Just for Fun (15 page)

She arched her hips closer, gripping the bedspread with both hands. “
Doug
.”

“And this is for all the stuff I’m probably going to do tomorrow to frustrate you.”

He licked and sucked and pumped his fingers as Morgan struggled to get closer and wider and…
more.
Just more. That was all she could think.

Then finally, all she could do was say, “Please.”

“Please what?” he asked against her.

“Please take me. Do me. Fuck me.”

With a soft growl he lifted himself slightly, not letting his fingers leave her.

Without his mouth on her, she whimpered, “Please.”

“Say it again. Beg me,” he said, shifting between her thighs and rolling on a condom.

She wasn’t sure when or how he’d gotten rid of his pants, but she really didn’t care.

“Please, Doug. I need you. Please.
Please
.”

Then she felt him lift her butt and pull her forward and the next thing she knew he was sinking into her, his cock stretching her and filling her. That was what she needed, that depth and girth.

She squeezed around his length, her muscles already beginning to milk him.

“Damn, girl, you feel incredible,” he panted. “It’s like you’re sucking it out of me.”

She loved the crude talk, loved how he thrust into her, holding nothing back. She loved the sweat on his forehead as he pumped into her, loved how he gripped her hips, making sure she took every one of his thrusts, loved the heartfelt groans of pleasure.

She wanted to pull him completely inside her. As her muscles flexed around him she felt the beginning swirls of an orgasm and she reached for it, arching closer to him and tilting just right, so he rubbed over her clit as he pushed forward and pulled back. That was all it took and the sensations built faster and faster until she was crying out his name, tumbling over the edge.

He was right with her. His cock throbbed heavy and full inside of her and with the waves of muscle contractions from her he was thrusting hard and faster until he thrust deep and groaned as he came.

Afterward, she sank into the mattress, her body was so relaxed and full. She could barely turn her head as he slumped forward and rolled to the side, pulling out of her, but keeping his leg tangled with hers.

She reached out and ran her hand over his chest, sweaty from the exertion and rising and falling with the deep breaths he was pulling in. “By the way,” she said playfully, and breathlessly. “You’re forgiven for all those offenses.”

He chuckled. “I thought maybe I would be.”

“But,” she said, rolling to her side to face him. “If you want to do anything else nice for me, just in case there’s a future need for my forgiveness, I promise to remember it when the time comes.”

He laughed, pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin. “Good idea. I can just about guarantee there’ll be a need for that.”

He wasn’t a stupid guy. Doug knew as soon as Morgan snuggled against his side and breathed a huge contented sigh, as if she’d never been as happy or satisfied, that he had made a mistake.

He’d just made love to a woman he could fall for.

Dammit.

There shouldn’t have been any true risk here. He liked the fancy hotel, the high-end beer, the plush towels. But taking her bowling was supposed to show him it wasn’t
her
he liked.

She was the opposite of everything he wanted. He’d made a point of letting her know that too, and she was a smart cookie. He knew she’d caught on to what he was doing at the bowling alley. He’d been purposely pointing out everything he generally looked for that she didn’t have or want.

Still, he’d watched her eating nachos as readily as she’d eaten the wild mushroom risotto at dinner. Actually,
more
readily. She’d picked at her food at the hotel, but on the tall stool in the middle of Bud’s Bowl she’d devoured chip after chip. She’d been chatting and laughing with Roger. She’d slipped her panties off and given them to him.

She was full of surprises.

He wanted to know what else she might do. Or say.

Damn, she’d actually said
fuck me.
Again. That was probably when he’d lost his heart.

It wasn’t particularly sweet or romantic, not a story he’d tell the grandkids about the moment he’d first known she could be the one, but he hadn’t been lying when he’d said he liked things real. He liked down to earth, straightforward, simple.

It didn’t get much more straightforward than
fuck me
. Especially in that voice, with that look on her face, that said she hadn’t really been aware of what she was saying. She’d been purely
feeling
at that moment. It was the most honest thing she’d ever said to him.

Ben’s advice had been to get to know her so he would see she wasn’t right for him. Sam had said not to spend time talking but to focus on the sex and the sex only. It appeared brainiac Ben Torres had lost this round to former-ladies’-man Sam Bradford.

Dooley would have to remember that.

Not that it helped him right now.

He stroked his hand over Morgan’s hair. He loved the feel of it. It was silky and smooth and a fascinating color. He let the strands fall over his fingers and tried to remember ever being fascinated by a woman’s hair before.

It probably cost a fortune to maintain. He’d been around Sara long enough to know the cost of hair products and services varied widely from cheap to outrageous.

“How much does your shampoo cost?” he asked.

Morgan gave him a drowsy, “Huh?”

“It feels and smells amazing. Does your shampoo cost a lot?”

She lifted her head and gave him a quizzical look. “Um, I don’t know. It’s about twenty dollars a bottle.”

He knew it. He spent something like two forty-nine on his shampoo. His hair gel was more like ten bucks, but it lasted him for months.

She put her hand on his chest and propped her chin there to look at him. “Of course, I use a lot more than just shampoo.”

She seemed to be watching him for a reaction, so he kept his expression neutral. “Girl hair seems to be quite a production.”

“It can be.”

“So, total, what are we talking? Fifty bucks?”

“Per month? Probably more. Especially if you include the trip to the salon and stuff.”

He sighed. “Figured.”

“Is that a problem for some reason? I suppose
regular
girls cut and color their own hair? Oh, that’s right, you like ponytails.”

She sounded annoyed and Dooley realized he had two options at that moment—let it go or talk about it.

Letting it go would lead to more sex.

Not a completely horrible option, for sure. Definitely what Sam would tell him to do.

Talking about it would lead to more proof they wouldn’t last. Probably what Ben would tell him to do.

Ben’s idea had sucked earlier.

Except taking Morgan to the bowling alley hadn’t sucked at all. It had been fun and even sexy and had proven there was more to her than he’d assumed.

He rolled toward her, sifting her hair through his fingers again. He knew for a fact it was her true color and it smelled and felt great.

“I like ponytails,” he agreed. “I like the natural look.”

“Why?” she asked, seeming genuinely interested. “You find lipstick and nail polish and hair highlights a turn-off?”

He thought about that. Her lipstick had been kissed off a long time ago, which was damned sexy. Her hair was gorgeous messed up as it was from the pillow. But her nail polish was intact and it looked good as she gently raked her nails over his chest, causing a shiver of want.

“It’s not the final product,” he said. “It’s the process. The expense. Why spend the time and money? I’d rather see you naked in a shower, everything washed off, than all made up in a fancy restaurant.”

She smiled, curling her nails into his chest again lightly. “What do the other women you date look like when you go out?”

He thought about it. He’d most recently taken Lori out a couple of times. Definitely low maintenance. She was an ER nurse with Ben’s wife, Jessica.

“Jeans, shirt, basic shoes, no heels.”

“Ponytail?” she asked.

He couldn’t remember. “Sure.”

“How do you know these women?”

“They work at the hospital.” Almost exclusively. It was about the only place he spent time besides home. Or the bar, which was generally full of people who worked at the hospital.

“They wear scrubs and stuff when you usually see them?” she asked. “When you flirt and ask them out, right?”

“Right. Work clothes.”

“So, jeans are dressing up for them,” she said with a triumphant tone. “They’re still trying to look nice. They’re still putting more time and effort into it.”

He thought about that. Hmm. Maybe she had a point. “They know me. They know they don’t have to impress me.”

“Maybe it’s not about you.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Maybe it’s about them. I like dressing up. I like doing different things with my hair and changing my look with different make-up and accessories. It’s fun. It makes me feel more relaxed and confident in a dating situation, which is different than being confident in a work situation. I wear pantsuits at work. I have to take care of lots of different issues for a lot of different people every day. Those people need to see me as their boss, or as the hotel manager. So when I go out, I want to look different from that. I want to be able to be confident in being a woman and having fun.”

She pushed herself up to sitting against the headboard, tucking the sheet under her arms.

“Maybe the women you date are the same,” she went on. “They work in a hospital. Scrubs make sense for what they do. People see scrubs and lab coats and think health care and see those people as competent and there to help them. Plus, scrubs are comfortable and the nurses can dive into whatever they need to do without worrying about ruining silk or breaking a nail or turning their ankle in heels. But when they go out with you they want to relax and be able to have fun and dress up differently than they do for work. Jeans make sense because you’re taking them places where silk and heels aren’t practical anyway.”

She was looking at him with an expression that seemed far too smug.

“You’re assuming I take them places that don’t have a dress code?” He did. Definitely.

She didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t have any money. As you were sure to inform me the very first night in the bar when I asked you to go on this trip.”

He had. He’d wanted it right out in the open.

“You like men with money.”

“It’s not a mark against them,” she said with a shrug. “That bugs you about me, doesn’t it?”

“Why do you say that?”

“You asked about how much my shampoo cost. No one has ever asked me that before.”

“I was curious.”

“You wanted to see if maybe I was a regular girl under all of this?”

He shook his head and pushed himself up to sit next to her. “I was positive, even before I knew about your shampoo, you’re not a regular girl.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“You tell me. I hang out in places like Bud’s Bowl a lot.”

She turned to face him more fully. “I can buy my own shampoo, Doug. I don’t need a guy to do that.”

There was something between the lines there. He didn’t like between the lines.

“So you’re
not
looking for a guy with money?” he asked. Straightforward, just the way he liked it.

“I’m just saying I can afford to hang out wherever I want, dress however I want.” She took a deep breath. “You not having a lot of money doesn’t make you any less attractive to me.”

This sounded like trouble.

“That doesn’t mean you want to hang out where I hang out,” he said, wondering why in the hell he’d brought her shampoo up in the first place. But he’d started this conversation. He’d been wondering about how important the finer things were to her. But why?

Fuck. Sam was right
again
. He had to stop talking to her.

“How about you hanging out where I hang out?” she asked, waving her arm to encompass the suite. “This isn’t bad is it?”

“This is great,” he admitted. “But it’s not…me.”

“It’s me,” she said. “Stick with me and I bet it will grow on you.” She gave him a sweet, probably unintentionally sexy smile.

He had no doubt the extravagance would grow on him. As would she.

About that time something would happen and it would all go away.

Good things never lasted.

“The money thing is important to you, huh?” he asked. Money especially seemed to not last. Jobs changed, the economy changed, the stock market changed. Learning to live with less, even when there was extra, made a hell of a lot more sense than getting used to the best of everything and having to adjust when it went away.

He’d been there. He’d grown up with money. A lot of it. When it was gone he’d tried like hell for awhile to figure out how to get it back. But the never-ending battle gave him an ulcer and insomnia and nearly cost him some important relationships. Finally, he’d learned to just accept what he had and protect himself from having it all taken away from him again.

“The money thing?” she asked.

“Having money. Spending money. Where’s that come from?” he asked. “Did you grow up with money? You’re used to being surrounded by all this stuff? You went to private school in a limo and ate sushi for lunch?”

She laughed. “Hardly.”

“Ah, so you like all this stuff because you
didn’t
have money.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I grew up in a family where it was paycheck to paycheck.”

“That could happen again,” he said. His eyes dropped to her mouth and he realized sitting here talking finances was stupid. She was naked under the sheet. And he had only a few more hours with her in this bed.

“Britton is a very stable company. As long as I keep doing well, I have the security of a well-paying job with lots of great perks,” she said, her chin going up.

“Even the most stable company can get into trouble,” he said. “Somebody could be stealing from their accounts right now. Somebody could be planning a lawsuit against them. Or a takeover. That can change everything. What if something happens to Jonathan? What if he has a heart attack and dies? You’re his golden girl now, but the next guy could decide he likes the girl in the office who gives him blow jobs on his lunch hour and promote her instead.”