You Can't Hurry Love

by Lee Kilraine

  “Dude, you’re a happily married man.” Paxton glanced down at the man’s phone, recording away. “What’s with the movies?”

  “My wife’s taking a stripper pole dance class—you know, to spice up our bedroom activities—and she asked me to film a few for her to try.”

  Paxton did a double take back to Roger. “You’ve got a stripper pole in your bedroom?”

  Roger’s face turned red enough that Paxton could see it in the dim lighting.

  “Ahhh . . . okay. It sounds weird, but don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

  “Hey, you and Judy have lasted twenty years together; I’m not knocking anything.”

  Two hours and three cups of coffee into the evening, it was the classic rock song that first caught Paxton’s attention. He’d been zoning out, not really paying attention to the stage as it all seemed more of the same, plus his group was at the borderline between fun drunk and obnoxious asshole sloppy drunk. They’d been ordering drinks faster than he could remind the waitress to dilute them.

  The opening notes of the guitar riff caught his attention immediately. His gaze focused on the stage and he was struck by the long, long, endlessly long legs of the next dancer, silhouetted by the hot spotlights. She wasn’t dressed provocatively—at least not intentionally—but more like she was about to go on a run. Simply dressed in a black athletic bra and black running tights. No exposed cleavage. No G-string. No four-inch, spike-heeled shoes.

  But that understated look reeled Paxton in. The bra top ended just under her breasts, high up on her rib cage, which exposed her slim waist, toned abs, and what he imagined to be soft, silky-smooth skin. Her tights rode low on her hips and covered down to midcalf, highlighting her very sexy calves, slim ankles, and delicate bare feet.

  And then she moved and time suspended for Paxton, swear to God. He’d never seen something that sensual in his life. She didn’t simply move to the music like the other dancers—she became the music. Pax couldn’t tear his eyes away from her until a boo from the audience ripped his attention away. Right. Because most men came to see the dancers strip. And this one wasn’t.

  A second boo caught Paxton’s attention and he turned to quiet the guy, but another dancer was already on it with a poke to the man’s shoulder and a warning glower. Looking around, Paxton noticed that even if all the patrons didn’t appreciate this act, the other dancers had stopped in their tracks, whether serving drinks, food, or dancing on a ministage to watch. So it wasn’t just him. Good to know because it wouldn’t be a good career move to get obsessed with an exotic dancer.

  He turned back to watch her—totally fixated. A second spotlight flashed on, flooding her in white light. The dancer wore a black half-face mask and a jewel-tone wig. Long strands of aqua and purple hair flowed and rippled around with each of her exotic gyrations. She moved, her arms flowing and her legs extending in graceful lines. Her toned muscles contracted and rippled with each move, each bend, and each pose. Her body swayed and twisted around the silver pole. It was mesmerizing and sexy as all hell.

  The driving, sensuous beat of the music synced with her movements, reeling him in like a snake charmer. For the first time that evening, he was anxiously waiting for the woman to descend down the catwalk toward him. The more she danced, the more captivated he became. Her arms flowed sensuously. Her hips rocked and swayed to the driving beat of the music. Her legs—needed to be wrapped around his waist.

  Finally letting go of the pole, she leaped into a split jump, her lithe body seemingly floating and flying into rarified air. When she finally fell back to earth, she landed down at the end of the catwalk in a primal crouch before sliding slowly into a split only two feet from where he sat.

  Paxton’s gaze ate her up from the tilt of her head thrown back up to the ceiling to her long, lovely neck. She sparkled, as bits of glitter and a fine sheen of perspiration lit up her face, arms, and chest. He followed the long line of her legs from her firm, sleekly muscled thighs, down to calves he’d like to sink his teeth into, all the way down to her pointed toes—what the hell?

  He recognized that nail polish. Well, fuck. He wasn’t just in lust with a stripper. He was in lust with Jolene Joyner. A hot kiss was one thing, but wanting her legs wrapped tight around his waist while he surged deep inside her . . . no. Bad idea. Time for some fresh air.

  Chapter Fourteen

  What the fuck are you going to do about this, Pax, you idiot? Paxton stood outside with his back against a brick wall at the back of the club, trying to will his hard-on away. He hadn’t batted an eye, broken a sweat, or taken much of an interest all night—until Jo stepped onstage. But damn had he perked up before he’d even known it was her.

  Something about those long legs of hers. The way she moved, graceful and sensuous, like water. Her hips had shimmied, swayed, and swirled. Her body had bent and curved, her arms teasing the air with the grace of a butterfly. Elegant and erotic. Hypnotizing. Captivating. Breathtaking.

  He had dark and dirty thoughts of what he’d like to do with Jolene Joyner. Wanton, lewd, prurient, and licentious thoughts about Jojo. And if he kept thinking about her body, he wouldn’t be sitting down anytime soon.

  Leaning his head back up against the rough brick, he pushed all thoughts of Jo from his mind and ran through old bar exam mnemonics. Those hadn’t given him a hard-on in years.

  Federal Procedure. My parents frequently forgot to read children’s stories: minimum contracts, purposeful availment, foreseeability, fair play and substantial justice, relatedness, convenience, states interest.

  Oh, he was damn interested in Jo. Ignore that, Pax. That’s your dick talking.

  Secured transaction. A crispy apple pie provides perfect dessert: attachment, classify collateral, attachment, parties, perfection, priority, default.

  He would never know if his method was working because before he got to the third mnemonic, the metal door flew open and a woman came bursting out the back entrance, the door clanging shut behind her.

  Pacing only a few steps away, her long strides carried her back and forth, four steps in each direction, her body vibrating with suppressed energy. She wrapped her arms around herself as a clear, bright laugh escaped her lips. “That felt fantastic!”

  Damn, he and Jojo finally agreed on something. He knew it was her; he recognized her voice, but the electric charge in the air whenever the two of them were around each other lately was the real thing that had alerted him.

  Although it was dark out there, a few lampposts in the parking lot did a feeble job of lighting up the space. But it was enough light for Paxton to see her. She’d changed out of the skintight black tights and cropped top into a summer dress that swirled and floated around her legs with each step.

  His gaze locked onto her legs, her bare skin looking too touchable in the thin lamplight. Those legs were dangerous to his well-being. Because every carnal thought he’d been trying to suppress surged back into the dark, sultry heat of a summer night.

  “It pains me to agree with you, Jojo.” Literally. His hard-on was proof of that.

  Jo startled, whipping around to face him. “You scared me! And what the heck are you doing here?”

  “Bachelor party. Apparently this is the classiest club around.” Paxton crossed his arms over his chest and caught her gaze. “I think the more important question is . . . what in the hell are you doing here? Up on the stage no less.”

  “Not stripping, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I just wanted to dance again.” She still had her arms wrapped across her chest, only Paxton would bet she wasn’t paying attention to how that lifted her breasts up, presenting them like a damn gift.

  He was paying attention. His whole body was paying attention. It sure as hell wasn’t paying attention to him or he wouldn’t have stepped up close to Jo, where he could feel her heat. Close enough to smell her honeysuckle perfume and gaze into her eyes snapping with—oh, that wasn’t anger. But it was white hot. He knew because he was feeling the same burning in
his gut.

  “Hey, no need to be so defensive.” He took one of her hands in his and spun her around, backing her against the bricks, pressing his hard body up against her soft curves. “I liked it. You’re very talented.”

  She shivered against him.

  “I’m digging the wig.” He tugged on a strand of her purple and aqua hair. “New look?”

  “It’s not a wig.” She stared up into his eyes, her breath escaping in short, rapid pants as her hands stirred the flames between them, clutching at his waist.

  “Oh. Oh, well, it’s hot.” He meant it too. It was wild and exotic, and the mental picture of it draped across his chest finally broke the lock he had on his control. “Damn it, Jo, I need to kiss you, and if you don’t want that, you should leave now.”

  Her body tensed against his. Paxton placed his hands on the wall on either side of her, attempting to pull it together and push away from her so she could escape.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” Jo grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him in close, and breathed, “Kiss me already.”

  Hell yes he did. Pressing his body firmly against hers, he joined his lips to Jo’s and felt the heat as the sparks between them exploded. His lips hard on hers and it still wasn’t enough. Sliding his tongue in, he tasted and pleasured and stoked the flames higher.

  Jo moaned against him, her hips pressing into his in a timeless rhythm. All common sense evaporated; his reptilian brain took over while his rational brain pleaded the fifth. He wanted her. He needed to be inside her.

  Her soft hands on his face snapped some sense into him. “Damn it, I’m not taking you up against a wall in an alley.”

  “Why not? I mean, no, of course not.” She moved her lips along his jaw.

  “Not in public like this.”

  “Car—I have a car.” Her hands slid around his neck, pulling him closer. “Just over behind us.”

  Paxton clenched his jaw, trying to command his body to cease and desist because she deserved better than a quick fuck in a car. “No, Jo, we’re not doing this in a car.”

  She kissed him, running her hand along his chest and down—way down.

  “Right. Car.” He gritted his teeth, desperately hanging on to his last vestiges of restraint. “Your car. Now.”

  “Thank God.” Somehow they made it the twenty feet to the car without untangling their limbs.

  Jo pushed his back up against the SUV, and Paxton was mighty glad it wasn’t her Jetta. He watched her hurriedly press a code into the keypad, and instead of coming to his senses and stopping the madness, his brain urged faster.

  Jo pulled the back side passenger door open and practically dove inside. He hesitated, trying to figure out the best configuration to make this work—but it must have taken too long because Jo reached out, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and yanked him in on top of her.

  “Ouch.” His knee hit a seat-belt buckle. “Watch out. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You aren’t. But could you move faster?”

  Faster? In less than five minutes they’d gone from up against the wall to the backseat of a car. But then her hand settled over his crotch and he agreed they were moving slower than a closed-up sea turtle.

  “You want faster? Darlin’, you got it. Just let me shut the door first.” He pushed off her, twisted around so he could lean out and grab the door, slamming them into a private cocoon.

  And then, before Paxton had a chance to figure out how to best maneuver his six-foot, one-inch body around hers—she grabbed him again, pulling him back down under into the heat and madness.

  “Get back here.”

  “Trust me—I’m giving it my all—ow.” This time his knee smacked into the back of the driver’s seat as he tried to find a position that left his hands free.

  Jo’s eyes glittered up at him, her breath released in short gasps while she slid open each button on his shirt.

  He froze above her, watching her face as her hands glided and caressed all over his bared chest. His next breath stagnated in his lungs when her hands made it to his belt buckle.

  “Is this okay?” she asked.

  “Hell yes,” he said, but his voice sounded like it had been rolling in gravel. The muscles in his arms holding him above her tensed and quivered as her hands lowered the zipper on his pants.

  Their gazes firmly connected on each other’s. He watched her eyes go hot when she slipped her hand down and around his cock. Fuck yes. His hips rolled forward and a groan escaped his lips. Luckily, neither distracted Jo from her mission.

  She stroked him, slow and firm, and it felt damn good. Too damn good, so he jerked up and away from her, flipping them until he sat underneath with her legs falling on either side of his. Her breasts were right where he needed them. Front and center and easily accessible.

  Leaning forward, he kissed her, desperately hungry to taste her again as if he could never get enough. His lips played against hers, he dipped his tongue into the corner of her smile, then kissed a path down her neck and across the edge of her collarbone.

  Tugging on the top of the dress, Paxton slid it off her shoulders and down, exposing her pale breasts to the dim moonlight trickling in. She arched back against the front seat, exposing herself to him, and he wasn’t shy about accepting that invitation.

  He took her nipple in his mouth, using his tongue on it before sucking hot and deep. Jo’s hands grabbed his hair, tugging as she cried out. “Yes, oh yes.”

  Moving his mouth to her other breast, he used his hand to caress the other and then down along her rib cage and along her toned stomach. He slipped his hand under her dress, sliding, lifting, and maneuvering until he had her panties off and out of the way. He touched her, slow strokes into her wet heat, circling around the place he knew she needed. He drew out the tension, slowly fingering her clit with a steady stroke while sucking hard on her breast. It only took a few touches before she bucked wildly in his arms.

  “Now, now, now, Paxton. Now.” Jo fell against him, her breathing fast like recovering from a run. “Tell me you have a condom.”

  “Yes, but—”

  She leaned forward and bit his bottom lip, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. Pulling back, her eyes dark with need. “Paxton, astronauts have walked on the moon. Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel on a scaffold. We can do this.”

  “One fast fuck for mankind? I’m more than up for it and happy to accommodate.” He gripped her bare ass and lifted one hip, pulling out his wallet and slapping it into her hand. “Condom.”

  He watched her riffle through desperately while he struggled under her, sliding and shoving his pants down his hips when her head knocked into his nose. Ouch.

  “Sorry! I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” She patted his face carefully in the fuzzy darkness.

  “No.” He had something that hurt a lot more and he’d stay focused on dealing with that. As soon as he had his pants out of the way, Jo tore the condom open with her teeth. She took his shaft in her hand and he sucked air in through his lips. “Let’s go, Jojo.”

  Sliding the protection down his length, she squeezed once before lifting herself up with her thighs and letting him position himself at her entrance. He leaned forward and sucked her nipple hard into his mouth, one hand to her ass and the other sliced into her hair, and pulled.

  She lowered herself down onto his shaft in one smooth move, pushing the air from both their lungs, leaving them breathless and holding on tight.

  “Christ, you feel good, Jo.” He bit her shoulder before kissing his way up her neck, up her jaw, and over her cheekbones. “I just need a sec—”

  Jo lifted her hips up and slid back down. Hard and fast.

  “Okay, that works too.” Lifting his hips up, he wrapped his hands around her waist, and helped her move up, then let gravity and her own need handle the way down. Her warm heat surrounded him, building the tension, taking him higher.

  She turned wild, grabbing his shoulders and his arms, his
hair and around his neck. Her hands ran over his chest and her lips sprinkled warm kisses across his jaw, neck, and chest. “More. More, Paxton.”

  He surged his hips up, deep into her heat, moving fast like a well-oiled piston, and she met every thrust with her own. Damn, he was too close. He kissed his way up her neck as he slipped one hand down to lightly finger her again.

  Jo let out a long moan and shuddered in his arms. “Oh my.”

  “Don’t stop yet, Jojo,” he ground out and helped her move up and down once, twice . . . he grunted as the orgasm pulled him under and tossed him around. It grabbed him deep, vibrating and scraping though his limbs, leaving him raw. Her body relaxed against his and all he wanted to do was hold on to her tighter. He lifted her face, cupped it in both of his hands, and kissed her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Wow.” Jo collapsed against his chest, a light shudder racking her body. “I told you we could do it.”

  “The next time we do this, we’re going to do it right,” Paxton growled.

  She panted next to his ear. “If what we just did was wrong—I don’t ever want to do it right.”

  “Not wrong. Just frustrating. Like trying to make love in a hall closet.” He tried to stretch out his legs before they cramped. “Just a comparison. I’ve never actually done that.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Damn, I’m too old for this,” Paxton said. “There must be a cutoff age limit for this.”

  Jo smiled into his neck.

  “What?”

  She sat up, leaning back to look into his eyes. “It’s just—if we’re talking about too old—I think I may have squeaked in under the wire for this one.”

  His eyebrows raised. “Sex in a car? You’ve never . . . ?”

  “Not in a car, no. Or on a train or in the rain.”

  His teeth gleamed bright in the dark interior. “Right. You’ve always been the perfect princess. Stick with me, kid. I can help you with all those and more. Under the stars. On a beach. In a tent.”