One Taste

by Cari Quinn

  Kain turned and slammed his fist into the fridge.

  She winced. “Feel better?”

  “Fuck.” He shook his hand and flexed it carefully.

  She turned him around and pushed him onto a stool. She opened drawers near the fridge.

  “What are you looking for?”

  She found power bars, granola bars, and trail mix. In another, she found what had to be his junk drawer. “Baggie? Towel? Something for ice?”

  “There’s a gel pack in the freezer.”

  “Ah.” She opened the bottom drawer of the huge refrigerator and spotted the blue pack, pulled it out, and slapped it on his swelling hand.

  “Ow.”

  “Don’t be a baby.”

  He winced. “You’re something else.”

  “That’s what they tell me.” She turned back to the freezer and took out the pint of ice cream she’d seen.

  “Hey. Crappy Florence Nightingale routine I can forgive. Stealing my Cherry Garcia? That’s a no.”

  “Spoons?”

  He sighed. “Drawer behind you.”

  “Got it.” She hip-checked the drawer shut, then popped the lid on the pint and handed him a spoon. “I just said no to money. I deserve ice cream.”

  “You don’t have to say no.”

  “Yeah.” She dug in and carved out a dense spoonful of the pink confection of perfection. “I do.”

  He plunged his spoon into the hole she’d made. “What is it with you two?”

  She shrugged. “Did you take a handout to get where you are?”

  He met her gaze and squinted. “I see what you did there.”

  Kendall grinned around a mouthful of cherry goodness.

  “I just want to help.”

  “I know, and I’m sure Shane appreciates it when he’s not being grouchy. So he’s really not this bitchy all the time?”

  “Oh, no, he’s plenty bitchy.”

  Laughing, she sat back, then swallowed another bite. “Good to know.”

  “But he’s a good guy. Just too serious sometimes. And now if you guys move to New York, who’s going to be around to keep him in beer and pretzels? Who’s going to drag him out of his workshop and make him watch a ball game?”

  She twisted the spoon in her mouth and licked the bowl of the spoon clean. “You’re going to miss him.”

  He made a production of scraping the inside of the carton. “Yeah, I’m going to miss the grouch.”

  “And I gather from earlier that Shane doesn’t want you to be a backer for a shop of his own?”

  “Yep.”

  So he was going to be her problem. And somehow she had to convince Shane that selling the Heron wasn’t an option. Oh, and figure out what to do with the overwhelming attraction between them at the same time.

  No big deal.

  “All we have is each other right now,” she said quietly.

  “That’s true. Are you sure you want to add sex into the mix? Never mind. By the look on your face, I just answered my own question.”

  What? Was she wearing an “I had sex” T-shirt or something? “Look, I appreciate that Shane’s got someone like you in his corner, but in the end we’ve only got each other to figure this out.”

  “Tomorrow is soon enough for that. It’s nearly ten, and you’re on East Coast time.”

  One a.m. was well past her bedtime. “I’m sorry we ended up crashing here.”

  “That’s fine. You can crash in my sister’s room.”

  She nodded. Maybe with some sleep she could actually make an intelligent decision in the morning. “Let me help you clean up.”

  He shook his head. “Go on up. I have a few more hours of work to do, and I can do that down here.”

  She sighed and climbed the stairs. The house was silent. The carpeting muffled her footfalls as she reached the landing. The first room’s door was cracked open, but the lights were off. The dull scrape of glass over wood made her pause. She could hear the low crash of surf from an open window.

  She pushed the door a little wider. “Shane?”

  Her eyes adjusted to the dim light. An ivory panel fluttered around the sliding door. There was just enough moonlight to show the half-empty bottle and heavy tumbler with a shot’s worth of amber liquor inside sitting on the desk. She moved into the room, then closed the door behind her.

  “Sure you want to do that, babe?”

  The husky tone of his voice didn’t sound slurred, but the insolent babe brought that firefly back to life in her chest. She followed his voice out the door and gripped the doorjamb, stepping back into the room. The balcony was glass and steel like the rest of the house. The ocean roared beneath them as the tide battered the rocks spitting spray into the night. Moonlight shimmered across the breakers—wild and beautiful like the man who leaned against the railing. Dress pants hung low along his tapered waist, and his dress shirt was long gone.

  “Shane, why don’t you come inside?”

  “Why don’t you come out here?”

  Everything inside her wanted to move closer, to touch the smooth expanse of his back and feel those muscles bunch and glide under her fingertips again.

  He looked over his shoulder, his eyes glittering in the dark. “You want another fuck, Miss New York?” His voice rumbled, barely rising over the crashing waves.

  Her nails bit into her palm. “You’re an asshole.”

  His wide hands flexed around the steel railing. The muscles of his shoulders rippled under the strain. “I’ve been an asshole since you met me. Didn’t stop you from climbing on me before.”

  No, it hadn’t. Hell, it had ramped up the lust. Not that she’d tell him that. She took a deep breath and stepped out onto the glass platform. She swallowed against the quick shock of vertigo. Cool air whipped her hair around her face. “Are you just going to sulk in the dark?”

  He shrugged and looked back out at the water. “Not bothering anyone. But I don’t think you came in here to check on me for that, now, did you?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  He turned and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned his hip against the glass. “You closed the door.”

  How the hell could he know that? “What? Do you have the ears of a bat?”

  He didn’t answer her, just pushed off the rail toward her. “Worried about me?”

  She straightened her shoulders. “If you pitch yourself off the balcony, then the Heron is mine free and clear.”

  His teeth flashed. “Is that right?” She took a step back as he closed the distance. He caught her wrist. “Running?”

  She wasn’t sure if it was the roar of the sea or her heart rate in her ears as he wrapped his long fingers around her pulse point. “I don’t need to run.”

  “You don’t want to run. There’s a difference.” He drew her wrist behind her back until she went up on her toes and her breasts grazed his chest. The dark thrill zinged through her, tightening her nipples to aching points. The sharp tang of whiskey burned her nose. He brushed his lips along her jaw and nipped at her ear. “I’m tired of being numb. When I’m inside you, I can feel again.”

  She shivered. She understood the numbness now. When she was busy, she didn’t think about her empty bed. She was too glad to see it at the end of the day to want to do anything more than sleep. One touch from Shane and sleeping was the last thing on her mind. She should be exhausted, but her body was so keyed up she could only think about getting him over her or under her.

  He brought his mouth to hers, hovering just out of her reach. “Is this what you want?”

  She nodded. The heat of his breath against her lips stalled her ability to speak.

  He jerked her hoodie over her shoulders and down her arms, but instead of dropping it to the floor, he trapped her hands and brought the zipper up to lock her arms behind her. His touch was gone. She had room to move—to a point. “I watched your face this afternoon when I held your arms behind you. You liked it.”

  She gasped. She wasn’t sure if she like
d it. She wanted to touch, wanted to feel the warmth of his skin under her hands. But with her shoulders pinned back, her breasts were on display. The cool night air streaked through the thin tank she wore. He nosed down a strap, leaving only the stretchy lace of her bra as a shield. His breath was hot and moist, but he didn’t touch her. Didn’t taste her.

  “Is this what you want?”

  She nodded again and groaned when he pulled away.

  “I need to hear you say it, Kendall.”

  She closed her eyes. “Yes. Yes, I want this.”

  “Like this?” He circled her nipple through the lace. Needing to see what he was doing, she opened her eyes. His eyes glittered in the diffused light as he used the second knuckle of his finger to go first clockwise, then counterclockwise around her tight nipple. “Will you let me touch you? Will you let me make you come?”

  She pressed closer. “Yes.”

  He stepped back, and she hissed. Goose bumps raced over her skin without his warmth. He drew down both the straps of her tank and bra until they became another binding. He cupped her breasts. “So small and perfect.” He lowered his head, then used the flat of his tongue to swipe under one nipple before fastening his lips around it and flicking with his tongue. Her ribs expanded as she sucked in a deep breath. With his thumb and forefinger he tugged at the other, drawing the tip away from her breast before releasing it. Again and again the pressure increased with each pull. She jerked at her bonds. There was just enough tension to hold, but she could still slip free. Instead she linked her fingers and fell into the swamping pleasure.

  The suction from his mouth made her skin tingle. Her head spun. He released her with a pop, letting the air hit her wet nipple. He switched to her other breast. The fingers that had been ruthlessly plucking her nipple gripped her hip instead. He drew so hard that her nipple throbbed like a heartbeat. He flicked his thumb under the first one he’d paid attention to, and she cried out.

  He straightened and cradled both breasts, grazing her nipples with the pads of his thumbs as he trailed the tip of his tongue up to her collarbone, tracing the dip there, then along the column of her throat. All the while, his endless metronome of a touch brought her nipples to such sensitive peaks she could barely breathe. He nipped her chin and finally caught her mouth. He opened her wide, stroking his tongue along hers.

  His kiss was a soft meeting of mouths, back and forth until she had to shift her thighs apart just to stay upright. How could a touch be so caring and so ruthless? She could taste the whiskey and the heat of him as she ticked up another level of want. Her thighs quivered, and then the gentle swipes turned to sharp pulls on each nipple. She heard her keening cry but didn’t care. All she could do was chase the pleasure.

  The static Shane was gone. One hand slipped under her pants and into her panties. His groan against her throat echoed her own. “Fuck. So wet.” He knuckled into her slick folds and circled the tight bead of her clit.

  She shuddered, and her head fell back. His chest was a wall of heat against her swollen nipples. He pinched her clit in a firm grasp between two knuckles until she moaned his name. When he released the sensitive flesh and started circling again, she shuddered. Restless and on the verge, she rolled her hips in time with his touch.

  His other hand gripped her ass. “Christ, Kendall.”

  She couldn’t think. The riot of emotions rattled her. She rubbed her chest against his, and her hips jerked with each swipe of his knuckles. With his mouth back at her breasts, she stumbled. Who knew she used her arms for balance so much? She twisted her arms to free herself. He stopped, staring up at her.

  “No.”

  Her breath stalled in her chest.

  He widened her stance and dropped to his knees, peeling down her pants. “I want you like this.” His hot breath teased across her thighs before he gripped her ass, hauling her forward. He breathed her in, then rumbled out a groan. Kendall couldn’t stop the whimper. Both of them in supplicant stances. She’d never felt more vulnerable or so turned on in her life. His forearms braced her hips as he transferred his grip to her wrists, then to her forearms until they were locked together just as his tongue slid inside her.

  Invasive, overwhelming, intimate—all the things she’d never once allowed. Not like this. She was at his mercy, and the quick bite of fear drowned under a deluge of pleasure.

  He wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked, drawing hard and relentlessly. Her nails dug into his forearms as words, sounds, the room, everything disappeared into the chasm of pure bliss. When oxygen became paramount, she dragged in a breath, and the swipe of his tongue brought her back into herself.

  He gentled his grasp but didn’t let her go as he lapped at her. The flat of his tongue opened her wider, and he found her clit again. She struggled against the vortex of pleasure. She couldn’t survive it again. Not and stay upright. “More.”

  She shook her head. There was no way she could give him any more.

  He looked up at her, his mouth and chin wet with her. He licked at her folds lazily. “I love how your thighs quiver. That’s how I know.”

  He tugged off the rest of her hoodie and stripped her to the skin. He stood and lifted her until she clutched around him with both arms and legs. His dress pants abraded her delicate tissues, but instead of drawing back, she undulated her hips against him. It would probably kill her, but she was revved for more.

  The short hairs of his buzz cut tickled under her fingertips as she palmed the top of his head, then slanted her mouth over his. He jerked back, but she latched on to him. She could taste herself on his lips, on his tongue. The smoky remnants of the liquor made for a heady mix of flavors. The kiss was anything but sweet. The crush of his mouth on hers, the dominant angle of his head, and the hypnotic stroke of his tongue made her want more. The chain of the rosary he wore dug into the side of her wrist. The nip of pain and the full-body press as he crawled onto the bed with her wrapped around him kicked her into motion.

  She scuttled back, her fingers at his zipper.

  He tried to push her hands away, but she wasn’t going to be held back again. She wanted to touch him this time. She peeled his pants over the muscular curve of his ass. She smoothed her fingers over the lighter skin. His cock sprang free and bobbed between them. She smiled up at him. His face was all serious and intense, his jaw locked around a growl. She smiled wider and cupped her palm under his shaft.

  Had she ever made a man growl before?

  With the lightest of touches, she skittered her fingertips over the suede softness of his head. He jerked in her hand. “Are you going to just play with it?”

  She laughed. “Maybe.”

  The cross of his rosary swung in front of her. The dichotomy of religion and hot, near-stranger sex made her heart kick. The chain slithered over her forearm, tickling her as she grasped him. His groan burrowed into her. The power of the sound matched the volume as her grip intensified. She cupped his balls with her other hand as she clasped the base of his cock. The underside of his shaft pressed into her belly.

  “Tell me you have something.”

  He buried his forehead into the pillow beside her head and thrust into her hand. “God, I hope there’s something in here.” She pumped his shaft, and he stilled above her. “Not helping.”

  She hiked her knee over his hip. “Incentive to find a condom. Until then…” She grazed the underside of his cockhead and up to the split at the top. Precum coated the pad of her thumb. She watched him as she slid her thumb between her lips.

  “Fuck.”

  He was salty and warm. “Well, hurry up.”

  He reached over her and fumbled in the drawer beside the bed. He leaned back, his dress pants bunched around his knees. She followed him up and swiped her tongue under the head. He groaned, “Kendall.”

  She looked up at his warning tone, letting his shaft slide along the cup she’d made with her tongue. She flattened it, enjoying the texture of his veins and widening shaft until he hit the back of her mout
h. She tried to relax, but it had been a long time since she’d done this. She fisted his shaft and sucked around the tip of him. He slid his fingers into her hair.

  “Christ.”

  She closed her eyes and eased him in deeper. His grip on her hair tightened, and the bites of pain urged her to take more of him. She let him go with a soft, sucking pop. His face was even stonier. She dug her nails into the tops of his thighs. “Giving up so soon?”

  He stumbled off the bed and into the bathroom. He came back with a strip of condoms and flipped her onto her back. “You are going to be the death of me.” The amused grunt was the first time she’d heard anything remotely friendly from his mouth.

  She rose onto her elbows and flicked her hair over her shoulder. She watched him take his cock in hand. Part of her wanted to stop and watch him stroke himself. To watch him erupt in his hand, but it was too dark. And she wanted him inside her far too much.

  “Don’t fucking look at me like that.” He rolled the condom over his shaft.

  Her smile grew wider. “Like what?”

  He didn’t answer; instead he crawled over her, the rosary cross teasing the skin between her breasts as he settled himself between her thighs. She pushed the pillows out of her way. Want and curiosity replaced the fire and neediness.

  He slid the tip of his cock through her folds and stared down at her. Her hazy restlessness seemed to have transferred to him. He drew her leg up and draped her calf over his shoulder. Curiosity dissolved with each inch into her. The angle opened her wide and let him thrust into her until every single tissue and muscle was stretched to accept him.

  She reached over her head for the headboard and tried to lever herself up to meet him, but he pinned her into the bed. His eyes glittered in the moon-spun dark as his hands rested beside her head. He slowly rocked inside her with a groan. She cried out. Overwhelmed and unable to do anything but take what he gave her, she gripped his shoulders.

  She wanted to flip him, to be in control, but with each glide of his cock inside her she opened more, accepted more. He filled her so completely that darkness pulled in and around her, drenching her in his amber-soaked scent. With each breath she drew in, he pushed deeper. Each breath out was torture because all she wanted was the closeness, the fullness. All she wanted was Shane.