The Rebound Girl (Getting Physical) (6 page)

“Nothing.” That wasn’t strictly true. The longer he made her wait, the more certain she was that she’d do just about anything to get him between her legs. “And everything,” she amended.

“That sounds like a great place to start.”

She ignored the thick, emotional promise in that statement. “Well? Are you going to take my clothes off, or am I going to have to do it myself?”

Matt licked his lips, his gaze not straying from her face. “You,” he said, the word so quiet it was almost a whisper. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was reverent. A girl could get used to that. “You do it. Please.”

“Good answer.”
Great
answer.

She took her time with the task. It had taken quite a bit of practice in front of a mirror to learn how to shed one’s shirt to maximum effect, but she’d been nothing if not a diligent student in her youth. Lifting the fabric inch by inch, she showcased what she knew was one of her best features—a soft stomach and waspish waist, rendered all the more appealing by the ample bulk that started at her hips. A study in contrast, she’d once been told.

Her shirt flung wildly to the side, she moved on to the swell of each breast where they lifted out of the black lace of her inordinately expensive push-up bra, her fingers slow and methodical. A slight shrug of each shoulder caused her bra straps to slip down her arms, just a hint of nipple appearing where the fabric began to fall.

Matt’s gaze roamed over her, more intimate than a caress—and if she was being honest, more erotic than one too. There was something about his rigid control, the way he could force himself to stand there and do no more than watch, that made the empty ache between her legs throb even harder.

She could feel the slick moisture of her desire build even more as she reached for the button of her jeans. Honestly, if Matt so much as reached out and tweaked a nipple between his fingers, she’d probably come on the spot. And she wasn’t even half naked yet.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Matt announced, stopping her before she got the fabric of her jeans past her hips.

Thank
God
. “Is that a question or a statement?”

“
May
I kiss you now?”

“If you’re going to be polite about it, absolutely not.” She pouted. “These lips are reserved for men who take no prisoners.”

“Good thing I wasn’t talking about those lips.”

Matt’s words caught her by so much surprise she barely registered it as he approached her and pushed her into the couch with a soft
whomp
. The scent of the newly purchased, buttery leather filled her senses as Matt grabbed each thigh and pulled her to the edge of the cushion.

She was reduced to a bundle of incoherencies. Legs apart. Devoid of breath. Holy shit excited.

And then he fell to his knees before her.

Whitney didn’t often find herself at a loss for anything—thoughts, words, actions. But as Matt leaned in and kissed each of her breasts softly before murmuring, “I think I’ll take care of the pants. You take too long,” she found that she could open her mouth and let out a squeak, but no other sound would come.

His movements were careful and methodical as he unclasped her jeans and tugged them low on her hips, though his mouth found something to do in the meantime. He bit the outside of her bra, grasping onto her nipple through the lined lace. It would have seemed odd if not for feeling so damn wonderful, the sharp edge of his teeth dulled by the fabric but still latching on with a sharp intensity that shot a spike between her legs.

She put both hands on the back of his head, encouraging him to latch harder. But he pulled away and looked up.

“Is this okay?”

She laughed, finally able to find her voice. “I’m going to have to go with a definitive yes. Anything I can do to help?”

He buried his face between her breasts, playfully motorboating. “Nah, I’m good,” he said, his voice muffled.

Whitney laughed again, a sound that quickly gave way to a gasp when he yanked her jeans the rest of the way down, her underwear going along with it. It was a shame, too, since they were one of her best pairs, all black and girly and wearable only two or three times before the lace started to shred. But when Matt’s head dipped down to kiss the inside of her thigh, she decided she didn’t really care whether or not he took the time to appreciate her lingerie. All she wanted was for him to keep appreciating her skin. Oh, yes. Just. Like. That.

In her experience, oral sex was only good if both parties were enthusiastic about it—a rare aligning of the stars that didn’t happen often enough for her tastes. It was easy to tell when a man was going down out of a sense of duty, or if it was a begrudging journey, taken solely to ensure a reciprocated visit.

But Matt—he was enthusiastic. Real interest ignited in his eyes as he took in the sight of her naked and spread open before him, and she found herself gripping his hair harder as he moved between her legs. She shifted so that she was even closer to the edge of the seat and arched into him, allowing herself to enjoy the sensation of his tongue lapping greedily at her, the expertise with which he moved between sucking and licking, her clit never once lost in the mix.

Her grip on his hair had to be borderline sadism by the time she came—she’d long lost feeling in anything but her lady parts—but it was impossible to unlatch her fingers as she jerked against him, sensation taking over reason as the orgasm rocked through her.

“Now that was a kiss worth waiting for,” she murmured, falling back against the couch with her eyes closed. She knew she ought to adopt a more decorous pose as she offered her congratulations, but
damn
—she needed a minute.

She didn’t get one, though, as Matt pulled away and dropped a light kiss on the inside of each thigh before all the stars had completely cleared from her vision.

“Slow down there, Galahad,” she murmured, struggling to sit up. “As soon as I recover from this ladylike swoon, I plan on showing you my appreciation for that incredible feat.”

His laughter was a warm breath on her leg. “You don’t have to.”

She sat up, her lethargy dissolved in a moment of wounded pride. She might be the kind of girl who slept with a guy she barely knew, but at least she had the common human decency to give as good as she got.

“Oh, I do. I really do.” Her words weren’t as forceful as she’d hoped, but since most of her was still quivering with a gelatin-like satisfaction, it would have to be enough. “Besides—it doesn’t count as a rebound otherwise.”

He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck and grinned up at her. “I didn’t know there were going to be so many rules.”

“If you want there to be rules, Matt, I can make rules. And I can enforce them.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he conceded, nodding solemnly. “You’re very intimidating.”

“You aren’t intimidated.”

“Not right now, I’m not. I’m far too pleased with myself.”

He looked it, the cheeky bastard. “I said that was incredible. Not perfect.”

“Oh? Do you want to give me some pointers?” He licked his lips, taking slow satisfaction in the taste of her that lingered there. “Should I try again?”

As much as she wanted to say yes, to lie there for the next few hours while he kissed whatever the hell he wanted, Whitney was determined to do this right. “Sit down, Matt. And take off your pants.”

Matt still wore his jeans, though they were unbuttoned at the fly and it was obvious they were straining to be removed. The clear outline of his cock bulged with all kinds of promise, extending much lower down the right leg of his pants than she would have first guessed.

All
of
that
.
All
for
me
.

When he didn’t move right away, she grabbed for his waistband and shoved her hand down, not stopping until she reached the hard length of him. Thick and strong. A little bit curved. And
hot
. She squeezed. “Sit down. Now.”

That time, he sat.

She took her time divesting him of his clothing, enjoying the thick trail of hair leading from the flat plane of his abdomen to where his fly spread open. This was the best part of a man’s body, though few of them realized it. Forget clearly defined six packs or skin rendered smooth through laser hair removal treatments or even the sinewy arms that could carry a lady to safety. Give her a happy trail any day, rough and coarse and leading to...she groaned. To such deliciously robust equipment.

Matt was a big boy.

She got to her knees as he lifted his hips, allowing his jeans to pool at his feet. “If, at any time, you feel I need pointers,” she said, licking her lips in anticipation, “you be sure and let me know.”

He moaned as she took him inside her. His cock was smooth and firm against her tongue, and she had to work her jaw open to fit him all in. She brought one of her hands down to wrap around the base of his dick—the part she couldn’t reach with her mouth—the other coming up to gently cup his balls, working and squeezing and even giving a little tug now and then.

“Jesus, Whitney.” He jerked as she wrapped her tongue in circles around his shaft. “I don’t think pointers will be necessary.”

She liked to think that was true—and the noises generated in his throat seemed to indicate that all was going well. So well, in fact, that she didn’t have a chance to do much more than swirl her tongue around the large, round head of his cock a few times, delving deeply into the slit, before the hot, steady pulse of his release filled her mouth.

It wasn’t a record for Whitney, but it was certainly up there in the ranks. Like most women, she liked stamina good and well when a man was inside her—but she didn’t need oral sex to last forever. Blow jobs weren’t exactly a race, but there was something supremely self-satisfying about being able to reduce a man to nothing but sound and sensation in under five minutes flat.

Matt lay in an exact imitation of her repose before, and Whitney had to laugh, imagining how he felt. She crawled up on the couch next to him so that they were side-by-side, not touching, but not feeling awkward about it either.

“So,” she finally said, once both their breathing resumed a normal pace. “That was fun.”

Without getting up from his seat, Matt pulled up his jeans. “I’m not going to argue with that. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Whitney adjusted her bra straps and reached for her own clothes. “I was the one seducing you, remember?”

“I mean it.” Matt’s movements halted. “I was dreading this.”

“Sex?” she asked, laughing softly. “That’s got to be the first time a man has ever admitted that out loud.”

He turned to face her, looking adorable and rumpled. That was Whitney’s undoing, because he took her pause and appreciation for something they weren’t, kissing her lightly on the forehead and lingering there with a sweetness that ached somewhere in the center of her chest. Their eyes met, and Whitney found she couldn’t move away from him.

“I meant thanks for making it so easy to, ah, get back on the horse. I don’t know that I could have done it with anyone else.”

“No problem, Galahad.” Forcing herself to smile and point, she added, “But don’t think that was about anything more than me finding you to be one hot piece of man meat. This was still not a date.”

A flash of hurt crossed his face—so fast she might have imagined it—before a crooked smile settled on his lips. “If that’s the case, I’m curious to know how far you go on an actual date.”

Taken aback by the unexpectedness of his reply, Whitney tossed her head back and laughed. “Oh, Matt. You have no idea. Bathroom’s through the back if you want to clean up. I’ll make us some toast.”

“You want toast?”

“What I want is Kung Pao chicken and spicy noodles and a beer the size of your head,” Whitney amended. “But whole wheat bread and a toaster oven is what I have. Don’t complain.”

Chapter Five

“I told you. Women are different now.”

Matt eyed his brother doubtfully. “You act like it’s been fifty years since I’ve even talked to a female member of our species. If you count all the time I spent dating and married to Laura, we’re talking five years, tops. There’s no way they changed that much. Some flowers don’t even bloom that often.”

Lincoln pointed his fork and waved it, a cherry tomato dropping seeds all over the table. “If you’re going to start comparing female anatomy to flowers, you’re only proving my point.”

Matt scowled at his dinner. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

The brothers sat at Pizzaro’s, a local Italian bistro—a cozy, romantic restaurant filled with red checkered tablecloths and private label wine. Almost all the tables seated two and the lights were so dim the menus had to be read with a flashlight. He and Lincoln had a standing weekly date here.

Yes, sharing a candlelit dinner with his brother every Tuesday night might not be the height of his romantic fantasies, but single people deserved to eat at their favorite restaurants too. Yet another hard truth no one bothered mentioning in the
So
Your
Wife
Cheated
on
You
handbook.

“You boys want me to uncork that wine?” their server asked, materializing from out of the darkness. The fact that the waitstaff dressed all in black made it that much harder to see them coming. “And how’s that salad with the nonfat dressing on the side treating you, Lincoln?”

Now it was Matt’s turn to laugh. The haughtiness of the tall, slender brunette filling the breadbasket could only mean one thing—Lincoln had slept with her enough times that she’d become aware of the strict diet that kept him lean and in shape. Protein and vegetables. Workouts twice a day. And, when he thought no one was watching, baby oil to the abs so they glistened in the sun.

“It’s delicious, thanks.” Lincoln speared a mushroom. “And no wine for me. I’m on duty at eight.”

Matt snorted. “I don’t think the Rotary Club bake sale qualifies as official police duty.”

“People look to me for leadership. You have no idea how hard it is being a public servant.”

The waitress—Melinda, her nametag pronounced—let out a laugh. “I’ll be back around with some water. I am so slipping the hostess a twenty tonight. You’re going in someone else’s section next week.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Lincoln announced, shaking his head at Melinda as she folded back into the shadows. “A few years ago, she would have been begging for a chance to serve the great Officer Fuller his dinner. But ever since the borough’s been taken over by commuters, it’s like the girls here won’t look at anyone without a six-figure income and Venetian plaster walls.”

“Don’t you think that might have more to do with the fact that you’ve slept with and discarded at least half of the Pleasant Park female population?” Matt asked.

Separated as they were by just eleven slightly scandalous months, he and Lincoln had always been closer than most of the other siblings they knew. They’d shared a grade, clothes—most of the time—Christmas presents too. But ever since his brother had hit a robust thirteen and Matt straggled into an awkward twelve, Matt had a hard time finding much sympathy for him in the dating arena. The way he treated women, like disposable playthings, wasn’t exactly progressive.

“That shows what you know.” Lincoln pushed his salad plate away and grabbed the parmesan and red pepper flake shakers, setting them up in the newly cleared space. He gestured at them. “Take Kendra, for example.”

“Is she the cheese or the pepper flakes?”

“She’s the pepper flakes. Hot.” Lincoln didn’t miss a beat. “We had fun. We danced, we talked, we fu—”

Matt held up a hand. “I really don’t need to hear the details.”

Lincoln rolled his eyes and brought the two shakers together in a crude approximation of condiment sex. “We fucked, Matt. It’s okay to say that word now that you’re free of Laura. Anyway, the point is that I’m not a complete jerk. I got her phone number, texted her the next day and all that.”

“Wait—are you supposed to be the parmesan cheese?”

“You’re damn right I am. We complemented each other, Kendra and I. But the next morning, when I told her I had to get to the station for work, it was like a wall came crashing down.” Lincoln put his napkin between the shakers and nudged the pepper flakes closer to the bottle of wine. “She used me. It was all fun and games until she found out what I did for a living. She doesn’t want the cheese, no matter how delicious I might be. She wants to take up with the wine. Wine is who she’ll marry and have babies with.”

“I thought you hated babies. And marriage.”

“I do.” Lincoln dropped the napkin, letting it blanket his strange scene. “But
she
doesn’t know that. She never texted back. I could be at home, sobbing into my Hot Pocket and wanking into a dirty sock, and she’d never have any idea.”

Matt dropped his own fork. That was an image that didn’t set well with his pasta carbonara. “You picked her up in a bar and slept with her on two hours’ acquaintance. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.” Irony dripped from Lincoln’s voice. “You picked Whitney up in a bar and slept with her on two days’ acquaintance—and now you’re asking me for advice about what to do next. Well, this is my advice. It was a one-night stand, and about damn time too. Don’t call. Don’t write. Don’t ask her dad for her hand in marriage or some dumb shit like that. If she’s looking for a long-term relationship—and I seriously doubt she is—it’s not with some pathetic backwoods teacher like you. Accept the situation as divine intervention and move on.”

Damn
. It wasn’t often that Lincoln made sense—let alone the kind of sense that rang with actual truth.

“I think I’m going to call her anyway.”

Lincoln dropped his head to the table, the hollow thump of skull on wood loud enough to halt the background chatter and scraping of forks on plates. “What were her exact words when you left?”

Matt refused to say them out loud—especially for Lincoln’s edification.
Next
time
I’m
determined
to
feel
that
beautiful
cock
of
yours
inside
me
, she’d said. She’d been smiling at the time, but the door had been closing slowly but firmly in his face before he’d barely had time to swallow his toast.

Next time?
Next
time
? Did that mean they were firmly on the path to an actual relationship? Or would she just show up at his work again, smiling at him with that mouth—gorgeous, bright and firmly implanted in his memory as the best orifice on the face of the planet—over the heads of innocent children?
Jesus
. He still wasn’t sure what her parting words had been calculated to do, other than to have him hard and straining before he even got to his car.

Which was exactly what had happened.

“She said she wants to see me again,” he managed.

“But she clearly stated it wasn’t a date? Like before you even went out?”

“Well...yes.”

“Fuck buddy,” Lincoln said firmly. “She intends to ride you until there’s nothing left for her to ride. Lucky bastard. I practically gave her to you the other night.”

Across the room, the dark outline of a guy in a suit dropped to one knee in the unmistakable plunge of a man in love. All eyes turned in the direction of the couple, unashamed to witness a spectacle meant to be public in the best possible way. In fact, the entire restaurant seemed to suspend itself, all eating and talking and kitchen activity stalled for the brief minute it took for the man to stammer the most important question he’d ever ask in his life.

It was too far away to make out any of the details, but the woman’s cry and the way she leaped out of her seat to launch herself at the man was all the confirmation Matt needed. Applause broke out all around them, and even Lincoln got caught up in the moment, holding up his glass of ice water in a mock toast.

“Another one bites the dust,” Lincoln quoted solemnly, clearly not intending a joke. With a sidelong look at Matt—the same sidelong look he’d been getting for eight months now—Lincoln shook his head. “That’s one situation I’m really glad you got out of. I know you don’t like to hear it, but Laura was a stone cold bitch.”

“She wasn’t,” he insisted, but he didn’t put much elbow grease into the protest. No amount of explaining could get his family to realize that he didn’t hate his ex-wife, that he didn’t hate the institution of marriage, that he didn’t spend his nights secretly punching holes in his walls in anger.

“Are you going to call her?”

“Who? Laura?”

Lincoln let out an irritated huff. “No, dumbshit. The one who’s actually willing to suck your dick more than once a year on your birthday.”

I’ve
got
to
stop
telling
Lincoln
things
.

“Why don’t you get to your bake sale already, Officer Fuller,” Matt said, emphasizing his brother’s title and ignoring the question of Whitney and what, exactly, the next move was supposed to be. He’d figure this out on his own. And who knew? He might actually enjoy himself in the process. “I’ll get the check this time. Go mingle with the townspeople and eat lots of cupcakes and donuts.”

“You know how I feel about that donut crap.” Lincoln rose from his seat, his finger pointed in a warning as he gathered his things. “Stereotypes hurt, Matt. And I never joke about carbs.”

* * *

Matt was worried—and not just because Laura’s sink was clogged with yet another wad of debris that looked like an entire roll of paper towels.

He sprang to his feet and tried the water, happy to find that it ran straight through.

No. The real cause for his worry was that Lincoln had been right. It had been a week since Whitney had popped his post-divorce cherry, as his brother had so charmingly put it, and against his better judgment, Matt had called once and texted twice—not being pushy, of course, just letting her know that he was thinking of her and would like to meet up again for coffee or dinner.

Radio silence. He’d gotten nary a word in reply, and the natural conclusion—that he’d taken part in a one-night stand—was the only logical one. Which was fine. A little insulting, maybe, but in the grand scheme of crimes against him, not seeing Whitney again wasn’t the worst rejection he’d ever suffered. Not by a long shot.

So why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Matt whirled to find Laura leaning against the counter, looking calm and relaxed in slacks and a button-up shirt, her hair a soft cascade around her shoulders. She’d never looked like that when they were together—she’d always been in a rush, bearing the harried look of a woman with hundreds of things to do, even though he had no real idea how she filled her days.

To be fair, he’d never really asked.

“You know you can only put food scraps in the garbage disposal, right?”

She chuckled softly. “That’s really what you were thinking right now? With that frown?”

He shrugged. He hadn’t realized he was being so transparent. “I can leave you the number of a couple of good plumbers if it acts up again. And put paper products in the garbage next time.”

“Sure.” She hesitated, poised as if to speak. Matt could tell she wanted him to press her to find out what was going on, but he refused to ask questions, to engage her in any way.

“You’re good to me,” she continued. “Too good.”

“It’s just a sink, Laura.”

“I know it is.” Then, the words a tumbled rush, “We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are.”
Friend
was a bit too strong of a word for the giant chasm of
nothing
he felt whenever Laura walked into the room, but he had to say something. And the truth seemed unnecessarily cruel. “Anything else you need before I go?”

She shook her head, and Matt knew what was coming next. It was always the same three words, an
I’m
so
sorry
that seemed to slough right off wherever it landed.

“I’ve got to run,” he said quickly, not allowing her to get the words in this time. The apology would lead, as it always did, to a cup of coffee, a friendly chat about work, the same banalities that had become commonplace for the pair of them in this post-divorce life they’d created. But he was tired of trying to make her feel better about her sins, of trying to make himself feel better about his lack of interest in them.

He wanted something more.

He wanted to see Whitney again.

Tucking the toolbox carefully under the sink, Matt nodded and ducked his head and pretty much avoided making any eye contact with Laura. Cheap tricks, all of them, but they worked.

It wasn’t until he was in his car and several miles away that he realized he wasn’t headed in the direction of home—rather, he was pulling near the old dental office just off Main Street, where a pile of wood and a few work trucks indicated a transformation was taking place.

Huh
. Apparently, he wanted to see Whitney a lot more than he realized.

And apparently, he intended to do something about it this time.