The Only Thing

by Marie Harte

  “Something a lover would know?”

  She’d been hoping to avoid that one. “Let me get back to you on that.”

  “Uh-huh.” He stood, cleared the table, and instead of returning to the kitchen, walked into the living area.

  She panicked. “Where are you going?”

  “To the couch to get comfortable. Want to join me?”

  Chapter 6

  Could he be any more of an idiot for leaving the safety of the kitchen table that had separated them? Did he need to sit on the couch and show her how hard he was—just from being near her?

  Watching the blasted woman make love to her food instead of eating it had driven him insane. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t kept licking her lips after each bite, then giving him subtle, hungry glances, as if wondering what it would be like to eat him.

  He stifled a groan, his body heavy, aroused, frustrated.

  It wasn’t like him to go without for too long. J.T. had a healthy sex drive, one he kept sated with a lot of safe sex. Yet meeting Hope had put a kink—and not the good kind—in his plans for months. He knew better than to pursue her. His sister had spoken the truth about the fragile McCauley ecosystem. Imagine if he and Hope hit it, and it was amazing. Then she’d want to be with him all the time, looking for boyfriend material, because God as his witness, nothing about Hope Donnigan screamed one-night stand.

  Nah. She was a commitment type down to her sexy blue toenails.

  She’d cry when he broke it off, beg him to stay, and family events would grow awkward when the Donnigans were invited. If his dad married Sophie, then all family events would be tough.

  No way in hell he’d make life weird for Del or Liam. Nope. No way.

  Hope swallowed, her attention on his crotch before she yanked her gaze back to his face. Well, hell. How was he supposed to be good when her nipples beaded against her T-shirt? She had beautiful, full breasts that would fit perfectly into his palms.

  His pulse raced, and his cock swelled, hampered by now-tight jeans.

  Hope, however, seemed determined to ignore her arousal.

  If she could, so could he. He laced his fingers behind his head and focused on her face. “Well? You going to tell me all about Hope Donnigan? More than that surface stuff you mentioned?”

  She grabbed a notepad and pen and tossed them to him, getting no closer than the plush chair next to the couch. Smart girl. “You might want to write this down.”

  “Good idea.” He carefully—painfully—crossed his ankle over his knee and propped the legal pad over it, effectively hiding his erection.

  He could almost hear her sigh of relief and wanted to growl with frustration. Must be nice to be aroused and be able to move around without hurting yourself. “It’s still hard, Hope.”

  She gaped. “What?”

  “Writing this way.” He gave her an innocent expression. “It’s still hard to do, even with the pad propped on my knee.”

  “Oh, right. Well, just do your best.”

  “I can rearrange it, I guess. It’s more comfortable if I shift it left, actually, so it’s not squeezing between my legs.” Oh yeah, her big, brown eyes grew nice and wide. “It’s not easy to sit like this, especially with you leaning forward like that.” He deliberately stared at her nipples. “You hard too?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, her cheeks pink. “Excuse me?”

  “Hard of hearing? I asked if you were going to tell me all about yourself, Blondie. Now you’re supposed to answer. Try this. ‘Why, yes, J.T. I will tell you all about myself. I love pink, shopping, and big cock—”

  “J.T. Webster!”

  “—tails like the ones in that picture near the TV.” He nodded to a photo of her and one of her friends sipping from a monster margarita. He ignored her red face, having too much fun. “And I like my men like I like my coffee. Dark and sweet.” He batted his lashes. “Did I get it right?”

  Her eyes narrowed. He clutched the pen in his hand, digging the tip of it into the legal pad hard enough to push through the paper. Hope in a snit was the hottest thing. Her eyes darkened and her lips parted, as if ready to lean close and plant a punishing kiss on his lips. Or other places.

  He bit back a growl. “Well, sweetheart? I’m waiting. The sooner I get this info, the sooner we can schedule dinner with Momzilla, and I can get back to my regularly scheduled dating life.” He might have said that with a little too much hostility, because, well, his dick felt ready to fall off, he was so hard. All he could think about was bending her over that freakin’ chair and pounding into her until she screamed his name.

  “Oh, sure, J.T. No problem. Let’s chat.” She sounded breathy and had a mean look in her eyes. The damn woman stood up and walked to the couch.

  And sat right the fuck next to him, so close their thighs touched and their breath mingled when she drew closer. He dropped the pen, and the notepad wobbled between his legs. She reached for it, and he jerked back instinctively, shocked at how badly he wanted her hands on him.

  But Hope only grabbed the pad, stared into his eyes, and smiled.

  Warnings flashed at the mischief on her face.

  Despite being ready for her, he froze when she reached down again, searching for the pen that had unfortunately fallen onto the couch and rolled right under his crotch.

  “Hope,” he choked. “Ah, I—”

  She dug her hand deeper and grazed his fucking balls as she retrieved the pen. But she didn’t blush, and she didn’t smile. “So, something a lover would know? How about the fact I can tie a knot in a cherry stem with my tongue in under thirty seconds?”

  Chapter 7

  Okay, not smart, and not nice, but J.T. was asking for it. Still hard, my ass. He knew exactly what he’d implied and took great pleasure in teasing her, only to then get bitchy. He wanted to go out and relieve his arousal? Join the club, buddy.

  As if she were at fault for his problems.

  She’d done her best to stop staring at the man. God, knowing he was aroused and growly turned her way on. She liked her men a little mean, probably why she kept picking assholes, but whatever. Now she had this asshole to deal with.

  She’d never been so forward before, but he deserved it. And it wasn’t as if she’d grabbed him by the balls. She’d simply reached underneath him for the pen.

  She sat back, clicked the pen a few times, then wrote down a few facts, ignoring the way he gritted his teeth and glared at her.

  “I like white or milk chocolate but can’t stand dark. It’s too bitter. I’m a cat person. Dogs are okay, but I’m not a fan of the slobber.” She gave him a look. “I like them drool-free—like my men. I prefer a man who can control himself.” She gave his crotch a dismissive glance, seeing his scowl out of the corner of her eye. Doing her best not to laugh, she continued. “I appreciate kindness and manners. Pink is not my favorite color. Red is. I also like purple. I prefer skirts over dresses. I don’t like high heels, but I love pumps. And sadly, I’ve given up foreign films.”

  She stopped writing and handed him back the pad. “Any questions?”

  With him sitting so close, it would have been impossible to miss the large man suddenly looming over her like a dark cloud. A dark, sexy cloud.

  “You want to play, little girl?” He moved closer, at an angle as he sat facing her, and she leaned back into the couch while pretending to remain unaffected.

  “Ooh, I’m so scared.” Well, maybe a little. He was big and tough and making it difficult to remember why she shouldn’t jump his bones. “Hey, you started it. ‘Still hard.’” She snorted. “Right.”

  “Let me tell you about me.” He moved so fast she had no time to adjust. One minute she’d been sitting up, the next he had her back flat on the couch. He tossed a back cushion to make room for his big body and now straddled her middle. Though he sat up on his knees, she still felt
some of his weight over her.

  Not good, because when she tilted her head up, she came face-to-face with Mr. Still Hard.

  “J.T., get off.”

  “Pay attention. Here, I’ll take notes for you.” He started writing while talking, leaving Hope nowhere to look but up at the ceiling or at the mouthwatering package displayed inches from her face when she lifted her head. “I like a sweet, submissive woman. She should be able to cook, think I’m great, and give amazing head.” He lowered the pad to look at her. “That isn’t a euphemism. I mean I like a good blow job.”

  “Didn’t you say amazing head?” she asked, growling at him.

  “Good point.” He lifted the pad and crossed through what he’d written, then added to it, continuing to talk as he wrote. “She should like sex. A lot. And she should be hot for it a few times a day, to keep up with me.”

  “Gee, this is great information I can share with my mother when she asks. Because I’m sure she’ll want to know how many times we do it in a given day.”

  He peered over the pad and nodded. “Feel free. I’m happy to share.”

  “Keep going. I’m all ears.” And nerves, apparently. Their sexy banter had gone a little too far, but she was loath to be the one to cry uncle.

  “Oh? You want to hear what gets me off? Or would you rather see me lose it?”

  “You’re going to give me a show? Really?” She paused when she saw him unsnap his jeans. Oh my God he’s going to whip it out! Danger, danger! “You’re just reinforcing what I said before about guys having no control.”

  He tossed the notepad and glared down at her. But at least he left the snap of his jeans alone. “Yeah? Well, I’m not the one who reached between your legs, Ms. Grabby.”

  “Feel free. I’ve got nothing to hide. I can control myself.”

  “Is that right?” With impressive speed, he blanketed her fully, leaning up on his elbows so as not to smash her. His feet had to drape over the end of the couch, he was so tall. His height didn’t dampen their connection, though. They pressed together, hip to hip, and she felt that large, solid essence of him all too firmly against her belly. “Well, let’s just see how much control you think you have.”

  “Go for it, Webster.” What am I doing? She couldn’t stop herself from daring him to…what? Touch her? Feel how wet he made her just by existing?

  Before she could call a halt to it all, he unbuttoned her jeans with slow, measured movements. J.T. stared into her eyes, and it was the sexist thing ever. His breath heavy, his eyes dark, his lips firm. He used one hand to angle the zipper down, then moved to the waistband of her panties. “Soft,” he whispered.

  She tilted her chin. “And red. And lacy.”

  He looked down and stopped moving, his big hand poised to delve beneath the fabric. “What am I doing?”

  “Good question.”

  He didn’t pull away, as she’d thought he might. Instead the blasted man left her to kneel on the floor and yanked her to a sitting position on the couch while shoving the coffee table out of the way.

  He’d effectively positioned himself kneeling between her legs. “I couldn’t see from on top of you. This is much better.” He gave her a wicked grin and tugged her jeans down to her thighs.

  “Hey, you can’t—”

  “Can and did. Just tell me to stop, and I will. I mean, since you have something to hide, apparently.” The naughty hunger in his gaze drove her to insanity. Reason and rational thought went right out the window when he pulled her jeans completely off.

  “Do your worst.” She gave a fake yawn. “Wake me up when you’re done.”

  He gave a low laugh, and she tensed, shocked to feel his breath over her abdomen where he’d pulled up her shirt. He planted a kiss on her belly button, and she shuddered.

  “I like your taste in panties, Hope.” He pulled back, his eyes dark with desire.

  She squirmed, embarrassed and annoyed to feel herself slick, arousal causing the need gathered between her thighs.

  J.T. didn’t give her room to move, his large hands on her thighs, controlling her movement. He widened her legs but didn’t pull her thong down. She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or grateful and decided on irritated when he stroked her hips, skin to skin, unencumbered by her tiny panties.

  She waited what felt like forever and stared at him. But his gaze remained on her red thong. He didn’t remove it. Instead he pulled it to the side, exposing her sex.

  “Oh fuck. You’re wet.”

  “I, ah, well—”

  He slid a thick finger between her folds, and she nearly shot off the couch. J.T. had big hands, mother of—

  “Easy, baby. Let’s see just how slick you are. How sweet,” he murmured, and before she knew it, his mouth replaced his finger.

  J.T.’s mouth felt like fire, an inferno that continued to build as he stroked her with his tongue.

  “Oh, oh, J.T.” She arched into his mouth, aware he now held one of her breasts while the other hand kept her thong pulled aside. The playboy molded her breast, then played with her nipple, pinching and tugging. And all the while he lapped her up like he had nothing else in the world he’d rather do.

  She shot toward a climax before she could stop. “I’m coming, wait,” she tried, not wanting him to stop but needing him to. He let go of her breast, only to fit a thick finger inside her while he tongued her to orgasm.

  She cried out while he pumped his forefinger in and out of her, the ecstasy more than she could bear. The climax lasted way longer than it normally did and left her panting, incoherent, when he finished. He licked her again, and she shuddered, overcome.

  J.T. put her thong back in place and her jeans back on her, awkwardly tugging them up over her hips without fastening them. “Well, that answers one question,” he said, his voice like gravel.

  It took her a moment to fashion a response. “What’s that?”

  “You’re a natural blond.”

  * * *

  J.T. did his best to come back to earth. What the fuck had just happened? They’d been talking, then flirting, then heavily teasing. From pizza to a board game to oral sex so amazing he’d come in his jeans, grinding against the couch while he ate the sweetest pussy he’d ever had.

  No, no—oh fuck, yes. Again.

  The no’s should have been winning, but her scent and taste lingered, and he licked his lips, wanting more.

  She slumped against the couch, blinking at the ceiling, her expression one of repletion, a foggy pleasure he felt all too well.

  He stared at her panties—a fucking thong—pleased with the damp spot in front. God, but she’d been wet. Still was. He could imagine sliding inside her, his fat cock fitting so tight, locking in her body.

  He should have been too tired. But his dick jerked, and he wondered if trying again would be pushing it. Yeah. Probably.

  “You said something about an answer?” She slowly sat up, not caring that he knelt in front of her. She had yet to button up her jeans, and the knowledge she was so close, just a thin strip of silk between her and him… “To what?” she asked.

  “Huh?” He rubbed his hands over her toned thighs, squeezing and convincing himself he’d done enough damage for one night. He should go before he did something really stupid.

  “Never mind.” She stretched, let out a kittenish moan, then sagged back against the couch, thoroughly pleasured.

  He felt more than a measure of pride to have exhausted her. “Guess I should probably go.”

  “Um, yeah. Might be best.”

  He stood, by sheer will not grimacing at the sticky mess in his pants. Then he walked to the door and paused before leaving. “So we both know who lost, right?”

  “Lost what?”

  “Control, sweetness.” He winked at her, pleased to see that woke her up. “Of the two of us, who came all over my tongue?” He
waved. “See you soon.”

  She stood and wobbled on her feet. Having finally realized her pants were open, she hurried to button up. Blushing so hard it looked like it hurt, she stalked over to him and poked him in the chest. “You still owe me a round of bowling.”

  “I do, hmm?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him but took a step back. “Yeah. And another chance to show you I’m just as controlled as you are. It’s not my fault it’s been a while. You were handy.”

  Hmm. Someone sounds defensive. “Handy, was I?” He had to smile.

  “Oh, go home. And come back tomorrow. We’re bowling, buddy. And the loser is not going to be happy about it. I can guarantee you that.”

  He crooked his finger at her, delighted when she stomped closer once more.

  “What?” she snapped.

  J.T. kissed her before he could think better of it. “You taste damn good. See you tomorrow. Same time?”

  She scowled. “Yep. Six. Don’t even think about being late. We have a score to settle.” Her face still bright red, she added, “We’re not having sex, and no more kissing.”

  There was kissing, and then there was kissing. “We didn’t have sex, Hope.” He’d come close, but he hadn’t affected the ecosystem.

  “You’re darned right we didn’t. And we won’t.” She mumbled what sounded like, “I’m making good choices now,” then turned to glare at him and in a louder voice stated, “I’m off men.”

  The thought of Hope with another woman flooded his mind with X-rated images, none of which she’d find titillating. “Right.” He cleared his throat and winced at the return of his arousal. That’s all he needed, to sport another erection around the woman he could barely keep his hands off. “See you tomorrow. And no sex.” To needle her, he added, “No matter how much you beg for it.”

  She slammed the door behind him, and if it wasn’t for feeling cold and funky in his pants, he’d have claimed victory. But he had to hand it to her. Even unknowingly, she’d brought him to his knees.