How to Win the Dating War

by Aimee Carson

  Cutter threw his arm along the back of the seat. “Well?”

  Her breaths came faster. “Well what?”

  “Aren’t you going to seduce me?”

  The question knocked her hard, and the jolt to her nervous system probably guaranteed she wouldn’t sleep for a month. Jessica gaped at his face. There was no tease in his expression. No subtle smirk that meant he was messing with her. His expression was serious as he waited...and comprehension arrived with a bang.

  Oh. My. God. He was going to make her do all the work.

  Asserting herself sexually within a comfortable, secure relationship was one thing, but in a casual encounter? The kind she’d never had before?

  The frank gaze proved too much, and she dropped her attention to her suede skirt, drawing circles in the velvety nap. For the first time in her life she’d made a plan she wasn’t sure she could carry out.

  His voice was low. “Changing your mind?”

  Her finger stalled on her skirt as she looked up. Arms crossed, Cutter was studying her. His musky scent, and the sight of all that masculine beauty, hard and unyielding, stretched her desire tight. And he looked as if he’d wait all night before he’d make the first move.

  Her eyes dropped to the gorgeous biceps that fired her imagination with their perfection—powerful without being too bulky. His green eyes glittered with restrained desire, and the cropped brown hair looked as if he’d recently swiped a frustrated hand through it.

  All the raw, edgy energy pulsing beneath his surface was evident in his face, driving the heat from her belly to her inner thighs. Time slowed, filled with the sound of their breathing and the smell of his musky soap. Cutter’s gaze shifted to her mouth....

  And the embers in her gut flared to beads-of-sweat-producing levels.

  He’d kissed his first girlfriend in this backseat. Had they made love here as well? But the real question was—did Jessica have the guts to push him to make love to her?

  Thighs trembling, the mental imagery consumed her and drove Jessica to ignore her doubts. She reached out to lay a palm on his chest, splaying her fingers over hard muscles. Absorbing his heat.

  The ever-present glimmer in his eyes intensified. “Sunshine.” The words rumbled beneath her hand. “Just be sure this isn’t about your frustration that you can’t find whatever the hell it is you’re looking for.”

  “It’s not.”

  He hesitated a moment. “And I don’t want you turning to me out of sadness either.”

  She sensed a crack in his resolve. Hope—and the firm chest—made her bolder, and she sent him a faint, teasing smile. “What emotion am I allowed?”

  Her thumping heart marked out the passage of time until a trace of return humor touched his face—shortening the leash on her fears and lengthening her need.

  His gruff voice skittered up her spine. “Desire is always welcome.”

  The words tipped the scales heavily in favor of desire. Biting her lip, she considered her options. The delicious sight of denim-covered thighs and a visible erection simplified her decision. She wanted him close. Wiggling her hips, Jessica hiked up her skirt, threw her leg over his lap, and straddled him, her body softening at the feel of steely thighs. Amused by the surprise—and spark—in Cutter’s eyes, she said, “That’s good to know.”

  Cutter looked up at her with a laser-like gaze, arms still at his sides, forcing her to continue.

  Every cell taut with tension, she tried again, placing both hands on his chest. She smoothed her palms down his torso, relishing the ripples and longing to unzip his jeans. But right now her fingers were shaky from nerves. Perhaps teasing him would loosen his restraint. “This is your chance to prove to me that great sex is better than discussing common interests.”

  His eyes smoldered as her hands explored his flat abdomen, but his expression didn’t budge. “Didn’t I do that already?”

  Jessica’s limbs grew heavy with the memory, her body burning for his touch. “That was just an appetizer,” she said softly, her gaze holding his. Hoping she could will him into taking action. “I want the full meal.”

  His eyes grew dark, going from close-to-the-shore sea green to over-her-head jade, and, desperate for a response, Jessica placed her mouth on his.

  The kiss was vastly different from the one at the Aquarium. She’d initiated this one, and she continued to work on persuading the man to join in. A barely there pressure of soft lips against unconvinced firm ones, as if he still wanted more from her, but the feel, the taste and all his coiled energy drove her wild. And any lingering uncertainty began to drop by the wayside. After years of dedication to her well-laid-out plans, after all the worries that had plagued her since her divorce, right now she was sure of only one thing: There was no one she’d rather toss caution aside for than Cutter.

  Her breath mingled with his as she teased and tasted her way from one corner of his mouth to the other, coaxing him to participate. His thighs were hard between hers, his chest a solid wall beneath her worshipping hands. And his mouth began to shift slightly, tasting her back. But he didn’t touch her.

  Dissatisfied with his lack of involvement, outside of his almost reluctant mouth, she ran her tongue along his lip, and Cutter inhaled sharply. With a muttered curse, he finally grasped her arms. But instead of pulling her closer, the way she wanted, he pushed her back several inches, his expression going from restrained desire to serious—and she nearly groaned in frustration.

  “I still don’t fit your profile, Jessica.”

  She stared at him, her head swirling with need. She knew what he meant. He didn’t believe in happily ever after. He thought true love was a joke. He could make her laugh with a cynical comment, tease her—he’d even sleep with her...but he wouldn’t give her a commitment.

  Her heart thumped with desire even as her uneasiness grew. But Jessica was tired of holding her breath, waiting for the fascination she had for him to fade.

  Most of all, she was tired of wanting this man and not having him.

  “All I have to know is—” her finger traced the moisture left by her tongue on his lower lip “—how are you at undoing buttons?”

  Eyes on hers, he held her arms as his thumbs stroked her skin, sending electrifying messages. “Slower than I used to be.”

  Jessica raised her hands to the front of her blouse. “Then I’ll undo mine.” She started at the top, slipping buttons through the holes. When her bra-enhanced cleavage came into view, Cutter’s gaze dropped to her chest, and fire shot between her legs.

  “I’ll sleep with you.” His words throbbed with energy, sapping the moisture from her mouth. “But I won’t start boning up on my current events.”

  Encouraged, fingers still working on her shirt, she bared more skin. “How are you on foreign films?”

  His voice grew tight. “I could probably fake a conversation about fine wine.”

  She finished the last button. “Are you up for Picasso yet?” She slipped her blouse to the floor, her satin bra the only barrier left.

  This time his voice was husky, his eyes hungry, but the words were detached. “Picasso was the scandalous celebrity of his time. Way overrated.”

  Jessica had to smile at the man with the blunt words, killer good-looks and well-cut physique. Despite his casual remark, the dark, restless potential surrounded him like an aura, boldly pushing her out of her comfort area. He was a lethally potent mix. Afraid her false courage would fail, she quickly unhooked her bra and dropped it to the floorboard.

  “Jessica...” Complete capitulation looked close at hand as his gaze roved every inch of her bared breasts, scorching her skin.

  Heart soaring from his look, she basked in the first full drop of what she hoped was the beginnings of enough water to save a woman dying of thirst.

  And she was dying for him.

&nbs
p; Too eager to linger, Jessica slid his shirt up his chest. And though Cutter raised his arms to help, with his back pressed against the seat, removing the fabric was difficult. The tantalizingly limited view of lean abdomen and muscular chest taunted her. Growing impatient, she tugged harder, trying to work the cotton higher.

  Arms lifted, T-shirt caught around his shoulders, Cutter infuriated her with the amused light in his eyes. “You in a hurry?”

  Her hands paused. “Yes,” she said, unable to keep the irritation from her voice. The seduction wasn’t going as fast as she’d hoped. “And you could be a little more helpful.”

  Almost smiling, Cutter leaned forward, finally giving Jessica room to jerk the fabric over his head.

  “I should have planned for bigger quarters,” she said.

  “I figured you’d like the romantic tradition of a backseat.”

  She tossed his shirt aside, planting her hands on her hips. “Are you ever going to make love to me?”

  Without a word, he pulled her close, his mouth landing on hers with decisive force, giving her a heavenly taste of the hard lips she craved. Raw. Rough. And powerful. His hands kneaded her lower back, fueling her desire, and she melted against him, relieved he’d finally taken over.

  His chest hair tickled the sensitized tips of her breasts, and Jessica moaned against his mouth, relishing the feel of the firm muscles she’d battled his shirt for. The moment lingered. Pleasure took a firmer hold. And grew stronger when Cutter’s hands abandoned her back for her legs. As he pushed her skirt higher, his thumbs raked her inner thighs, searing her skin, creating an achy longing.

  While his hot, wet mouth consumed hers, his thumb reached her underwear-covered clitoris and stroked once, eliciting a jolt of lightning, and Jessica bolted upright, her hands shooting to the ceiling of the car.

  Cutter stared up at her, caressing her through the silk. Hands braced against the top of the ’Cuda, she closed her eyes as the agonizing pleasure wound her tighter, her undies growing damp.

  His thumb taunted. Teased. Until she was so slick she feared she’d spontaneously combust before they actually had sex. “Cutter,” Jessica groaned, lifting her lids to look at him. “I can’t wait anymore.”

  His gazed burned into hers. “Then do something about it.” Her stomach swerved lower and her breath caught. His voice rough, he continued. “This is your show.”

  Her show. Her choice. Her decision. And he was forcing her to confirm it over and over again. So much for Cutter making it easy. But his thumb continued to slay her bit by bit, and she was shaking with the need to be filled by this man.

  Willing herself to focus despite the haze of pleasure, Jessica reached into her purse on the seat, pulling out one of the condoms she’d purchased on the way here. Her hands shook with barely contained impatience. And desire. Horribly conscious of her trembling fingers, she ripped the package open and the condom fell to Cutter’s lap. Jessica stared mutely at the latex lying next to his denim-covered bulge.

  A blatant visual of the reality of her decadent, self-indulgent decision.

  After a heart-pounding pause, Cutter muttered, “Sunshine, condoms won’t work that way.”

  Despite his measured response, she sensed his need, encouraging her to release his snap and the zipper, her knuckles grazing his hard erection. Cutter shuddered with a small groan, and the reaction was gratifying. Growing more confident, she stroked his shaft, marveling at the soft skin.

  The impossibly hard length.

  Her wet sex throbbing with urgency, Jessica sheathed him in latex and lifted her hips, aiming his erection between her legs. But as she pulled her panties to the side, Cutter made the final decision for her and arched up.

  Plunging deep.

  Jessica cried out in relief and dropped her head back, relishing the delicious stretch as, hands gripping her hips, he pulled back and filled her again. And again. Cutter’s hard thrusts and languid pace were a blend of sweet ecstasy and delicious torment. Overwhelmed, she closed her eyes and braced her hands on the ceiling again, nails digging into the fabric from the pleasure, praying he’d end the torture soon.

  * * *

  Jaw clenched, Cutter fought to control his breathing, clasping Jessica firmly as he moved beneath her. Their hips rocked with a single intent, straining in unison, the rhythm slow, yet powerful. Purposeful. His need was strong, and though the temptation to take her fast was just as urgent, Cutter held back.

  Used to be, patience wouldn’t have been an option. But he’d learned the value of it recently. And if one night was all he’d get, he wanted to savor every moment. Bask in every sensation. For the first time in his life, he didn’t want to come and go in a rush. And after twelve years of pushing himself to go faster, jockeying for every advantage, reveling in the thrill of barreling at high speeds towards the peak of the ultimate adrenaline rush—both on and off the track—the discovery of the pleasures in a more measured pace was a revelation.

  The sight of her lovely body and their undulating hips was too much, and he cupped her breasts, urging her closer for a kiss, slanting his mouth across hers. Her hair framed his face, a silky curtain that smelled of apples and a spice he couldn’t identify.

  Her softness, sweet fragrance and the satiny feel of her skin contrasted sharply with his hard edges. Despite the contrast they blended well. He was used to being alone, and never had he felt so in sync with another human being. Of all the sexual experiences Cutter had enjoyed, the encounters had never been more than a simple exchange of satisfaction between two people. With Jessica, it was infinitely more, and in some ways that made him uneasy as hell.

  Their breathing grew rough, ragged, and Jessica pulled her mouth from his, clutching his shoulders, her exotic eyes dark and desperate. Her whispers urged him on. But even this close to the climax, he was determined to wring every ounce of pleasure from the moment. Instead of increasing his pace, he shifted his hands to the small of her back, increasing the force and intensity of his thrusts. Arching higher. Deepening the contact. Slow, heavy, demanding strokes that pushed the edges of the pending orgasm until it built so high it towered with a frightening promise.

  Jessica’s nails bit into his shoulders. “Cutter—” Her voice choked on his name.

  And he knew. With her shattered look, and her tremble of need, he knew. She felt the massive potential too, and intense satisfaction surged inside him. With every buck of his hips he drove them higher, reminding her that—yes—she desired him as much as he desired her.

  With every hard thrust, he pushed the ecstasy further, making sure she’d never deny it.

  Until, both their bodies damp with sweat, Jessica sobbed his name just before she tensed, letting out a shout as she came. The energy pulsed from her muscles to his, toppling his waiting orgasm, pleasure wracking his body.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TWO days later the small reception room of Perfect Pairs was crowded, a dozen divorce-group attendees filling the leather couches. It was Jessica’s largest turnout since she’d started hosting the meetings five years ago, but her face strained to maintain a smile. When the hour was finally up, instead of lingering over the goodbyes, she retreated into her office, grateful it was done.

  Jessica slumped into the chair at her desk, kneading the tension in her temples—every muscle taut since she’d said an awkward goodbye and shot from Cutter’s car like the hounds of Hades were hot on her heels.

  She should have seen it coming. Until Cutter, all her sexual partners had been involved with her in a committed relationship, and stepping outside that safe domain had been harder than she’d imagined. So when the self-conscious morning after—or, in this case, the moment after—arrived, she’d panicked. Freaked, actually.

  And she kept remembering the stunned ‘what the hell’ look on Cutter’s face as she’d fumbled for her blouse before bolting from th
e car.

  Embarrassment hit again. “Oh, God,” she groaned, dropping her head to her hands.

  She was a confident adult, why had she acted like an awkward fool? Logic and reason were supposed to be her specialties, so why couldn’t she have maintained her cool?

  Stupid questions, because she knew the answer. Everything about making love to Cutter had come as a surprise. From his initial reluctance to his attitude to the way he’d refused to be hurried. He was a former race-car driver, for God’s sake.

  So where had been his need for speed? Why hadn’t he come and gone in a heated rush?

  Deep down, that was what she’d expected when she’d hunted him down. A hard, fast hit of satisfaction. Get in. Get out. And then get on with her life.

  Instead, he’d taken her with deliberate intent, the intensity overwhelming. Towards the last few deliciously agonizing moments, it was as if he’d sensed her sudden need to hurry it along, to end the torture of feeling so much. But he’d purposefully prolonged every little sliver of pleasure until she’d thought she’d die.

  And then she had...experiencing the most mind-shattering orgasm of her life.

  Memory moved through her, drowning her in desire, and Jessica closed her eyes. She’d never sobbed anyone’s name during sex before. Or shouted it out for that matter.

  But this time, she’d done both.

  “Jessica,” a familiar female voice called, and Jessica’s heart settled lower in her chest.

  Oh, lovely. Fate wasn’t done with her tonight. It had shown up to twist the knife and finish her off. Nice.

  With another forced smile, Jessica looked up at her office doorway. Susan—a regular support-group attendee after each of her four divorces—was a vivacious, fortysomething brunette who excelled at ending a marriage.

  “I came to return this.” Susan held out the book Twelve Steps to Better Intimacy. “Thanks for loaning it to me.”

  Jessica rose and rounded her desk, taking the self-help guide. “My pleasure.” She slid the hardcover back into her packed bookcase, hoping the woman would sense she was in the midst of a crisis and leave.