Damaged Goods (9 page)

He felt like his whole world balanced on this date, and what the hell was he supposed to do with that? He took a steadying breath and told himself to chill.

“So,” Angie interrupted his impending panic attack. “Is this a favorite place of yours?”

“Yeah. You won’t find better or fresher fish than here at Chuck’s,” he answered with pride. “Guy used to own a fishing boat and do the Alaska to Seattle thing. He saved up, then sold his boat to buy this place here. The great thing is he has all his old fishing contacts so he gets his fish direct.”

“Sounds great.” Angie smiled at him. “You know this place, so why don’t you order for me? Just don’t be ordering me anything slimy or raw, ’cause then I’d have to throw up on you.”

“Got it.” He winked and waived the waitress over. Once the food came, fragrant and plentiful, the two dug in with gusto and Kent smiled as he watched her eat like a woman who wasn’t afraid to show her appetite.

“What are you smiling at?” she asked, peeking at him over her glasses in that cute way that drove him nuts.

“You,” he replied, his smile widening. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while, but with all the drama I didn’t think it would be cool. I thought you needed some time first.”

“Time? For what?”

“To grieve. I didn’t want you thinking I wasn’t sensitive to your needs.” He felt a flush warm his cheeks when she snorted out a laugh.

Before he could come up with something appropriately masculine to restore his alpha male status, she reached out and touched his hand again. “That’s sweet. But really? I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since that first day. I was gonna start spitting in your coffee if you didn’t do it soon. I swear I was. I ain’t lying. You barely made it. I was even thinking I was going to have to go out and get myself arrested or something just to get you to notice me.”

His eyes heated and he said, “Angie, I noticed you the second I set eyes on you.”

Her cheeks bloomed with pleasure at that. She pulled her hand back and reached for the hot sauce. As she proceeded to drown her seafood sample platter in so much heat it made his mouth burn just to watch, she said, “By the way…no butt sex.”

Kent inhaled instead of swallowed the shrimp in his mouth and as he coughed and choked, she continued without looking up, “I mean it. No butt sex. I don’t get why anyone would do that, ya know?” She took a large bite of Atlantic cod, chewed a couple times and kept talking. “But everybody talks about it, so I tried it. Once. And I didn’t like it. Yeah, ow. In a big way. And my friends were all like, you just gotta relax, and um, no. That’s it. Just no. It hurts and it’s gross and um, yeah…
no
. So don’t even ask, ’cause that’s a deal breaker with me. Let’s just get it right out in the open there. You got plenty of other places you can put things, so that ride is closed. For good. Forever.”

Kent was laughing out loud by the time she finished. He stood up to lean over the table and held her face between his hands. He kissed her softly and sweetly and melted the rest of her words into a sigh. “Okay. No butt sex. I promise.” Then he sat back down and picked up his fork. “What did you mean by ‘things’, though? What ‘things’ did you want me putting in your ‘other places’?”

Her deep brown eyes smiled at him, full of warmth, and Kent felt himself tumble happily into love when she winked and said, “We will just have to wait and see what you got up your sleeve.” Then she popped a sauce-covered shrimp into her mouth. Kent tried not to drool as he watched her tongue come out and lick a dab of red from the corner of her lips.

“You know, I think I could get behind finding one of your places with one of my things right now.” He looked up from her mouth and locked gazes with her. “How about you?”

She licked more sauce from her finger and said, “I can work with that. Pay the check.”

Out in the parking lot, Kent had Angie plastered to the car and his hands adhered to her ass like they were glued to it. She panted as he worked one knee between her legs and applied pressure, then she mewled like a kitten when he tore his mouth from hers to kiss his way down her neck to the swell of her breasts.

“Fuck,” he moaned, “Fuuuuck. You feel so good.”

His hands squeezed harder on the cheeks of her ass and moved her on his thigh, grinding her just right so she’d shiver and moan again. “I can’t wait to get inside you. I want you so fucking much.”

When she quivered and clutched at his hair, he lost it and pulled her up. Fitting himself between her thighs, he ground against where she was melting-hot and wet. Her skirt was gathered up across her hips and her legs lifted and locked around his ass. It made him feel crazed that there was only one skimpy layer of panties and his zipper keeping him from being inside her.

He bit down on her nipple through the layers of dress and bra, then mumbled, “I can’t put you down. I want you right here. Right now. You gotta stop me. I don’t have it in me to stop myself.” Then he tugged at both layers of material with his teeth until her dusky breast popped free. With a moan he latched on to the crest like a starving man at his last meal.

“Are you kidding me?” she half-panted, half-yelled. “You freaking stop and I’ll punch you.” Then she shimmied one hand between them and squeezed his shaft before tugging the zipper down.

Kent mumbled some choice curse words as she worked her small hand into his fly and sprang his flesh free. “Fuck,” Kent snarled like a madman. “Fucking condom. Right front pocket. Hurry, baby. For the love of God, hurry.”

Angie reluctantly released him, fished the foil-covered necessity out, then fumbled it open and on. She took her time making sure the damn thing was covering him good and tight, so much so that he was seriously in danger of embarrassing himself. Then she guided him past the skimpy panties to her entrance. They both groaned as he let her weight settle her onto him fully. Kent shook with the force of what he was feeling.

“I wanted it to be sweet our first time.” He pulled out, lifted her up, then let her fall and thrust up at the same time. “I wanted it to be romantic for you.”

Again he eased almost all the way out, lifting her, only to slam her back down. And again. Slow retreat, fast, hard advance. Then it was too much to try to control, and he braced her against the side of the car and let his hips fly, fast, hard, endless. It was maddening, it was mindless. It was sublime. She felt like she was designed by God just to fit him and he couldn’t get enough. He wanted to pound inside her until they were fused and it was a fire consuming his soul.

Angie clutched at his shoulders and back then plunged her fingers into his hair. He wanted her to claw and scratch and cling and never stop. Kent felt the orgasm coming on like a gathering storm as her breath backed up in her lungs. That long, dark, shining hair of hers spilled down her back when she arched her spine and whispered, “I’m coming. I’m coming.”

She looked up at him and he froze when he noticed her glasses had somehow managed to stay on. She peeked at him over them and he didn’t need her whispered, “Come with me.”

Because that was all it took for him, what he’d fantasized about since the first time she’d looked at him that way; he erupted. He couldn’t call it an orgasm—it was too powerful for that. His entire body felt like it exploded and his hips slammed against her with a force he had never before used. A small part of his brain worried that he’d hurt her. He was unable to stop, though, as it went on and on. With the first hot tremor, she screamed into his chest to muffle the sound of her own climax as it clutched her flesh around his shaft in pulsating glory.

The parking lot was deserted and surrounded by trees on three sides and the river on the fourth. They were parked in a dimly lit back corner of it with no other cars in sight. Kent had parked there to keep his doors protected from the careless dings of other car doors. He wouldn’t have started this with her if he’d thought they would be seen. He wouldn’t have done this if he’d known about the audience they had. If he had known that the killer watched. And plotted.

Chapter Nine

Terryn’s body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Her muscles, every blessed one of them, strained and trembled, laboring toward the climax that Brice continued to deny her. Her red hair was a tangle of wet ropes across her face and the drenched pillow beneath her. The imported Italian sheets were just as wet and tangled as her hair. And the man looming above her had become her entire world. He’d led her to this bed three hours ago. Then he’d tied her to it. Her arms were attached to the top two bedposts, her legs he’d left free. What followed was the most intense, complete and systematic exploration of her body that she could’ve imagined. And they hadn’t even made love yet.

“Please,” she panted in a voice gone hoarse with passion. “Please, Sir. Please…I can’t. Oh God! I can’t. I’m gonna come!”

“No,” Brice commanded, his own body covered in sweat, his own voice gone ragged. “You won’t come until I give you permission. Fight it.” His hand was coated in the nectar her body gave up for him like a gift. He twisted the two fingers he was using on her so that the next pump in brushed her g-spot. When he felt the clench of her muscles that let him know she was starting to come, he pulled them out.

“I told you no.” His hand just lay against her swollen flesh, not moving, just holding tight to her, and her head whipped back and forth on the pillow.

“Please. Please,” she pleaded in a whisper, “I can’t take it. Oh…just…” She tried to pump her hips up, hoping to get his fingers to move on her. “Just…anything. I don’t care. I’ll do anything. Just please!” Then her back arched and she screamed in passionate frustration.

Brice growled, she hoped because he was about to snap the leash he had on his control. “Oh, baby,” he said, “you will do anything. Anything I say. Because this,”—he cupped his hand tight to her core—”this is mine.” He leaned his head down to flick her nipple with the tip of his tongue. “Tell me. Tell me whose pretty pussy this is and I’ll let you come.”

Terryn had never thought she was into dirty talk. Frankly, words like “pussy” and “cock” always sounded vulgar to her whenever she heard them. Until Brice. Brice had been talking dirty to her from the second he’d touched her and she loved every word that came out of his mouth. Each time he said those taboo words, it only racked up her desire for more.

“Oh, Bri…Sir, yours.” Her head lifted off the pillow so she breathed her next words across his lips. “It’s all yours.”

With a feral curse, Brice slipped his longest finger into her puckered back hole, all the way in, hard. She screamed and arched again until only her shoulders and heels were touching the mattress and he swore savagely as he watched her come. He had exploited every one of her erogenous zones, wringing three orgasms from just breast play alone before he’d moved on. She’d lost count of the number of orgasms he’d taken from her core. All she knew was that her very sanity balanced on giving him one more and then one more after that and more again until the universe narrowed down to only this room, this bed and this man.

When her body flopped back to the mattress, he lunged down and locked his mouth on to her dripping sheath, with his tongue delving deep. His finger kept thrusting in her ass, the muscles there clenching and pulsing just like the rest of her. This was the most turned on she could ever remember being and she was sure her mind was going to snap under the glorious weight of it. He stopped to rub his forehead on the inside of her thigh, gasping.

“God,” he swore. “You fucking taste amazing.” He hummed as he leaned in to take another savoring lick up the length of her core. “It must be the color of your hair or my imagination, but mmm.” He swiped his tongue along her folds, like he was licking an ice-cream cone. “You taste like cinnamon and…mmm, brown sugar…and sex.” He fastened his mouth again to her, while she writhed beneath him and every muscle in her body geared up for another explosion.

“It’s pumpkin pie,” she told him.

He stopped and murmured, “It sure is, baby, your sweet auburn hair does make it my pumpkin pie.” Then he nibbled on the crease of her thigh where the scent of warm spices was strong, making her squirm.

“No,” she whispered, too far gone to be embarrassed. “It’s my body wash and lotion. It’s actually called Pumpkin Pie.”

He smiled like the Cheshire cat. “I love that. Now every Thanksgiving you are going to blush because you’ll think of this and know that yours is the pumpkin pie I wish I were eating.” And then he took the soft knot of her clit between his lips and ruthlessly worked his tongue over it until she blasted apart again.

Finally, he lifted his head. Terryn felt his muscles flex and tense as he maneuvered up her body and positioned himself between her limp thighs. She didn’t think she had the strength to move or do anything but lay there passively after all the orgasms she’d had.

Then Brice said, “Terryn. Look at me.” As soon as her eyes met his, he thrust.

She was so wet and ready for him, her body gave almost no resistance, and her flesh was so sensitized and primed from the hours of foreplay that she came from just that single thrust, groaning in rapture as he filled every part of her. Her muscles surged back to life, arms and legs straining as he pulled back and thrust again. His back flexed and his hips churned for several mind-blowing moments, then he braced his weight on one elbow next to her head. With his other hand he caught one leg and lifted it up and over his shoulder. The position opened her in a way that left her no defense, no way to limit his depth or speed. He took full advantage.

Terryn was held immobile as he pounded into her full force, pumping so deep and hard she was sure that she was going to blast into a million pieces. She did the only thing she was capable of, she closed her eyes and surrendered to the longest, most intense orgasm of her life, screaming.

Brice kept going, using every ounce of control and every trick he could think of to draw it out for her. As her walls continued to clench around him, he felt his control wrenching free of his will and his own orgasm hit him like a lightning strike. It struck at the base of his spine, boiled like fire in his sac and blasted out of him in shock waves. His head snapped back, his muscles spasmed and his hips powered into her like machine-gun fire. He shouted his release to the ceiling and rode out every jolt and tremor until the last lingering twitch had drifted from their bodies. Slowly, Brice lowered himself until his head was on the pillow next to hers. He hoped to hell he wasn’t crushing her because he doubted he’d be able to move for a year.