by Inez Kelley
“I know. Assholes like that just piss me off. I should’ve read the damn thing before printing it. If I’d had more sleep, I would’ve used my head and done it. I’m sorry, Charlie, but I felt it needed to be dealt with.”
“He’s right.” Swallowing her pride, she shared another of her private fears. “He’s not the first to feel that way and he won’t be the last. I’m not ashamed of who I am. I danced for four years, Bastian. There are hundreds of men who have seen me nearly naked and I’m okay with that. It was a job that paid very, very well when I needed tuition money.”
The dam had been breached and there was no escaping the rush of words as they spilled from her lips. She laid out the truth in all its harsh lines and angles.
“I’ll never be June Cleaver. I don’t want to be. Sexualized banter is my trademark and I’m good at it, but it gives people a reason to shun me, think less of me, devalue me as a human being. There are doors in society that will never open for someone who brings the bedroom to the airwaves in frank and honest words without apology. It’s okay for Howard Stern but not a woman. Women will always be judged more harshly than men for the same behavior. Do you really want to tie yourself to me knowing all that?”
Bastian drew a deep gulp of oxygen and forced it out with a loud sigh. He turned his chair, arms still crossed, and glared at her.
“I don’t give a flying rat’s ass what narrow-minded people think about me or you or our choices. I am tied to you, Charlie, and that’s exactly where I want to be. My butt has been in this chair since Let’s Talk about Sex first went on the air, and I don’t regret one minute of it. Sure, it’s fun but we do help people. How many have called back and thanked us for answering stuff they can’t ask to their doctor’s face? How many people have emailed saying we helped them talk to their partners, saved their relationships? I refuse to feel dirty because we help people.
“As for your dancing, who cares? You danced on a stage to pay for your education. It’s not like you were selling yourself on a street corner. I’ve seen thousands of people in this area buck naked and in much more embarrassing positions than talking about orgasms and condoms. If someone wants to judge me, let them. If they want to shun me, let them. I’m not ashamed of anything we’ve said, done or may do and I will never be ashamed of who you are. If I wanted June Cleaver, I’d have looked for her. I want you, just the way you are.”
Clapping came across the intercom as Justine applauded his words. Hot liquid filled Charlie’s eyes, sealing her throat and preventing words. The harsh lines of his face softened as he wheeled to her and pulled her close. Bastian gave the best hugs. She let loose a single sob and buried her face in his shoulder.
He kissed her. He didn’t care that Justine was watching, he just gave her his love. He gave it as he’d said, unashamed and not caring who thought what. The kiss lasted until Justine spoke a five count, ticking down the last seconds of the break. Charlie wiped her face and turned to the console, Bastian’s fingers wrapped tight around her own.
The Honeypot took control.
“Welcome back, lovers. Are you ready? It’s time.” One light finger press and the mixed and mingled songs of 2 Live Crew and the Dixie Cups filled the room. The back-and-forth opposing lyrics faded as she drew a cleansing breath. “Tally sheet. Who’s ahead in the Race for Wed or Bed? Last show the score was tied at two each. What’s the verdict, Doc?”
“Still no ring on your hand, Honey.”
“And no prying that zipper down. So ante up, how many points have I scored since Wednesday’s show?”
“Six.”
“Six? Okay, I know three came from tonight’s show. Where are you getting the other three?”
“Ah, the note you put in my dinner. That was cruel and definitely worth a point. Those words alone kept the cornbread hot.”
“Liked that, did you, Doc?”
“You could say that. Plus, there was a dream those words inspired tonight when I took a nap. Absolutely worth two points.”
“A dream? About me?”
“Oh, yeah.” His lusty sigh banished the heavy aftermath of turmoil.
Her giggle felt good after the emotional upheaval and she gave it free rein. “And just think, Doc, I wasn’t even trying.”
His groan spiked the vocal gauge into the red zone. “Okay, Honey, your turn. I admit I’ve been a little busy, so my point value—”
“Nine.”
He whipped his face toward hers. “Nine? How did I score nine points?”
“You underestimate yourself, Doc. Two points for trusting me to pick out costumes for the Summer Kickoff even though you’re scared to death I’m going to put you in another skirt or tights. Trust is a big thing. It’s worth two points.”
“I do trust you. Plus, I plan on carrying scrubs in the car just in case.” He winked.
“And another two points for actually eating my cooking. That takes bravery.”
“And antacid. I’m kidding. The chicken wasn’t half-bad and I did appreciate you bringing me dinner.”
Charlie tongued her lip and closed her eyes. Honey took a backseat for a minute. He deserved her public gratitude.
“And five points for not having to think twice about supporting me on that email rebuttal. Your anger on my behalf and your words meant more to me than any diamond ever will. No man has ever treated me with as much respect as you did and always do. Thank you, Doc.”
His hand pulled from hers to stroke the crown of her head, a gentle caress of immeasurable tenderness. He could have crowed but he didn’t. He let his fingers glide down her cheek and gave her a smile. “Does this mean I win, Honey?”
“No,” she tossed back saucily. “It just means you’re slightly ahead between the tally sheets. Score of eight to eleven for Doc. But we have a long weekend coming up and you’re not the only one with a few surprises planned. Better padlock that zipper.”
“Long weekend?” He frowned before understanding dawned on him. The indulgent smile lifting his lips widened as he leaned to the mike. “Oh, that’s right. Since the federal government has yet to officially recognize Honey’s birthday as a national holiday, she insists on taking it off every year and makes me do the same. So no live show on Monday.”
“That’s right, lovers. Instead, we’ve compiled a bunch of our most memorable moments on Let’s Talk about Sex. Sit back and reminisce with our recorded selves. Personally, I’ll be out doing my birthday thing on Doc’s credit card.”
“I guess this means I’m supposed to take you out?”
“You better. And there better be presents. I know one particular package I’d like to see.”
“Not until you say the magic words.”
“And what would those be? ‘Open Sesame’ whispered toward your zipper?”
“Cute. More along thing lines of ‘I thee wed.’ Remind me again, how old will you be?”
“All you need to know is I’m legal…and lethal in the dress I bought. You can concede the contest right now because you haven’t a prayer of making it through the weekend unmolested. You’ll be dialing 911 before I’m through with you.”
“Here’s a number for you, Honey. 1-800-marry-me.”
Keying up the closing music, Charlie began the familiar ritual of signing off. “In your dreams, medicine man. Speaking of, it’s time to send Doc off to dreamland with visions of Honeypot dancing in his head. Farewell, our listeners. Remember talk is foreplay, use it and use it well. Love and kisses from Honey…”
“Be safe from Doc.”
“’Til we met again on the crest of the night, take care, lovers. Goodbye.”
Chapter Ten
He slept like Eros, the god of love, all golden flesh and sexual magic. Standing in the hallway peering into Bastian’s bedroom, Charlie watched in awe as the soft morning light played over his slumbering features. She tucked the house key into the side pocket of her purse and kicked off her sandals. A click rang out when the door latch caught, and her gaze jerked over her shoulder. The brush of her
clothes falling to the floor echoed loudly in her ears but he didn’t stir, and a smile inched out. Dr. Hot was about to get his buns scorched.
With a firm grip on the peach-flavored lube, she tiptoed to the left side of the bed and slid beneath his sheet. The whisper of linen didn’t infiltrate his sleep, not even when her skin met his. Bastian slept half on his side, half on his back, but it was enough to bring his face close to hers on the pillow. The downy kiss she trailed across his lips was met with a sigh but not one of wakefulness. Her tongue followed her lips’ path and he shifted but never woke.
She pulled back and stared. Damn, and Bastian said she slept like the dead. With light but firm fingers, she trailed a line up his arm, across his collarbone and down his chest. A guttural noise mixed with an exhale but he didn’t move. She traced her name across his heart. A twinge halted her. Her in his heart. Bastian didn’t know how deeply in her heart he was, how much she needed him, how badly losing him would hurt.
The thought was too frightening to examine so she shoved it behind the wanton slut in her nature and let her fingers explore. Hard planes and lines defined his upper torso and she glided her touch across each one. She might tease him about his time spent in the boxing ring but the benefits were definitely worth it. Beneath her fingertips, his heart beat with a slow steady rhythm and she paused, just letting the power flood through her. A burnished copper dusting of hair tapered downward toward his navel, and she followed it with light caresses. His stomach tightened and she stopped. No, he was still asleep. But something was waking up.
A feminine grin erupted as the pale blue sheet rose, tenting beside his hip. Bastian shifted, murmuring in a low sleepy tone words she couldn’t make out. Her brow tightened. The hell with this teasing shit. She planted her lips on his and sank her hands into his hair. Bastian woke up…kind of.
A moan warmed her tongue seconds before his slipped into her mouth. One firm hand reached out and brought her close, molding her frame to his. A growing hardness poked into her thigh and Charlie nearly purred. Bastian normally didn’t sleep naked but apparently last night he had, and she was going to take full advantage of that. Still trapped in some erotic dream that better be featuring her, he assaulted her mouth with far more hunger than a simple wake-up kiss. What was he dreaming about? The whisper of her name curved her lips against his.
That was more like it.
His hand skimmed down her back, curled around her hip. Even asleep, his kisses bombarded her mind with sensual and provoking sensations. He nipped and licked with a passion that called to hers, drawing a storm from a rain shower. Warm, sleep-loosened muscles hardened, rolling her deeper into the pillow, his tongue sliding down her neck, his hard cock against her belly. Her arms wound around his shoulders, and she arched to give him access to her throat.
Maybe she whimpered, she wasn’t sure, but something jerked him to full wakefulness and his head reared back.
Bastian blinked rapidly, slivers of the dream sliding away. A double whammy of lust and surprise tore through him. He’d been having a dream, the type of dream a man hated to wake up from, only to discover it wasn’t completely a dream. She was here, naked beneath him, bare breasts visible in the morning glow.
“Charlie! What are you doing here?”
Her greeting was a side serving of tongue grazing along his collarbone, and a shudder worked from his lower spine to his shoulders. He couldn’t take this. Not this morning. Not so close on the edges of what had promised to be a hell of a wet dream.
“Giving you a wake-up call.”
She took his gaping mouth and his tongue automatically dove inside the warmth. Her fingers left his shoulders and smoothed down his ribs heading south. A groan rose from his belly. She was going to kill him, and rigor mortis wouldn’t be the only thing making him stiff. He tried to move away, to lift his body from hers, but her legs curled around his thighs. A brush of damp feminine flesh along his shaft froze him into place. So close.
“Charlie, don’t do this to me.”
She nipped his neck. “You said you had a craving for honeyed peaches, remember?”
The sweet fruit fragrance burst into the room with a plastic click. His eyes snapped open, focusing on the clear bottle in her hand, and an internal lion roared. She brought lube? Peach-flavored lube? The scent married with dream images and his cock jerked in readiness.
A slick palm circled around him and an agonized moan ripped from his throat.
Heaven had to be peach-infused, or maybe it was hell. No, it was hell because her hand’s slow, sliding motion was pure torture. His hips thrust against her hold without permission. Too good, too tempting. If he didn’t get out of bed right this minute he’d lose it and drive so hard inside her she’d taste peaches for a week.
One knee came up to force himself to a stand but she tightened her fingers, and his teeth clamped shut. Oh God. His body listened to nature, not his brain. Her thighs fell open, begging for his touch. He did try, firming his stomach and peeling her grip from him. But it backfired and his hand brushed her core. So hot. So soft. He had to touch her again. Just once more.
The creamy heat beckoned him, welcomed the invasion, and he slipped one finger along a silken fold. She moaned around his tongue, her hips bowing upward. She wanted more. God help him, so did he. His finger sank inside her.
A growl rippled his gut. So tight. She was so tight. So wet the lube was an oxymoron. His thumb flicked up, over her clit, and she whimpered into his mouth. A rich womanly scent blended with artificial fruit essence, drilling through his olfactory nerves. He’d never kissed any woman with as much hunger as he did Charlie, and she gave back every ounce of her own appetite. Her hand on his shaft never slowed. The wet sucking noise mimicked the real thing and he fought a snarl.
Fighting Charlie was hard, fighting himself was harder and he wavered, longing to give in, to possess her as he’d wanted for so damn long. She was more than willing, more than ready, and he was hard enough to pound nails. He wanted to pound her instead.
A clench squeezed his finger and her hips rocked up. Mere inches separated them from joining, all he had to do was lower himself and slide inside that heated grasp. Her breathless whisper of his name almost undid him.
So close…so easy…so tempting…
He surged from her embrace, tore her hands from his quaking body and rolled away. He sucked in air in huge gulps. Too fucking close. He had to get out of here. The mattress clung too fiercely to the sheet so he thrust it off and grabbed his discarded boxers, holding them to his fully aroused erection. The ice pack he’d carried to bed lay on the floor and he kicked it in irritation.
“Damn it, Bastian!” Anger sharpened her tone. “You can’t tell me you don’t want to fuck me right now.”
Chest heaving with his struggle, he dared a look back to her. “No, I can’t. But I want more than right now. I want forever.”
Her jaw went rigid and her lips twisted into a sarcastic squiggle. “You know, I’d say screw the damn bet but I doubt you’d even screw that, would you?”
Crude. She got crude when she was hurting. He hurt her by pulling away, he knew that. But he had no choice. She was worth so much more than a quick fuck, couldn’t she see that? “Is this really still about a fucking bet to you?”
She pitched the clear bottle at him and he reflexively caught it.
“Don’t even try denying you’re going to jack off in the shower. Use that and know you could have the real thing instead.”
Her screech was muffled as he shut the bathroom door. The flip of the lock made her scream louder.
“Arg! I hate you right now, Sebastian William Talbot. I hate you with a passion. I hope you get chapped palms and a hangnail scrape. And you damn well better be thinking about me or I’ll make your life a living sexual hell!”
Like she isn’t already. Bastian jerked the shower to hot and stepped under the stinging spray, ducking his head to let the water sluice over his face. Goddamn, she’d better say yes soon. She had to or
he’d be fitted for a new white coat, one with sleeves in the back.
Now his balls ached from denial as well as trauma. He grabbed the peach lube with a growl. Doctor Bushani’s orders, after all, and he might as well let his imagination wander. It didn’t have far to wander, just the other side of the door.
Steam swirled around him and hot water pounded his scalp. He stayed there, letting the tensions bleed away on rivers of water. Charlie had no idea what she did to him. He’d been dreaming of her splayed beneath his mouth, her rich peach essence thick on his tongue. And she’d brought fucking peach lube into his bed! Oh, she was evil. The hard-on that hadn’t diminished at all jerked in need, and his hand dropped to it.
A palmful of slick orange gel heated to his body temperature and he closed his grip around his aching shaft. A groan threatened to erupt and he tamped it down. Bad enough she knew what he was doing, but he’d be damned if she listened to him moaning her name.
God, she was tight. Tighter than he expected, although that thought shamed him. Of course, she often announced after a station break how many Kegels she’d done during commercials. He’d never really believed her until now. His hand slid up and down, imagining sliding inside her slick walls. He’d never last inside her.
A heady scent filled the tiled room, lacing the steam with a summery fragrance that bordered on erotic. Peaches. Where in the hell had she come up with that little fact? Granted, she was right but he’d never thought about it until she mentioned it. Now he couldn’t get the fruit out of his mind. Silently, he vowed he would taste every crevice of her peach before finally taking her.
The dream returned in blazing color. Charlie, moist and warm, thighs parting before him…his lips skimming her flushed skin…whimpers sounding above him…pale pink layers quivering beneath his tongue…juicy…peach succulence flowing against his lips while his tongue sought and found the tiny nub…so sweet…her hips thrusting to his mouth…capturing that bud and sucking, flicking his tongue over the pulse…ripe, so ripe for plucking…his name panting, her thighs trembling…fingers tightening in his hair…
