Consumed By You

by Lauren Blakely

  Next, she ran her hand through her hair, a slow, sensuous touch of her own body.

  Her eyes wandered briefly away from his, roaming down his body, and yup, there it was. The hard evidence that her dance was working. He was turned on something fierce.

  She went for the pièce de résistance. The move that brought a man to his knees. She brushed her hand down the front of her dress, sliding slowly over her breasts, spreading her fingers across her belly and finally running her palm along her thighs.

  Cha-ching.

  He set his beer on the table and stalked over to her, his broad chest looking so touchable in his pullover shirt, which was stretched tight across his muscles, and those jeans that fit him like a glove.

  “You look like you could use a dance partner,” he said, his sexy voice washing over her. The volume of the music was her wing woman. He had to lean in close so she could hear him. He was inches away, and the air between them vibrated with the frequency of desire.

  “What makes you say that?”

  He jutted up a shoulder. “Call it a hunch. Am I right?”

  She tilted her head and bit her lip as she gyrated. He nodded at her, his eyes straying to her hips. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Maybe I could use a dance partner, then. But only if he can handle me.”

  “Oh, he most definitely can handle you.”

  “I’d like to see the proof of that,” she said, as her heart beat faster and her skin heated up from their flirtation.

  “Would you, now?” he said, dropping his hand to her hip, making contact for the first time in years. Her breath hitched from that barest touch, from strong fingers curving into her body, digging into her hipbones, just the way she liked it. His thumb drew lazy circles on the fabric of her dress, and she wanted to thank the universe and curse it, too, because his touch felt so fucking good.

  Damn this man.

  Then curses went to praise when he fingered a strand of her hair with his other hand. A rush of tingles spread from her chest to her belly, and all that power she stood proud on moments ago drained away in a heartbeat as he pulled her in close. She was no longer the one calling the shots. He was, and he tugged her against him, aligning her body with his strong and very hard—incredibly hard—frame. Then, somehow they started dancing together. But this was no cotillion style or debutante ball dance. This was two bodies slowly grinding against each other. This was the dance of foreplay, a torturous tease of her swaying hips, and his erection pressed against her waist, and the heat inside her shooting sky high.

  It was a promise of the kind of night she’d have if she went home with him.

  But then she laughed inside because they’d never been one for homes. They hadn’t done it in a bed once when they were first together, and that was one of the very many reasons he’d ruined her for other men. Because he’d shown her what wild meant when she was merely eighteen. She was crazy for him then—what eighteen-year-old doesn’t fall hard for her summer boyfriend?—and she’d gladly handed Travis her V-card. Okay, maybe it wasn’t technically the first time she’d had sex with him that had rocked her world, but her second and third time with him had been spectacular, along with the fourth, fifth, sixth, and so on, as they explored all the hidden spots in their hometown.

  While they’d fallen back into each other a few times over the years since, their nights together had never amounted to more. But tonight, my God, it felt like anything could happen, and everything should happen. Maybe that’s what years of longing could do to a woman. She tried to concentrate on her mission—turning the tables on him, putting one over on the guys and their bet. But that motivation was growing muted and fuzzy as their bodies collided and he dropped his forehead against hers.

  “I’ve been thinking about you all night,” he whispered hotly.

  “What have you been thinking?” she asked, the breathiness in her voice betraying how damn much she wanted him.

  He didn’t answer right away. In the span of his silence, she imagined he’d give her a sweet line, because even when they were younger, he was a talker in moments like this, always telling her she was hot, he loved touching her, that sort of thing. But it was no rote compliment that fell from his lips.

  His answer was simple.

  “Red.”

  “Red what?”

  “I’ve been wondering if red was a theme for you tonight. If it extended across your entire wardrobe.”

  She trembled, turning into putty in his hands at the implication. Damn, a few enticing words, and she was ready to launch herself at him. “You have some very interesting thoughts, Travis.”

  “Oh, you don’t even know the half of it,” he said in a husky voice, low in her ear, the words sending a burst of tingles down her spine, settling between her legs in a sweet ache.

  “Well, you were standing there drinking beer and thinking about my clothes. That’s a little odd,” she said, teasing him.

  He yanked her body harder against him. “Did I say I was thinking about your clothes?” He wrenched back to look her in the eyes. His were full of dark intent, as if his filthy thoughts were written on them for her to read. He dipped his head to her neck, his warm breath on her bare skin. She shivered from the closeness, from the connection.

  “Then tell me what you were thinking about,” she said.

  “All I could do was imagine what you had on underneath this dress,” he said, fingering the slim strap on her shoulder. “And if that was red, too. If you were going to let me find out.”

  “What color do you think I have on?”

  His hand traveled down her back on a path to her ass. She gasped as his fingers mapped a slow, tantalizing trail against the fabric of her dress. The man hadn’t even kissed her yet, and she was melting. “I know you like color. I know you like changing up the color of your hair. I know you used to make sure your bra and panties matched your outfit,” he said, and fine, this was only about sex, but she liked that he remembered that little detail about her. His hand dropped lower, palming her rear. His touch ignited a round of fireworks in her body, a bright pop in her brain. “You’d wear a yellow tank top, and I’d strip your clothes off at the river and find these hot little yellow panties with a daisy flower on the front. Or you’d tackle me in the back of my truck, all in black, with a little lacy black thong on.”

  She remembered all those times perfectly, too. They were imprinted in her brain.

  “I tackled you?”

  “You tackled me. I tackled you. It was all good,” he said, tripping down memory lane.

  “It was. It was all good,” she said, intoxicated from his words now, as well as his touch.

  “I bet it still would be good,” he said, his lips buzzing across her neck, up the column of her throat, until he reached her earlobe.

  Oh God, she was cooked. Well past roasting. He could have her any way he wanted, and she was a fool for thinking she could stop at a mere kiss. He hadn’t even put his damn lips to hers, and she was ready to climb him like a tree.

  No point waiting.

  “Please kiss me,” she said, half desperate, half commanding. To hell with her plan to work him up and leave him on the dance floor. She was the one hot and bothered.

  …

  Screw bets.

  The deal with Smith was the farthest thing from his mind. He didn’t care one bit about what they’d gambled for—washing the other guy’s car in front of the firehouse. Table stakes, but that was their currency, and none of that mattered now. The only thought that occupied his brain was her, and that was pretty much all that had been in his head the entire night. Now, here she was, asking to be kissed. All of his reasons for resisting her had vanished with the feel of her soft curves under his hand, and the shivers that ran through her body when he touched her. Everything that had held him back disappeared entirely in her request.

  Though this wouldn’t be their first kiss, it would be the first time he touched her since that one night after th
ey’d graduated from college. He wanted this time to be different. Hotter, dirtier, more irresistible. So, instead of heeding her request, he spun her around, so her back was snug to his chest. She leaned into him, letting her soft, silky hair spill down the front of his shirt. That hair was so damn alluring. Perfect for pulling, twisting, even pinning her in place. He grabbed hard on her hips, tugging her delicious ass against his hard-on.

  “I’ve been like this all night for you. But then, that shouldn’t be a surprise. Sometimes just seeing you around town turns me on,” he whispered in her ear, his words causing a sexy gasp to escape from her lips.

  She dropped her hands on top of his, holding on as he ran them up and down the curves of her body. He pressed his lips lightly to her shoulder, leaving a kiss by the strap of her red dress. He continued to move with her, still dancing a slow, torturous, sensual dance. She stretched out her neck to the side, inviting more kisses. He worked his way up, leaving no stretch of her delicious skin unkissed. She pushed back against him, little sighs and murmurs falling from her mouth. He could only imagine what she’d sound like if he took her home right now and had his way with her.

  She grasped his hands tighter, threading her fingers through his and squeezing, as if she had to hold on for dear fucking life. Perfect. This was how he wanted her. This was the woman he couldn’t get out of his mind. He turned her around in his arms, and she molded her body to his, her hands shooting up into his hair as he cupped her cheeks. He gazed hungrily into her gorgeous blue eyes, so ready to kiss her at last. He dipped his mouth to hers, and the temperature in him shot to the moon. Her lips were sinful and sweet. They wasted no time with slow or lingering starter kisses. They went for it. Pent up, needy, and ravenous kisses. God, she tasted fantastic, and she responded like a dream, aligning her body along his, her breasts pressed against his chest, her sexy hips grinding against his cock.

  He kissed her hard, running his hands through her hair, his fingers curling around the back of her head. He couldn’t fathom stopping at a kiss, and certainly not this kind of kiss, which felt like the prelude to fucking. Their tongues swirled, their mouths devoured each other, their breath mingled. And somehow, the distance between them was reduced to nothing.

  The pressure in his bones increased. The need to have her multiplied. His body was a tight, hard line of desire, and he needed to know what she had on under that dress. He broke the kiss, grabbed her hand, and tugged her off the dance floor, quickly cutting a path through the crowd, around the corner, and down a hallway to a quiet corner of the club. He knew this place; his buddy owned it. And while this might not be a private room, it was a hell of a lot quieter than the dance floor. They were all alone. He backed her against the wall and ran his fingers along her ass. The look in her eyes was wanton and lustful. It was as if she’d entered some other zone, and it made his entire body buzz.

  “So, are they red?”

  “Find out,” she said in the sexiest murmur he’d ever heard in his whole life.

  His fingers quickly found their way to the promised land, sliding along the outside of her panties, which were so slick with her arousal that his brain was scrambled. His nervous system was electrified. She breathed out hard, as he pushed up the skirt of her dress all the way to find she was wearing an absolutely enticing pair of white lacy panties.

  He groaned appreciatively as he stroked one finger along the fabric that hugged her in the place he wanted to be. Lucky panties. What a lucky piece of lace to spend the night so nice and snug against her beautiful pussy.

  “That answers one thing. The other thing I want to know is how much you liked dancing for me, because I fucking loved that tease you were doing on the dance floor.”

  “You can find the answer to that easily, too,” she said, her voice an invitation that he was RSVPing to as he dipped his fingers inside the band of her underwear.

  The heat of her sweet pussy became the center of his world. He ran his fingers across her slick flesh. She arched into him, moaning.

  “I guess you like dancing for me,” he said, his bones buzzing as she rocked into his hand.

  “Love it,” she said on a pant, barely able to speak.

  He moved his fingers faster, exploring all that delicious wetness. “You know I can’t stop at kissing you, Cara. Never been able to. Once I touch you, I want all of you,” he said, as his finger visited her swollen clit. She cried out, and her eyes squeezed shut. She rocked her hips into his hand, her body seeking out friction, seeking out pleasure.

  “Same here,” she murmured.

  “You’re too hard to resist. You’ve got to know that,” he said, his own desire heating to supernova levels as she rode his hand. She was so close and he couldn’t wait to take her to the brink and send her flying, then, to find a private room, and to find it stat. He had to be inside her. Had to feel her heat gripping his dick. He circled her clit faster, and she arched into him, her back jammed against the wall, her body under his control. “Oh God, please, I’m almost there, make me come.”

  “Anytime,” he whispered, and thrust a finger inside her, her slick walls clenching around him as he crooked his finger to hit that spot that sent her soaring. She moaned his name, bucked against him, and grabbed his shoulders to hold on. She dropped her face to his chest, biting down hard on his shirt, breaking skin. She muffled her cries while she came undone on his hand.

  Like a fucking vision of passion, heat, and unbridled lust.

  Soon, she wrapped her arms around his neck, nuzzling against him, layering sweet, soft kisses along his jaw. Those kisses had his heart beating even faster. He was damn glad he’d taken that bet, and he didn’t give a shit about the stakes. All that mattered was how she felt in his arms, and the way the afterglow radiated across her beautiful face.

  “Cara, do you want to go upstairs? Someplace private?”

  She pulled away, looked up at him with those hazy, dreamy eyes. She seemed to be considering his question, and her lips curved up in a grin that made him sure he was going to be spending the evening where he wanted—between those gorgeous legs.

  But then, she moved her mouth to his ear and whispered, “No. And I bet you can’t figure out why I’m leaving you like this in the hallway.”

  She let go of him, her arms falling to her side, and her smile a daredevil one. He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, I bet you know,” she said, and then she walked away.

  Chapter Three

  Pilates at dawn. A few minutes of yoga after her first appointment. An hour on the elliptical during a mid-day break back at her house a few blocks off the town square.

  Cara was almost willing to try meditation, but that be-calm-and-zen approach never worked for her. She wasn’t prone to relaxation, and she definitely wasn’t mellow enough to meditate. She gripped the handles of the elliptical machine in her guest bedroom, zeroed in on the TV screen, and rolled her eyes in delight along with Giada on the Food Network as the hostess bit into another delicious piece of food.

  Maybe tonight she’d try that new pasta primavera recipe that Giada had raved about in today’s episode. Invite Jamie, Megan, and Kaitlyn over for a girls’ night in. No men allowed.

  From the moment she’d let the doors to the club fall shut behind her and hailed a cab to take her on an hour-long drive back to Hidden Oaks, she’d done her best to steer her brain onto a new path, as if she could reroute all her neural pathways. Once at home and in bed, she’d reread her favorite passages from Inside of a Dog, figuring that would keep her mind trained on other matters. Like how pissed off her body was for not taking Travis up on his offer. Her leave-him-in-the-lurch plan had done nothing to eradicate him from her brain. How could it? Travis had shown yet again why he was the yardstick by which she measured every other guy. She didn’t know if the man had some kind of magic touch or if it was simply that the two of them together were combustible, a fiery combination of heat and desire that ignited whenever they collided.

  As the closing
credits of the TV show rolled, she reached for the remote on the dashboard of her elliptical machine and turned off the cable. She hopped off the machine, her heart beating hard from the workout, and headed down the hallway, where she was greeted by her black and white lab-border collie mix, who’d been taking a dog nap while she worked out.

  Violet wagged her tail and lifted her chin for petting. Cara happily obliged, then grabbed her phone to check her afternoon agenda. She’d already logged two training sessions this morning, one with a nervous terrier in a nearby town and his equally nervous owner, and another with the coffee shop proprietor and her stubborn min pin who’d proven to be quite a handful. She had a free hour that afternoon, and then she was leading her advanced training class for dog agility later today.

  Since she had a break before her next client, she decided to reward her four-legged best friend. After a fast shower, she yanked her hair into a simple ponytail, then tugged on shorts, a tank top, and sneakers, and walked to the neighborhood park with an off-leash section.

  Along the way, Cara tossed a tennis ball up and down in her hand, which made Violet heel even more perfectly by her side, since the pooch was craving that green ball. “At least one of us can get what she wants,” Cara said to her dog. Sometimes she liked to pretend that Violet understood her, as she shared her thoughts about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness—and oftentimes about the pursuit of love.

  That had been a challenging one lately, though her friend Kaitlyn mentioned a few days ago that she had a new guy she wanted to set her up with. His name was Joe, he built furniture, loved dogs, and was an avid hiker. Like her, he was eager to settle down. “Joe’s not a play-the-field type of guy. He’s handsome and he’s ready for Ms. Right, so naturally I thought of you,” Kaitlyn had said when she set up the date. Sounded good to Cara, so she’d be seeing him later that week for dinner.

  She pushed her sunglasses against the bridge of her nose as the hot June sun of a Wine Country summer beat down on her, warming her bare skin. The weather was one of the many reasons she’d moved back to Hidden Oaks a year ago, since the temperatures here were much more pleasant than in the City by the Bay. Living in San Francisco for the last several years was akin to residing in a wind tunnel. The other reason she’d returned home was her family. Cara was the youngest of three girls by many years, though she was decidedly not an “oops” baby. Her parents adopted her when she was born to a teenage mom, and they gave her as much love and affection as they did her two older sisters. Now she simply wanted to be able to spend as much time with her family as she could, especially since her sister Stacy, who lived in town, was due to have her second child soon. Her parents were in South Carolina for a few weeks, visiting her other sister, Sofie, whose husband’s company had sent him there for a year.