Floor Time (16 page)

The small, whimpering noise she made down in her throat nearly made Jack insane with lust. The smell of heat, sweat, and her delicious body swirled around him. Her pussy clutched at his fingers, pulsing, just on the edge as he stretched in further, knowing exactly where to touch her already. Teasing with his lips he shoved her harder against the tree trunk.

"Take my cock out." He growled. "Rub it. Fast and hard, like you want to." He leaned down to lick the sweat rolling down her long neck. "Then I'll let you."

The touch of her hand made him groan and press higher, stroking that magic spot. He bit down on the salty delicious flesh of her shoulder and muttered. "Come now baby. Come now." She obliged, in a delicious gush of fluid, calling his name, her hips jerking against his hand, which sent him straight over the edge. His vision darkened and he grunted and coated her stomach as she clutched him close, tugging his hair pulling his lips to hers.

He made his own whimper when their lips met, when her tongue thrust into his mouth, making that final connection he'd grown to love. He pulled his fingers from her body, and she released him, leaning back against the tree. Reaching out to use his shirttail to wipe her hand, she smiled.

"Tell me something Jack." He nodded, hands on his hips, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. He was a pre-meditated sort of guy. Liked to plan his encounters and she'd managed to pull him into not one, not two, but three utterly unplanned sex acts that were among the hottest in his memory. She made him so eager to get her alone, in private, with nothing but them, a flogger and restraints he could fairly taste it. "What is all of this anyway?" He stared at her. The familiar anger rose in her eyes.

"Um, what is all of what?" He knew what she meant, but couldn't answer it. Because he had no answer. The very images flashing through his fuzzy brain -- of her tied down, at his mercy, screaming his name as he brought her to glorious climax again and again before being able to sink deep inside her with his cock and not just his fingers and tongue -- it was impossible. He couldn't do it to her. Or to himself. The connection would mean too much and he honestly doubted his ability to handle it.

He settled his face into what he hoped was neutrality. "All a lot of fun, best I can tell, babe." He patted her ass and jogged off wincing at his own lameness.

What now Gordon? Seriously, you'd better get this whole thing under control, and not just the playtime. She needs some breaking down. You know you can do it.

When she flew past him, he picked up speed, dreading the nearly six miles back to her house, as his body went into post-climax shut down mode.

Determined with a stubbornness born of self-preservation, Sara put her hands on his shoulders went up on tiptoes and gave him a peck on his kiss-swollen lips. She'd spent the entire run back coming up with excuses to get him to stay, to take her inside and fuck her silly, take a nap then start all over again. Dear God she had it bad. But, when they jogged to a stop in front of her condo, he stood and stared at her.

After glancing around with what seemed like nervousness, he put his hands on her hips and pushed her away. "I have to go." Not sure if she was shocked or not, she watched him open his car door and get behind the wheel.

"What, no good-bye kiss?" She propped her arms on the door when he rolled the window down and motioned her over. Her heart pounded with disappointment and anger. She really wanted to believe he'd say something about grabbing a shower and picking her up later for dinner, or a movie, or something. Instead, he cupped her face with one hand, and kissed her with a surprising tenderness.

"You continue to amaze me Sara." His voice was low. "But I'll catch you tomorrow -- it's poker night at my house and I, ah, I still gotta buy beer."

She frowned, stood and watched as he drove away, her body cooling down in more ways than one. Heading inside with a sigh, the recognition that she was ready to agree to anything to stay near him, but apparently he'd had his fill and could go on his merry way, drew a string of curses from her lips. She stood in the shower, post-run and post-orgasm adrenaline still coursing through her system. The lack of him, the empty space where she wanted him to be right now made her chest ache.

Please, Sara, get a grip and do not think you are in love
.

She let the water sluice over her flushed face. She had a ton of work still tonight. The thought of her to-do list forced Jack to the back of her brain as she scrubbed and emerged, determined to treat today's little encounter casually, like he undoubtedly was. Staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, her body red from the hot water and earlier physical exertion, Sara suppressed the panic rising in her throat.

They were too much alike, both avoiding anything that hinted at an emotional connection. She sighed. Why she couldn't just own up to it and tell him how she felt, it was beyond her. The tension had ramped up to a scary level. But the conflict in her heart wouldn't let go. She stomped out to the living room, grabbed a water bottle and fired up her laptop. The websites she'd visited were still on the screen.

"The Suite," the BDSM club downtown that had mesmerized and educated her was front and center. She stared at the photo again; the one that made her skin pebble and her brain buzz with need.

Damn him.

She gritted her teeth. She did not want this. Or did she?

Jack gunned his engine. He had shocked himself, really, coming up with yet another line of bullshit so quickly. God, he wanted her -- more and more every day it seemed. But she kept him at arm's length, making him doubt his every move, his very need to control her.

You could change that you know, you idiot.

The Corvette's engine rumbled and the power under his hands gave him a familiar comfort
.

Open your stupid mouth and tell her how you really feel. 

He had to grip the steering wheel hard to resist turning around and driving back to her. His phone buzzed with a text and he smiled, anticipating Sara's request to return. Instead, the screen showed Jason's message about some random work related crap. He sighed, and made the turn onto his tree-lined street.

Jack realized what was happening. Her strength drew him -- her absolute independence turned him on and made him need to prove to her that she didn't have to be so damned strong. He desperately needed her to want more from him, and for the first time in his vast experience, had no idea if she even gave him a second thought after each time they'd messed around.

Well, hell, no wonder you don't think you can handle being a Dom again. You can't even get a handle on the woman you want as a sub. Jesus.

After that first night in the office hallway he'd been single minded as all the old shit tumbled around in his head. Obsessing over a woman was not new but he recognized the difference this time. The aura of complete and utter control over another person's soul, their happiness and satisfaction and all the trappings -- bondage, spanking, orgasm denial -- he fucking missed it. Something about Sara brought it all roaring back with a vengeance. He smacked the steering wheel.

After that incredible moment in the trees, he'd experienced a surge of pure panic. The admission in his own head that he could easily scoop her up and carry her over his back Fred Flintstone style, never letting her out of his sight, forced him to make up some stupid lie to escape and retreat. Usually he couldn't wait to get away from whatever female he'd had. Now, in some perverse reversal of logic, he reverted to silly lies about "plans already made" to keep from acting on his impulse to stay, to never leave her side.

Way to blow it John Patrick. Poker night for God's sake -- where did that come from? Now what?

Jack threw his keys on the kitchen counter and splashed cold water onto his face. He leaned on his hands and gazed out of the window at the patio he'd had installed last spring. Designer furniture graced every corner, a two-thousand-dollar grill sat perched near the edge, all the shit that had made him completely happy a few months ago, mocked him now with their shallowness.

"Fuck!" He ran upstairs to the luxurious master suite he'd designed and built himself. He loved his thirties-era bungalow in one of Ann Arbor's premiere neighborhoods, had spent hours converting it into a glorious home to his exact specifications. The steam shower enveloped him, soothing his frazzled nerve endings as he leaned both hands on the imported Italian tile walls, letting the water run down his neck and across his shoulders. When he closed his eyes he could see her again, feel her under his hands, her amazing responsiveness, fire and passion.

He moaned and scrubbed off, before too many thoughts of her drove him mad, or to needing another hand job. Drying off quickly, Jack glanced at his phone, saw a couple of texts from a female friend looking for company, and smiled.

Yes, that's it. A nice night with a different one -- that will drive her out of my head. Someone easy, simple, who doesn't require more than just a quick fuck.

He dressed in jeans and a t-shirt sporting the logo of a friend's brewery, kept going downstairs, straight for the liquor cabinet. The night had cooled, and he was determined to enjoy the damn patio furniture his decorator had chosen, raping his bank account in the process. He poured himself a double bourbon, opened the French doors, stepped onto the paver stones and dropped into a cushy chair.

Images of Sara across from him, on his chair, in his house, her eyes bright with laughter, wine glass in hand, soft tanned legs tucked up under her as they talked, rose unbidden. He downed the bourbon in one fiery gulp. His phone buzzed across the table but he ignored it. She'd never call. Not tonight. She got what she wanted and could ignore him until the next time.

You have to say something to her, dumbass. Women need to be communicated with, remember?

Yeah, the last time I was the Great Communicator with a woman she … oh fuck it.

After his healthy pour of Kentucky's best, he relaxed and let the thoughts of Sara permeate his vision. His throat closed up in panic, his heart pounded faster, denying what his bourbon-infused brain was telling him -- that he might very well be in love with Sara Thornton. In one quick motion, Jack stood, scooped up keys and phone and headed for his front door on a mission to talk to someone who might set him straight.

As he pulled into a parking spot at the Big House Brewing Company's tap room, Jack smiled at the sight of his buddy's vintage Jaguar crouched near the door. He smiled to himself. Evan Adams had car lust nearly as bad as Jack did, one of the many things that had kept them close in the years from high school through college and beyond.

He slammed his corvette door shut and glanced around the lot, noting a few other cars he recognized. Evan had opened Ann Arbor's only Tap Room about six years ago, giving everything he had to his dream of brewing craft beer and serving it in his own space to friends, beer snobs and geeks alike. Their company had fast become a regional success story. However, at that moment, Jack needed his friend's ear.

He pulled the door open and the unfamiliar but pleasant odors of brewery operations flowed around him and out into the humid night. Suzanne, Evan's business partner and another of Jack's old friends from high school, spotted him and waved from behind the bar. He smiled at her red-headed perkiness and took a seat, leaving two chairs empty between him and the nearest customer.

Checking his phone again, he noted a couple of texts from the same woman he thought he might call later -- but nothing from Sara. As he looked up, he saw several people in the room he'd sold houses to, and reflected that he really ought to get out there and talk to them but was somehow frozen in place. He put his phone in his shorts pocket, and leaned on the bar, hoping to stay anonymous a bit longer.

"Gordon!" he turned at the sound of Evan's voice. "What the hell? It's nine o'clock Friday night and you're alone?" Evan walked around behind the long length of bar and stood in front of Jack. "You're destroying my image of you man, I have to tell ya." He smiled and poured him their hoppiest beer -- Jack's favorite.

He accepted the beer and drained half of it. Evan raised an eyebrow then busied himself wiping off the glassware drying by the sink. The additional alcohol started to work its magic. He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, watching the Tigers pull to a five-to-five tie with the Indians in silence. Suzanne appeared at his elbow and he hugged her small frame, his mind drifting to their short time as a couple.