The Dirty Girls Book Club

by Savanna Fox

  He was injured, in pain, and yet he was being so nice to her. She smelled his warm maleness, and the scent was heady. Did he feel her breath against his body?

  His chest rose and fell more rapidly.

  She moved closer, snuggled tighter against him—and realized he was indeed naked under the bathrobe. Naked, and erect.

  Twenty

  Woody rested his chin on the top of Georgia’s head. She fit perfectly in his arms. He liked it that this strong woman, so determined to be independent, felt safe with him. That he could protect her and she’d let him comfort her and offer advice.

  He liked her curves too, which were much more accessible in that silky dress than in her normal suits. And the vanilla scent of her, both innocent and sexy. She smelled edible and he wanted to taste her.

  Her breath, her tumbled hair, were soft caresses against his skin. Her shoulders and back felt delicate and feminine under his arms.

  His body ached. His nose throbbed, his swollen eye burned, and his shoulder felt like someone had tried to wrench it off. But, overpowering those pains was the achy tightness in his groin, the driving need to have sex with her.

  Sex. With a condom. Not lovemaking. Not that soul mate intimacy she’d spoken of, that made her face glow. That she found so damned transcendent.

  He was—almost always—a good lover. Women moaned, cried out with pleasure, told him he’d made them see stars. They wanted to do it again.

  But not Georgia. And now maybe he got it. It wasn’t just that he’d been a jerk that first time, losing control and thinking only of himself. She’d climaxed, but he hadn’t taken her to that special place she’d been with her husband. Hell, how could he? He’d never been there. Hadn’t realized such a place existed.

  Georgia’d had better sex than he’d ever had. Her husband, that skinny, intellectual-looking dude, had given her that.

  She gave one of those little female shimmies that wriggled her whole body tighter up against his, and let out a sigh.

  When Woody had played the “maybe I have a concussion” game, his goal had been to get her here and convince her to have sex. She had to feel his hard-on, and she hadn’t stepped away. So maybe she’d be amenable.

  He’d never be her soul mate, never give her fucking transcendent sex. But who cared? He didn’t want all that stuff like commitment and marriage. Marriage could turn out bad. Real bad, like with his parents. Even a steady relationship was tough for a hockey player, with the guy on the road half the time and his girlfriend at home. Lots of couples broke up.

  Some didn’t, though. And yeah, maybe he felt a little envious of the guys who had wives and kids cheering for them at home games.

  Oh hell. He wasn’t concussed, but that blow to his head must have rattled his brain. He was standing here, naked and hard under his bathrobe, holding a gorgeous woman in his arms. His little head was screaming for sex and his big head had gone all girly and romantic?

  “Maybe I am a little disoriented.” He stroked down her back and rested a hand on the sweet curve of her ass. “But there’s one thing I’m sure of.”

  She eased back so she could look up at him, the motion thrusting her hips more firmly against his hard-on. “What’s that?” Golden flecks glittered in her hazel eyes, and her cheeks, which had been ghost-white since the mugging, were finally pink.

  “This.” He bent and captured her lips, grateful that the mugger hadn’t punched him in the mouth.

  Her response was immediate, telling him she felt the same need he did. Her lips were so soft, so full, and when his tongue licked inside her mouth she tasted faintly of chocolate. He’d never been a big dessert guy, but he could get addicted to vanilla and chocolate, served up Georgia style.

  Heat surged through him and his body strained to get closer to hers. He wanted to rip off the stupid ice wrap, his robe, her pretty dress. To get flesh to flesh.

  Seeing her in that alley, some hopped-up loser pointing a knife at her—Hell, it had been one of the worst moments of his life.

  But she was here. Safe, warm, and responsive in his arms.

  Or, no, maybe she wasn’t. She broke the kiss, her hands coming between them to push against his chest.

  Damn it, what now?

  “Woody, we can’t.” Her breath came fast; her eyes were golden. “You’re injured. You should go to bed.”

  That wasn’t a “no.” Not a real “no.” He didn’t let go of her. “Yeah, I should. And you should come with me. You can play nurse. Tend to my aches. All of them.” He pumped his hips so his erection thrust against her belly.

  “You need rest.”

  “What I need is you.”

  “But it would hurt too much.” Her finger traced the edge of the shoulder wrap. “Wouldn’t it?”

  The wistful edge to her question made him grin. “I’m not gonna be feeling any pain when I’m inside you, Georgia.” It was a lie, but he was used to pain—had been since he was a little kid—and the sex would be worth it.

  “But if you have a concussion …”

  “I don’t. I lied. Sorry, but I wanted to be with you.”

  “You wanted to be with me?” She didn’t sound mad, thank heavens.

  “Yeah.” And now, he realized, it had gone beyond wanting sex with her. He needed it. Maybe it was some primitive male instinct: he’d fought for her, and she was his prize. But it felt more like he needed to reassure himself that she was okay. Or to show her she wasn’t a victim, but a lovely woman who should be treasured.

  Treasured? Man, his brain really was rattled.

  She was staring up at him, her thoughts clear on her face. She was tempted, but not sure it was a good idea.

  “For once,” he said, “don’t take things so seriously. Don’t worry about work; don’t worry that I’m not your soul mate. Give us tonight, Georgia. We deserve it.” Then, before she could answer, he kissed her, letting his lips and tongue persuade her.

  After the briefest moment, she responded hungrily, giving him his answer and fueling his own need.

  He wanted her in his bed. Now. He’d have hoisted her and carried her, but his shoulder had taken enough punishment. Instead, he caught her hand and tugged her along to the bedroom.

  The room was big, like the rest of his apartment, and his bed was king-sized. It faced a huge window, but he didn’t bother pulling the blinds because no one could see in. He clicked on a lamp on the dresser that shed a dim, golden light.

  When he opened the fastener on the ice wrap, Georgia helped him peel it off, and he tossed it on the carpeted floor.

  She stood there, looking nervous and very beautiful. “Are you sure you should be doing this?”

  “Totally.” He hated that he wasn’t 100 percent, and that he must look like a freak with his swollen eye and nose. But he’d do everything he could to make this good for her.

  He kissed her gently, then tossed back the duvet, revealing a white Egyptian cotton sheet. He might look a wreck, but his sheets were classy. “Let’s lie down together.” Again he took her hand, and tugged her toward the bed. Careful of his shoulder, he lay on one side of the bed, leaving room for her on his good side.

  She studied him for a long moment, a smile curving her lips; then she kicked off her shoes. A hint of mischief in her eyes, she reached under her dress. “Let me guess. You want me to take off my panty hose.”

  He chuckled at the reminder of the joke he’d played on her. “Good idea.”

  She peeled off the gold-dusted fabric slowly, not revealing anything more than a few inches of thigh, but making it a sexy striptease all the same.

  Then she came to lie beside him. In the soft golden light, her eyes were a little swollen, a little pink, and the small amount of eye makeup she’d worn was smeared around them. She looked tired, vulnerable, and he wanted to take care of her even if it meant restraining the need that raged inside him.

  Lying on his side, he twined a curl of hair around his finger, then leaned over to bury his lips in the flaming mass. “Such prett
y hair.” He kissed her forehead, trailed a finger down the side of her face, followed it with his tongue and lips. “And such a pretty face.”

  She shivered, shifted position, her muscles loosening and eyes closing.

  His tongue tracked the curve of her earlobe and toyed with a small gold earring; then he closed his teeth around her lobe and nipped gently.

  She made a wordless sound of approval and curved her neck, offering it to him.

  He kissed it leisurely, trying to ignore the pain from his injuries and the ache in his loins. Trying to focus entirely on her pale, silky skin, the hint of vanilla that rose from her, the warm pulse of her blood.

  His tongue circled the hollow at the base of her throat and he pressed a kiss there.

  She sighed. “Woody, that’s so nice. This isn’t what I expected.”

  He needed her to know that he could be gentle. That he could be patient and thorough; he could appreciate a woman the way she deserved to be appreciated.

  He tugged at her zipper. “Don’t want that nice dress to get wrinkled.”

  A grin curved her lips but she didn’t open her eyes. “Oh no, we couldn’t have that.” She lifted herself as he peeled the dress down, revealing her lovely body clad in a semi-sheer flesh-toned bra and skimpy panties.

  He rose, stifling a groan of pain, and hung her dress carefully over the back of a chair.

  He turned and saw her watching. “Thank you,” she said.

  “No problem.” Or, at least, her thanks made it worth the pain. For a moment, he just gazed at her, taking in the sight of her spread out on his white sheet. “You’re beautiful, Georgia.”

  She shook her head, as if denying it. “Take off your robe.”

  He slipped out of it and stood, naked.

  “You’re beautiful,” she said. Then, with a twitch of her lips: “At least from the neck down.”

  He laughed softly and walked back to the bed. Kneeling on the carpet, he leaned over to kiss her mouth. And then he worked his way down, set on kissing every inch of her, even those spots that tended to get ignored.

  Yes, he wanted her breasts, her pussy, beneath his lips, but he also wanted the inside of her arm, her pointy elbow, the delicate bones of her wrist.

  The ache in his groin was ever-present as he licked, kissed, and savored her, but, like the pain in his shoulder, he banished it to a far recess of his awareness. Worshiping Georgia’s body was all that mattered.

  Time stood still. The night stood still. Nothing existed except the scents of vanilla and arousal, Georgia’s soft sighs and moans, the tiny movements as she shifted to give him better access to every secret place.

  He could do this forever, and never grow tired of it.

  Her bra came off, and her nipples were ripe berries under his tongue, firm and succulent. He teased and sucked them until she cried out and ripples of release shook her body.

  Oh yeah, he understood why men wrote poetry.

  His lips tracked the smooth skin over her ribs, the curve of her waist, the hollow of her navel, the flare of her hip. He hooked his fingers in the sides of her tiny panties and peeled them down slowly, his mouth following: across her flat belly, down through the neat vee of red curls, and between her firm thighs to her sex.

  She was moist and hot, sweet and tangy, fragrant with the scent of desire. He ran his tongue across her swollen skin, between her folds, and around her clit. When he slipped a finger inside her, then another, her hips twisted and she whimpered, “Oh, yes.”

  He pumped gently, swirling his tongue around and around her clit, then sucking it gently until her body clenched, shuddered, and she cried out as orgasm swept her.

  When the tremors finally settled, she said weakly, “What are you doing to me?”

  “Does it feel good?”

  “Oh, God.”

  He smiled against her damp skin, and began to kiss his way down her thighs. Her knees didn’t escape his attention, nor her shins. He’d never thought much about women’s shins before, but Georgia’s legs were beautiful all the way from her soft inner thighs to her slim ankles. To finish off, he kissed every toe.

  When he rose, Woody realized how much his aching body had stiffened. In that moment, he felt middle-aged. Then he gazed down at the woman who was staring up at him with a dazed smile, and felt like a god.

  Her gaze sharpened and focused on his erection, and her smile turned into a sexy grin. “I think you’ve waited long enough.” She rolled on her side and opened his bedside drawer. “I’m guessing … Yes, there we go.” She pulled out a condom package and ripped it open. “Come here.”

  He stood beside her as she sheathed him, the touch of her fingers sheer torture on a cock that was ready to burst.

  She lay back and opened her arms, and he lowered himself to lie atop her as her legs came up to hug his hips and her arms circled his back and pulled him close. Their lips met, and as he kissed her deeply, passionately, his cock finally found its way home, slipping into the welcoming dampness of her channel. He groaned with sheer pleasure.

  Then, still kissing her, he rolled the two of them so she was on top. This was a good night to put her in control. Besides, this position was easier on his shoulder.

  She sat up slowly, straddling him, and began to slide up and down his shaft, tentatively at first but soon finding her rhythm.

  It felt fantastic, and he fought the urge to pump his hips and drive himself harder, faster, into her. He rested his hands on her thighs and felt the muscles shift, watched the soft bob and sway of her breasts, saw how the lamplight turned her hair to flame.

  Her eyes were closed and she looked inwardly focused, but then they opened and she stared at him wonderingly. Breathing fast, speaking between little gasps for air, she said, “This feels so good. I can’t believe how sexy you make me feel.”

  “Damn, Georgia, you are sexy. You’re incredible.” He thrust once, hard, then stopped himself.

  Her body tightened around him and she moved faster, swirling her hips, letting him know she was getting close.

  He found her clit with his thumb and rubbed it gently, making her gasp. And then, though his body urged him to roll her, pin her down, drive into her, and claim her, he let her set the pace as she took them both higher, higher, and over the peak.

  His groan of satisfaction was soul-deep.

  Her cry was music.

  Their bodies shuddered together for ages, then slowly she collapsed down on him. Now he did roll them, settling her while he got up to deal with the condom and turn off the light.

  When he came back, he pulled the sheet over them and lay back, contented, tucking her into the curve of his good shoulder, her cheek against his chest.

  A chest that was growing damp. Damn it, she was crying. “Georgia, what’s wrong?”

  Twenty-one

  The concern in Woody’s voice made Georgia realize tears were sliding down her cheeks onto his chest. “Nothing,” she reassured him, snuggling into the curve of his arm and blinking back the tears. “It was wonderful. It’s just that I’m really emotional tonight.”

  His hand tightened on her shoulder. “I know that was tough on you, what happened with the muggers. I kind of hoped you’d feel better after, you know, we …”

  Startled, she gave a chuckle. “You’re not saying this was pity sex?” No, she was sure that wasn’t true. Though she wasn’t the most experienced woman in the world when it came to sex, she knew she wasn’t the only one who’d had a good time.

  “Hell, no. Or maybe it was you pitying the poor beat-up hockey player.”

  Her cheek rested on curly hair over solid muscle; her arm stretched across six-pack abs. Even injured, he was too strong—and not just physically—to ever elicit pity. Concern, though. “How are you feeling? I haven’t been a conscientious nurse.” The sex, even though it hadn’t been strenuous, must have hurt him.

  “I’m okay.”

  “You’re in pain,” she guessed.

  He stroked down her bare arm. “Pain’s a
way of life for a hockey player. For most serious athletes.”

  Were they all insane?

  When she didn’t respond, he said, “You don’t get it. Think we’re all crazy?”

  She nodded. “Pretty much. Why would someone opt into a career like that? The money?”

  “I admit the money’s nice.” A pause, then, a little grimly: “More than nice sometimes. Yeah, no one’s complaining about making that kind of money, and some people are into the fame. But for most of us, it’s because we’ve found something we do well, and we want to be the best we can at it.”

  “That’s why you do it?”

  “Yeah. It’s the one thing I’m really good at, but it’s also the first thing in life I loved, pure and simple, no strings or complications.” She couldn’t see his face, but his voice had that same shadow she’d seen a time or two in his eyes. If he’d loved his parents, it hadn’t been pure and simple. Poor Woody.

  “Why did you love hockey so much?”

  “It’s fast, hard, clean in its own way. Blades cutting ice; there’s nothing like it. And hockey’s a world of its own. First it was a frozen lake, just me and my buddy Sam. Then indoor rinks, training, teams, games. But it’s all focused, right? You know the goal.” He gave a short laugh. “Hell, think about that word. Our goal’s to score a goal. Being a team, playing fair, playing well, making it happen.”

  “You make it sound simple and straightforward, but I know it’s not.” That was a lesson she’d only recently learned.

  “It is and it isn’t.”

  “So, you felt all of that, from the time you were a kid?”

  “Yeah. Plus it got me out of the house. Gave me something good.”

  “You said things were rough at home,” she said tentatively, hoping he’d expand. Hoping he’d trust her that much, in the intimate darkness.