One Reckless Summer (9 page)

“Oh. Well…no.” She glanced down. Despite everything that had taken place between them already, she hadn’t expected to suddenly be talking about sex with him again.

“Before that?” he asked, clearly curious.

She couldn’t help laughing. “No again.”

“Why not?” He sounded sincerely curious.

And she bit her lip, peering back up at him. “He tried, but I said no.”

“The guy in the picture?”

Adam. Her first real boyfriend. She nodded quietly.

And Mick raised his eyebrows slightly. “You didn’t want to?”

She didn’t know how to answer except honestly. “I…did, but I wanted to be in love, and I wasn’t. I wanted sex…to mean something.”

He drew back slightly, clearly caught off guard. She understood why, after their encounter in the woods. “Time changes things, I guess,” he offered.

Jenny couldn’t help feeling a little embarrassed. By all of it. “What happened with you…wasn’t normal for me.”

“Why’d you do it then? I would have stopped if you’d told me to.”

They still moved to the music, swaying gently. “I…can’t explain it.”

“It was
good
, pussycat.
Really
good.”

She felt his words in her chest, and lower. She felt how close their bodies were now, closer than before, almost pressed together. And—dear God—was he getting
hard
?
There? Against her belly?
She bit her lip once more and cast her eyes down.

A few seconds later, he spoke again. “Thanks for teaching me to dance. It’s…kinda nice.”

More than kinda. Her whole body tingled, almost pulsing with heat. Feeling a little lost again, to more than just the song, the dance, she lifted her eyes back to his face once more to murmur, “Yeah.”

Those sexy eyes were fully open now, burning on her like blue flames. “So, back in high school, did people ever, you know, make out on the dance floor?”

She laughed, nodded. “Yeah, but then a teacher would always come along and separate them.”

He smiled—yet it quickly faded to something much hotter as he said, “No teachers here
now,
pussycat.”

She didn’t answer—too busy trembling inside. Her whole body ached for him. How had she gotten back in this position—
aching
for Mick Brody?

You asked him to dance, that’s how!
Oh brother, she couldn’t believe she’d done that.

But she had. And now he was leaning forward, tentatively, as slowly as any boy on a first date, lowering his mouth to hers.

She sank into the kiss readily—there was no stopping it. She pressed her lips to his, drinking him in, the warm, salty taste of him laced with the flavor of iced tea. As one kiss turned into two, he parted his lips, let his tongue push through, and she instinctively met it with her own. She surged with moisture below just to kiss him that way, that intimately. Strange, she’d had
sex
with him already, but something about this, licking at each other’s tongues, felt even more up-close-and-personal.

Warm, powerful waves of longing washed over her as Mick’s kisses grew deeper, longer. He massaged her ass and drew her to him tight, his hardness pressing into her where she longed for it most.

She sighed and panted beneath the weight of the passion. Every fiber of her body seemed to stretch taut with needing more, needing to touch him, move against him. She kissed him more deeply, found her hands in his hair, on his neck. She pressed her chest to his and got lost in the animal hunger inside her, a hunger she hadn’t known she possessed before Mick Brody. And to think she’d been afraid to kiss him in the woods. To think she’d thought he didn’t know how to kiss a girl the way she wanted to be kissed.

She was disappointed when his mouth left hers—until it sank to her neck. A soft moan left her as the first kiss there set her whole being ablaze. Oh God—amazing. Just like in the woods…except different. That had been hard; this was definitely softer. This was more like she was accustomed to. Only better. Much, much better.

She
sighed
her pleasure, tilting her head to give him easier access—and that’s when she spotted the too-big portrait of her mother over his shoulder.
Oh
,
damn it.
Strange shame shot through her. And it was silly, she knew that—illogical, because she was a grown woman. But she was also “good Jenny.” “Good Jenny,” through and through, to the core of her soul.

The very sight of her mother forced her to press her hands to Mick’s chest and push him back.

Then she turned away—away from
him
and away from everything that reminded her she couldn’t do this. Not with Mick Brody. Not here.

He said nothing, but she felt his presence behind her, felt him waiting for her to say something. “I can’t,” she finally managed. “I just can’t.”

He sounded utterly reasonable when he reminded her, “You did before.”

Jenny lifted her gaze only to realize she now faced the room’s small fireplace, and the wide mirror that hung above it. She could only see herself from the chest up, but more importantly, she saw Mick behind her, looking gorgeous and hotter than the night. When she found words, they came out too soft. “I told you—what we did in the woods wasn’t normal for me. When I have sex with a guy, I want it…to matter.”

Yuck. She hated herself in that moment, hated what a good girl she still was deep down inside, hated how much it showed. She wanted to be like other women, the ones who could have casual sex and not care where it led—but she didn’t think she ever
would
be. Some things ran deep.

And maybe she should have given him
other
reasons:
Whatever your secret is scares me. I’m afraid you’re still a bad guy
,
someone I should run from.
But despite
herself
, in that moment, that wasn’t the reason. What she’d
told him
was the reason.

She waited for Mick to say something that confirmed her worst fears, that he thought she was acting like a little girl, that he didn’t need to waste time with someone like that; she waited for that sting of pain and embarrassment to come.

So it shocked the hell out of her when he stepped up behind her, closed his arms around her from behind and whispered in her ear. “You might not be in love with me, pussycat…but I want to make you feel good. Doesn’t
that
make it matter?”

God help her, she wanted to make him feel good, too. She wanted to prove to them both that she
could,
just like in the woods.

Yet she didn’t answer, because she didn’t know what to say. She loved being wrapped in his arms right now. She loved gazing in the mirror and seeing how they looked together, his muscular arms folding around her. He looked so much bigger than her, stronger, and she suffered the urge to be taken by him—taken hard and urgently.

But she couldn’t tell him that. Good girls didn’t say such things.

You’d think after what happened in the woods
,
you’d be tougher now.
Yet she wasn’t. The woods seemed a world away at the moment. This was her
house.
Her
parents’
house. Where she’d lived for the first eighteen years of her life. For some reason, being here with him felt as forbidden as if she’d snuck him in when she was sixteen. And despite how warm it felt in his embrace, everything she knew about him still scared her to death.

“I want you, honey,” he nearly purred in her ear, a sound like velvet that closed around her warm and snug. It made her close her eyes.

So she didn’t see it in the mirror when he began to caress her, when he grazed his roughened fingertips over her arms. She didn’t see when one hand moved softly to her shoulder, the other molding, squeezing her hip.

When his touch drifted from her shoulder down to her breast, she let out a breathy sigh, but still didn’t open her eyes. And as his other palm moved daringly low on her belly, she still didn’t look.

But when his hard-on pressed bold and undeniable into her from behind,
then
her eyes shot open to meet his, and to see the erotic reflection they created in the glass. The juncture of her thighs pulsed at the sight.

“You’re so pretty, Jenny,” he breathed. The first time she remembered him actually using her name. But she still couldn’t reply. She could only watch in the mirror. As his hand molded more fully to her breast, cupping and caressing through her thin top. And at the passion that etched itself across her face when his other hand sank between her thighs.

Oh God oh God oh God.
She never decided to part her legs for him, but it happened. She never decided to move against his touch, but that happened, too. His kisses returned to her neck, and every time she met his caresses in front, it meant meeting his erection in back a fraction of a second later.

She shut her eyes again, not because she couldn’t bear to watch but because the pleasure was too consuming. Her knees went weak and she feared she would collapse, yet he must have sensed that, too, since he released her breast in order to anchor that arm more tightly around her.

A moment later, his fingers were at her waist, finding the drawstring on her pants a moment before they
whooshed
to her ankles. She sucked in her breath, but he simply kept kissing her neck, holding her tight, making her
feel…
precious in some way.

“Come here,” he murmured, releasing her from his embrace, but taking her hand. And lost in the fog of desire, she let him lead her to the couch.

He lay her down across it,
then
reclined gently on top of her to resume kissing. Jenny wasn’t sure she’d ever been so intoxicated by a man. Sure, she’d been hungry for sex before, but this was different—this was about the guy, about Mick Brody. About his mouth, his eyes, his hands, his body.

They exchanged more kisses as the
Honeydrippers
moved from one song to another, and soon Mick reached down to slowly begin rolling her tank up over her torso, and then finally over her breasts. A low groan left him when he saw them, and she realized there was more light here than in the woods. “So pretty, baby,” he murmured just before he molded both work-roughened hands to them, then bent to lick one turgid nipple.

She gasped as the stark pleasure echoed through her body,
then
watched as he drew the same pink peak into his mouth.

She didn’t try to hold in her moans—she couldn’t. And she didn’t close her eyes now, either, because he was so nice to look at, and because she still couldn’t quite believe this was happening and seeing it made it more real.

As he moved from one breast to the other, suckling, licking, the pleasure echoing outward and arcing through the small of her back, she found herself wondering—
did
this make it matter? Did pleasure really, truly
matter
? Enough? At the moment, it felt like plenty to validate her actions, but would it feel that way later?

She stopped thinking, though, as Mick moved downward, kissing his way across her lightly tanned stomach, then past her belly button, to nibble her skin at the edge of cotton polka-dot panties. Her stomach contracted, and the flesh between her legs tingled madly. It felt like a storm you could see coming in the summer sky: She couldn’t stop it—she could only watch it growing nearer and nearer while bracing for the impact.

When he placed one small, solitary kiss directly between her legs, she flinched, gasped, lifting—and he used that opportunity to ease his hands under her, beginning to pull down her panties.

She met his gaze over the slender expanse of her body and said nothing, but she knew her eyes were saying everything.
Yes
,
I’m letting you do this. And yes
,
that must mean I want it the same way you do. I’m afraid
,
but I want it.

As Mick removed her panties, she found herself reaching for his white T-shirt, pulling upward, needing it off him. When he looked up at her, clearly taken aback by the most sexually aggressive move she’d ever made with him, she whispered, “I feel more naked than you.”

His eyes softened on her and he took over, ripping the tee off over his
head,
and then rising on his knees to undo his jeans. She watched as he kicked off his socks and shoes, then shed the blue jeans, letting them hit the hardwood floor a moment later—and taking in his body was…almost overwhelming. Maybe feeling like the only naked one had actually been easier, because his body was…beautiful.

He hovered above her in a pair of gray boxer briefs that hugged his hips and rear—and erection—perfectly. Above, his chest was broad and muscular, with a light sprinkling of dark, curling hair narrowing into a line that headed straight down into his underwear like an arrow pointing the way to the really good part. She let her eyes return there, linger—she bit her lip, yearning.

And as Mick reached down to remove the tangled tank top over her head, to leave her completely and truly naked, she knew she wanted to be here with him, like this. It didn’t matter how dangerous he was. It didn’t matter what he was hiding. She wanted him like she wanted to breathe. “Please,” she heard herself whisper without planning.

“Please what, honey?” he whispered back, leaning down over her.

Then she took a deep breath and asked for exactly what she desired. She glanced down in between their bodies and said, “Please kiss me. There.”