick up the slack.” There Heidi was now, heading for a table with a tray of drinks wearing her bag-lady outfit. He got a funny feeling in his belly at the sight of her. She bent and handed out two drinks.
“She the one the girls said is living in your town house?” Duke asked him, watching her, too. Jackson didn’t like the interest in Duke’s face. It had nothing to do with Moons’s personnel needs. He was a decent guy, but Duke liked variety in the sack.
“Heidi? Yeah.”
“She seeing anybody?”
His eyes shot to Duke’s.
“Just kidding.” He held up his hands. “She’s all yours.”
“She’s not mine. She’s…new. Finding her way.”
“And you’re helping her?”
He grimaced. “I watch out for her, that’s all.”
“And my nephew’s not in debt up to his thousand-dollar shades.”
“Anyway, I’ve got it under control. The customer flow, I mean.”
“You always do,” Duke said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m glad I could help you out with a job.” He always acted as if he’d done Jackson a favor by hiring him, when it was the other way around. Jackson didn’t care. He missed working on cars some and the money here was minor, but life was good at Moons. He’d taken a couple blows lately, losing his parents and the station, so he had the right to coast a while. A year or two. Maybe longer.
“Nice music,” Duke said. “What’s the band?”
“A practice track from some guys I know.” He could imagine Heather singing the lyrics, almost hear how perfectly they would blend. He really should put the three of them together. Autumn and the two dancers on the smaller stages were really getting into the piece. “Check it out,” he said into the mic in his DJ voice. “When you groove like that, Autumn, you make grown men weep. Am I right, guys?”
Applause rose and wild whistles.
Autumn winked up at him. The girls loved it when he acted turned on for the crowd.
He noticed a cluster of young guys jostling each other near one of Heidi’s tables. They were showing off and could be trouble. “Do me a favor, Duke, and tone down the frat boys at the main stage.”
“You bet, boss man. You’re in charge.” Duke set off. He had given Jackson free rein with the place. Partly, that was laziness. Duke had a tendency to go for the short payoff, but he knew he had it good with Jackson in charge and that made his negatives okay by Jackson.
With Duke gone, Jackson was free to watch Heidi, who held a tray of drinks, waiting a discreet distance away for a lap dance to end.
When the dancer finished, she paused to talk to Heidi, leaning in, speaking intently, asking her advice, no doubt. In only three nights, Heidi had not only develop
ed decent skills, blisters and all, but also made friends. He was proud of her.
She set drinks in front of the three men at the table where the lap dance had taken place and they looked right through her, as if she were furniture or a maid. The idiots had no idea the incredible female form that lay beneath those baggy duds. They didn’t know she was hotter and more sensual than the nearly nude woman one of them had paid twenty bucks to wave her breasts in his face.
Only Jackson knew. He’d handled that round swell of tight behind, heard that husky voice cry out as if nothing this wonderful had ever happened to her before. As if she’d just discovered sex and he, Jackson McCall, was the master of it.
At the thought, he went warm all over. His blood slowed and thickened, and he wanted more. He couldn’t wait to go home with her.
Bad idea, he thought, but the urge burrowed into him, like some charming little rodent that could gnaw his struts clean through. He had to keep this under control.
It was tough. Heidi had been so different. He did his damnedest to make sure a woman crossed the finish line, but the women he’d been with, including Kelli, took sex for granted. There was no wonder in it for them. The night Gigi had hit on him, he’d sworn she was just bored. CSI had been a rerun.
He hadn’t been bored with Heidi. He’d been wide awake and fully alive. And humbly grateful. For his fingers, his tongue, his cock. And for every inch of her. Her husky voice shouting out her pleasure in the echo chamber of the shower.
God, that had been good. It had been hours ago and he could still feel the weight of her bottom in his hands, her tight body wrapped around him, hear her cries in his head, the water rushing over them, like a tropical waterfall. He could still feel the relief of getting in. He’d felt…new.
She’d looked a little stunned when he wrapped her up in the towel and put her to bed so that her blood pressure could bounce back. Maybe he should have said something final—put a period to the thing—but no point in overkill. She’d joked with him about using all that water, right? Completely relaxed.
He’d been reassured when, after he’d mopped up, he found her in the kitchen fixing food, calm as could be. She made a giant spinach salad and triple-decker sandwiches as complicated as a good deli’s. After that, she baked peanut butter brownies and a ton of other stuff, not saying a word about what had happened.
