One Taste

by Cari Quinn

  “Tattoo,” she whispered. “Cherries.”

  “You let some guy tattoo you right next to your—”

  “It was a girl.”

  If it was possible, his dick hardened even more. “Can’t wait to hear that story. But right now….”

  “Yes.” Her hands fisted in his hair. “Right now….”

  Vincent pushed a finger, two, into her while he licked her cherries. He wet the area thoroughly, blowing light streams of air over her feverish skin while he used his fingers on her, curving them toward him until he could stroke the sensitive spot inside her that swelled under his touch.

  There was nothing muffled about her moans now, especially when he abandoned her tattoo to suck on her clit. Her delicate tissues quaked around his fingers, letting him know she was almost there. But again he stopped, turning his face against her un-tattooed thigh to blank his mind.

  He thought about work. About getting shot and waking up on a grimy convenience store floor. Anything to distract himself. Fuck, he wanted to give her an orgasm even half as good as the one she’d given him the night before. No matter how many stops and starts it took, he intended to take his time building her excitement.

  His mental tricks worked until she urged his face into her heat again, begging him to finish what he started. She didn’t need to ask twice. He pushed two fingers inside her, and his own hips lifted off the bed when her sweet liquid flooded his tongue.

  Damn darkness. He would’ve loved to see the passion gripping her, but he couldn’t. Next time he would. He’d shine a spotlight on her and watch every nuance flitter over her face. And then he’d make her come again, just to mentally record her expressions once more.

  Before she’d even finished coming, he awkwardly nudged her down, muttering instructions until she sprawled on his chest. Deliberately, he invaded her mouth, wanting her to taste herself as he’d tasted her. Some women shied away from that, but not Kiki. She kissed him back with fervent licks of her tongue, prodding his lust without restraint.

  “I knew you’d be a maniac.”

  Even in the darkness he saw her wink. “It’s the pink in my hair. Makes people think I might be more…open-minded.”

  “Not just the hair. It’s also the cherries. And Jesus, you suck cock like a champ.”

  He sort of hadn’t meant to go off like that, but from her soft moan and eager attempt to unzip his pants, she didn’t seem to mind. Nice to know, since there was plenty more dirty where that came from.

  A fat chunk of his living came from mining the dirty. That he could mine it happily with her made him even more pleased. And horny. Horny was winning out over everything.

  She yanked his trousers down just enough to release his straining cock. “God, yes,” she murmured, rubbing against his erection. “Don’t wait.”

  Wait? Not frigging likely.

  Without breaking their kiss, he pulled a condom out of his nightstand drawer. Good thing he’d optimistically purchased another package—he’d never gotten the ones back he’d bought the night of the shooting—when he picked up his prescription. His fingers shook so hard she had to help him. At least he wasn’t hurting. Not from his injury anyway. Adrenaline and arousal had killed the pain temporarily. He’d take it.

  The second he’d sheathed himself, she arched to take him inside her, angling just right so he could plunge deeper without expending much effort. For that he owed her a great debt, one he intended to pay in full. Right now.

  Sweat blurred his eyes as he drove into her again and again, his titanic need for her swamping him. Nothing mattered beyond making her come. Beyond losing himself in the glorious heat hugging his cock.

  She whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, “I love geeks,” and thrashed against him, riding him for all she was worth. He choked out a laugh. Even caught in the throes of near-orgasm, he couldn’t hold back. Especially when she reached up to close his lips with her fingers, a provocative smile playing over her mouth. As hard as it was to see, he could feel the warmth of her expression. Then the heat of it when she fell forward, propping one hand on his stomach and the other on the mattress. The shift allowed her to move faster. Harder. Soon he abandoned any hope of keeping up and just let her drag him along with her.

  Moaning, she convulsed around him, drawing forth his own release. His fingers bruised her thighs while they weathered the aftershocks together, and she crushed her lips to his so that his groan spilled into her mouth as he came.

  Somehow they reversed positions and he ended up with his head pillowed on her breasts. He found himself caressing her in the mindless aftermath, the way a man would stroke a woman in those damned romance novels he wrote. Not to seduce, but to comfort.

  Ten minutes later, his brain shouldn’t still feel so muddy. By now, he should be swaggering away, maybe even tossing her a smile while he took a long look at her sprawled on his sheets.

  The sheets he’d changed to make her happy.

  “I like the flannel.” Kiki smothered a yawn with the back of her hand. “It makes me want—”

  He nuzzled her nipple. “Hot, sweaty sex?”

  Her hitching giggle shouldn’t have made his heart clench, probably. He also shouldn’t have had to fight the urge to grin like a kid in the throes of his first crush.

  Yeah, he was screwed.

  She stretched her arms above her head, bouncing him gently between her breasts. “What a lovely start to the night.”

  Vincent had to laugh. “There was nothing lovely about what we just did. Maybe next time, we’ll do it in the light so you can see exactly how not lovely I can be.” Leaning up on his right elbow, he took her mouth, drawing out the kiss until she sighed and pulled away.

  “Book, remember? I didn’t come over here to get laid.” She grinned. “Or not only to get laid.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t expect you to give me an incredible blow job last night, either, but life happens.” Using the term when they weren’t having sex made her brace, as he’d suspected it might. He rolled his eyes and fumbled his glasses off the nightstand. “You’d better lose that inhibition fast, kiddo. Julia and Nathan are doing the nasty tonight, and we won’t be using phrases like ‘her flowering womanhood.’ We’ll be using cock and p—”

  “Don’t. Just don’t.” She climbed out of bed and faced him, hands on her hips. “And what do you mean we’ll be writing the first sex scene tonight? They just met again. You can’t have them hopping into bed that fast!”

  “Because that never happens, right?” Vincent did up the buttons of his shirt. They’d never managed to get it off him. “Take, say, two people who talk every day about the news and chili dogs. Then they get held up by a gun-toting freak. Next thing you know, they’re doing the horizontal mambo.”

  “You took a bullet for me. That makes this a little more serious than that.”

  Her quiet reply caused his fingers to falter on his buttons. Why did the words you took a bullet for me sound so deafening? “I would’ve done it for anyone.”

  Yeah, sure. Now you’re Mr. Selfless all of a sudden.

  “Maybe so, but in this case, you took it for me.” She stepped forward and touched her lips to his. “Thank you.”

  When she eased back, he swallowed. Hard. He had a sneaking suspicion he’d never get tired of kissing her. “It was nothing.”

  “Uh huh.” She pressed a kiss to his bandage, and he felt that same worrying clench in his chest. “Didn’t feel like nothing when you passed out on top of me.”

  To his mortification, his cheeks warmed. “About that. My iron count was low. I have a potassium imbalance. Think I might need more vitamins.”

  And sex. Especially more sex.

  “Don’t worry, I still think you’re macho. But, honestly? I’ve always had a weakness for guys with brains.”

  “I thought it was Italians,” he said, recalling a comment she’d made about his Italian hero the night before.

  “Them, too.”

  “Lucky for me then.” Rel
ieved to be back on even footing with her, he rose and looped his good arm around her waist, throbbing shoulder be damned. “I would’ve taken two bullets for you,” he admitted.

  Surprise rushed across her face seconds before her mouth softened into a teasing smile. ”I would’ve given you two blowjobs.”

  His laughter was quick and appreciative. “There’s hope for us yet, Wyatt.”

  They didn’t write their first sex scene that night, or even during the next three. As the week progressed, they fell into a routine. Each session started with a discussion about where they had left off the day before. Such discussions were usually peppered with a few kisses and a few more laughs.

  The laughter and the kisses were what Kiki looked forward to most, but that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy writing. Just the opposite. It was an amazing thing to see two fictional creations take form and to know she’d had a hand in shaping them.

  True, Vincent did most of the work, drawing these complicated little plot trees on his legal pad that showed where he intended to go with the story. But she’d soon started doing some plotting of her own, and he hadn’t seemed to mind in the slightest.

  The story had begun infiltrating her thoughts when they weren’t together. Sometimes she’d think of a line of dialogue during lunch or a snatch of description while cleaning the bathroom. It was fun and took her mind off her own problems.

  Her lack of a job, for one. Tammy still called daily, assuming she would eventually come to her senses. She just couldn’t fathom how Kiki had changed so radically overnight.

  Funny what a near-life experience could do to a person. Most would’ve called it near-death, but not her. She’d stared her eventual mortality in the eye, yes, but she’d also faced everything she wasn’t happy with in the here and now. While she could still change things, she had to seize the day. Take charge of her future.

  Stop being so afraid all the damn time.

  But changed or not, she couldn’t help worrying about finding work. Couldn’t help thinking what she’d do if she was still unemployed a month from now.

  What she didn’t think about was hers and Vincent’s…well, whatever it was they were having. They’d been having sex or a reasonable facsimile thereof—she grinned, remembering the night she’d ambushed him in his bed—for most of the last week, so it didn’t qualify as a one-night-stand. Maybe it would only last as long as they were writing the book, and she was fine with that.

  Really, she was.

  Last night, he’d asked her to spend the night. Again. But a woman with known dependency issues spending the night with a man she had feelings for was akin to giving prime Hennessy to an alcoholic. So a couple hours before sunrise, she’d plastered on a smile and dragged herself home.

  She was fine with that, too, at least until her alarm woke her at six on Monday morning. She promptly silenced it with her fist. Around noon, she limped into the bathroom to face her drawn, pale face in the mirror.

  “First week of unemployment in the can,” she murmured. “And you’re already a sloth.”

  Because she still felt sleepy, she stumbled into the shower. She shed a few quiet pity tears while the hot water streamed over her, but by the time she’d finished soaping, shampooing, and shaving, she’d also finished feeling sorry for herself. Mostly.

  This not having a job thing was getting to her. Now that she was sleeping with Vincent, there was no way in hell she’d take his money. Writing was fun, and she was helping him, which made her happy. But she needed a real job soon. Preferably one that didn’t suck her soul dry, and offered medical insurance.

  She’d never been one to wallow long, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t drag out getting dressed for the day. Applying her makeup took another twenty minutes, because, hey, time was a quantity she could spare.

  Once she’d finished, she glanced at her watch. Only seven hours till she had to be at Vincent’s.

  They could have worked earlier in the day. Actually, he’d suggested that until she’d told him she preferred to have her days free for her job search and interviews. He’d balked but eventually relented. The truth was she didn’t want to be at his beck and call. Helping him was one thing but as out of control as her life felt, at least she could set their schedule.

  She also didn’t want to become dependent on him or enjoy writing too much. The more time she spent in Vincent’s apartment, the more likely both became.

  Her afternoon consisted of a trip to the library to get a couple books on writing, and scanning the want ads. Nothing appealed. Not even a little. Surely the Quikky Snak wouldn’t end up being the pinnacle of her working life.

  When she began seriously considering learning to juggle so she could audition for the traveling circus, she did what any mildly depressed, newly unemployed woman would do. She whipped up a chocolate cake, then ate half of it while watching Oprah.

  Lynsay called while she was doing the dishes so she abandoned scouring her serving platter in favor of dishing with her best friend.

  “I can’t believe you actually slept with him, Ki.”

  Kiki wrenched on the hot water. “Nine times, random sex play not included. But who’s counting?” At Lynsay’s frothy laugh, she added, “I’m sure I’ll be discussing it in therapy ten years from now.”

  “You don’t have a therapist.”

  “I don’t have a job right now either, but I’ll need one of those soon, too.”

  “You could always call Tammy.”

  “No, I can’t. My destiny’s waiting, and it’s not at the Quikky Snak. So are you going to Cielo’s tonight?” she asked before Lynsay could question her further.

  “Duh. It’s Monday, isn’t it? I called to see when I should pick you up.”

  Uh oh. In the midst of the upheaval that was now her life, she’d forgotten their weekly tradition of attending singles night at Cielo’s Bar. They went without fail, whether or not they had a significant other. Of course, Lynsay was the one who usually had to come up with an explanation for her current squeeze, since Kiki hadn’t had a boyfriend—or even a sex buddy—in months.

  She didn’t now, either. Vincent was not her boyfriend. But she did have plans.

  “Umm, Lynz, I can’t go. I’m really sorry.”

  “Oooh, you’re scampering back to Vincent’s for round ten.”

  “Likely, yeah, but it’s no big deal.”

  “Something’s up. You’re holding out on me.”

  Kiki shifted from foot to foot, glad her friend wasn’t there to see her fidgeting. “Do I ever hold out on you?”

  But she was. She had to because she didn’t intend to delve too deeply into what she and Vincent were doing. Not the writing thing, or the sex thang that was rapidly turning into more, at least on her end.

  He’d been honest with her that he didn’t have an interest in a relationship, more than once. The guy seemed to need his space. A lot of space, from his apparent indignation at previous exes committing such egregious offenses as leaving clothes in his apartment. One had even asked for a drawer in his dresser. Oh, the horrors.

  She wouldn’t be making that mistake. They were sexually compatible friends, and that was all. When they wrote The End on the book, so would they end this non-relationship they were currently enjoying, and she didn’t mind a bit.

  “Hon, you don’t have feelings for him, do you? I know the shooting brought you two together, but we’ve discussed how he’s not capable of doing the whole relationship dance. Just not his style.”

  “Believe me, I know.” Only a fool would start thinking his style might change. “Have fun tonight, okay?”

  “I’m going with Brent.”

  “Huh?”

  “To singles’ night. He thinks he can convince me I’m not bi or something.”

  “Oh, boy.” Kiki sank onto a kitchen chair. She’d suspected their mutual pal Brent had sticky feelings for Lynsay, but she’d hoped she was mistaken.

  Wow, they should really compare notes about falling for Mr. and Ms. Wron
g.

  “Look, I’m pulling the best friend card tonight,” Lynsay said when Kiki remained silent. “I know you’ve got something going with Vincent, but I need you as buffer. You can bring him, too. If you want.”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m sure he’d love to go.” She snorted at the thought of Vincent crammed elbow to elbow in a bar full of writhing strangers dancing to hip hop music. So not his scene. “Why don’t you just tell Brent you’re not interested?”

  “Because I am. Kinda. You know I’m open-minded when it comes to sex.”

  And everything else. Kiki couldn’t stop the smile. “Yeah. I can’t even deal with one gender, and you juggle both effortlessly.”

  But Lynsay didn’t laugh. “Brent’s a great guy. I’m just not ready to settle down yet. You know?”

  Kiki sighed. No, she didn’t know. Because part of her, the part she tried to squash every time she thought about the future, had been ready to settle down for years. She didn’t like dating, and she didn’t mind sharing her life with another. Yeah, she had no problem intellectually with one-night stands. She also enjoyed sex, so why should she deny herself if she didn’t have a steady guy? But that didn’t mean she thought the key to bliss in bed was variety. If the right man came along, she would have absolutely no problem permanently kissing singledom goodbye.

  Must be the Wyatt gene pool. All three of her sisters—her younger sisters—were already married with kids, several each.

  She rubbed her eyes. Stupid to go there. She certainly wasn’t looking to couple up with a guy who enjoyed action movies as much as she did. One who was smart, and amazing in bed, and loved his grandmother and his dog.

  Nope. She was single, happy and fancy free. And probably would be until the day she died.

  “Kiki? You still there?”

  “Yeah.” This conversation had led her places she wasn’t willing to go. “Just don’t lead him on, Lynz. Don’t pretend you’re okay with something you’re not.”

  Like you are, Wyatt?

  “If the three of us go, there’ll be no pressure. A couple hours, Ki. Please.”

  She heaved out a breath. Looked as if she needed to tell Vincent she’d be late. “Okay. But we need to go early, and I have to be back by ten.”