Great Dane (Sensuous Seasonings)

by Brice, Dee

  All the female cheerleaders and the basketball team called him Great Dane. And they weren’t referring to his prowess on the court. Jennifer Martin didn’t care about his playboy reputation. On her eighteenth birthday, she gave her love and virginity to Dane Derrick Davidson. After a summer of hot sex, he broke her heart, leaving without even saying goodbye. Ten years later, he’s back for her birthday.

  When he was twenty-five, Dane knew he had no right to seduce his best friend’s younger sister. But he selfishly wanted her first time to be with him. He knew he had to leave her, let her grow up and decide from a more mature perspective whether he was more than a teenage crush. Now he’s back, determined to rekindle her love for him—even if he has to tie her to his bed and feed her all her favorite fruits to convince her.

  Does he want another summer of sex? Or this time will he stay forever?

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Great Dane

  Copyright © 2011 Dee Brice

  ISBN: 978-1-55487-758-4

  Cover art by Angela Waters

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books

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  Great Dane

  Sensuous Seasonings Book Two

  By

  Dee Brice

  Chapter One

  Triple D was in Jennifer Martin’s head again, urging her to come, complaining that his tongue was getting tired and his cock limp. Uncharacteristic for Dane Derrick Davidson. When she imagined him making love to her while she masturbated, he had all the time in the world. Today, however, even the memory of his lovemaking failed to bring her release.

  Probably because the real man was in her parents’ house, Jennifer thought resentfully. Sitting up in her window seat, she looked down at Dane cavorting in the swimming pool with her brother Greg and Greg’s latest girlfriend. What was her name? Oh yeah. Bambi.

  Jennifer sneered. Mothers who named their daughters Bambi obviously hadn’t read the children’s tale and didn’t know Bambi was a buck. Just as obvious, this Bambi didn’t know that either. Impaled on Greg’s cock, she reached for Dane’s. Jennifer vowed she’d never swim in the pool again.

  “Three’s a crowd.”

  The gentle breeze carried Dane’s voice to her. She shivered with longing. At thirteen she’d fallen in love with that deep, rumbling baritone of Dane’s twenty-year-old voice. Now, fifteen years later, it still made her hot with longing

  “Unrequited lust’s a bitch,” she said, unshed tears hot behind her eyes. Frustrated by her unfulfilled fantasies, she retreated to her bathroom. She refused to go downstairs to dinner looking like she’d been drinking for a week. A cold shower would ease her lust and take any puffiness out of her eyes after she finished crying.

  Ten years since he left you, for crying out loud. Get over it!

  Stripping off her robe, she took inventory of her naked reflection. Compared to Bambi’s petite, curvaceous, blue-eyed blondness, Jennifer looked too tall, too angular, too dark. Nobody had ever called her cute. Even as a curly-haired toddler, her solemn brown eyes had made her seem older and disinclined to laugh.

  Nothing much had changed over the intervening years. Except she’d gotten tall enough to play basketball with Greg and his friends and had, finally, grown breasts. Which, depending on who she believed, were either too large—Anything over a mouthful’s wasted—or not big enough to fill a man’s hands.

  Nobody ever said anything about the size of a man’s mouth or his hands. Or the size of his cock, for that matter. Every man, Jen suspected, wanted a woman to praise his prowess and claim his cock the longest, thickest and otherwise best cock on Earth.

  Of the three lover’s Jen had had in her life, only Dane deserved wholehearted praise. And the nickname Greg and his friends had given him, Jen amended. Great Dane suited him—and his cock—to perfection. Or maybe she agreed only because Dane had been her first lover. On her eighteenth birthday.

  Grimacing at the memory, shrugging it away, she stepped into the shower and adjusted the water temperature. The cool sting of needle-like spray eased the frustration from her scalp and shoulders—at best a temporary respite.

  The last time she and Dane had made love—had sex, she reminded herself ruthlessly—was in this shower. Seeming unperturbed by the feminine scent of her lavender soap, he’d covered her breasts with his large, long-fingered hands and stroked her nipples to rigid peaks. Unable to recall his words, she remembered his voice in her ear, low and gravelly. His breath felt hot along her throat. His hands glided down her body, parting her trembling thighs with light caresses. His fingers teased her clit then, endless moments later, eased into her pussy. Wave after wave of pleasure rolling over her, she felt his cock—rigid and throbbing—between her buttocks. Bracing her against the tile wall, he entered her from behind. The exquisite pressure of his fingers on her nipples, on her clit, of his cock ramming in and out, of his voice praising her tightness and juicy heat, had brought her to a screaming climax.

  He released her, turned her in his arms and drove into her again. She remembered his words. “Wrap your legs around me.” She did. “I want to see your face when I make you come.” And finally, “Say the words, Jen.”

  Afraid he would leave her on the sharp edge of need, she whimpered, “Fuck me, Dane. Fuck me hard.”

  His smile feral, his hands tightening on her ass, he took them over the edge of sanity into beautiful chaos.

  Now, her body remembered and longed for that moment. Brushing impatiently at her eyes, she willed away the memories and her tears. The next time she decided to satisfy her own sexual needs, she wouldn’t do it in this room or this house. And, she vowed, she wouldn’t imagine Dane anywhere near her.

  Slicking wet hair out of her eyes, she left the shower and groped for her towel. Her searching fingers found flesh. Naked, hairy, muscled flesh. Yelping, backing away, she opened her eyes and squelched a shriek.

  As if her memories had summoned him, Dane stood before her, her towel dangling from his long fingers. Behind that thick velour, held negligently at his waist, something pulsed the fabric. She knew what, but thought, Disgusting, her juices seeping, readying her for his penetration. She didn’t know if she found his erection or her body’s reaction disgusting.

  She snatched the towel to her breasts. Turning her back to hide the blush flooding her entire body, secreting her puckered nipples, she wrapped the towel around her like a sarong and took a deep breath for courage.

  Facing him once more, forcing herself to ignore his still magnificent body, she tilted her chin and met his amused wolf-blue eyes. For a long moment they stared at each other. Then, unable to resist, she drank him in. He still wore his dark brown hair too long. It fell over his brow and curled around his ears. He reminded her of Lord Byron—too handsome for his own goo
d. His shoulders seemed wider than she remembered, his pecs more defined under his perpetual tan. Dark curls—silky as sin—spanned his wide chest and arrowed downward. She swallowed a silent gulp as her gaze swept over his bulging groin and took in muscular thighs and calves, his oddly elegant feet. Six feet, six inches of potent male stared back at her.

  “Nobody wears a towel with your panache, Jen.”

  That velvet baritone caressed her taut nerves like his work-roughened hands had caressed her body ten years ago.

  “Not in the mood for seconds, Dane? I’m sure Greg doesn’t mind sharing and I doubt Bambi would object.” Brushing by him, she stalked to her huge closet and pulled out underwear.

  “Women like Bambi have never appealed to me,” he said, leaning against the closet doorjamb.

  Jen darted a glance at his crotch and snorted. At least he was wearing something—if anyone could call those minuscule bright blue swim trunks clothing. They barely covered his crotch and his semi-rigid erection.

  “Couldn’t prove it by me.” Even before they’d made love, Dane had women falling at his feet. She doubted things had changed much.

  Jerking a hot-pink shift off its hanger, she retreated to her bedroom. Determined he would never know how much his presence distracted her, aroused her, she tossed the towel on her bed and dressed slowly. Like he wasn’t even in the room. If her legs trembled and her hands shook… Well, if he noticed at all, he could think whatever he wanted to think.

  “Care to explain that prove it remark? Guess not,” he answered when she ignored him.

  Jen crossed to her windows and looked down at the pool. Greg and Bambi had abandoned it. Greg, now wearing swim trunks, brandished a spatula at Bambi, then turned his attention to the grill. Jen smiled. One thing she’d always admired about her older brother was his single-mindedness. Sex was fun, but barbequing was serious business. Manly business.

  “Smells good,” Dane said at her ear, making her jump.

  Whirling, she hit his chin with her elbow. He swore. She cradled her throbbing arm, muttered under her breath and fought back tears. Unsure of the source of her tears—her numb arm or her traitorous body—she sidestepped Dane and ran out.

  * * * *

  Dane, rubbing his smarting chin, stared at her slender back until he could no longer see her. He’d had few expectations of their reunion being steamy, although he could admit he’d hoped. Still, her reaction to his body—her furled nipples, the blush she’d tried to hide, but couldn’t because it lit her backside like a candle—gave him a sense of accomplishment.

  Hardball negotiations, hostile takeovers—his stock-in-trade—paled in comparison to dealing with the leggy, rangy brunette who’d run from him. Or was she running from herself?

  Grinning, he sauntered out the door and strolled toward his room. The same room he’d occupied ten years ago. The same room he’d left ten years ago, intent on Jen’s seduction.

  Fresh from his shower, clothed in khaki shorts and a green polo shirt, Dane crossed the flagstone terrace then handed Greg a bottle of beer.

  “Thanks.” Dane’s best friend popped the cap and gulped down half the contents. “I needed this.” Nodding, he directed Dane’s attention to the two women circling the wrought iron table some ten feet away from the grill. “Bambi thinks Jen’s a snob. That’s why she’s acting like a complete idiot.”

  “Jen is a snob. But I don’t think she’s deliberately being a bitch. Your girlfriend’s acting like a bimbo—inviting Jen’s scorn. You know how Jen despises women who act like they can’t get out of bed without a man’s help.” Fascinated, he watched the women glare at each other as they set the table.

  “I thought… Naw. Jen’s not trying to protect me from Bambi. Is she?”

  “Maybe she’s protecting Bambi from you.”

  Greg laughed.

  “I’ll see what I can do to diffuse the situation,” Dane said.

  Hazel eyes glittering, Greg grinned. “I don’t advise it. Interference might provoke all-out war. Let’s see if eating can bring about détente.” Snaking a platter off the tile sideboard, he piled on steaks and foil-wrapped corn-on-the-cob.

  “I’ll go get the beans,” Dane offered.

  “Unless you want to wear them, don’t bother.”

  Dane eyed the women now heading toward the kitchen inside the house. Bambi scampered, taking three steps to Jen’s one. Then she stopped to pull up her string-bikini halter.

  “What’s Bambi hoping? That Jen’ll let her bring out the salad?”

  “Nope. I think Bambi’s hoping Jen will leave the beans for her. That way, Bambi can trip over her own feet and toss the beans all over Jen.”

  “Ouch!” Dane laughed, rubbing his chest and imagining it covered with sizzling hot pinto beans. “Women really are deadlier than we men.” Sobering, he added, “Your lady hurts mine, I’ll beat you both to a pulp.”

  “Break my sister’s heart again,” Greg countered mildly, “and I’ll serve her your balls for breakfast.”

  Raising his own bottle of beer, Dane clinked it against Greg’s, saying, “I have no intention of breaking Jen’s heart.”

  Greg bared his teeth. “Yeah, well, we both know where good intentions lead.”

  “Yeah,” Dane agreed. If he had anything to say about it, ten years of hell would lead him to paradise.

  Chapter Two

  Dinner passed in silence, except for overly polite requests for the salt, pepper, beans or butter. When the conversation dwindled to nothing, Greg said, “Strange weather. No fog. Warm enough to swim.”

  “That’s because the pool’s heated,” Jen sniped.

  Dane wondered what caused her shiver of distaste. Had she seen Greg and Bambi having sex in the swimming pool? He glanced up at her second story windows. Yeah, she could see the pool from her window seat.

  “Just a little slap and tickle,” he murmured in Jen’s ear. Which earned him a blank glare. He cut a piece of steak, then popped it in his mouth. “Great flavor,” he said to Greg when he finished chewing.

  Bambi carefully unrolled the foil around her ear of corn. While the others watched, completely fascinated, the blonde cut the kernels into her empty salad plate, then halved a butter pat and added it.

  “Greg promised he’d get me one of those oriental barbeque thingies,” Bambi told them, snuggling her generous breast against Greg’s arm.

  Jen tore the foil off her corn. Slathered it with butter, then chomped down the cob without stopping. Turning it to attack another row, she licked her lips and as far down her chin as her tongue could reach.

  Dane almost swallowed his own tongue. Jen had often attacked his cock with that same gusto. Remembering the last time she’d gone down on him, his cock swelled. He shifted on the hard bench, a futile attempt to find comfort. Jen, the cob halfway to her mouth, looked at him and froze for a long moment. He had the distinct feeling she was remembering, too. But did it make her hot like it did him?

  Shifting her gaze across the table, Jen said, “The oriental thingy is Asian, specifically Japanese. And it’s called a hibachi.”

  Bambi glared. “Whatever.”

  “I can’t believe this weather. Seventy-five degrees in late May—practically unheard of in Monterey.”

  Seeing the two women glaring at each other, Greg grabbed Bambi’s hand and dragged her to her feet.

  “We’re going,” he growled.

  “To your room?” Batting her lashes at Greg, her triumphant smile directed at Jen, she giggled.

  “No. I’m taking you home.”

  “You’re coming back,” Jen said, her voice a plea.

  “Spending the night at my place,” said Bambi. The statement sounded like an order.

  “I’ll clear the dishes,” Dane said, stacking his and Jen’s plates and silverware.

  “Leave them,” Jen shouted, racing after Greg.

  Bambi, her high heels digging at the grass to impede Greg’s headlong dash, shouted back, “I’ll wash.”

  Looking ba
ck over his shoulder, Dane continued stacking plates and silverware and watched Jennifer. Her long, slender body airborne, she caught Greg’s ankles and brought him down. Shoulders heaving, her breath coming in hard gasps, she gulped for air.

  “Damn it all to hell! You could have killed us.”

  “Yeah, coulda killed us,” Bambi echoed in a breathless voice. “Damn bitch can run.”

  “Nuh-uh. Greg’s just slow as molasses after a hard freeze.” Sitting up, Jen blew her bangs out of her eyes, then looked them over. “Seriously, are you both okay?”

  “Except for a few grass burns, yeah.” Greg got to his feet and extended both hands—one to Bambi, the other to Jen.

  “If you’re gonna manhandle me,” Bambi threatened, locking her hands behind her back and looking pugnacious, “I’ll…I’ll never have sex with you again.”

  “That’s getting him where he lives,” Jen cheered.

  Ignoring them both, Greg folded his arms over his chest and glared at something over Jen’s shoulder.

  She had to look. Dane waved, then continued stacking plates.

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of Dane. Hell, you fucked his brains out ten years ago. Er, I… Happy birthday, Jen.” Sweeping, Bambi off the grass, Greg sprinted to his convertible, then sped away. Bambi waved, her smile again triumphant.

  Getting to her feet, dusting grass off her stomach and legs, Jen stared longingly at Greg’s retreating taillights. “Coward,” she muttered, undecided if she meant her brother or herself.

  Realizing she couldn’t avoid Dane unless she drove off, too, she returned to the table and gathered condiments and napkins. She passed Dane as he strode to the grill. He gave a curt nod, but said nothing. Disappointment replaced relief. Before…they used to be friends. They talked, shot hoops, elbowed each other’s ribs when something struck them funny.