Authors: Anne Marsh
Burning Up (19 page)
His hands caught her shoulders, anchoring her. “You know how beautiful you are, Lily? I've wanted to see you, touch you, for as long as I can remember. Standing there on your porch, all I could think about was kissing you. Here.” His mouth trailed a heated path along her breasts. When he drew a nipple into his mouth and suckled, sensation rocketed straight to her clit. Lost in the pleasure, she knew he was still whispering praise. His pleasure. She didn't know what he was saying anymore, but the way he said it made her feel cherished. Beautiful.
Her panties fell to the floor, the tiny scrap of cotton and lace a white flag of surrender on top of his clothes. She was just as hungry for him as she'd been when they first made love. She'd waited years for this. For this man. Now she was going to claim every inch of
him
as
hers
.
him
as
hers
.
Her hands slid down the hard muscles of his back, reaching underneath his tee. So much bare skin. So much Jack. Strong and sure, his shoulders filled her vision as he came over her. Her breath caught as his hand moved lower while he cradled her head, angling her mouth for his kiss.
His fingers slid into the sensitive folds of her pussy, and he stilled for an endless second. A male sound of satisfaction tore from his throat, and then he was kissing her harder, deeper. Those fingers stroked. Parted her and traced an electric path straight up to her clit. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Her world was only this man, this bed. One finger pressed into her. Slowly. A delicious tease that promised fullness. Tearing her mouth from his, she buried her face against his throat and just drank in the pleasure as she tasted the salt of him against her tongue.
“Come for me, baby,” he urged throatily. “Let me give you more.” A second finger joined the first, stretching her. Those fingers curled deeper inside her and sent a shock of pleasure searing through her as he pressed. Stroked. She had to come now, had to find that release.
Wordlessly, she arched up against him, taking him, riding him. Her flesh milked him, tightening. The tension built as the little pulses of pleasure gathered and grew, and then she was flying, coming apart in his arms as she cried his name.
Chapter Eighteen
J
ack slid his fingers reluctantly away from Lily.
ack slid his fingers reluctantly away from Lily.
Lily didn't hide what she felt for him, all that heat and lust in her eyes just for him. Did she understand the electrifying effect that honesty had on him? He was hard, had been since he took the steps to her porch and stood in her doorway. Every inch of him had known he shouldn't be there, shouldn't have picked up the challenge she'd thrown down. She hadn't understood just how hot a tease those words were, and yet there was no stopping his breath from catching at the sight of her waiting for him, all pink and gold, on the daybed.
“Undress for me,” she whispered throatily. He hadn't thought he could get harder, but damned if he didn't, the pleasure slamming through him.
“I thought I'd be able to change your mind.” The words spilled from him in a harsh groan. Pulling his shirt over his head, he tossed it behind him. Her eyes drifted downward from his face, a feline smile of satisfaction curling her lips.
“You look good for an old man, Jack. Real good.” She reached out, and her fingertips traced a line of fire down his chest. Sensation slammed into him. “Take the rest of it off.”
His fingers tugged buttons free, pushing the worn denim down his thighs. The sexy little catch of her breath as he stood there before her had him hardening still further.
Her hands tugged him closer, and he went. He wasn't about to refuse her anything, not when she got that sexy little crease between her eyes as she stared hungrily at his dick. She wanted him, and that interest made him feel like the biggest man of them all. King of the world.
“Careful, baby,” he groaned. “I'm not made of stone here.”
“Parts of you clearly are,” she teased.
Her hands closed over his hips, pulling him nearer. As her head lowered, her hair spilled around him, and the erotic tease of those silky strands sliding over his erection had him fighting for control. Slowly, so very slowly, she moved downward, and all he could do was hang on, threading his hands through her beautiful hair, lost in the fiery sensations lashing him.
“All mine,” she whispered, pressing a light kiss against the very tip of him, a tiny butterfly caress of a kiss that sent sensation scorching through his veins.
“Lily,” he groaned. “You're killing me.”
“Good,” she whispered, pulling back. He wanted to drag her closer, fought the primal urge to guide his dick deep into her mouth and fuck her until there was no telling where one of them ended and the other began.
Her tongue licked a naughty path around the head of his dick. Tasting. Exploring. When she finally sucked him deep inside that hot, wet heaven, he wanted to beg for more. His own groan shocked him, hoarse and guttural. Her touch was too good, too much.
Her lips parted around him, and, God help him, he thought he was dying as her mouth slid down his shaft. He'd never been so hard, so desperate, as she took him.
“God, just like that.”
She wrapped a hand around his thick flesh, and there was nothing hesitant about her. She was all woman. Knowing. Sure. Her other hand cupped his balls, her mouth moving over him. The delicious tug of her hand up and down his erection almost sent him over the edge right then and there.
When she pulled back, blowing on the damp head, bright pleasure exploded through him. “Christ. That feels so good.”
His hands tangled in her hair. Guiding her. Holding on to her because the world had narrowed to her and him and this bed.
And still her mouth worked on him. Tasting him. Learning him with each naughty stroke. He fought not to drive himself into her mouth. Fought the need to come, to fill her with himself.
“You have to stop, baby,” he groaned finally. Reluctantly pulling himself away, he briefly reached over to snag a condom from the pocket of his jeans before he lowered her down onto the bed and covered her with himself.
“Tell me you're ready, Lily.” He slid between her legs, and she opened for him willingly, pulling him deeper into the cradle of her hips, up against the sweet, wet heat of her. He couldn't wait, couldn't hold back another minute because he knewâjust knewânothing would be better than this connection between them, and he wanted all that feeling now.
“I want you, Jack.” Her arms came up to hold him closer, and then he was sliding in, sliding home. Moving to take his place between her thighs. She took him. Cradled him inch by heated inch as he pressed inside, stretching that tight, silken sheath until she was wrapped around him like a sweet, hidden glove.
“You feel so perfect,” he whispered harshly. “So goddamned perfect, baby. Yes, move just like that,” he groaned as she wrapped her legs on either side of his hips. Moving with him. He laid his face against the side of hers, and every breath he took pushed him deeper inside her, dragged her scent deeper.
“That's so good, Jack,” she whimpered, her eyes drifting closed. “I need more.”
She pulled him impossibly closer, wrapping her legs fiercely around his waist, and held on. He stroked in. Out. His hands reaching beneath her to cup her ass and hold her closer as he fought for control. Fought to make sure she found what she needed before he let go.
“Just like that,” he praised. Bracing a hand beside her head, he kept his full weight off her. His whole body was tightening, his cock desperately hard. Christ, she was killing him, her body milking his. Tiny spasms rippled through her, each small pulse sending an answering spike of pleasure through him.
He tensed, then moved faster, harder as her hands clutched at his back. Guiding. Demanding. “Now, Jack.”
“Baby, you can have whatever you want.” He slid deeper, losing himself in her sweet, wet heat. Stroked in and out of that sweet, hot pussy as he drank in her little groans of pleasure. Her nails dug into the tense muscles of his shoulders as he took them both to the edge. Pleasure tore through his body in a fiery shock of sensation, his whole world narrowing to this woman and where the two of them were joined. Her eyes watched him take her, widening with the helpless, fiery pleasure of it all.
“Come for me, baby.” He dropped a hand between them, finding her. His back arching, he drove them both over the edge, and his body tightened, pressed tightly against sensitive nerve endings as she dissolved around him and he shuddered out his pleasure in her arms.
Lily came awake, her neck protesting its unfortunate angle. Sometime during the night she'd sprawled over Jack's bare chest. With each breath she inhaled the clean, spicy scent of him. He hadn't left, and he hadn't taken a fire call. Maybe that was a victory. Maybe it was because they'd slept on the daybed on the screened-in porch. Either way, she knew things would never be the same between them again. Last night had made their relationship more than a one-night stand.
Jack, of course, was still Jack, and he'd still be leaving at the end of the summer. No matter how naughty or hot the sex had been, some things hadn't changed. Jack was still a temporary kind of a man, a ride-in-ride-out cowboy.
She still wasn't sure she was ready for a summertime romance, but it sure looked like she'd gotten herself one. So she'd enjoy Jack Donovan, take everything he had to offer. When summer was over and his job here was done, she'd finally have her memories of him. After the last two nights, she knew she wasn't going to be prudent. Wasn't going to send him on his way any sooner than she had to.
She wasn't hiding anymore. She'd live her life, see where it took her.
For years, she'd fantasized. Now she had the real deal, all six foot plus of him. It was still early, the sun barely creeping above the horizon. The light in the yard was watery and pale, the crickets still singing their drowsy summer song. There was just enough light to make out every delicious inch of Jack asleep on her sunporch. Long and lean and sexy, he sprawled on the cotton sheets. One hand was over his face, while the other tangled in the orange fur of the barn cat. The cat had snuck in and was curled up now against Jack's side, trusting the bed's larger occupants not to roll.
Yeah.
One summer was better than nothing. Jack's bare chest was peaceful. Beautiful. With the windows all open and his face turned toward them, he seemed to drink in the cool morning air. It would be hotter than hell in a matter of hours, but right now the morning was still cool and pleasant against her skin.
One summer was better than nothing. Jack's bare chest was peaceful. Beautiful. With the windows all open and his face turned toward them, he seemed to drink in the cool morning air. It would be hotter than hell in a matter of hours, but right now the morning was still cool and pleasant against her skin.
The sheer sexiness of the man had that lazy heat building in her again. The cat cracked an eye when she slipped off the mattress and padded across the floor, but the man didn't stir.
Question was, how had this man become what she really wanted? When she'd come home, she'd sure thought she knew exactly what she wanted. To be safe. To
not
get burned. Jack was the antithesis of everything she'd believed should be on her wish list. She wanted roots and a home of her own. She wanted a place where people looked out for one another and greeted each other by name. Knew each other's stories, even when that was enough to drive you crazy because those stories always followed you. That curiosity meant that folks were interested, plain and simple. You were part of the fabric of the town, for better or worse, and gossip certainly wasn't the worst thing that had ever happened to her.
not
get burned. Jack was the antithesis of everything she'd believed should be on her wish list. She wanted roots and a home of her own. She wanted a place where people looked out for one another and greeted each other by name. Knew each other's stories, even when that was enough to drive you crazy because those stories always followed you. That curiosity meant that folks were interested, plain and simple. You were part of the fabric of the town, for better or worse, and gossip certainly wasn't the worst thing that had ever happened to her.
From all accounts, her mother had loathed the unabashedly small-town feeling of Strong. She'd always been looking for an exit ticket, but instead she'd found a series of failed businesses. Yellow-pages advertising, time-shares, even a wine-of-the-month clubâshe'd tried them all before Lily was fiveâand failedâuntil she'd decided the best business decision was dropping her daughter on Ben's porch and hightailing it out of Strong for greener, more urban pastures.
Jack had hightailed it, too, and he'd made it perfectly clear that Strong was merely a stop on his tour of duty. So how did she deal with the inescapable fact that she wanted to nudge the cat aside and crawl back onto the daybed with Jack, spoon up against him? Lose herself there. Shaking her head, she backed out of the sunporch, flinching at the soft whisper of sound as the latch clicked into place. The cat's ears flicked, but Jack Donovan slept the sleep of the dead.
From the kitchen window, she eyed the fields surrounding the house. Right now, as summer got under way, those fields were an intense blanket of color. This early in the morning, the scent was powerful, almost suffocating in its sweetness. The incessant drone of the bees getting a jump start on their own day was a familiar chorus.
A good day to harvest.
Pouring coffee into her favorite mug from the pot she'd set on auto-timer, she added cream and a heaping spoonful of sugar. Sweet and strong, the coffee was perfect. Wandering out onto the front porch, she plotted her plan of attack.
Growing good lavender required two things. Sun and water. People were more complex.
On impulse, she liberated one of Jack's T-shirts from the duffel he'd dropped inside the door to the porch. She'd take a little piece of him out to cut lavender. Sliding her feet into her flip-flops, she shoved her hair into an elastic tie and hit the door.
Harvesting lavender was hot, satisfying work. With each new breath she took, the heady perfume threatened to overwhelm her senses. Armed with a pair of small hand shears, she carefully cut the spikes from each plant, just as they were opening. Usually she'd have waited until the late-morning sun had dried off the dew, but since these were for grower's bouquets for the florist, she could cut early. Methodically she cut long stems for the bouquets, bunching and tying each handful with rubber bands.
When Jack had come charging on up her driveway, a knight errant she hadn't asked for, he'd brought other, hidden dreams back to her. She'd carved out a good life for herself, and she would, she acknowledged to herself, fight tooth and nail to keep it. More than money, the farm represented the future she was trying so hard to achieve. Each plant she set into the ground was a promise.
Maybe there were promises she and Jack could make each other. Maybe not. The last two nights had been some sort of a start, though.
Jack smelled of smoke and man and something spicy Lily couldn't name. If summer had a scent, that scent would be Jack Donovan. He'd come home. Bronzed and muscled from the work he'd done firefighting, her Jack was determined as hell to keep her safe. Yet all she could do was remember the fear.
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