I spin to see what’s going on. Christopher is on the floor, big blocks all around him. I take a step toward him, heart in my throat, but he gets up and starts running toward me, screaming, tears flying from his eyes. So maybe he’s hurt a little, but I’m guessing he’s mostly just scared from the noise and tumult.
I drop to my knees, and he runs into my arms. Up close, I can see a bruise forming on his forehead and a cut on his lip. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Blocks fall,” he says through his sobs. “Blocks fall boom. Owie.”
“Yeah, you’ve got a little owie.” I check the cut on his lip. It’s bleeding, but not bad. “Let’s go clean this up.”
But he’s collapsed into full-blown tears again, his head butted into my chest. “Christopher, honey, let me go get a paper towel so I can clean up your boo-boo, okay?”
He’s not listening. All he wants to do is hang on me and cry. I try to disentangle him so I can talk to him logically, but he’s two. Logic isn’t in his repertoire.
“Hey, little dude.” This is Jesse, who I suddenly realize has squatted next to me on the floor. “I’m a paramedic. Let me look at that boo-boo while your mom goes to get something to clean it up.”
“Pamedic?” Christopher gives it a good try, the tears fading a little at the novelty of the situation.
“Yep. It’s kind of like a doctor, but I get to drive a truck.”
“Truck?”
“Truck” is like a magic word to Christopher. He immediately goes to Jesse, who takes a look at the cut on Christopher’s lip while I slide quietly away to the bathroom to grab a wet paper towel.
In the bathroom I take a second to get my breath. The accident happened so quickly, and even though it’s not serious, seeing the blood on Christopher’s face gave me an adrenaline surge that’s taking some time to settle back down. And Jesse… He might not have kids of his own, but he sure knows the right things to say to my kid.
I shake my head a little, laughing at myself. The adrenaline has changed into a regular old hormone surge. Seeing a guy relate to my kid is apparently a major turn-on for me. Who knew?
I head back out, paper towel in hand, to see Jesse standing, Christopher tucked against his hip. Christopher is sucking on his fingers, and there are still red streaks on his face, but he’s also laughing while Jesse talks to him. Jesse grins, bringing up a fan of laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.
I stop dead, just staring. I’m not the only one captivated, either—both the Wonder Womans, the Harley Quinn, and a stray Black Widow have formed a circle around Jesse, all trying to comfort Christopher but mostly just ogling Jesse. I could almost swear there’s a vague “pssshht” noise as all the ovaries in the room collectively explode.
Mine included. Not really your boyfriend, I remind myself, clench my teeth, and make my way through Jesse’s crowd of admirers to tend to my son.
Like most toddlers, Christopher bounces back from the horrible block-falling incident and is quickly engaged in playing with the other kids again. It’s starting to get a little late, though, and I can tell he’s getting tired. He’ll be getting grumpy soon.
In addition, there’s a certain amount of unruly drunkenness developing in corners of the party. These get-togethers don’t usually get out of hand, but there are a few new people tonight, and I don’t know if they all have the sense to behave around the kids once they get a couple of drinks into them.
One of the noobs has started a game of beer pong in the back of the room—not something we usually do, but the shop owner hasn’t said anything to the participants. It’s getting noisy back there, though.
Just as I’m about to say something to Jesse about it, the new guy starts yelling. He swipes the plastic cups of beer off the end of the table, sending beer everywhere. Some of it splashes on the kids, who are again playing quietly with their blocks. Christopher looks up. At first he seems amused at the liquid falling from the sky, but then he sees the angry man yelling and cursing, and his face crumples up. Around the beer-pong table, people are staring and glancing back and forth as if they’re not sure what to do.
“All right, that’s enough.” Jesse has moved so fast I didn’t even realize he was planning to intervene. He grabs the noob—dressed, appropriately enough, as the Joker—and escorts him toward the door. “You need to go, my clown-faced archrival.”
There’s some laughter, and people start to relax.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” noob-guy says, struggling in Jesse’s grasp. But he’s no match for Jesse, who I assume has manhandled hysterical people out of fires, so this is no big deal.
“There are kids in the room. Watch your language.”
“Fuck you! Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Jesse maneuvers the guy to the door, opens it, and pushes him out. “Dude. I’m Batman.”
There’s a round of applause. Jesse turns and brushes his hands together then heads toward the back of the room to help clean up the beer.
Billie, who’s been watching things play out, leans toward me. “Holy shit, girl. That is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen anybody do in person.”
I can’t argue with her on that one. I’m all atingle, and everything that has any sense in my brain—everything that’s been telling me I need to emotionally disentangle myself from this guy before things get difficult—can’t think of anything but peeling the Batman costume off my fake boyfriend and having my filthy way with him.
Holy shit, indeed.
We leave not long after that. Christopher’s getting tired, and it’s far past his bedtime. We make our rounds of good-byes, and the owner thanks Jesse for dealing with the beer-pong catastrophe, as he terms it.
We’re quiet on the way home, but it’s a comfortable quiet. I’m trying not to disturb Christopher too much, since he’s dozing off in his car seat. Jesse looks content, and keeps glancing in my direction.
When we get back to my apartment, I ease Christopher out of his car seat and carry him carefully up the stairs. He’s out like a rock. I’m not sure I could wake him up at this point if I tried, but I don’t want to take any risks.
He mumbles a little as I slide him into bed, leaving his costume on him except for the cape and mask. “Batman,” he says, eyes not really open.
You got that right, kid. I tuck him in, kiss him on the forehead, and go back into the living room to deal with Batman.
I’m a little surprised he hasn’t taken the costume off, especially since the clothes he changed out of are still lying over the back of the couch. But as I come into the room, he pulls the cowl and mask back up over his head. “It’s time for us to talk about that Batman-Catwoman thing.”
Moment of truth. I told myself this wasn’t going to happen again, that I need to keep my distance before things get weird. But looking at him in that costume, watching him take care of Christopher and escort Mr. Beer Pong out the door… It’s already gotten weird. In a way I’m really, really into.
“What do you want to know?” I ask, pretending I have no idea what he’s actually talking about. “There are a few different storylines, after all. You know how comic books are. They keep rebooting the canon.”
He takes a step closer, his eyes smoldering. “I want to jump to the part where they fuck.”
I manage a gasp before he kisses me, hard and intense, and picks me up off the floor so I have to wrap my legs around his waist. At a guess, I’d say he’s not really interested in exploring the complex layers of Batman canon. He just wants to jump my bones.
Which is just fine with me.
He’s so hard, and so hot, the bulge in the Lycra between his legs filling both my hands. The costume looks awesome, but I probably should have thought about the logistics of getting out of it before I got it. Same for mine—I’m getting hotter and wetter by the second, and everything feels tight and clinging. I ache between my legs, both from the intense arousal and the press of the fabric against my swollen clit.
I’ve got to get J
esse out of his costume—or at least partially out—or I swear I’m going to explode. It’s easy enough to get the zippers down, but from there… I pull at Jesse’s tight black Lycra, trying to peel it over his shoulders. He’s focusing elsewhere, his mouth on mine, hands cupping my ass while he holds me up against him. His hips move between my legs, his erection stroking across my pussy through the thin fabric. There’s no way I’m going to get us skin-to-skin if he doesn’t back off for a few seconds. But I don’t want him to back off. I want him to keep doing what he’s doing and get right the hell inside me as fast as possible.
“Shit,” I say fervently. “Why did I get these damn costumes?” I jerk at his waist, thinking maybe I can just get the lower half of the costume out of the way, but even that isn’t going too well.
“Because it’s hot as fuck,” he says, then adds, “Catwoman.”
Abandoning the fruitless efforts to undress him—just for a second—I make a meowing noise and claw playfully at his face. He chuckles and tosses me down onto the couch. Before I can say anything else, he’s on top of me, pinning me to the cushions, his mouth on me. He’s not laughing anymore. Finally we’re on the same page, and he’s dragging at the lower half of my costume, pulling at the waistband. I knew there was a reason I opted for the two-piece version instead of the unitard.
The very thought that he’s so hot for me sends a shudder of arousal through me. His hands are rough on my costume—so rough I’m afraid he’s going to tear it right off me. Good thing it’s not rented.
A second later I realize I wouldn’t care anyway. All I want is to get my hands on his cock, and for him to get his hands on my pussy, and for the two to meet and make some seriously filthy sex. The outcome for the costumes is the last thing on my mind at the moment.
His fingers dig into my ass, pulling down the Lycra a bit at a time, until his blunt nails are digging into my skin. I pull at his costume at the same time, feeling the outline of his cock through the thin, tight fabric—so tight I can feel the textures of his hair even though he’s still clothed. I manage to get the material down far enough that I can swipe my thumb over the sticky head of his cock. He makes a throaty groan.
“Over,” he says.
I have no idea what he means, but then he grabs me by the hips and, in a quick motion, flips me onto my stomach. He moves me around like I weigh nothing at all, and that show of strength makes my pussy flutter and ache. I want him inside me.
He jerks the Lycra down to bare my ass, and a second later he’s got a finger inside me. Clenching my teeth, I press my face into a stray pillow on the couch. He shifts behind me, the couch cushions moving in a surf-like wave. While one finger, then two, drive in and out of me, he slaps my ass with his free hand.
God. I have no idea why that feels so good, that sharp burn and sting across the width of my ass, but it does. I can feel every line where his fingers strike me—his hand is big enough to leave a bright pain all the way across my butt cheek. It makes me long for the mirror we fucked in front of before, so I could see the rising pink on my skin. I fold the pillow over my face, eyes clenched shut, just picturing that as he hits me again. It’s not hard, but it’s just hard enough. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Still finger-fucking me, he strokes the place where he spanked me so I can feel the burn again, but lighter, more delicate. I moan into the pillow, muffling the sound as best I can.
His fingers slide free then a moment later his hard cock presses against me. He swats my ass again, this time lightly. “Now,” he says. I open my legs a little, and he slides in on a moan.
God, it feels good. He’s so thick, and when he’s all the way in, it almost hurts. I squeeze down on him as he draws back, the friction sending heat like a spear into my belly. When he shoves in again, it’s still tight, and the sharp edge between pleasure and pain is exactly what I’m looking for. My hands dig hard into the pillow, still using it to control my urges to just scream out his name, scream out for him to fuck me harder, faster, deeper. More.
He seems to be taking it easier than I’d like, though, and we can’t have that. I push back onto him. “Faster,” I tell him. “Harder. It’s okay.”
“You’re tight.” He sounds like he can barely get the words out, and I laugh.
“That’s a relief.”
He chuckles back, but it’s a little choked. “God,” he says. “How much faster?”
“Give it to me.”
He groans deep in his chest, and then he starts to fuck me the way I want to be fucked—so hard and fast I can barely think anymore. In my head, I really am Catwoman, and he really is Batman, and we’re fucking on the roof looking out over Gotham City while sirens rise from the streets below.
Oh my God.
He’s pounding me from behind, and the sensation is so raw and primal I want to scream, but I know I can’t. I’ll wake up Christopher. I can feel my clit pulsing, and I want to touch it, tease myself over the edge. At the same time, I just want to feel every second of what he’s doing to me. Fall into the overload of need until it drowns me.
Jesse reaches down around me, almost as if he read my mind. His fingers find that slickened nub and slip over and past it, then tap it, press it, squeeze it gently. I open my mouth wide, just breathing out in an attempt to control the wail that wants to explode out of my throat. Still, I’m not quite over the edge.
“Maddy.” He murmurs my name into the back of my ear. I’m grateful that he remembers to be quiet. “I wish I could hear you scream my name,” he adds, and I have to say I feel the same way.
He nips my earlobe then licks it. His fingers continue to tease my clit. I’m not going to last much longer. Then, quietly, he says, “Now,” and then he bites my ear again, harder, and that’s all it takes.
Vaguely I realize his orgasm has joined mine; I can feel him throbbing inside me. My own body is on fire, pulsing, the flames rising and falling in walls of crimson. There’s a roaring in my ears, and then a warbling noise, like music…
It’s a phone, I realize as I start to come down. Jesse’s phone, warbling and buzzing on the coffee table next to us.
“Shit,” he mutters. “Gotta be work.”
“Oh no.” I collapse to the couch, still breathing hard, my body still rippling with the aftershocks of climax. Jesse flails toward the coffee table and grabs the phone.
“Yeah.” He’s silent a moment. “Okay. Be there as soon as I can.”
He turns to me. There are red spots high on his cheeks, and his hair is mussed, his lips swollen from kissing. He looks like he just fucked someone. I grin, more than a little smug.
He doesn’t seem to notice. “I gotta go. They need me at a fire.”
My grin fades. “Be careful.”
“I will.” He kisses me gently, then a little harder, then very softly. “Promise.”
The next day at the clinic, I’ve got a dog and three cats to take care of in addition to the desk work. Dr. Raczek left detailed instructions on medicating them through the day and then briefing their owners when they come to pick the animals up in the late afternoon. It’s good that it keeps me busy; otherwise I’d spend the whole day just thinking about Jesse. I take some time with the cats especially—one of them is dehydrated and looking pretty puny after a run-in with an intestinal bug.
I’m still giving her much-needed lunchtime scritches under her chin when the phone rings. I’m technically on my lunch break, so I ignore it. Either it’ll go to our emergency answering service or one of the vet techs will pick it up. After a couple more quick pats to the kitty’s head, I go back to the desk to double-check in case the call was important.
It’s gone to voice mail, so I enter the appropriate codes and grab a pencil and a message pad.
“Hello…” The word is hesitant. “I need to speak to…Maddy? I’m sorry, I don’t know the last name.” I sit up straighter, frowning. There’s something familiar about the voice. Wait—it clicks. It’s Whitaker, Jesse’s fellow fireman. “It’s about Jesse. He’s hurt pretty
bad, and I can’t get through to his regular emergency contacts. You’re his girlfriend, right? Could you come by the hospital to give him a ride home?”
Oh my God. Jesse’s in the hospital. The panic attack has gotten fully underway before I have a chance to tell myself it can’t be too bad or he wouldn’t need a ride home. I set the phone back down and grab my purse. With a quick word to Dr. Raczek, I head for the hospital.
To my surprise, when I reach the hallway in front of Jesse’s hospital room, I hear shouting. That voice, too, is familiar. It’s Curry. My lip curls automatically at the sound. There is just something not okay about that guy. I’m more concerned about Jesse at the moment.
“It was a dumb-ass mistake, Curry!” Jesse shoots back. By the way he’s yelling, he must not be in too bad a shape. “You could have brought the house down on the entire crew.”
“There was nothing I—”
“Bullshit! You’re suspended. A week off, no pay. I’ll have the paperwork to you as soon as I get back onto the computer.”
“You can’t—”
Curry breaks off as I open the door and come quietly in. Whitaker is there, and one of the other guys, whose name I don’t remember. They both look like they’d rather be anywhere else. Understandable. It’s never fun to watch a coworker get ripped a new one. Jesse looks all right, but his right leg is swathed in gauze and there’s a distinct antiseptic smell to the room. My heart’s beating triple time, and I still feel choked from the panic.
“Just go,” says Jesse. He’s seen me, too, his gaze locking to mine, and when he speaks now his voice is more tired than belligerent.
Curry goes right by me, deliberately bumping my shoulder with his. The look he gives me is withering, and I wonder what the hell his beef is with me. I never did anything to him.
Hot as Sin (Contemporary Romance Box Set) Page 35
