Hot as Sin (Contemporary Romance Box Set)

by Katherine Lace

  “Like I haven’t been expecting enough from you as my girlfriend.” I pass her a sidelong look, trying and failing to suppress my amusement.

  She lifts an eyebrow in challenge. There we go. That’s the Maddy I want to see. “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah. Looks to me like you should be cooking me dinner every night so I don’t have to come home to cold leftovers and macaroni and cheese out of a box.”

  “I see.”

  “Then when we’re done with dinner, you can do up the dishes and then I’ll relax on the couch while you massage my feet.”

  She nods soberly, that eyebrow still drifting toward the heavens.

  “Then you bring me a newspaper—or my iPad with my newspaper all loaded and ready—and you sit and darn my socks while I read out loud to you about the stock market.”

  I can tell she’s trying not to, but she laughs anyway. “That sounds enthralling.”

  “I do voices and everything.”

  “Reading about the stock market?”

  “It’s amazing, I’m telling you.”

  She’s finally relaxed a little bit, and by the time we stop in front of her building, she’s laughing at me. When I shut the car down, though, she sighs and shoves a hand through her hair.

  “I really shouldn’t have talked to my parents like that.”

  Her face is shadowed, the light from the streetlight in front of her apartment building illuminating the rise of her cheekbones.

  “I think you had good reason to.”

  “I just want this so badly.” There’s a catch in her voice again. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  And she deserves to have it. I wish there were more I could do to help her besides just pretending to be her boyfriend so Gregory will think she’s conducting her life “properly.”

  “It’s my fault, really.”

  She frowns. “What? How?”

  “I should have kept my woman under control.”

  This gets a laugh out of her, which is what I wanted. “What were you going to do? Spank me right there at the kitchen table?”

  The comment is followed by utter silence. I know damn well she didn’t mean it the way I’m interpreting it, but that doesn’t stop my dick from going immediately rock hard. I swallow, and when I’m pretty sure I’ve got my voice under control, I say carefully, “Why don’t we go on up? Have a drink? I can double-check your new door.”

  She considers it for a few seconds. “All right. Sure.”

  She leads the way up to her apartment, and when we get there I make a show of checking over the door to be sure it’s still working right. It is, of course. I like the way it works the best when I shut it behind us and lock the dead bolt.

  I’d almost forgotten how bright her living room is, with its posters and pictures. Some of them are pages from comic books, while others are movie posters: X-Men, The Avengers, Captain America, Iron Man, Thor. If there’s any doubt this woman likes her superheroes, it’s erased by a single glance at her decor.

  She doesn’t hide it, either. It’s all right there in the open: “Accept my brand of crazy or get the hell out of my house.”

  I like that she doesn’t seem to care what anybody thinks about her—not even me. Given the show I just saw at her parents’ kitchen table, it’s amazing to me that she managed to become such an independent woman.

  She heads for the kitchen and takes a bottle of wine down from a high shelf along with a couple of wineglasses. “Have a seat,” she says.

  I pick the recliner and stretch out on it. It’s set to face a medium-sized TV with a DVD player under it. There’s a selection of DVDs in the stand—the expected array of superhero movies, plus Star Wars and a few Star Trek box sets.

  She brings the wine in and passes me a glass, then settles into the couch and puts her feet up on the coffee table. I love the way her body moves when she’s not tense and self-conscious. She’s almost sleek.

  “So have your parents always been sexist assholes, or are they only just now jumping on the bandwagon?”

  Maddy shakes her head a little, waving her wineglass. “Just the way they were raised, I guess. Grampa was a rich asshole, too.”

  “Which one?”

  “Both of them.” She takes a long drink of wine. “I’m not sure they’ll ever join the twenty-first century.”

  “I guess some people never will.”

  “Are your parents like that?” She draws her feet off the coffee table and curls them under her instead, sitting on them.

  “No. My folks are pretty cool.”

  “Do you talk to them?”

  It’s an odd question. “Yeah. Pretty regularly. Why?”

  “You said they were upset when you dropped out of college. I thought maybe…”

  “No. No falling out. They understood the decision. I did it for Lacey. But they always wanted me to have a desk job. Didn’t want me to be blue collar, even though Dad was a fireman. They thought I should be administrating and organizing and not—”

  “Rescuing cats from trees?” She giggles. I’m pretty sure she’s getting a little tipsy already. Her wineglass is empty; she grabs the bottle and fills it up again.

  I smile. “Yeah. Exactly.” I hold my glass out so she can top me off, too. It’s good wine, though not a terribly expensive brand.

  “I wish I got along better with my parents.” Her words are wistful.

  “Not like they make that easy.”

  “True. But it’d be nice.” Swirling her wine, she says, “Maybe I can meet them sometime.”

  “Maybe.” I’m noncommittal. I’m not sure what it means that her words give me a warm, cozy feeling. Like taking her to meet my parents would be the right thing to do.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “What do you think of Christopher?”

  It’s not what I expected, and I have to think about my answer for a second. When I don’t reply right away, she goes on, “I’m sorry Mom and Dad cornered you about that, but I really would like to know. It’s got to be weird for you, me being a mom and you being…not a…” She waves, vaguely indicating my entire person.

  “Not a mom?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Oddly enough, I do. We’re connecting. It’s one of those types of nights. I wonder if we’d be connecting quite so hard without the wine, but I decide it doesn’t matter. She’s tipsy, but she’s not exactly drunk.

  “I like Christopher.” That’s the honest truth. “He’s a good kid.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. And believe me—I’ve given firehouse tours to kindergarteners, so I know what I’m talking about.”

  Maddy laughs. “That’s cool. I’m glad you like him.”

  “I like you, Madison.”

  The way I say her name rolls off her. She makes a little shudder and wets her lips. “Hmm. I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Not until I forced my tongue down your throat, anyway. I don’t just want your body, Madison. I want you to be mine.”

  She looks surprised. I’m surprised, too, to be honest. Both that I feel that way and that I told her about it.

  The pink rises in her face, her eyes gone dark and liquid. There’s a tremor between us, and I know it comes from arousal. I want her; she wants me.

  I slide off the recliner and move across the small living room to sit beside her on the couch. Our thighs touch. “I’ve wanted you since I wrapped my arms around you. Do you know how hard it was to keep myself from getting a boner in front of everyone?”

  Her skin is getting even pinker now, the blush on her face spreading down onto her chest, to disappear beneath the neckline of her shirt. I keep going—I can tell she’s into this.

  “I try to be professional when I have to do shit like that.” I reach up slowly and trace a curl of her reddish hair where it falls next to her face down to her shoulder. “That’s not the first time I’ve carried a naked woman out of a building, you know. But it was the first time I wanted
to lay her down on the concrete and fuck her.”

  “That’s definitely not professional.” Her voice is shallow. I can tell she’s breathing faster. I wonder if I’d feel her heart racing if I set my hand on her chest, right in the warm place between her breasts.

  “No, it’s not.” I put thought to action and lay my fingers gently at the bottom of the deep “V” of her shirt’s collar. Sure enough, her heart is pitter-pattering like a bird’s.

  I move closer and closer to her, until I catch her mouth with mine. She makes no attempt to move away, and kisses me back tentatively.

  I tease her lips for a few seconds, then draw back and stroke her hair away from her face. My fingers comb into it and I clasp the back of her head, turning her face a little to the side before kissing her again, deeper and harder.

  Her hands lift to my shoulders, settling there. She doesn’t try to push me away. I press into her mouth, stroking her tongue with mine. It’s a slow, easy rhythm, not hard and fast like I’d prefer. Hell, I’d prefer to have her naked under me while I pound into her with everything I’ve got. I want her tits in my mouth and my dick inside her.

  Right now, though, I feel like that would probably scare her off. I’m not sure why I think that—it’s not like she’s a virgin or anything. But I get the sense it’s been a long time for her, so I’m figuring it can’t hurt to treat her like one. So instead I just kiss her, tasting every inch of her mouth, then easing down across her face, down her neck, over her shoulders.

  She doesn’t protest when I move aside the soft fabric of her shirt to kiss across her collarbone. Or when I reach down to lift the shirt’s hem and pull it up over her head, then push the cups of her bra aside. Her breasts are full and soft, the bulk of them rolling into my hands.

  I take them into my mouth, one at a time. Her nipples rise hard and firm against my tongue and I suckle at them, nip them gently. Back and forth, one breast and then the other, until her nails dig into my spine and she tosses her head back, her body shuddering. It’s not an orgasm—not yet—but she’s definitely enjoying herself.

  I unclasp her bra and slip it off her, then ease her back onto the couch, rubbing my chest all along her soft, warm skin. It feels so good to have her under me. I want my skin against hers, though, so I yank my own shirt off, sending it flying across the living room.

  When I ease back down on her again, it’s a whole new experience. She’s so soft, and her body yields under me. Her hands stroke across my back now, not digging in anymore. I miss the pricks of pain her nails left behind.

  I trail my mouth down her belly. It’s soft like the rest of her. My tongue traces the silver lines of the stretch marks her pregnancy left behind. They’re wide and numerous, and I can see why she thinks they’d be a turn-off, but they’re not. Not to me. They’re battle scars, like the big, pink burn scar in the middle of my back where a hot piece of metal landed on me while I was hosing down a house fire. I recovered, and the kids all got out. I’m proud of that scar. She should be proud of hers, too.

  Instead she makes a little noise in the back of her throat, like she knows exactly what I’m doing.

  “Don’t,” she says.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m just… I’m a mess.”

  I slide a finger along the widest of the scars, letting it lead me down toward the waistband of her low-cut jeans. “You had a baby,” I tell her. “It’s amazing.”

  I don’t think I convinced her, but she stops protesting. I open the fly of her jeans and start to peel the denim back. As I pull them down, she lifts her hips and lets me. I take them all the way off her and let them drop to the floor, then go back to lick her stomach all along the hem of her panties. Her breath is coming fast and ragged, and she moans again when I nip at her.

  I want her to do more than moan. I want her to scream. Preferably my name, but that would just be a bonus. Heat from between her legs washes over my face, and I can smell the musk of her arousal. My mouth is damn near watering at this point, I want her so badly.

  The fabric of her panties is a soft cotton, and I can see the outline of her pussy through it. I stroke along the dark shadow of her cleft. The cotton is damp. Pushing it aside, I touch her there, stroking the red-gold curls. Her clit is hard and visible, white-pink against the darker labia. I touch it, and she shivers.

  “I’m going to taste your pussy.”

  She sucks a breath in through her teeth. “Jesse.”

  Gently I draw her panties down her legs and off her, then kiss my way back up her legs—ankles, shins, knees. Her thighs are shaking as I ease them apart. I stroke them with my tongue, one then the other, stopping just shy of where I really want to be. She’s wet and glistening as I open her with my fingers. I just look at her for a few seconds, taking in the shapes and contours. Breathing her arousal. Then I touch my tongue to her clit.

  She jumps. I chuckle. How could that have been a surprise? I suck at it a little, then touch it with my teeth.

  “God,” she says, but she doesn’t push me away, so I have to assume I didn’t hurt her. So I keep licking.

  So wet. She’s more than ready for me. My cock aches, wanting to get in on the action, but it’s going to have to wait.

  This is about Maddy. She needs attention like she’s never had attention before, and I’m going to give it to her. I slide a finger inside her, then two, then three, at the same time fluttering her clit with my tongue, swiping the length of her pussy, tasting every inch of her. She’s tight around my fingers—tighter than I expected—and I can feel the muscles twitching. So close…

  Her clit is so hard it’s like a pebble under my tongue. Her thighs are shaking nonstop now, her body twisting like she’s trying to get away from me. At the same time, though, she grabs my hair and pushes me closer. She’s right where I want her.

  I start thrusting three fingers into her, slow at first, then harder, faster. I’m still sucking at her clit, licking her, feeling all the slick folds, the rougher ones, her hair tickling my nose. Then, curling my fingers up, I finally find that spot, soft and yielding, inside her channel.

  She lets out a strange sound—not quite a scream but more than a moan. Her body clenches down hard on me, strangling my fingers. I can feel every shudder, every clenching spasm, as the orgasm takes her.

  It goes on for a long time. God, I’m good. I chuckle a little, trying to draw it out even longer by twitching my fingers inside her and touching my tongue to her clit.

  “God, no, Jesse, please stop.” This time she pushes my face away from her. I chuckle and give her one last, long lick before I draw back.

  “Sto-o-p,” she says again, but she’s laughing, shoving helplessly at my forehead. “It’s too much.”

  I grin then lean up to kiss her. She’s tentative about the kiss, and it takes me a few seconds to figure out why. When she pulls back, she says, “Is that what I taste like?”

  Good God, has she never had anyone go down on her before? How dumb was the idiot who knocked her up?

  I cut that thought off. He’s Christopher’s father—I shouldn’t be too critical or I’ll end up saying something in front of Christopher. Still, how could any man have this woman in his life—in his bed—and not want to taste every inch of her?

  Not me, that’s for damn sure.

  “Yes, it is.” I kiss her again, carrying her flavor into her mouth with my tongue. “You taste like heaven, baby.”

  She just laughs a little uncertainly. “That was…”

  “It was awesome,” I finish for her when she seems to be having trouble finding words.

  She sits up and takes another sip of her wine. Without meeting my eyes, she says, “What about you?” She makes a vague gesture toward my cock.

  “I never said that we’re done.”

  Her gaze jerks up to mine. The mix of eagerness and anxiety in her expression makes me laugh again.

  “I’m not even close to done, babe.”

  I get up off the couch and scoop her up into my arms.
“Which way to the bedroom?” It’s a small apartment, but there are two bedrooms, and it would be wrong to even accidentally carry Maddy into Christopher’s room while I’m having extremely filthy thoughts about her.

  She points. “I didn’t make the bed this morning.”

  She sounds embarrassed about it. “Good,” I tell her. “’Cause we’re pretty much going to tear it apart, anyway.”

  I head down the short hallway, where one door is ajar. Backing through, I push it open. When I turn around, I’m met with an amazing show of bright colors and—you guessed it—superheroes. She’s even got Captain America-themed bedclothes on the queen-sized bed.

  “Wow.” I can’t help it, even though I know she’ll take it wrong. “You’re really dedicated, aren’t you?”

  Maddy covers her face. Her ears are turning pink. “I know. It’s silly.”

  I set her on her feet and kiss her soundly. “I think it’s cool. You don’t give a shit what anybody thinks, do you?”

  Her hand lowers. “I try not to.”

  “I like that in a woman.” I take her face in both hands and look into her eyes. “I think it’s hot.”

  I take another look around the room. There are posters everywhere. Some of them are vintage, from the sixties or even earlier. She’s even got one of the original Star Wars one sheets by the Brothers Hildebrandt, where Luke Skywalker looks like he’s been pumping iron his whole life. It’s seriously impressive.

  That’s not what I’m looking for, though. Right across from the bed is Maddy’s closet, and it’s got full-length mirrors on the doors. Perfect. I maneuver us over next to it. “I’m going to show you how gorgeous you are.”

  Gently I turn her to face me. Cupping her face again, I catch her gaze with mine so she can see how dead serious I am. “Maddy, you are so beautiful I can’t even explain it. Every damn thing about you.” I turn her around and tuck her up against me, looking into the mirror. She’s curved perfectly back into my body. I’m damn near a foot taller than she is, but somehow I don’t quite dwarf her. It’s the way she holds herself—solid and confident, with that I-don’t-care-what-you-think posture. It’s hard for me to get my head around how she could possibly think she’s not fucking fabulous.