And then his hot mouth moves down to replace his fingers. His lips move against me, like he’s kissing me as his tongue swirls around over my most sensitive part, pushing me higher and higher. “Oh my God, you taste so good,” he moans against me, the vibrations sending chills down my legs. Faster and faster, he penetrates me with his fingers until I can’t contain it anymore. I reach up to clamp one hand over my mouth as my body bursts into wet flames, pouring over Jake where he kneels between my legs.
As spasms wrack my body, I feel his tongue thrusting rhythmically into me, hot and deep, prolonging the pleasure that’s coursing through me.
I pant behind my hand, my eyes squeezed shut against the burst of light that shines behind them. And then Jake is pulling at my wrist, moving my fingers away from my lips, driving his tongue between them. He licks the inside of my mouth, sharing with me what he found.
“See how sweet you taste,” he groans. It’s such a wicked thing to do, feels so naughty and forbidden, I feel another gush of warmth pool between my legs. I know that whatever Jake asked me to do right now, I would do. Wherever he wanted me to go, I’d go.
“I need more,” I say, mindless in my passion. “I need you.”
I don’t know what it is about those words that stop him, but they do. I feel him tense and cool, as though a puff of cold air whipped through the room.
“What?” I ask, confused. “What’s wrong?”
In the low light, his eyes search mine. For several long seconds, he says nothing. Then he reaches for my neck, pushing my hair away from my throat and kissing my pulse. “Nothing,” he replies. But I don’t believe him. “We’d better go. I doubt people would look kindly on me corrupting the preacher’s daughter this way.” His smile is wry, but I think he’s hiding something else behind it. I just don’t know what.
I know my smile is tremulous at best. I feel it melt almost as quickly as I could conjure it. “Okay.”
With that, Jake grabs the wine bottle from the floor (I was barely aware of him taking it from me), takes my hand, and leads me through the dark room to the door.
FOURTEEN: Jake
I’m more grateful than ever that Laney’s not the talkative type. Any other woman would’ve probably asked me a thousand questions about what happened back at the fire station. But not Laney. If anything, she’s just quieter.
We’ve only been back at the house for a few minutes, and now she’s making her excuses to get the hell out of Dodge.
“I think I’m going to move my stuff to another room and hit the sack. I’m pretty tired.”
I know what she’s doing, but I choose not to acknowledge it. She’s better off thinking the worst of me. That way, she’ll never get attached. Or have any expectations. Or, even worse, fall in love with me. She deserves better than that. I wouldn’t wish me on my worst enemy. I’m a black hole for love. It’s the way I was born.
“There’s no reason to do that. I’m not gonna take advantage of you in your sleep,” I assure her. “Unless you want me to.” I grin.
She frowns in confusion. I’m sure she doesn’t understand the swift shifts. And that’s fine. She doesn’t need to know all about the things that have made me who and what I am.
“If you’re sure . . .”
“Of course I’m sure.”
“All right then.”
Cautiously, as though she’s been singed if not actually burned by my earlier actions (actions, I’m sure, she sees as rejection), Laney makes her way up the stairs. And I let her go.
It’s almost three hours later before I follow. I stand in the doorway, looking at her where she’s spread out in the center of the bed. Her hair is like a platinum waterfall, spilling over the pillow. Her face is relaxed in sleep. Gone are the mistrust and the cool shell she sometimes hides behind. Gone is the hurt from earlier. It makes me uncomfortable how much I hate that I put it there. I remind myself it’s for the best.
For the best.
For the best.
I walk to the bed and gently touch her side. Her brow wrinkles and she mumbles something, but she scoots over and I slide in beside her. It isn’t long before she rolls back toward me and curls up with her head on my chest.
Damn, she feels good there.
My mind blinks back to the way she responded to me tonight, pressed up against a cold metal pole and not seeming to care. Sugar and spice.
For my own good, I try to put her out of my mind.
But it’s her face and her body that fill my dreams.
* * *
It’s hot and I’m sticky, and I could use a break. With Laney. I’m feeling a little restless and I think she sounds like the perfect distraction.
Heading into the house, I find her holed up in the dining room, as usual. This time she has a book and a bunch of pictures of different items in the house spread out in front of her.
“Wow,” I say as I take my customary place leaning against the jamb, watching her. “That looks boring as hell.”
“Does it?” she asks, looking up at me. She’s wearing glasses today. I’ve never seen her in them before, and I’m not normally fond of that look (or that type of woman, for that matter), but these are a turn-on. At least they are on Laney. She looks like a hot librarian or something. Uptight and all. And boy is she uptight today, especially since last night! It makes me that much more anxious to get her loosened up.
“It does. But lucky for you, I have the perfect antidote. Come with me.”
“I really need to get this done.”
“This is work, too. Just a variation. Something with a little more fun worked in.”
“And just how do you plan to make work fun?”
“Well, for starters, I’ll be with you. How can you go wrong?”
She grins and rolls her eyes, but it’s a playful expression.
We’re off to a good start.
“What does this ‘fun work’ that you speak of entail, exactly?”
“It’s a surprise. But I can tell you that it will involve some walking, so you’ll need to change.” I let my eyes drift over her prim form, sitting so straight and tall in her chair. “Not that I don’t love the thought of loosening every one of those buttons . . .” I say, looking pointedly at where her br**sts are straining against little pearl closures down the front of her shirt.
Although still casual, she’s wearing some slacks and a little blouse, something far too dressy for this house. But, more importantly, it’s far too dressy for this excursion. I wasn’t lying, though. Seeing her in her standoffish clothes really does make me want to get her out of them even more. To leave her with nothing for cover, nothing to hide behind.