A Night of Southern Comfort

by Covington, Robin

  “What’s this? Pity?” His voice was guarded as he jerked back slightly from her caress.

  Michaela smiled. He was looking for a way out, but she wasn’t giving it to him—he knew exactly what this was. Her body hummed, her arousal oozed like lava out of every pore of her skin. The bulge of his hard cock pressed into her hips as she shifted to ride his muscled thigh, so hungry for him. This man made her breathless, bold, and wet.

  She needed a taste. His breathing hitched as she licked the tense muscles corded on his throat. Deliciously salty and male, his scent was warm and earthy.

  She took another nip before purring into his ear. “Does this feel like pity?”

  Jackson bucked his hips and groaned, one hand circling her hip to hold her in place, while he threaded the other through her hair. Michaela squirmed, craving the friction that would bring release from this torment. His warm breath feathered against her cheek for a moment before he tightened his fingers in her hair and roughly tugged her head back.

  His breath erupted in harsh pants as he struggled to control himself and her. He was losing the battle on both fronts. Michaela wiggled against his hard groin, the pleasure as sharp and sweet as the tightening of his fingers in her hair.

  “Kayla.” Jackson gritted his teeth. “I can’t give you any more than this.”

  She trailed her hand down to palm his erection, feeling him up with a rough caress. “This is what I want. One night.”

  “One night?”

  “One night at a time,” she said. “One night at a time until it’s done. No promises.”

  Jackson closed his eyes as he considered her offer. From the way his hips pushed up into her hand, his body was already on board.

  Suddenly, she was on her back with every inch of his hard, muscled body covering hers with a delicious pressure. Jackson’s full, sensual lips were curled in a smile of pure, wicked lust.

  She’d seen that look before.

  She loved that look.

  She felt the nip of his teeth at her collarbone then his lips soothing the bite. She shivered in anticipation. At his first onslaught, Michaela moaned, nipples tightening almost to the point of pain while her core clenched with desire.

  “I hope you really want what you asked for, because you’re gonna get it.” He palmed her cheek in his large, rough hand and leaned down to within a hair’s breadth of her open mouth. He ran his tongue lightly over her bottom lip. “I won’t stop until you beg me to.”

  “I told you.” She huffed out a laugh as his mouth brushed against hers. “I never beg.”

  “Baby, we’ll see about that.”

  …

  This was the dumbest thing he’d ever done.

  Then why did it feel so damn good?

  He was letting his dick make decisions for him. Nothing good could come of giving into this desire, this need to possess the woman now spread out underneath him. Jack craved recapturing their first night together—he hadn’t felt that alive in a long time. Something about Kayla made every smell, sound, and taste that much sharper, richer, more powerful. He sounded like a junkie.

  It wasn’t that far off the mark.

  They were breaking some sort of speed record on the how fast they were getting naked. Both their shirts were off and they struggled to remove their pants while at the same time kissing and touching every inch of available skin. She was hot beneath his hands and smelled like vanilla and spice. Jack reached under her body, palming the luscious globes of her ass before hooking the waistband of her pajama bottoms with his thumbs to push them off her body. He was desperate to feel her hot, willing, and open to his caress.

  Kayla squirmed against him, thwarting his attempt to complete his task. Distracted by the temptation writhing under his palms, he trailed a finger down the cleft of her ass until it met with the silky wetness pooling between her legs. Kayla shifted to spread farther apart, inviting his caress, and he plunged two fingers inside her, pumping them in a steady rhythm. Dipping his head, he sucked a sweet nipple into his mouth, rolling it against his teeth until it was stiff. His fingers were slick with her arousal.

  He’d never been with a woman who wrung every bit of pleasure from sex the way she did and it turned him on, inside and out.

  Resuming her own quest, Kayla unfastened the button on his jeans and lowered the zipper. Her slender fingers released his cock, hot and heavy into her palm. At the first pass of her hand over his shaft, he let go of her breast and pushed his hips roughly into her grip. She was the one he couldn’t resist and didn’t want to.

  And she made him talk.

  Made him spill all his dirty, lustful thoughts onto her damp skin in a flurry of nonsense.

  “Touch me, Kayla. I’ve been dying for it.”

  “You like that?” she asked, breathlessly.

  “Fuck, yes. Kayla. Make me come.” He groaned against her hair.

  Reaching down to cover her hand with his, they slowly jacked him with long sensual strokes, slick with his own pre-come. Jack focused on the sensation of her hand on his penis and the tightening of her thighs on his fingers, still lazily stroking her clit. Touching him turned her on and that made him crazy. It was like a never-ending circle of pleasure.

  Jack cried out when Kayla’s mouth covered his flat nipple. Her blond head bent over his chest as her teeth worked the tender skin. Pleasure coursed through his body, settled in his dick, and made him ache. That had never been a hot button for him before, but with Kayla, all bets were off.

  Feeling the buzz of his impending climax deep in his belly, he pulled her up, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss. Lips sucked, tongues stroked, and teeth bit in a clash of passion, tension, and something more he would not name. She moaned into his mouth, pushing him to the point of desperation. He needed to get inside her body and appease his hunger.

  Releasing her mouth, he stood and shoved his jeans and underwear off into a heap on the floor. Kayla wriggled out of her pants, then reached into the side table, retrieving a condom. He took it from her hand as he pushed her back onto the bed. Quickly sheathing himself, he covered her writhing body with his own and settled between her thighs, his erection lightly rubbing against her slick opening.

  “I need to feel you,” she groaned.

  She didn’t need to ask twice.

  Pushing into her tight body, the world slowed to a crawl. Just being inside her was heaven, the calm in the eye of the storm of their passion. She wanted him and he craved her. It blew what was left of his mind.

  Balanced on his forearms, he had the perfect vantage to watch her face as he began the slow glide to ecstasy. A play of emotions—lust, surrender, pleasure—transformed her face into something almost too beautiful to behold. Cheeks flushed, eyes the color of midnight, and mouth red and swollen from their kisses testified to her desire, her need for him. For them.

  “You’re beautiful. So hot. Wet. For me.” Jackson pressed soft kisses along her skin, rocking deeper into her body, increasing their pace as her moans increased. “Yeah, baby. Make some noise. Let me hear how much you want it.”

  “More.” Kayla arched her neck, exposing the slim column of skin to his kiss as she panted, “I missed you. Make me forget how much I missed you.”

  He groaned, his mouth gently sucking on her skin. Possessiveness overcame him as he staked a claim he knew he had no right to make.

  She grasped his face and drew him into a deep kiss, sucking on his tongue in an imitation of the same languid rhythm he used to stroke into her body. Her legs lifted higher on his hips, an unspoken invitation to plumb her deeper and faster. Their kisses increased in intensity. Too much want had stretched between them to make this moment last for long.

  Jackson grasped her hands, lifting them overhead, fingers interlacing as they worked together in the rhythmic pursuit of pleasure. They broke the kiss but remained close, harsh breaths panting into open mouths, eyes locked in passion.

  “Say my name,” he demanded.

  Her expression was confused as he su
rged into her, his body echoing his request. The last time he’d been with her, she’d called him by another man’s name as she came. It was unbearable to think of now.

  “Say it. Please.” He was desperate to hear his name on her lips. His hips drove into her with shallower, faster strokes. The walls of her sex clenched around him, signs that she was close to coming apart in his arms.

  “Jackson.” She bowed up, her fingers grasping his as her climax ripped through her.

  The combination of her body clutching his penis in that tight, hot grip and the sound of his name in her shout wrung the orgasm from him. Lights flashed behind his eyelids as every muscle tightened to a point just shy of pain.

  Spent, sweaty, and satisfied—the trifecta—he rolled over, pulling Kayla with him as he waited for blood to return to his brain. When she shivered in the cool air of the room, he tugged her closer and arranged the sheets over them, stroking the soft skin of her back, their legs tangling together as she rested her head on his chest.

  It felt good to be still, to lie with her in the semidarkness, the air redolent with the scent of their lovemaking. Jack waited for the recrimination, the disgust at his weakness to descend, but the only thing settling on his heart was the rightness of being with this woman. For whatever time they had, he’d live in the moment and banish regret.

  One night at a time. No promises.

  “So…” His voice was husky. When she looked up, he continued. “Are you a dog or cat person?”

  Confusion clouded her features temporarily but then a grin lit up her face. “Dog. A big sloppy dog who sheds on everything.”

  “Me too. Not the sloppy part, just the dog.”

  She continued to grin at him. “What’s your favorite color?”

  He answered without thinking. “Blue.” Jackson stared into eyes that were the color of the ocean when she was happy, as dark as midnight when she was aroused, and the color of rain when she was unhappy. “My favorite color is blue.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Elvis has left the building.”

  Startled, Michaela looked up from the patient file she was reviewing at her desk.

  “What did you say?”

  Jackson stretched, twisting his back to loosen the tension. “I said I’m done for the day. What about you?”

  Jackson was sprawled on the couch in her office, stalker suspect files and the remnants of their take-out supper spread on the coffee table. His tousled hair looked sexy as hell, the result of his habit of running his fingers through it when concentrating. She thought it was adorable but she’d never tell him.

  He’d woken her with soft kisses and a warm tongue between her thighs, then a slow, languorous bout of sex. Far better than any alarm clock. Through a full day of back-to-back patients, the feel of her thighs, breasts, neck—tender and slightly abraded by his beard—had kept a smile on her face.

  They hadn’t touched all day. Once they’d arrived at the office, Jackson slipped into work mode as he got down to the business of protecting her. No one had asked, but she knew from the curious glances that people wondered why he was always at her side or just outside the door of whatever examination room she was in at the moment.

  And, of course, word had gotten out about her injury at the hospital, making her the number one topic. Add to that the knowledge that Jackson had stayed at her place, and the good people of Elliott were putting two and two together and coming up with an affair.

  Theresa had joked with her about it—asking about the caliber of Jackson’s firearm—and ran interference with the curious. Apparently people had no trouble asking her what was going on and like the good friend she was, she’d given them some story about Jackson upgrading her security system. To her face, they’d all pretended to buy it. Thank God for Southern manners.

  “Kayla.” His smooth voice brought her back to the present. He beckoned her with the crook of his long finger. Just like the Pied Piper, he knew she’d follow. “Come over here.”

  She rose, his eyebrow-waggling leer causing her to laugh until he pulled her down onto his lap and covered her mouth with his. A tender press of lips with a hint of tongue spread sweet warmth throughout her body.

  “Hi,” he whispered.

  “Hi.” In spite of her fatigue, his proximity exhilarated and excited her. Good thing he hadn’t touched her today—she’d had a hard enough time keeping her mind on her work with him just close by.

  He nuzzled her cheek, warm breath tickling her ear. “You were great today. Your patients love you.”

  “Hmmm. They love it when they don’t get shots.” She arched into his caress, savoring the feel of his teeth nibbling her skin. “If I’m so popular, then I guess none of them are trying to kill me.”

  Jackson sighed, releasing his hold to scrub a hand over his face. She missed his warmth. Why’d she bring up the big, dangerous elephant in the room? It was so much better pretending Jackson wasn’t here because her life was falling apart. She moved to leave his lap but he held her in position.

  “Hey.” He cupped her jaw and he turned her face to look at him. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Lucky and I pored over your files and it isn’t someone connected to your practice.”

  She sighed with relief.

  “But that leaves us with two possibilities you won’t like.”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “This is either someone from your past…”

  “You mean a former lover.”

  “Yes. A former lover.” She suppressed a secret thrill when his face twisted into a look of distaste before he continued. “Or it’s connected to your father.”

  “So, you finally agree that it’s him?” Her voice was sharp.

  “Or someone trying to get back at your father. But this last attack was too personal, too direct.” Jackson shrugged. “My gut says it’s your father.”

  “I’m so pissed. We had a deal. He said he’d leave me alone if—” She jumped to her feet to put distance between them.

  “If what?” Jackson stood, his frustration evident in the hard lines of the muscles underneath his black T-shirt. “If you disappear and play the good girl for the rest of your life? What kind of life is that?”

  “I stood up to him. I made him accept my choices.” Anger welled up from her belly and spread in a wave across her chest, making it hard to breathe.

  “You didn’t make him accept anything, sweetheart. He’s still pulling the strings.” He waved a hand around her office, his face dark with emotion. “This is the life you allow yourself to have because you think it will appease him. You’re no different than your brother—you’re just hiding in plain sight.”

  Michaela jerked back. His words were bitter, sarcastic, and blunt and she hated every single syllable. All of the anger, frustration, helplessness of the last few weeks—no, years—erupted inside of her. She rounded on him, striking him with her fists, repeatedly. She didn’t aim—that would have required focus and calm—she just struck blindly, making contact where she could.

  Jackson let her get a few good hits in then blocked her, dodging effortlessly, which only made her more furious. She advanced on him, but he pulled her close to his body.

  “Kayla, baby. Calm down. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “I don’t want to calm down.” She looked up into his face, her heart banging against her ribs with every breath. “Let me go. You’re an asshole.”

  He huffed out a laugh as she squirmed in his arms. “Glad you finally figured that out.”

  His amusement made her struggle harder. When he held her tighter, she became aware of the entire length of his body touching her, controlling her, arousing her. She wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck and drink in the scent of his woodsy cologne and the underlying musk that was all Jackson.

  She also wanted to bite him, claw at him, and tell him to let her go and take all of this shit with him. Her nipples peaked underneath her silk blouse and she couldn’t stop herself from rubbing against his ches
t, her belly tightening with desire.

  His appearance darkened as his tongue unconsciously sneaked out to wet his lips.

  Michaela lunged forward, kissing him with a ferocity fueled in equal parts by anger and lust. Without finesse, her tongue pushed into his mouth, curling around his own, forcing a response. He opened to her, welcoming her with a grunt and a thrust of his groin against her belly. She felt him, hard and long, and the desire to have him inside of her made her lightheaded.

  Jackson loosened his hold and cradled her face, gentling the kiss to a mere whisper of lips. His voice was a croon, sweet nonsense pouring out of his mouth in an attempt to calm her down.

  No. No. No.

  She didn’t want to be pacified. She was tired of being handled with kid gloves. She’d always been told to tamp down her anger, put on a serene face for everyone else’s benefit, and deny her own feelings.

  Not tonight. Not with the anger eating away at her, making her bend little by little until it broke her.

  Knocking away his hands, Michaela grasped Jackson’s neck, pulling him in for a hard, wet kiss that ended in a bite to his lower lip.

  “Ow!” He stepped back and touched his tender flesh.

  Michaela hiked her skirt up, reached under and removed her panties. They hung for a moment on her long, slender fingers before she tossed them to the floor.

  Jackson sucked in a breath, confusion clouding his face for the briefest moment. Dark fire replaced it.

  “So that’s how you want it?” His voice was raw, uneven.

  “Yes.” Michaela stepped forward and rubbed her hand against the bulge in his jeans before undoing the belt, the button, and the zipper. “Is that a problem?”

  “No ma’am.”

  She bent to slip off her heels but his hand on her arm stopped her.

  Jackson shook his head. “Keep the shoes on.”

  She started to protest but he silenced her with a kiss, his tongue forcefully exploring her mouth, his hands cupping her breasts, teasing her nipples. She was on fire, turned on by the anger or Jackson, or both. Not caring, but wanting—needing—to satisfy something deep inside her that had an appetite of its own.