by Sabrina York
She straddled him, hovering over him, buoyed by the warm water. It licked him with her every move.
“Sara.” He groaned. “You’re killing me.”
She kissed him again, this time on the lips. Her mouth was warm, fragrant, soft. “Killing you?”
“I’m trying to be a gentleman.” This, he hissed through his teeth.
“Well, who wants that?”
“This is only our third date.”
“Yeah.” She grinned and lowered her body onto his lap until the crux of her thighs pressed against his cock. He knew she was naked beneath the t-shirt. He nearly lost consciousness as every drop of blood surged to his groin, thrummed there. She kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his neck. “Our third date. Not our first.”
“We shouldn’t do this until our fourth date.”
“Who says?”
“The internet.” He’d researched it.
“Hmm.” She rubbed against him. Shafts of pure pleasure rocketed along every nerve. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read on the internet.”
“It-it seemed like good advice.”
She stilled. Leaned back to look at him. “Did it? Did it really?”
“Um, yes?” He hated the flicker of doubt in her eyes, the withdrawal he sensed. He wished he knew what he’d done wrong. Then he remembered the communication thing. He should simply ask her. Clearly and succinctly and right up front.
That’s what the website said. Just ask.
“Sara?” There. Surely that was clear enough.
It didn’t help. She pushed away, floating in front of him. He missed the contact. Missed it a lot.
And her flirty whispers. He missed those too.
Because now her voice was remote. Cold. It made something nasty coil in his gut. “Do you want me, Jack? Because if you don’t want me, I mean truly want me, say the word and I am gone.”
Panic flared. He grabbed her hips and yanked her against him. Rubbed her against his cock. “I want you. Feel how much I want you.”
“Then why won’t you… Why won’t you?”
His gut clenched. “I want it to be right, Sara. I don’t want a one-night stand.”
She frowned and muttered, “Right now it’s a no-night stand.”
“The internet said we should make sure we get to know each other first.”
“First of all, quit quoting the internet. And second of all, Jack, I do know you. I’ve known you since high school.”
“This is a different kind of knowing. I want to be sure—”
“You’re not sure?” This, she squawked.
“Oh, I’m sure I want to.” He chuckled. “But I want to be sure it’s right for us. And I want you to be sure it’s right for you.”
“Is that all? Is that the only reason you’re moving so damn slow?”
“No.” He flushed. It wasn’t. “I’m a little…nervous.”
Her lips curled into a smile and she undulated against him. “Nervous?”
“I’ve-I’ve never done this before.”
Sara blinked. “You’ve never… You’re a…”
He bristled. “I’ve been with a woman.”
“A woman?”
He glanced away. She didn’t need to know his number. She really didn’t. “I’ve never brought a woman home and—”
“Fucked her?”
Oh God. The way she said that, hissing it in his ear, made him cross-eyed.
“Jack, I thought you were a horndog.” She was still kissing him, stroking him, thumbing his nipples—as though she couldn’t get enough. He loved it but he didn’t know how much more he could take.
“A horndog?”
“You know. A guy who sleeps around.”
He stiffened. “I don’t.”
She smiled. “I can tell. I…like that.” Her hand slipped lower on his abdomen. “Tell me, Jack. How is your health situation?”
“My…what?” Why on earth would she ask about his health? He was in excellent health. Though he did get a hint of acid reflux when he ate Indian food and his blood pressure was a bit—
Oh. That.
He swallowed. She lapped at his Adam’s apple. Sucked on it. “Um. Fine. Good. Clean.”
“Mmm. Me too.”
He gulped as she found his cock, measured it with her palm. Squeezed. Jesus. “Sara, don’t.”
“You like it.”
“I like it too much.” He hated to do it but he couldn’t take it. He angled her off him and into the seat at his side. “I don’t want to—”
“Come? You don’t want to come? Here in the hot tub? With my hand on your cock?” She took hold of him again. It was all he could do to not arch his hips. To fuck her fist. “Maybe I should make you come.” Oh. God. The tone of her voice nearly did him in. “Should I do that, Jack? Should I stroke your cock and make you come against your will?”
“Sara.” The word was a gravelly growl. “Don’t you know what that would do to the alkalinity?”
She threw back her head and laughed. But it was a sultry chuckle. “How close are you, Jack?”
“Close.” So close. Too close. It had been far too long since a woman had touched him like this. And that it was Sara—with her hand on his cock, threatening to make him come—was nearly more than he could bear.
“Stand up, Jack.”
“I can’t.”
“Do it,” she snapped.
He couldn’t refuse. He couldn’t disobey. Not with the way she was looking at him. Not when she said those words like that, laced with a delicious thread of command.
Water sluiced from him as he stood. She licked her lips as though what she saw made her hungry.
“Pull down your trunks.”
God. She was right there. At cock level. “Sara—”
“Do it.”
He did. His cock sprang free, heavy and hard and maybe a little angry.
“Oh. Jack,” she moaned.
This time when she touched him, it was skin-to-skin. He closed his eyes as she fisted him. He threw his head back and clenched his ass and tried desperately not to explode right then and there.
Pleasure, delight, bliss, agony scoured his consciousness as she made the journey from the base of his cock to the head with a tight grip.
His lids flew open as her warm breath kissed the tip—this he had to watch. Her tongue dabbed at the slit. And then, holy God, she encased him. Her lips enrobed his cock and she sucked.
He whimpered.
It was so sweet. So fucking sweet he couldn’t see straight. And he wanted to see straight. He wanted this memory fucking burned onto his brain.
Her lips stretched around him. Cheeks slightly hollowed as she sucked. Her head moving slowly up and down, drawing bliss, insanity upon him.
When she cupped his balls and gently rolled them, he almost lost consciousness.
“Sara…”
Her finger scraped the crease of his ass, all the way to his tender pucker. She nudged him.
“Oh God.” A hot snake slithered through him. The urge, the stultifying need to come racked him.
She glanced up. Smiled. “Do you like this?”
“Yes. Oh. Yes.”
She pumped him. “Do you want to come?”
“Sara—”
“Because I want to taste you.” To prove her point, she drew him in again, tormenting him with excruciating sucks, nibbles and quick, short strokes. Insanity rose. He fought it back. He didn’t want to come like this. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to fuck—
“Oh God.”
Her finger plunged into his ass and he was lost. Cum screamed through him, from him, exploding in a hot rush of exquisite release. And she took it all. Swallowed it. Jet after jet, murmuring and moaning as he emptied into her.
Even when he was done, even when he was bone-dry, she continued to milk him. Until he broke away—panting as if he’d run a marathon—and collapsed with a splash into his seat. He grabbed her and pulled her close, unwilling for this to end. Even now
.
She nuzzled his neck. “Mmm.”
He couldn’t respond. He had nothing left. No cum. No cogent thoughts. No words. Not even a groan. She had it all.
She seemed to understand. She held him as his heartbeat returned to normal, as he found his bearings. “Was that good?”
He hated the uncertainty in her voice. How could she not know? He kissed her forehead. Licked at the droplets of water and sweat clinging to the wispy strands of silk on her hairline. “So good. So, so fucking good.”
She chuckled and bussed the corner of his mouth.
“Why are you laughing?”
Her smile widened. “Because, silly. Now you don’t have to worry about the alkalinity.”
He couldn’t help it. The impish expression in her eyes, his bone-deep elation, the fact that that had just happened… He threw back his head and laughed as well.
Chapter Nine
God. He’d tasted good.
Sara shivered as she gazed at Jack across the table.
After the tryst in the hot tub, he’d dried her off and wrapped her in his fluffy robe. He’d donned a pair of sweats and made her a delicious dinner, which they ate at a filigreed table on the patio, looking out over the Valley. She loved staring at his naked chest. It was fascinating, sprinkled as it was with dark curling hair. They shared an amazing bottle of Malbec, although no matter how much Sara teased, Jack refused to have more than one glass.
She didn’t mind. Because that meant she could have the rest.
They didn’t talk about what had happened in the hot tub but they didn’t need to. Sara could see it, there in his eyes, whenever he glanced at her.
And that gratitude, that warmth, stirred her arousal.
Made her think.
After the disaster with Todd, she’d sworn—sworn—she’d never try that thing again. But the way Jack had salivated over those pictures in the gallery made her want to try again. Emboldened her perhaps.
But she wasn’t stupid. She’d thought Todd had been into that too.
She’d been wrong.
So wrong.
She knew this time she’d have to test the waters. Make sure she hadn’t gotten her signals crossed. This time she’d have to take it slow. Ease into it.
Not burst into a room wearing latex and cracking a whip.
In retrospect, she supposed most men might find that alarming—
She jumped as Ding landed on her lap with no warning. The breath came out of her in an oof. “Jack. Your cat is fat.”
“He’s not fat. He’s healthy.”
“Seriously? That was like having a goat leap onto my lap.”
“Stop it. You’ll offend him.” Jack dropped his voice an octave and added, “You wouldn’t like him when he’s angry.”
Ding edged closer to her plate and sniffed.
“Oh no you don’t.” Jack came around and lifted the tabby off her lap. He picked up a piece of salmon skin and fed it to the very happy feline.
Sara laughed. “You’re feeding him salmon skin?”
“He likes it.” Jack winked. “He likes bacon too.” He dropped the cat on the floor and then set his plate down next to him. Though only scraps remained, the cat tore into it.
Sara shook her head. “No wonder he’s fat.”
“He’s not fat,” Jack said and dropped back into his seat. “He’s happy. Look at him.”
“He’s fat and happy.” She patted her tummy. “Me too. Dinner was delicious.”
“Thanks.” A very pleasant silence descended as they gazed out at the lights below. Then he refilled her glass. But only halfway. She took the bottle from him and finished the job. He grinned. “So, Sara…did you like our date this afternoon?”
“Oh. I did.” She also liked that he’d given her a perfect opening to bring up the topic she’d been thinking about earlier. “I liked the landscapes. It was quite solicitous of you to think of that.” She nibbled her lip. “You…did do that on purpose, didn’t you?”
He huffed. “Of course. I picked that gallery because that photographer took the same kind of pictures you do.”
She took a sip of wine. Her heart warmed. “I also enjoyed the third floor.” She tipped her head to the side. “Did you, Jack?”
His ears went pink. He glanced away. “Yes.”
For some reason, he jumped. It could have been her foot worming its way onto his lap. He grabbed it. Held it still. So close to her goal.
“Those photos were…very erotic.”
“Were they?” He swallowed. “I didn’t notice.”
“Liar.” She wiggled her toes. Found something surging in his lap. “I saw the way you ogled some of those pictures.”
“I didn’t ogle.” His voice squeaked. His flush deepened. “I just—”
“I know what you just. Jack, there’s nothing wrong with having…divergent interests.”
He stared at her. An array of emotions flickered over his features. She had a sudden epiphany that he was as nervous about revealing his fantasies to her as she was about exposing her true desires to him.
She should probably help him along. It was doubtful he would ever get the point. “For example, I saw how you fixated on that one photo.”
His eyes went wide. He gulped. His cheeks turned beet red. “You did?”
She stroked his cock with her foot. He made a strangled sound. “Yeah. That one.”
“W-which one?”
She smiled. “You know which one.” By the set of his jaw, she could tell he didn’t want to say. Didn’t want to admit it. That was okay. Because she was taking it slow. They could ease into it… She cleared her throat. “I did enjoy our date, Jack. But it was a lot of walking, wasn’t it?”
He blinked. “What? Um. Yeah. I suppose.”
“My feet hurt.” There. That was a pretty blatant hint.
He stilled. Captured her gaze. They stared at each other in a frozen tableau as he worked through her cues. She gave him a nudge. With her toes.
Still, he didn’t get it.
How Jack. So much for being subtle. “I could really use a foot rub.”
“Oh!” Relief—and something very different from relief—flooded his face. “You want a foot rub?”
“Yes, Jack.”
“Instead of dessert?”
She tipped her head to the side. “What’s for dessert?”
“Cheesecake. It’s low-fat.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You had me at cheesecake. But you lost me at low-fat. Let’s go with the foot rub.”
“Okay.” He bounded from his chair as if he had somewhere to go then froze. “Um. Where should we do it?”
“How about the sofa?” She nodded to the lush couch facing the fireplace. It was an overstuffed piece done in buttery leather, festooned with pillows.
“Okay.” He showed remarkable restraint, not sprinting across the room. Instead he took her hand and walked her inside. He picked up a remote and pushed a couple buttons. The fireplace blazed to life and soft tones of Al Green swelled.
Ah. Such a seductive scene. She couldn’t have planned it better.
Sara chuckled and plopped down in the corner of the couch, reclining across its length. The robe parted, exposing her legs. She pointed to the far end with her toe. “Sit.” She deliberately infused a strand of steel in her tone and was gratified when his nostrils flared—and he sat. Collapsed like a puppet on a string. A ribbon of lust, a skein of satisfaction, wound through her. She loved when he did as she asked.
She put her foot in his lap and peered at him expectantly. “Well?”
A flush rose on his cheeks, his lashes fluttered. And then, slowly, he took her foot in his hands. Gaped at it. Gulped.
“Rub my foot, Jack,” she said. “And you’d better do a good job.”
“I… O-ok-k-ay,” he stuttered, like a high school kid on his first date.
He stroked her instep and all thoughts skittered away. Because it was a tender massage, sweet and gentle and absolutely exquisite. She couldn
’t help it. She moaned. She leaned her head back against the cushy arm of the couch and closed her eyes and let him work. Up and down, around and over and back. Oh. Heaven. It was heaven.
She yanked her foot away and thrust the other at him. His magic fingers drew delight there as well. She groaned and shifted restlessly. It was delicious. It was delightful. It was divine—
“Sara…”
Her eyes flew open. He’d stopped. Why had he stopped? “What?”
“Could you please not…”
“Not what?” Okay. She didn’t mean to snap. But seriously. Why had he stopped?
“Could you please not make those noises?”
Annoyance nudged her and with it a hint of anticipation. He dared tell her to be quiet? Oh. He’d pay for that. “Was I making noises?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of noises?”
“Moany kinds of noises. They’re very distracting.”
“Really?” She nestled her toe into his crotch, stroked. She lowered her voice a notch and purred, “But it feels so good, Jack.”
He flinched and held her still. “D-does it?”
“It feels very good. But do you know what would feel better?”
“Um. W-what?”
Now he was the one shifting restlessly. God, yes. Oh, how she would make him suffer. Because she knew. She knew what he liked.
“If you could lick it.” A whisper.
He froze, her foot clasped in his grip. His mouth fell open. His eyes glazed over. His tongue peeped out.
“Lick it, Jack.”
He made a sound that could have been a whimper and then slipped off the couch onto his knees. And brought her foot to his lips.
She hissed as his mouth grazed her sensitive flesh then she jerked as his tongue danced between her toes—it tickled. A lot. But she forced herself not to wrench away.
Because, damn, she liked it.
Her body, already aching and thrumming with lust, went into overdrive. She felt a gush of warmth between her legs.
Jack worked her, licking and laving and worshipping her foot, exploring her arch, sucking on her toes, kissing the delicate bone at her ankle. And when he finished with one foot, he turned to the other. And then came back. Over and over.
As though he couldn’t get enough.
