Fuel for Fire

by Julie Ann Walker

  Well, that’s cutting to the chase, Christian thought with surprise. Ace was usually the epitome of politeness. But apparently he had known women like Jenny too, and wanted to nip the situation in the bud before it had a chance to bloom into a toxic flower.

  A rather ugly expression contorted Jenny’s face. She hooked a chip-nailed thumb toward Christian. “I thought he was gay, but not you,” she told Ace. Then she added, “Damned poofs,” before spitting on the ground and pushing from the table. She wobbled back to the bar.

  Just like that, all the happy was sucked out of the evening. Their brief reprieve was over, and it was back to the grind.

  Emily’s mouth was set in a moue of disgust as she watched Jenny retreat. But her brown eyes were liquid soft and full of concern when she turned to Ace, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry she called you that. I’ll go drag her out back and kick her ass. Just say the word.”

  Ace shrugged. “Sticks and stones, luv. Sticks and stones.”

  “Well, you might be able to brush it off, but I can’t,” Christian snarled. A vague film of red covered his vision. “I’m going to march up to that bar and tell Drunk Jenny a thing or two.”

  “And what would that accomplish?” Ace’s smile was grim. He shrugged his shoulders, and there was such resignation there that Christian felt a pang in his chest. He’d survived some pretty bad shit. But he hadn’t the first clue what it was to be judged on the color of his skin, or the god he’d been raised to worship, or the gender of the people he chose to love. He couldn’t fathom it. “It won’t change her ways,” Ace added. “Besides, she’s just a sad alcoholic lashing out at people to try to make them as sad as she is. Misery loves company and all that. I feel sorry for her.”

  “That makes one of us,” Emily grumbled. And for the first time, Christian found himself agreeing with her.

  There was no way to rekindle the happy atmosphere, but he hoped at least to end the evening on a lighter note. Self-immolation usually worked for that, so he sighed and donned a hurt expression. “But let’s get back to the real issue here.” Ace glanced at him curiously. “Why did she think I was gay?”

  Mission accomplished, he thought when Ace and Emily burst into laughter.

  “What?” he demanded, feigning a deep scowl.

  “Please,” Emily scoffed. “The clothes? The hair?” She waved a hand in his direction.

  “What’s wrong with my hair?”

  “Nothing. That’s precisely the point. It’s all thick and wavy and styled so perfectly. There’s even a well-placed whorl over your left eyebrow. Tell the truth… You do that intentionally, don’t you?”

  “That’s a load of tosh.”

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “It means bullshit, darling.”

  “Why do you always gotta use fancy English terms on me? Speak American, why doncha?”

  She could really pull off the tough South Side ’hood girl thing when she wanted to. Why that should intrigue him, Christian had no idea.

  Wait a tick-tock. Yes, he bloody well did! It was because every time she got tough, his instinct was to tame. More than once, he had fantasized about dominating Emily until she turned pliant and submissive in his arms.

  You can thank my childhood for that one too! he thought with a scowl.

  He might as well have been raised by wolves. He’d had no structure. But worse than that, he’d had no power over what happened to him. Helpless, that’s what he’d been. Bloody, buggering helpless. And that had informed his adulthood. It was why he was fastidious about everything. His clothes, his hair, his car, his world. Control… It was the only way he felt safe. Felt sane.

  “Before you two start trying to tear each other’s throats out again, how about we head back to Rusty’s?” Ace looked at his watch and added, “He should be home soon.”

  “Anxious to see him?” Emily waggled her eyebrows. The beauty mark high on her cheek caught the light and taunted Christian.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ace feigned boredom.

  “Oh, sure you do. I saw the looks passing between you two. And just for the record, Rusty’s a really good guy. I say, get your groove on, my man. We’re all down with the rainbow.”

  Hold the phone. Looks? Rainbow? “Wait.” Christian blinked. “Rusty’s gay?”

  Emily frowned. “How the hell did you miss that? Aren’t you supposed to have eyes in the back of your head and a sixth sense about people?”

  “I—”

  Before he could answer, she pushed ahead. “Didn’t you see the way he and Ace were ogling each other? It was so hot and dirty. Why do you think we had to take showers? It was to wash off the residue of all that eye sex they had while on the boat.”

  “There was no eye sex,” Ace insisted. “There was maybe a little…eye foreplay.”

  “If by foreplay, you mean just the tip. Then yeah. Sure, okay.”

  “And on that note”—Ace pushed to a stand—“I’m out.”

  “Party pooper,” Emily declared. But she too rose from the table, leaving Christian to follow suit.

  When he skirted the table, Ace frowned at him. “What are you grinning about?”

  “Nothing,” Christian lied, carefully rearranging his features. “Just happy to have a belly full of good English food.”

  “I’m pretty sure the phrase good English food is an oxymoron,” Emily shot over her shoulder, winding her way through the pub.

  A group of blue-collar city workers eyed her passage with such interest that Christian was tempted to knock their heads together. But he kept his cool by focusing on the fact that Rusty Parker was…da-da-da-dah!…gay!

  Now he could stop imagining Emily naked and in the big fisherman’s arms. Never in his entire life had he been so happy to learn of another man’s sexual preferences.

  Chapter 27

  “You’re beautiful when you come,” Dagan whispered, gently sliding his fingers from Chelsea’s body.

  She would have reckoned speech was impossible, so she was surprised when she managed to pant, “Nobody is beautiful when they come. It’s all weird noises and awful faces.”

  “You’re beautiful,” he insisted, pressing a long, deep kiss on her. After two explosive orgasms, she’d have bet her bottom dollar she was spent. But to her amazement, his talented lips and agile tongue had rekindled an unknown ember still burning inside.

  “But let’s make you come again,” he said, “just to be sure.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll be able to—”

  “I’m sure,” he declared.

  There was a devilishly arrogant gleam in his eye when he smacked another quick kiss on her lips. Then he bent to retrieve his wallet from his jeans. After fishing out the leather trifold, he extracted a wrinkled foil packet.

  That ember inside her became a spark when he ripped the foil open with his teeth and placed the condom’s latex ring around his plump, bulbous head.

  “Mmm,” he groaned and fisted the condom down his length. His pulse beat heavily in his neck—and even heavier down below when he unabashedly gave his cock a couple of tugs.

  A knowing smirk twitched his lips, causing a blush to steal into her cheeks. He had caught her looking and liking. But he didn’t say anything, just stepped forward, cupped her face, and caught her mouth in another mind-melting kiss.

  For long, tortured moments, he played with her lips, played with her breasts, plumping them and thumbing her nipples into sharp points of sensation. He had once more managed to stoke the flames of her desire. And all the while, she could feel him there.

  Against her.

  So hot, even through the latex. So hard. So…tempting.

  “Please, Dagan,” she begged when she couldn’t stand it a second longer. “I need you inside me.”

  He growled deep in his chest and opened two of the l
ower cabinet doors. She cocked a brow, curious. Then she realized his intent when he hooked his hands behind her knees and positioned her feet atop the open doors. When he swung the doors as far as they would go, she was wide open to him. For him.

  She could feel her heartbeat between her legs.

  “Relax, babe,” he whispered against her lips, his beard rasping against the soft skin of her cheeks. “Let’s take this nice and easy.”

  She didn’t want nice. She didn’t want easy. She wanted hard and fast and hot. Then again, with the size of him…

  Using his thumb, he angled his porn-star dick toward her and gently probed. Hot, hard skin met soft, wet flesh. She realized she was holding her breath in anticipation when little white lights strobed in front of her eyes. She blew out a ragged sigh when he dipped inside. Not much. But it was enough to have her body instinctively clenching around his intrusion.

  “This is never going to work if you keep doing that,” he whispered. Or rather panted. His thick chest heaved with effort. She knew his instincts were screaming at him to plunge inside. But out of concern for her, he held steady.

  Steady…

  That word described Dagan to a T. Besides her own father, he was the steadiest man she had ever known. The bravest. The most loyal. And for this one brief moment, he would be hers.

  “T-try again,” she managed, eyes still glued to the place where they were connected. To the length of hard, turgid flesh that bridged their bodies.

  “Breathe this time,” he commanded, gripping her hip in one hand, the base of his dick in the other.

  She sucked in a steadying breath and released it, nodding her head. And just like that, he slipped inside. Not too much, just an inch or two. But it was enough to make her feel uncomfortably full.

  “Fuck me, that’s a pretty sight,” he grumbled.

  And it was. Him, so thick and hard, buried inside her. Her, so slick and soft, welcoming him in.

  “Easy now,” he coached, taking a few unhurried passes. In and out. Deeper each time. Stretching her. Preparing her. “How does that feel?”

  “It feels amazing. You feel amazing. Now, give me all of it.”

  His breath hitched, and then he did. With one forceful jab he seated himself to the hilt. She gasped when his hot, heavy balls smashed against her ass at the same time the cushiony tip of him pressed hard against the entrance to her womb.

  She was stretched as far as she could go. It was pleasure. It was pain. It was some sort of delicious combination of both.

  “You okay?” His voice didn’t sound like his own. It was so low, so guttural. “You’re clamped down tighter than Fort Knox.”

  Inexplicably, a smile curled her lips—Fort Knox?—and she forced her body to relax. Pressing her forehead against his, she caught her breath. “Go slow at first, okay?”

  And he did that too.

  A gentle retreat was followed by a slow, slick advance. Over and over again, until nerve endings she hadn’t been aware she possessed began to scream for fulfillment.

  “You okay?” he asked again.

  Okay? She was better than okay. Better than good or even great. She was… There was no word for it. Transcendent, maybe? Overcome? Undone? Blissfully on the verge of another orgasm? All were true, but none captured what it was to make love to the man who had stolen her heart so long ago.

  “Faster, Dagan,” she commanded, searching for his mouth with her own. “Harder.”

  And just as with all her demands, he didn’t hesitate to comply. His hips pistoned. Sweat broke out over the skin of his shoulders where she was holding on for dear life. His mouth mimicked the motion he created below.

  She could feel him straining to hold back even as her own twice-sated body labored toward another completion. For long minutes he kept up the crazy rhythm, refusing to go over without her. His stamina was amazing. Not that she ever doubted it would be, but—

  Every thought was incinerated by the explosion of her orgasm. Once again, she was coming so hard, coming so good, just coming and coming and coming.

  Dagan ripped his mouth away. “Yes!” he cried through gritted teeth. “Squeeze me just like… Oh fuck!”

  She opened her eyes to see him fling himself over the edge. His eyes screwed shut, his jaw clamped down tight, and his mouth formed a soundless, animalistic snarl. Tendons popped out on the side of his neck, his stomach muscles contracted over and over again, and she felt his hot release even through the barrier of the condom.

  She had been wrong. Some people were beautiful when they came. Dagan Zoelner was one of them.

  Chapter 28

  For years, Dagan had kept himself apart, detached. Focusing on the missions and closing himself off from true happiness.

  But it was impossible to remain detached in Chelsea’s arms.

  “Chels.” He rested his forehead against hers as they both came down from the glorious high of physical release. “Chels, I—”

  He wasn’t sure what had been on the tip of his tongue. I love you, maybe? That was a pretty clichéd confession after sex, wasn’t it? You complete me, perhaps? But that was just as bad. Luckily, neither had the chance to slip past his lips because the knob on the front door jiggled, interrupting him.

  Without missing a beat, he filled his hands with her amazing ass, lifted her from the counter, and shuffled them into the pantry in the corner. He kicked the door shut behind them just as the front door opened and Emily called in a singsong voice, “Stop playing, little mice! The cats have returned!”

  Except for the sliver of golden light visible around the edge of the door, the little cubby was pitch-black. The smell of flour, maple syrup, and boxed cereal was strong. And the feel of still being connected to Chelsea, inside her, was more distracting than the sound of footfalls traversing the living room and entering the kitchen.

  Chelsea shifted in his arms. He realized she had caught the cord hanging down from the single bare bulb when she gave it a yank and dim yellow light flooded the pantry. It revealed canned goods, a whole shelf of cereal—a staple of the single man’s diet—and let’s not forget…Chelsea’s bodacious boobs.

  With her arm over her head, the left boob was looking up at him, taunting him and tempting him to bend his head and take a taste. Inside her, his softening erection throbbed with new life.

  Chelsea blinked at him in astonishment. “Really? So soon after that performance out there?”

  “What can I say?” He gave her ass a squeeze. “I can’t get enough. As for that performance out there…” He bent close, buried his nose in the hair beside her ear, and dragged in the warm strawberries-dipped-in-vanilla scent of her. Now it was mixed with sex. “I must admit I think that was some of my better work. And on a kitchen counter, no less.” Because he couldn’t help himself, he gave her a shallow stroke that made them both moan with pleasure.

  “Yoo-hoo!” A loud knock sounded on the door. “Would you two like me to hand in your clothes? Or would you prefer to come talk to us with your naked bits bobbing?” Emily made the word naked sound more like nekkid. “We have an update on the situation.”

  “Clothes, please!” Chelsea called, wiggling to be let down.

  Dagan sent her a disappointed look.

  She answered him with come-on-we-can’t-very-well-make-love-again-with-an-audience-listening eyes.

  He begged to disagree. He could be quiet if he really had to be. On the other hand, he wasn’t so sure about her. The woman clawed her way to the pinnacle each time, hissing and snarling. And then when she finally reached the top, she howled her pleasure.

  Sighing in resignation, he gently lowered her to the floor. They both groaned when he slipped out of her. Compared to the sultry heat of her body, the air inside the pantry was freezing cold. All he wanted was to get warm again.

  Another knock sounded at the door. With a growl of frustration—or was it disappoint
ment? Maybe both?—Dagan reached behind Chelsea, opened the door, and thrust out a hand. Pulling in a pile of clothes, he looked at Chelsea and hesitated.

  She was so damn sexy standing there naked among the soup and the cereal. Her chest and cheeks were flushed from their recent exertions, her phenomenal curves on full display. It was a crying shame to cover any of that up.

  “Uh-uh.” She lifted a finger. “I recognize that look. Wipe it off your face this instant, or we’re never going to leave this pantry.”

  “Would that be such a bad thing? Far as I can see, we’ve got everything we need. Food. Drink. You and me sans clothes.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Condoms?” She lifted a haughty brow, sure she had bested him.

  He gave her his wickedest grin. “I can think of ways we can improvise.”

  “You’re impossible.” She shoved her hands on her hips, donning her patented pint-sized Wonder Woman stance.

  He had always loved it. Little had he known how much more he would love it when she did it naked.

  “And there’s that look again,” she said exasperatedly.

  “What look?”

  “You know good and well what look. Your Big Bad Wolf, come-a-little-closer-so-I-can-eat-you look.”

  He licked his lips and gave her his best growl.

  Shaking her head, she stomped over, boobs jiggling in the most delightful way. But before she could snatch her things from his hands, he held the whole pile over his head. Since he was a foot taller than she was, it effectively put everything out of her reach.

  Do the Wonder Woman thing again.

  She fisted her hands on her hips, and it took all he had not to pump a fist.

  “I’m not going to jump for them,” she informed him with a sniff.

  “Oh, please. Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

  “You’re such a pervert.”

  “Guilty as charged. And you love it.”

  “Ugh!” She tossed her hands in the air. “You are impossible!”