Instead of moaning or begging or gripping his head like he expected and hoped for, Claire pushed at him. "Bugger! Hold on. Hold on, hold on."
Justin froze, mouth open, ready to suck her nipple in. No, no, no, she did not just say that. "Why, for God's sake?"
"I have to get a condom. I'm not on the pill or anything." Claire shoved his head hard and started across the kitchen, topless. "Just two seconds. Reese and Derek have condoms everywhere—they, like, define sexually active."
He needed to know these things?
But he had to admit he was grateful for Derek's sex drive when Claire did, in fact, return two seconds later with a box of condoms, waving them triumphantly.
Later, when his conscience had returned, he would ponder the ethics of using Derek's condoms to screw Derek's sister, but right now he was too busy screwing Derek's sister to worry about it.
Or he would be if she would just stand still. Now Claire was bent over the stove, still topless of course, turning off the burner she had set the pan on. Then she was in the refrigerator—what could possibly be in there that they needed?—clanking around. Finally, she emerged with a bottle of water and blinked at him.
"What? You're looking at me like I'm a freak."
"What are you doing?" Besides testing every ounce of willpower and patience he had.
"Getting water. I have a tickle in my throat."
He'd give her a tickle in her throat. When he rammed his tongue down it.
Justin ripped off his Henley shirt and closed the distance between him and Claire. Her eyes went wide. Grabbing her by the waistband of her sweats, he pulled her flush up against him. Her breasts bounced against his chest, her damp ponytail swinging back and forth.
Claire had a tight body, firm skin over elongated muscle. She was thin, but with some back. Justin kissed her, his hands clamping down over that perky backside and grinding.
"Ooohhh," she said when he gave her a split second for air.
But he didn't leave her a chance to say or do anything else, before he had his tongue sweeping into her mouth, his desire roaring with urgency. Every cell in his body was screaming. Must Have. Now. There was nothing polite or tepid or skilled in his advances as his hands raced all over Claire, gripping and grabbing and squeezing.
He couldn't get her pants off fast enough. Shoving at them, he made a happy discovery. "Damn, Claire." She wasn't wearing any panties.
His hand was skimming over smooth flesh, and he worked his way around to the front, movements not following any plan of attack other than gimme, gimme.
Claire's answer was to kick her sweatpants down to her ankles and spread her thighs for his hand. Justin couldn't resist that kind of invitation. He reached to cup her mound and was shocked to find nothing but soft folds beneath his touch. Unable to form the question, he just glanced up at her.
She gave a sly shrug. "Bikini wax. A habit for bathing suits and low-rise jeans. And I'm blonde … thin hair to begin with. Didn't mean to flip you out."
"I'm not flipped out." A little startled. Shocked. Turned-on. Justin didn't normally date women who had anything waxed, let alone that, and he had to admit he was impressed. Anyone who could handle that kind of pain was one tough chick. "You're very soft." He teased his finger between her folds. "And wet."
Definitely wet. Justin slid his finger down deep inside, enjoying the way she felt, reveling in the jerk she gave.
"Justin," Claire whimpered. She held onto his shoulders, her knee turning out, body rocking toward his.
He understood the feeling. Popping the snap on his jeans, he got rid of them in hard, fast movements, and reached for the condoms. Stroking her clitoris in sensual circles, he slipped down and pressed his thumb into her hot flesh. Claire squirmed, her breath frantic little pants.
"Scheisse, I'm going to come and I don't want to this soon," she said, even as her hips ground against his touch.
Justin let her go, and she stumbled, crying out in disappointment. "Don't stop!"
"What? I need two hands to put on the condom." He demonstrated, trying to look innocent, but he couldn't prevent a grin.
"Tease," she said without much heat, her eyes trained on his cock as he rolled down the condom. "Need any help?"
"Got it. What does scheisse mean?"
"'Shit.' I have a habit of swearing in other languages. It's more polite, I think."
He wasn't feeling polite. Justin put a foot on her sweatpants to hold them in place. They were puddled on the floor, still around her ankles, and he wanted them off. "Get over by the wall."
"Excuse me?" She stepped out of the pants, obviously guessing his intentions, but looking dubiously at the kitchen wall, where a calendar of sailboats was hung on a bulletin board.
"Put your back against the wall," he said slowly and clearly, giving her a nudge to get her moving. He was done. He had to have her yesterday, and every second of foreplay was killing him.
Glancing over her shoulder as she turned, she took a slow step, a smile on her lips. "Bossy, bos—"
He cut her words off by moving up behind her. Traced his fingers down her arms, lifting them, placing her palms flat against the wall. Kicked her ankles apart, blood pounding in his head, mouth thick, body hot and tight. Spread her folds with his right hand, while rubbing his palm over her clitoris.
"Sorry, but you were taking too damn long." Justin entered her from behind with one hard thrust, groaning as her vaginal muscles clamped around his cock.
The velocity forced Claire forward, smacking her into the wall, and Justin thought he should apologize, ease up, but it felt so fucking good, and his eyes dropped shut. Just a second to savor, just a second, then he'd see to her comfort, her pleasure.
Except Claire was frantically reaching back for him, her hands grabbing at his waist. "Oh, damn it, Justin, move. I'm going to … I'm coming."
He felt her muscles contract around him at the same time her shoulders jerked. A high-pitched yell ripped out of her mouth. Instead of thrusting, he quickly reached around and stroked his thumb over her tight, swollen clit.
She shuddered her way through an orgasm, hips grinding back against him, before she went slack, resting her forehead on her arm. "Oh, crap, sorry."
He wasn't. Justin kissed the back of her neck, enticingly exposed because of the ponytail. Her skin was dewy, flushed. "Do not apologize. I'd be a freakin' idiot if I were upset that you came when I was inside you."
"It was just … so big … so there, all of a sudden … you got so aggressive, and just…" she sighed. "Yum."
And then some. "Hold onto the wall, baby."
There was nothing capable of stopping him now. He sank deeper into her, moaning at the tight, hot fit. Her ass bumped up against his pelvis, and he held onto her thighs, pulling her back further to get them as close as possible without actual fusion.
The angle strained his calves, but he didn't notice the burn, just felt the pleasure, the gut-wrenching waves of it that rippled through him with each stroke. He felt the tightness swelling, the sharp bite of ecstasy digging deeper, harder. It was safe to say that when he let out a rebel yell and came, it was with an abandon he hadn't experienced since age sixteen.
Which, as he had tried to explain to Claire, was a hell of a long time ago.
About an hour or two later, he finally stopped shaking and groaning and pounding, and collapsed against her and the wall. He knocked the bulletin board off in the process.
"Jesus," he said as the corkboard crashed to the vinyl floor with an offensive smack. "Look what you made me do. I'm wrecking the joint."
"I did?" Claire said, though her words were muffled, given that he had her face squashed into drywall.
"Yes. You did, Miss We're Both Adults, Let's Fuck Like Animals."
She laughed. "I've figured something out about you."
Wow, he couldn't wait to hear this. Ten bucks said it wasn't flattering.
"You blow everything out of proportion. You exaggerate to the point of hilarity. Good thing
I'm the rational one in this relationship."
The R word. Justin broke out in a sweat and pulled out of her so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. "We don't have a relationship, Claire."
He could practically hear her eyeballs rolling back into her head. "Oh, mon dieu, don't ruin a perfectly good postorgasmic moment by being an idiot. I wasn't implying anything, so just chill out."
Ouch. Okay, maybe that hadn't been the smartest thing to say.
She rolled across the wall so she was facing him, hand out. "Now give me my pants."
"No." It was asinine and ornery, but he didn't like that their moment of perfect closeness had been ruined by his stupidity. So he was going to make it worse.
"Fine. I'll cook the pasta naked. See if I care." She turned the water back on and walked across the room, head in the air, pausing only to shake out her legs a little like they were sore.
He stood there, condom still on his dick, and debated. "Claire."
"Hmmm?" she said, face buried in the cabinet.
"I want to get married." When she dropped a two-pound box of pasta on the floor, he realized what that had sounded like. "I mean, I want to get married soon, eventually here, not so far in the future, to a woman who wants to marry me, and is ready to have children, and a house, and, and, shit like that." Justin rubbed the flat of his palm into his forehead and winced. "I'm ready for that, and I'm on the lookout for that woman."
Claire just stared at him. "Well, if I see a likely candidate for the position of Mrs. Fairbanks I'll let you know."
Now he was at a loss. "Uh…" Hands on his hips, feeling like a fool, he turned to the stove. "So, what can I do to help?"
And maybe it was time to put his pants back on. Claire looked like her storefront sign had switched from OPEN to CLOSED.
Hell.
Chapter Five
Men.
Couldn't live with them, couldn't get away with killing them.
Claire tossed pasta in the pot and slapped a lid on harder than was necessary.
Why did guys have to ruin everything by leaping ahead and throwing up roadblocks when they were miles from that turn in the road? Justin had taken them from first-time lovers to The End in less than an hour.
The sheer arrogance that she would even want a relationship with him had her blood boiling like those noodles. Had she asked for that? She didn't think so.
She was half-tempted to just go home, but one look out the window had her rethinking that. It was cold out there. And dark. And she still didn't have any money for a cab, and since Reese was a shoe size smaller than she was, she would have to wear wet ballet flats with sweats for ten blocks.
It wasn't in her nature to huff all night anyway. She was a direct person and liked to resolve problems right from jump.
So while Justin hung the bulletin board back up, she stirred the red sauce from a jar, and sighed. Relaxed her shoulders. "Justin?"
"Yeah?" He sounded wary.
As well he should. Dummy.
"You do know that what you said to me about marriage was rude, don't you? Like, hey, you're good enough to sleep with, but nothing more."
"I didn't mean it that way. I was just trying to be honest." He came up behind her, rubbed her forearms slowly, the fleece underlining of the sweatshirt she was wearing comforting on her skin. She believed him. Justin wasn't a cruel person at all. Just dense.
"I respect you, Claire, which is why I've spent six years dodging the urge to do what we did tonight."
There was a compliment in there somewhere. "Don't go warning me off a relationship before I ever said I wanted one, okay? It's like telling me your house isn't for sale when all I said was that it was a lovely home. I can admire something, enjoy it, and that doesn't mean I want to own it, you know what I'm saying? Ownership requires a lot of time, money, maintenance. I'm more in a rental phase in my life."
Of course, that was something of a total lie. She was renting when it came to other men. With Justin, she did want to buy, settle down for the long haul. If not a whole house, at least a condo, but she didn't want to scare him. But neither did she want him to make assumptions about her. He was anticipating that she wanted a relationship and that she was falling for him.
Which she was. Or always had been. But even more so now that he had looked at her like that, with longing, touched her with intimacy. She really did feel those silly fluttering feelings. Like given the chance they could morph into bigger feelings. Forever feelings. But he didn't need to know that. Yet.
He turned her around so she was facing him. "You do realize why men like me reach the age of thirty-five without getting married, don't you?"
It was a mystery to her. He looked especially adorable right at the moment, his short hair sticking up as much as it could and his brown eyes soft and serious.
"Because you enjoy your bachelorhood?"
"Because we're stupid."
Claire laughed. "Oh."
"I try to do the right thing, and it's always the wrong way. I'm great on the job, but in relationships, I'm not so solid. It takes me awhile to work things around in my head."
"But you're ready for something permanent? Marriage?" The stove knob was digging into her backside, but Claire didn't care. She wanted to stand here in this warm kitchen in Justin's arms until she had a dent in her butt and he had figured out that they could have a relationship.
"I'm ready to share. I was never ready to share before—too selfish. Wanted to keep all my time and my toys to myself. But now I'd rather have someone to come home to than a bunch of electronics, only I can't seem to put my finger on who the right woman is. I figure one day soon, a woman is going to just slap me upside the head and announce that we're getting married, because that's probably what it's going to take for me to recognize it."
Claire shivered in Justin's arms, a weird sort of tremor that rippled through her at his words. She wanted to be that woman Justin shared his life with. It felt like until that moment, all her relationships had been practice, a training ground for the one that mattered. The man who had always been in the back of her mind.
Justin should just consider himself slapped.
She was going to be that woman he married.
Justin was feeling slapped. Stunned. Strange.
Claire had managed to produce a decent dinner, and they'd eaten and talked. Then they'd gone into the living room and talked.
Watched two movies back-to-back and talked.
It was three in the morning and they were still snuggled up on the couch, the lights on the Christmas tree blinking in the dark room.
"That's the tackiest tree," Claire said, leaning against his chest, feet tucked under her legs. "It looks like Derek and Reese bought everything from an entire aisle at Wal-Mart and put it on there."
It was a little over the top, but Justin thought it suited Derek better than his first wife's sense of style. Dawn had done some kind of Victorian theme with songbirds and candles on the tree. Justin had been kind of appalled by it. Reese's slapdash style was more in tune with Derek.
"I like the way the star has chaser lights." He tilted his head. "Maybe they were going for a garland record. There is no green left visible at all."
"What does your tree look like?"
"I have a live tree, probably dropping needles on my floor as we speak. It's got mostly red and gold balls on it, with white lights. Plain."
"I have a live tree, too, with mostly blue and silver balls on it. Plain."
Justin wondered if taste in Christmas decorating could indicate compatibility. He was feeling pretty compatible with Claire at the moment. He'd had the most relaxing, fun night with her, and he should be tired but he didn't want the tranquility in the apartment to end. The peaceful, yet somehow edgy feeling he had. Like everything was good and could stay that way if he just did the right thing.
Of course, he didn't know what that was. He never did.
Give him insurance fraud to investigate and he was on it.
A woman and
he was clueless.
"Do you like Christmas movies? You know, like the sentimental classics they show every year?"
"No," Claire said. "It's like visually consuming sugar. Too sweet for me."
Amen to that. "I'm with you. I always feel pummeled by moral lessons. I like cartoons better for moral lessons. Got to love Frosty and Rudolph."
"Oh, my God, I love those shows. And when Frosty gets locked in and melts in the greenhouse, it's just like the most horrible thing ever. I used to cry every time."
"I used to wonder why Frosty didn't just throw a chair at the door and bust himself out. I mean, the whole building was glass."
She laughed. "That was the future federal agent in you."
Claire used the remote to turn the stereo on. She surfed until she found Christmas music. Bing Crosby. "I was feeling like Rudolph earlier, with my bright red nose. I probably scared the crap out of you."
"Not what I was expecting tonight, that's for sure." Justin slipped a hand under her shirt and rested it on the warm skin of her stomach. "But I'm really glad you got nailed by the snowplow, because I'm having a great time."
"Me, too," she said.
But Justin wanted her to say more. He suddenly realized he wanted her to suggest they see each other again.
Which meant he was an ass. He couldn't expect Claire to say anything of the kind after he had delivered his Wife Wanted speech.
It was up to him to take that next step if he wanted to see her again. Which he did. "So, it's Christmas Eve already. How are you spending your day? I've got family to see. Babies to kiss. You know, the usual."
"You kiss babies?" Claire shifted to look up at him.
"Doesn't everyone?" You saw a big fat baby cheek, you blew on it. It was human nature.
"No." She shook her head slowly. "No, they don't."
Claire looked so pretty, so solemn, so sweet, that Justin leaned down and kissed her. A soft, worshipful kiss that explained his feelings better than words could, because he was likely to screw the words up. He had a handle on the kiss thing.
She responded with a sigh, before pulling back and looking up at him, searching. "Justin?"
Anthology - The Night Before Christmas Page 7
