LawyersinLove_Bundle

by Ann Jacobs

  So he could shove her away again? Not in this lifetime. “I think that’s Sam now,” she commented, turning back to Ileana and Josh. “From the looks of that boat of his, I’d say the fertility business must be pretty good.”

  “I always wondered what went wrong between you two,” Ileana said. “You seemed so perfect for each other.”

  “What went right?” Marcy wasn’t about to air old, dirty linen period, much less to the prospective bride and groom. “Anyway, it’s ancient history. We’ve been divorced five years now.”

  “Sorry. It’s just that I liked both of you. Felt bad when I heard you’d split.”

  “Ileana, sweetheart, it’s obvious Marcy doesn’t want to talk about this.”

  Score one for Josh. Marcy’s feelings for her friend’s fiancé just moved up another notch. The guy obviously knew how to read between the lines.

  Marcy drew in a breath of damp sea air tinged with a light aroma of stone crabs and the seasonings that made them taste so good but tickled her nose. Damn, what was it about this place, these people, that had her stomach doing somersaults as though she were sixteen and head over heels in love again? Why the hell was her pussy clenching at the sight of a man she’d hardly thought about since their divorce? The man who now was headed straight for Ileana…and, however coincidentally, her.

  It wasn’t as though she didn’t run into Sam once in a while, for God’s sake. She’d even exchanged a few words with him, introduced him to her man-of-the-moment and smiled at whatever woman had been clinging to his arm at some social or civic function. So why was she creaming her panties now? Why were memories of good times flooding her mind, keeping the bitter ones at bay? Marcy tried to look away, but it seemed her eyes had other ideas because they remained glued on Sam. He’d filled out more since they’d split, developed impressive lats and biceps she hadn’t noticed when he wore a suit or tux. They were mouthwateringly evident now, when he was naked except for snug cutoffs that emphasized his narrow waist and powerful thighs.

  Shit. His bad luck that Marcy was sitting at the same table with the bride. Looked as though she’d left her latest squeeze back home too. Sam willed his cock to relax when he felt it stirring. No way was he volunteering to fill the void. She’d probably already made plans to scratch her famous itch sometime during the wedding festivities.

  He squared his shoulders and approached the table. “Ileana. And Josh, I assume.” He held out a hand, smiling at the man’s firm grip. Then he turned to his former wife. “Hello, Marcy.”

  “Sam.” She met his gaze, her deep green eyes full of challenge—and something else. Desire? Not likely. Not that he was interested anyway.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Marcy shrugged. “It’s a public restaurant.”

  She didn’t used to be so brittle. Her smiles used to light up her pretty face and make her eyes soften to a tone not unlike the smoky gray-green of the Gulf. For a moment Sam mourned the loss of love. Of friendship and trust. Not just hers but his. They’d once been kids in love. Kids who’d grown older and busier and left the magic behind.

  Fuck if he didn’t still wonder from time to time what specific thing he’d done that had caused her to have his belongings packed up and set on the porch of the home they’d bought together—the house where she still lived. Since he’d asked her a hundred times and she’d closed him out, he chose not to give a damn anymore. Determined to ignore Marcy as fully as she seemed to be ignoring him, Sam turned to Josh and began making idle conversation.

  * * * * *

  By the next morning the clouds started rolling in. Waves broke noisily against the sides of the Lucky Lady, waking Sam and sending him on deck to survey the situation. Nothing too alarming, only a little more wind than he’d have liked to see. With any kind of luck, the rain would hold off until after Ileana and Josh had said their vows. The fact that the only transmissions he got over the ship-to-shore radio were spits and crackles didn’t particularly concern him. Reception was always lousy in protected coves like this one on the eastern side of Cabbage Key.

  Sam glanced at his watch. Five a.m. Too early for breakfast, or to socialize with the couples he’d met last night. Habit, he supposed, had caused him to awaken when he could as easily have slept. Dipping his head to avoid the doorframe, he headed back into the cabin. His bunk beckoned more insistently than the fish that might be biting in the deep channel that led into the cove.

  Then he saw her through a porthole. Marcy, strolling along the narrow stretch of sand. Gusts of wind tossed her pale blonde hair and molded something silky-sheer and hot pink to her gentle feminine curves. Curves he found as arousing now as they’d been twenty years ago when she’d flaunted them in a JV cheerleader outfit. There was something sad, something singular about the picture she made, staring out across the Intracoastal Waterway toward Port Charlotte as though looking for something…someone?

  Wasn’t he looking a little sad himself, staring out a porthole at the woman he’d written off five years ago? Yeah. He didn’t often acknowledge it, but he was lonely.

  Damn it, why did he still want Marcy? He fought off a compulsion to go to her, enfold her in his arms, drag her back here and assuage the loneliness. His as well as her own. He’d hold her, take her, make her admit that what they’d shared had been better than her hundreds of casual fucks, a hell of a lot more meaningful than the few scratches of a mutual itch he’d shared with someone he called friend.

  Still a little sleepy, Sam’s mind wandered. The present began to mesh with old memories and latent dreams.

  He strode quickly, quietly, behind her on that stretch of beach backed on one side by white-capped waves, on the other by deep-green sea grapes and gently swaying palms. When a gust of wind brought her familiar scent to his nostrils, his breathing turned ragged. His heart pounded in his chest when he finally overtook her.

  Settling his hands at her slender waist, his fingers molded to flesh as familiar now as if he’d caressed it each night for the last five lonely years. When she turned at his touch, she murmured, “Sam.”

  Gently, for she seemed weightless, he lifted her, took her mouth. God, but she tasted as sweet as she had every time before, in reality and in his restless dreams. “I’m going to take you, fuck you, wipe out your memories of every man but me,” he whispered against her slack lips when he broke the kiss.

  She tunneled her fingers through his hair and sighed, then wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and shoulders. “Like old times.”

  “Not quite.” No, this time he’d put his mark on her soul as he’d once put it on her body years ago, when he’d realized she needed to give over control in this if not any other aspect of her life. “This time I’m not asking. I’m telling you what I want.”

  Her nipples tightened visibly beneath her skimpy bikini top and the silky cover-up, telling him more clearly than anything she might say that the thought excited her. By the time he’d carried her back on board the Lucky Lady, they’d hardened and elongated and were pushing insistently against the fabric that contained them. His nostrils flared at the musk of her desire that surrounded her when he set her down inside the compact cabin.

  Hands on her shoulders, he slid away the gossamer wrap. He’d never felt skin so satiny smooth as that in the hollow between Marcy’s richly rounded breasts. And in the soft indentation around her navel. She stirred his senses as much now as she ever had. “Take off the swimsuit.”

  She shot him a challenging look born, he supposed, of the vast experience she’d gained since their split. Apparently none of her affairs had lasted long enough for a lover to establish control over her. Her hands went to her back, though, and the stretchy fabric went slack over her beautiful breasts. He inhaled sharply at the sight of them, plump and white and tipped with brownish-pink, puckered nipples that tempted his lips. “Like what you see so far?”

  Reaching out, he stroked first one tempting globe and then the other. “Yeah. Now strip out of the rest. I want you naked.” His ball
s tightened painfully, reminding him how long it had been since he’d found release. When he released the zipper on his jeans, his cock sprang free, hard as stone and throbbing with anticipation while she slithered out of the tiny thong, revealing a sleekly shaven pussy.

  Shaved for some other man or men. For a moment his cock began to shrivel, before animal instinct overrode the surge of possessiveness, the momentary stab of betrayal. White-hot lust flooded every cell of his body, made him struggle for control.

  Control. He wanted to control her as he had so long ago. Impose his will on her and make her love it, beg him for more. “Get on your knees and suck my cock.”

  She’d hated giving him head when they were married, but now she knelt and caressed his swollen flesh with soft, knowing hands, taking his cock head between moist, velvety lips and swirling her tongue around. He tried not to think of how many cocks she’d sucked to get so good at it…whether they’d tasted better or worse or if they’d stretched her lips as much when their owners forced them down her throat. Tunneling his fingers in the pale strands of her silky hair, he made her take him deeper, and she swallowed convulsively around him.

  Her little whimpers told him she liked sucking cock now. A lot. Her moist hot breath heated the skin beneath his pubic hair. “Stop now, baby. When I come I want to be buried in your cunt as deep as I can go. Just like old times.”

  She let go of his cock, stared up at him with tears glistening in her eyes. “Are you sure you want it the way it used to be?”

  “Yeah.” Except now she shaved her pussy and had let God only knew how many cocks inside it.

  He lifted her to her feet and dragged her down onto the narrow bunk. “Hands behind your head, and spread those pretty legs.” Kneeling between them when she complied, he first donned a condom, then stroked the satiny folds of her labia, her plump mons. “Be still,” he ordered when she began to squirm.

  “I can’t.”

  “Don’t talk. Just feel.” Deliberately, he stroked the wet, slick inner lips of her pussy, avoiding her hard little clit. “Feel my fingers slide over your silky mons. Your labia. They’re swollen. Wet. Slick with your honey. No. Don’t move. I’ll give your pretty clit some attention soon enough.” He’d often wondered when he examined women who shaved or waxed their pubic hair, but of course it would have been highly unprofessional to ask. He felt no compunction about asking Marcy, about whom he’d never felt the slightest bit professional. “Tell me, what does my touch do to you? Does shaving make you feel hot? Sexy?”

  “It makes me feel good. Clean and satiny smooth and ready for whatever you have in mind. Haven’t you ever wondered how it would feel to have a woman suck your cock and balls without all that tangle of hair getting in the way?”

  “Would you like it better?” He took his cock in one hand and rubbed its head along her hot, slick slit, pausing when he reached her anus. “Would you like it if I fucked you here?” He’d been first to breech her cunt, but he had no illusions that her ass still remained untouched. She’d been too hot, too adventurous with him to have saved that hole for five long years, even though she’d been too scared after they’d tried it once and it had hurt her…until near the end, when they’d bought anal probes in graduated sizes to stretch her for his cock…ones they’d never used because neither of them had wanted to once she’d found out she was pregnant.

  “I love fucking with you. Always have. Guess I always will.” Against his command, she lifted her hands, framed his cheeks between them, traced the seam of his lips and the lobes of his ears. “Have you missed me, Sam?”

  He had, but he wasn’t about to say so. Wasn’t going to give in to the urge to gather her in his arms, take her with love the way he had so long ago. “I told you to keep your hands above your head. Now do it. I want to concentrate on making you come for me.” Bracing himself on his hands and knees, he plunged his cock into her cunt, tried not to feel as though he’d just come home.

  Being inside her felt like heaven and hell, her inner muscles squeezing and taunting him as he sank inside her to his balls. Shit, he was going to come, and he desperately didn’t want it to be over. “How many cocks have you had here?” he asked as he retreated then slammed back into her welcoming heat.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “But it does. This pussy was mine. All mine. The idea of sharing it doesn’t work for me.” It worked in one way, all right. Thinking about the other lovers cooled his jets, kept him from flooding her immediately with his come.

  Sinking onto her, he took his upper body weight on his elbows, rubbed his chest against her hardened nipples, fed the jealousy that let him maintain control. “Do you like all those other cocks? Do they make you come the way I used to?” He lifted his hips, changed the angle of penetration so his pelvis ground into her swollen clit with every hard, punishing stroke. “Do you get as wet for them as you do for me?”

  Something like rebellion flashed in her eyes, but she licked her lips and shot him a saccharine smile. “Sometimes.” When he fucked her harder and faster, she gasped, “If I tell you all about my lovers will that get you hot?”

  “No, baby. Your cunt has my cock about to burst. Come for me. Let go and come the way you used to. Claw and scratch and scream for me until you forget all the others. Until there’s only room for me.” Increasing the pace, he pounded into her, the friction driving away his resentment, banishing everything but the primal need to come. To fill her with his worthless semen.

  “Oh God, Sam. Oh yesss. Fuck me harder, faster. Damn you, you’ve always made me melt inside.” Her cunt clenched around his cock, milked him, constricted flesh already about to burst. As her shouts turned to whimpers and the contractions of her pussy slowed, he shuddered above her. His entire being concentrated in his cock, his balls, and he came in long, staccato bursts born of long denial. Coaxed out by the one woman who’d fed his adolescent dreams. And joined him on a trip to ecstasy…pain…and betrayal.

  What the fuck was he thinking about, getting rock hard over ancient history? Imagining taking her, plowing ground a hundred other men had visited? Disgusted with himself, Sam stalked to the bunk where he’d pictured himself fucking her. He had to do something about this raging hard-on.

  Dropping his pants and stepping out of them, he lay down, took his aching cock in hand and pumped away. Nothing. Nothing but a dull ache in his balls and an erection that was going nowhere. Damn. Maybe… Closing his eyes, he tried to picture Joanne, but all he saw was Marcy.

  Marcy’s pale hair, her full, sensual lips…her cunt sucking, squeezing, milking him… Oh God, why had she suddenly invaded his head again after all this time? Sam’s balls tightened painfully. Then he came, the scalding hot semen spurting on his belly for what seemed like hours.

  Yeah, he still wanted her, for what that might be worth.

  Chapter Two

  The last person on earth she’d wanted to see this morning was Sam, standing in the cockpit of the Lucky Lady, watching her with his intense hazel eyes until he disappeared into the cabin. Marcy strolled along the shoreline, enjoying the abrasive feeling when she dragged her toes through white, powdery sand. Sam reminded her of an ancient god, standing shirtless at the helm of a golden prow, the dawn light catching the wavy chestnut curls she used to love tunneling through with her fingers. Rippling muscles of a mature man who took pride in his body had replaced the lanky lines she remembered from long ago.

  Why did Sam have to have gotten better, not just older? It would have been easier to ignore him if he’d developed a paunch or his hairline had started to recede. A lot easier. Her belly tightened, and the thong bottom of her bikini chafed her swelling pussy. She should have asked Cam Willis…or Todd…anybody…to come with her to this wedding. If she had she’d be in bed now, welcoming the morning with a lover, not staring into the rising wind and salivating over the last man on Earth she should be wanting to fuck.

  Bringing anybody but Sam had seemed somehow obscene, though, for all her memories of Ileana centere
d around him and the dreams they’d once shared with such optimism…such love. To have brought another lover, particularly one for whom she felt nothing but quickly sated desire, would have somehow sullied memories of happy times she’d always cherish.

  The wind whipped at her hair, and the eastern sky had an ominous tone. Gray mottled with the orange of dawn in fast-moving clouds that foretold danger. Not the storm the news had predicted, but a mirror of her own jumbled emotions. Warm, damp air swirled around her, but the tempest lay within her as much as in the increasingly forbidding sky.

  Still Sam’s image stayed with her as she circled to the Gulf side and stared at strong waves breaking over the barrier reefs. Damn it, she had to banish it. And she knew just how.

  She had to dredge up painful memories, remind herself what an asshole he’d been and why she’d thrown him out. Remind herself how he’d pampered every one of his patients but muttered a halfhearted, “Sorry, babe,” when she’d lost their baby that she’d wanted so much. Recall his chilling accusation that the baby hadn’t been his.

  Arrogant bastard. He’d been that then and he still was, now. Holier-than-thou, certain he had every answer, every right to dictate to her as he did to his adoring patients and their desperate spouses. Certain he couldn’t have fathered the flawed fetus she’d miscarried and unwilling to believe her when she’d sworn no one but him had ever stuck his hard cock into her pussy.

  The salt spray stung her eyes. It couldn’t be tears. She’d cried buckets of them years ago, until there were no more to come and she’d still held the anger, the hurt, the resentment…and the deep-down love that wouldn’t die. It hadn’t died in the arms of what seemed like a hundred faceless lovers and probably never would.

  Marcy squared her shoulders. For Ileana’s sake, she’d get through this wedding celebration. She’d make it a point never again to put herself through this—to avoid her former husband like the plague and do whatever it took to sweep away the pain…the love…the desire that held her in its grip despite all that had gone down before.