by Katy Connor
“You do? Where?”
“Everywhere, Isabella. Your cheek.” He trailed a finger over the side of my face. “Your neck.” His hand traced a tingly path from my one ear, down across my throat, and to my other ear.
Goose bumps broke out wherever he touched.
“Your mouth.” He dipped his finger between my lips, grazed the tip of my tongue, then drew that wet tip over my lips.
“Your breasts.”
I waited in agonized anticipation for him to lower his arm to my chest.
He didn’t, and I had to bite back a growl of disappointment.
“I haven’t tasted them yet. Haven’t licked your nipples, nipped at first one, then the other, before drawing it in deep and suckling. Hard.”
The whimper was out before I had a chance to check it.
The look of satisfaction on his face was enough to turn my bones to mush all over again.
He brought his lips to my ear. “Your pussy. Tasting you there was like stepping through a doorway to paradise. And I intend to head back through, over and over again.”
“You’re a tease, Dr. Scott.” My voice sounded like someone had sandpapered my throat.
His smile was smug. “I haven’t even touched on how much I’d like to put my mouth on your ass.”
He pronounced it as arse, and I swear, my arse cheeks trembled. Violently.
“And if you’d like to return the favor, at any point, I wouldn’t stop you.”
I placed a firm palm on his chest. “And that, right there, is how I know you’re bullshitting me. You already have stopped me. Right when I was discovering your…arse.”
He gritted his teeth, as though in pain. “It took…every scrap of self-control to pull away when your finger touched there. I…somehow doubt I’d find that same control if it was your mouth doing the exploring.”
I swallowed. “Y-you liked it?”
“I. Fucking. Loved. It.”
Jack had destroyed any space between us. He was crowded against me, his body pressed to mine, crushing my hand against his chest. And damn it, I was pressing into him, pushing to get closer—not that we could be any closer. Not dressed, anyway.
I loved the strength of his muscled abs beneath my palm.
“Hey, you two. Get a room,” someone called out.
Jack’s grin was wry as he stepped away from me. “Any free ones around here?” he called out gamely.
“Not for what you two obviously have in mind,” Rebecca materialized at my side, chastising us both.
It was her turn to be on the receiving end of my evil glare. “You’re the one who started this.”
She slammed her eyes shut, scrunching up her face in the process. “Doesn’t mean I have to watch you finish it. Leave. Go home. Finish this on your own time.”
“I’d like to.” Jack shrugged apologetically. “But it’s snowing. I’m hardly dressed for the great outdoors.”
“You don’t have to walk. We have these wonderful inventions here in America. We call them cars. You can drive home.”
“No can do,” I said mournfully. “I can’t go home with him. Not when his roomie’s a four-year-old kid.”
Rebecca looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “And what’s wrong with your place?”
Hot Scott eyed me speculatively. “Good question.”
My place, well, it was my place. Mine. Private. I only invited guests over when I cared about them, wanted them in my life. Bringing a hookup home was different.
“Well, that’s settled, then. You’re going back to Bella’s place. Now.” Bec dusted her hands together. “Thank God. If I have to watch you mentally undress each other for one more minute, I might barf at my own party.”
“Are you…kicking us out?” Huh. My best friend. Giving me my marching orders.
“Looks that way.”
“Fine, I’ll go.” I shoved my misgivings about bringing Jack back to my place aside. “But I’ve already told you. If I go, I take my cannoli with me.”
She slammed her hands on her hips. “You go empty-handed.”
“No,” Jack was quick to intervene. “We take the cannoli.”
Rebecca glared at him, outraged. “Guests don’t get to take the party food home.”
He raised his palms in a calming gesture. “They’re for Matty.”
“Matty?”
“My nephew.” Before my eyes, the sexy Dr. Scott transformed into a caring, adoring uncle, who wouldn’t want to disappoint his nephew. “He’d love the chocolate ones.”
“Hmmph. He’d love them all.” Yes, I could say that with confidence. And maybe a little arrogance. Kids loved my desserts as much as adults did.
Bec narrowed her eyes at Jack, as though determining his sincerity.
He smiled back, a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my mouth smile, presenting a picture of innocence.
I knew from experience how many of those cannoli he planned on sharing with his nephew.
Yeah. None.
“Fine. You can take a couple for the kid.” She looked over at the table and faked a huge sigh. “Oh, okay then. Take the whole tray.”
I stole a glance at the table and immediately understood her generosity.
Jack wasted no time. He was standing at the table before Bec had a chance to brag to me.
“I told you he was perfect for you.”
And Jack was back, carrying the almost-empty tray, barely a second after Bec had insisted that “You should always listen to your best friend.”
“Magnanimous offer.” Jack frowned first at the tray, and then at Rebecca.
“I’m known around the hospital for my kindness and willingness to share.”
It was Jack’s turn to snort. “I must not have been there long enough to learn about your reputation, then.” He wolfed down a cannoli.
Bec glared at him. “That was for Matty.”
“Matty’s fast asleep. I ate that on his behalf.”
“Charitable of you.”
“I’m known around the hospital for my altruistic and giving ways.”
“You’re a grade-A bullshitter, Dr. Scott.”
“And you throw a great party, Nurse Anderson.” He scarfed down another cannoli, leaving only one. “Thanks for inviting me.”
Rebecca pointed a warning finger at him. “You’re going home with my best friend. Make sure and play nice.”
“I don’t intend to play at all. I intend to get her home and fuck her against her wall.”
This time, mine wasn’t the only jaw that dropped.
Bec recovered before I did. “Good. That’ll save her having to clean up the wet spot from the sheets after.”
“Nope.” Jack shook his head. “It won’t.”
“Aaaand, that’s my cue to leave. I’ll just grab my bag on the way out.” I air-kissed Bec’s cheek, and, with as much dignity as I could muster, got the hell out of her house.
Chapter Five
I stopped next to my car, waiting for Jack to catch up to me. “Where did you park?”
“I didn’t. Don’t have a car yet.”
Bec was right. He pronounced car like cuhr. “So how did you get here?”
“Bummed a ride with one of the other residents.”
“Then how do you plan on getting to my place?”
Jack peered through my car window. “Looks like there might be a seat or two available in your ride.”
“There might have been space…had you not denied me my orgasm so callously earlier.”
“You’re refusing me?”
I nodded, smiled sweetly, and rounded the car to the driver’s side. “Just like you refused me. Revenge sure is a bitch.”
Jack rounded the car, too. I turned to watch him.
He crowded me with his body, and I stepped back, until he’d wedged me against the door of my car.
I tingled all over, immediately craving more.
“Problem with your form of revenge is that denying me means denying yourself.”
“How do you figure?
”
“If I don’t get in your car, I don’t come to your place. And if I don’t come to your place, you don’t get your orgasm.”
“A little too sure of yourself, maybe?” I showed him my hand, wiggling my pointer finger in front of his nose. “Think I can’t take care of the issue myself?”
Jack cursed under his breath. “Take me home, Isabella.” His voice was a deep baritone. “So I can fuck the hell out of you.”
Best idea of the night.
Ever tried driving when your entire body is on fire, your hands are shaking?
No?
It’s not easy.
I parked in the lot under De Lucas and climbed out of the car to lead Jack up the back stairwell to my apartment.
I lived on top of the restaurant. Since I spent so many late nights at work, walking upstairs to get home was an easy way to end an evening. The family owned the building, so it made sense one of us used the apartment. My parents were happy in my childhood home, and my elder brother, the current head chef at De Lucas, was married with a family too big to fit into a single-bedroom apartment.
Jack grabbed my hand as I rounded the trunk, and pressed me against the back door, the length of his body pushing into mine. “Show me.”
I blinked in confusion. “Show you what?”
“How you take care of the issue yourself.” His voice was a rough rasp.
Wait.
He wanted me to touch myself? Here? I glanced around, almost relieved to see we were the only people around.
“Yeah, Bella. Right here, where anyone can stumble across us.”
And wouldn’t you know it, heat swarmed through me again, buzzing my senses to life.
Jack eased backward, not far, just enough to give me some breathing room. Then for the third time that night, he found my button and zipper, and undid them. “Show me,” he demanded.
And because his accent did something funny to my belly, and his proximity made my rational thoughts completely irrational, I showed him.
I let him guide my hand to my open jeans and dip my fingers beneath the waistband of my panties. And I let him hear my sharply-drawn-in breath as I inched my fingers lower and made contact with my aching clit.
Jack’s gaze tracked my movements.
I stroked slowly, my hand trapped in the tight confines of my clothing. There wasn’t much more I could do, but rubbing was enough. The stimulation was magnified by the hot bursts of air coming from Jack’s mouth and the low hum of appreciation vibrating from his throat.
He dropped his forehead to mine. “Tell me…what…you’re doing. Describe it.”
I closed my eyes, let his body heat seep through me. “Touching my clit.” My voice was an unintentional seductive whisper. “Rubbing it. Not…much space to do any more.”
“How does it feel?”
“Mm. Good. Slippery.”
“Christ.” I could almost hear him clench his teeth together.
“Swollen,” I embellished. “You have me so hot, it’s like my body’s begging for another round.”
“Don’t come.” The order sounded like it was ground out. “Play. Enjoy. Turn yourself on. Turn…me on. Just don’t come.”
I twisted my face, so I could rub my cheek against his, get off on the abrasive scratch of his beard growth. Then I nipped at his chin. “What…if…can’t stop myself?”
“Try. For me.”
“You’re…watching. Too excited.”
“Don’t come, Isabella. Think how good it’ll feel when I finally slide inside you. When you finally get to let go, wrapped around my dick.”
“Will feel good…letting go now.” I began to pant, rubbed a little faster.
Then almost screamed in frustration when Jack slammed into me, effectively trapping my hand in my pants, between our bodies.
I started to swear at him, would have let rip with a steady stream of filthy cussing, when my brain caught up with Jack’s intentions. People were talking. A door shutting. Voices coming closer.
Jack kissed me. His hands cupped either side of my head, and his body molded to mine. His tongue gained entry to my mouth with the lightest prod, and his lips stole my reasoning.
I lost myself to the skill of his lips, oblivious to the group heading to their car. All I tasted and smelled and felt was Jack. No, that wasn’t all. There was the pressure of my finger trapped against my clit. I couldn’t move it, couldn’t massage where I needed to be massaged. It was maddening. Exasperating.
I rocked against him, grinding against my finger and his thigh. I was a wild woman, needing relief. Needing release.
The voices grew louder. The steps, too. People were walking our way. Walking…past us.
God. No wonder Jack had kissed me. Molded himself to me. This way, all they saw was two people playing tonsil hockey in the basement parking. They’d have no way of knowing the woman’s hand was down her own pants, and, mere seconds before, the man had been watching her masturbate.
I needed to climax so badly, I trembled in his arms. I scratched at Jack’s back with my free hand, pushed at his ass, pressing him closer to me.
Anything to increase the pressure. Hit the spot.
Jack just continued kissing me, his mouth an addictive drug.
I moaned my frustration, and he kissed me harder, longer. Hotter. Wetter. Kissed me until my need hit fever pitch and I heard nothing but my heart pounding in my ears.
And then he pulled away, drawing my hand out of my pants as he did.
I couldn’t hold back the sob that erupted from my throat.
How could he do that to me? Torture me so. Deny me.
I choked as I swore at him.
He simply laughed, grabbed the hand that had been in my pants, and steered me toward the stairwell.
As soon as the front door was open, I headed to the kitchen, leaving Jack to close it and turn on the lights.
I pulled open draws, placing bowls and pans on the countertop. Then I pulled down my flour container and opened the fridge.
“Mind if I ask what you’re doing?” Jack was lounging against the counter, his arms folded over his now jacketless chest, a mildly curious expression on his face.
“Baking.”
“Why?”
“I feel like cake.”
“At…eleven thirty on a Sunday night?”
I found two fresh oranges in the fridge. “Yeah.”
“Do you always bake at midnight?”
I took out milk, butter, and eggs. “Only when I have a craving I can’t satisfy.”
“What are you craving now?”
Relief.
Release.
Your body.
You.
“Something citrusy and nutty and creamy—with a dash of spice.” Cinnamon, nutmeg, and orange liqueur. Cointreau or Grand Marnier?
“You want nutty and creamy?”
“And citrusy.” Lemon, orange, lime. Anything that would satisfy my hunger for Jack.
“I have nutty and creamy for you, and you don’t need to bake a single thing.”
I turned to look at him, holding a bottle of Cointreau in my hand. “You… You…” I could hardly talk. Hardly express my need for him. That’s how wound up he had me. “It’s because you’ve been withholding all your nutty, creamy, citrusy goodness I have to bake this cake.”
“Isabella,” he said softly. His eyes gleamed. Not with mischief, though. With desire. “Forget about the cake. Whatever you need, I have it for you.”
“Whatever you have, you’ve been keeping to yourself,” I said grumpily.
“It’s warm in here. Take off your jacket.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then realized it was warm. Way too hot for down. I lost the jacket.
“Now the shirt.”
A tiny shiver whistled down my spine.
“You first. Take off your shirt, Jack.”
He removed his shirt.
How could I possibly stare grumpily at someone when drool dripped down my chin? All those hours
spent in the pool had turned Jack’s chest into a chiseled board of muscle. He had a clearly-defined six pack, shoulders broad enough to blot out the room behind him, and a whorl of dark blond chest hair, light enough that I could clearly see his pink nipples.
I swallowed.
“Your turn,” Jack prompted.
Too distracted to argue, I obeyed.
“Bra, too.”
My bra vanished. Perhaps it wasn’t quite so warm as I’d thought in my apartment. Cool air washed over my nipples, making them hard as stone.
“Now your boots,” he said huskily.
I unzipped first one and then the other. Jack lost his sneakers as I kicked off the boots.
“Jeans,” was his next command. His gaze was fixed on me, and suddenly I was nervous. Nail-bitingly nervous.
I removed my jeans as gracefully as I could, which with skinny jeans is never very graceful, as you have to peel them off your body. Then I stood blushing like crazy. He hadn’t seen me without clothes. In the basement, he’d stood behind me, both of us fully dressed. In the office, we’d left the lights off, and in the parking garage, I’d been fully dressed.
But in my kitchen, with the lights blazing, my large breasts, dimpled thighs, and rounded belly were all on show to him. I’m the woman who enjoys eating my desserts as much as I like making them. My body reflects that.
I gave my silent thanks he couldn’t see my ass.
“Jesus, Bella.” Something flared in his eyes. “You… You’re…”
My heart sank. He’d looked his fill and obviously found me lacking. He couldn’t even find a word to describe me. Fat. Average. Hideous. I squared my shoulders, preparing for the worst.
“Fucking gorgeous.” He destroyed the distance between us, taking me in his arms. His almost-beard rasped against my lips before his mouth found mine, and he proceeded to daze me with another of his drugging kisses.
His bare chest pressed against my breasts, the hair there deliciously rough against my tender nipples. I pressed closer, squashing my breasts flat against the wall of muscle. My hands grabbed greedy handfuls of his back. Or they would have, if there was any spare flesh to be found. But Jack’s back was as firm and hard as his front, and I had to settle for caressing every inch of it, before moving on to mold my hands to the shape of his shoulders and upper arms.
His biceps alone were big and hard enough to make me clench my thighs together.
